Here we see the forever-inconsolable. The entity of eternity—our own demise and rebirth—the Reaper. This creature of time and sand takes the form relatable to his victims, but may never truly live amongst them. There are many beings and creatures that may stand by his side for a moment of companionship; but alas, he must live on as he helps those to the next life while despising the very essence of his being. A simple chair of dried wood and stone serves as his throne; never bothered with the shimmering spectacles of precious stones or reflective metals of value. He will sit there—upon his natural seat—and watch the universe unfold before him. As the Original Power constructs planet after planet, being after being, so our somber friend must witness and clean up after all is said and done. Thin skin with veins visible beneath, a cloak of tattered black cloths hangs around his thin, yet fit form, and wings reach out to either side—twelve wings all together; each as black as the tattered cloths; yet, the majority of feathers have long since molted away and left the bones to flutter against the everlasting sky—bare. Our friendly foe of deliverance and mortality sits back in his poor man’s throne to label us—to post our dates above our heads; however, he himself will not stand. From afar—perhaps, he sees a woman walking from her home to the vehicle that would take her to work, but today her number has reached its end—her soul has grown weary of the puppet it has been stranded in for so long. This woman is like so many of the others. His eyes need not flicker between her face, the numbers, nor her surroundings. He simply watches it as a whole—the eyes more for our benefit than his—for he knows it all, sees it all, and shall never forget any of it. A hand reaches out from his throne. This throne that exists outside of time—for time does not exist to such a creature. This throne in space, in a desert, in snowy wastelands; wherever you see this throne is meant only for your eyes. That hand outside of time calls forth the embodiment of this soulless being. He beckons it forth into our world—a piece of himself so that he may not be bothered with each soul that need passage beyond. The hatred he receives, the pain he must endure, and the reticule that befalls him is more than he wishes to bear. From those fingertips spawns a blackened smog. Twisting, fusing, and morphing together brings forth a creature of our departing moments—a simple raven that now stands upon his stiff fingers. “Forgive me, but I leave this to you.” The Raven turns to the vision of this woman. To the child beyond her, to the man beyond that, to the sleeping couple in the burning house, to the murdered boy in the alley behind your local shopping mall, to the soldier whose homeland has become nothing more than a battlefield and cemetery, to the sailor and his daughter who fish upon the ocean without knowledge of the coming storm, and to the mother who excitedly strains herself for the gift of new life—only to lose her own. “Where?” The Raven bounces on his hand, but the eyes keep fixated on the Reaper’s. “I will guide you, child.” The hand with no resting creature lifts to point onward to our world. “They will not notice you—they will only see sadness upon the fate that beckons the female.” A cocked head brings the Raven to witness her last moments. A hand failing to open the locked door of her vehicle—the leg that loses its footing—even the heart that slows within her chest. “Why?” Another question from the beak of this Raven. “I have birthed many like you.” The Reaper does not look to the bird—the fictitious eyes pinned upon the face of our story’s victim. “Each flies fast to the side of those who need me.” A voice of reason and calculation mixed within an entity of eternity. “I wish to not fight the flow of their kind—to them I send thee.” “Scared?” The Raven turns a cold eye to the Reaper upon his cold throne. The Reaper does not answer. He lifts the perch of the new born Raven higher—closer to our existence. “Go forth, bird.” He shakes the hand back and forth, but the Raven grips onto the pointer of the eldest beside the Creator. “Scared!” The Raven pokes at the emptied heart of the owner of the mighty scythe. “Scared!” Squawking a unpleasant tune with each jabbing remark meant to stir the emotions of the afterlife’s messenger and ruler. “Scared!” “Beast!” The Reaper stands at the end of his throne’s reach—standing within the world of that desert or snowy field—the sight you witness that is your own. “I have seen race after race—species after species move back and forth through the thick membranes of each dimension and universe.” The Reaper fans the stripped wings behind him in an act to reveal the dominance he so clearly possesses, “I will not stand to suffer any longer—you may suffer for only this time! Now go!” The hand of the Reaper reaches out where he points to the world of mankind. The Raven stares beyond the realm of his Creator—but does not fly or hop, no. Another feather falls from the almost empty wings of the timeless watcher; standing at the ready for the portion of himself to go out and reap those who have called upon his name. “No.” A Raven’s voice heckles the curator of all realms—mocks the hand that molded him. “Scared!” It holds onto our final companion’s hand with a firm grasp; allowing no unwanted release from its perch. “Your job!” The Raven turns its face to gawk at the ruling master of all Underworlds— no worry or regret; but the Reaper is baffled. A simple Raven stands against his will—the will of he who created it. “I have given you purpose,” the Reaper narrows the false eyes—wings of bone and tattered cloths of black lift and sway at the rush of power. “Do as I say, Raven.” Verbally besetting the Raven with thundering voice—harsh spite tearing through his throat—again, a physical feature made entirely for our benefit. “I give purpose.” Raven’s words reach a deep anger within the Reaper. Possibly it is hatred—perhaps it is regretting the creation of his simpleminded friend—or could it be that the Reaper agrees deep within? The Raven’s eyes of black reach deep into the mind of our Creator’s brother. “Purpose!” Another squawk, “I give it to myself!” A pyre reaches high within the snowy desert—a land seen by all as a world of lucid dreams. Light brushes the face of the Reaper—keeping the eyes and face that do not exist lit so that the Raven may know its place, but no such effect. Through these flames, a hand of the Reaper thrusts, and brings about the materialized embodiment of the Reaper himself—a worn scythe. As simple as the Reaper exhibits himself—the scythe reflects such humbleness. Black and silver metal extends beyond the fading flames of the forsaken, fake environment. The crescent blade turns itself at the will of its Master—reaches around the neck of the stiff and confident Raven. “Am I not your Master, Raven? Am I not the Reaper of all?” “Reaper, yes!” Strength within the eyes of the flight-able beast. “Go, Reap!” The bird looks to the blade that abrades the flesh and feathers—a quick peck shakes the stiffened hold it has upon the mortal bird’s existence. “Reap!” Eyes of false vision widen—to surprise even the being that has existed since life originated. “Reap?” The blade eased away from the child of his own blackened aura; feathers for feathers. “Reap!” Calling out to his Creator, the Raven beckons a change—actions to be taken. “Reap!” Through the world of ash and dust—as He has seen it for all of what is perceived as time—a woman seizures upon the ground and awaits her demise; yet no relief transpires. Release of the soul, a woman awaits the cold hand of change; yet, only a failing heart and collapsing lungs comfort her while she waits. “I am needed.” A foot, unneeded as the wings beat against the skies of all topography, takes the first step toward the world of man. Metal rings when the scythe lands at his side—a walking stick for our gracious giver of life beyond life. Wings of molted black spread out and leave behind the world of fabricated realities. A creation of the Reaper is left to flap against the skies as its Master starts toward the target—toward she who would call upon Death’s sweet kiss and release. “Reap!” The Raven calls forth the vigor of time’s greatest rival. “Reap!” Cawing and screeching—the bird flies beside the escaping energy of the Reaper. “Forever and ever shall I reap—and forever I will have purpose.” Black wings and tattered cloths broaden and fade from the far and distant world—mankind’s world is once again invaded by the welcomed Reaper. Still in the home world of the Reaper flies the Raven. Back to the throne atop stone and fire—a world of snow or desert, the Raven lands atop the throne’s head. Making itself comfortable, the Raven watches as the human’s fearful eyes soon fall to rest easy and glance on eternity with motionless vision. Atop the stone throne stands the Raven—watching the Master work—watching the Master restore reason and order in the existence of his own existence—watching the Master from afar as His saving Grace. “Purpose.” Squawking calls, the Raven hops excitedly watching the Creator of change and death. “Given purpose!” The bird’s voice smoothes as the head cocks—the black eyes watching the careful movements of the Creator from afar. God’s brother—Death, has returned. “Purpose.


It was a lovely spring afternoon in the park. The air was filled with the joyful warbling of songbirds and the innocent laughter of children, the scent of fresh flowers floating gently on the cool breeze. A young couple walked along a path through the garden. The young man, Sebastian, wore a blue and white button-up plaid-patterned shirt tucked into his khaki dress pants, his shoulders festooned with a cape fashioned from a pastel yellow sweater. *Gross*. The young lady, Bianca, wore a seafoam green sun dress, with a daisy in her curly blonde hair. She was objectively pretty, but definitely not your type. And if she *was*, then you might be one of *those* people... Their demeanor was like that of the models in a Newport cigarette ad; where everyone comes off as super white, *especially* if they're *not*. They were sickeningly wholesome, as though scrapped from the cast of '7th Heaven' for being too unbelievably waspy. They gave each other Eskimo kisses in public, which was just... *Yuck.* After getting some gelato from a cart, because that's what people like this *do* on first dates, Sebastian admired Bianca's beauty. She was just so *gosh darn pretty*. ^^Bwlegh..! "I really like you a lot, Bianca," he told her, a bashful smile on his oddly manicured face. She blushed. "I really like you too, Sebastian." *Ugh*... Sebastian smiled for a moment, but then looked a bit sullen. Something was on his mind. "What's wrong?" Bianca asked. "I... I have a confession to make," Sebastian sighed. "I'm not really this tall..." Bianca wrinkled her nose. "Whatever do you mean?" Sebastian took a deep breath. "Well, you see... On your eHarmony profile it said you like tall guys. I thought that maybe if you thought I was taller, you might be more willing to give me a shot, so I wore elevator shoes to our date. But... Well, I really like you a lot and I just can't keep up the charade in good conscience..." Bianca giggled. "Is that all? Sebastian, *yes* I like tall guys, but I *really* like *you*. A *whole lot*. I won't think less of you because you're just a little bit shorter than you said you were." Sebastian gazed lovingly into her big blue eyes. "Do you really mean that?" "Of course, silly!" she cooed softly. "Now take off those shoes and let me see the real you." Sebastian removed his platform shoes and stood before her, average height and all, but when he looked at her, the girl he'd been falling head over heels for had disappeared. In her place stood a much more homely specimen, her face now much less evocative of an angel, and more reminiscent of . He couldn't help but notice a single, robust hair coming from a large mole on her neck as her thick Tor Johnson-esque eyebrows fluttered in the wind. It was in this moment that he realized that all of her profile pictures had been angled from above. Bianca frowned as she regarded him in his natural state, all five-foot eleven of him. "On second thought, I think I like you better with the shoes on." Sebastian blinked, unsure how to process the sight he beheld before him. After a brief moment, he snapped out of his stupor. "Oh. Of- of course," he stuttered as he slipped his shoes back on. When he stood back up, he looked at Bianca again, and she was just as radiant as he had remembered her from before: a graceful, delicate flower. She beamed back up at him. "Much better," she murmured. "Much, *much better.


I think it was the way you wrote so intensely that drew me to you in the first place. I had never seen someone focus so deeply on a school textbook before, furiously making notes, filling up line after line in your notebook. Most of my memories are a blur, but for some reason, that one in particular has always stuck with me. I remember you briefly looked up as I passed by, gave me your shy half-smile, and went back to work. That was the extent of our interactions in high school.  Throughout those four years, we never had a single conversation. Not one word said to each other.  And now, I know why.  What are the chances that we both just happened to stumble across each other’s profiles in a city of millions, 7 years later? And that we both swiped right? When I saw your photo pop up, it struck me as incredibly odd that we had never said anything to each other back then. I don’t believe in fate, but this seemed like an opportunity to finally get to know you.  The texts flowed back and forth, fast and furious. I saw a flash of your charming wit, subtly weaved into your words. I saw a glimpse into your life. And you seemed to take a genuine interest in mine, too. I wanted to learn more, so I asked to meet you for tea.  As I turned the corner and walked up the steps to that cafe, you looked the same as I remembered, except for your hair, which was longer. But I could feel right away that something was wrong. You looked up with that nervous smile, inched your way towards the door, and waited for me to enter first. When the waitress asked you what table we wanted, you looked at me instead of answering. When I asked you if you had a preference, you just shook your head. When we finally sat down, you said, “I don’t think I have any questions left to ask you.”  So I asked you some questions of my own. And you answered them, briefly, uncomfortably. After answering each one, you would look sip on your tea and gaze at me with those inquisitive eyes, as if you were waiting for a miracle to drop out of my mouth. Since you didn’t seem to want to talk, after a while, I tired to fill in the gaps of silence. But each time I spoke, you seemed to lose interest. Only in the moments of silence did you seem like you were interested.  It took a while, but when I finally understood, it hit me like a brick. From the look on your face, you wanted to say more. To talk about your life, adventures, your hopes, dreams, fears, and everything in between. But you never did, and I still don’t understand why. The texts you so beautifully crafted didn’t make it into real life. I spoke with just a shell of you, the real one hidden behind your carefully constructed walls that never came down. We never made it past small talk.  On the walk back, I began feeling like I was trapped with your shell, walking side by side with your body while your mind was far away. When we parted, I knew we would never see each other again. Your heart was always just out of reach. The next day, when you sent me that message, I felt a huge weight lifted off my chest. And then, I couldn’t help but chuckle.  *You’re a really good guy, but I felt something was missing yesterday.*  It sure was.


Pepper was a dog. She was a little underweight for her size, with a speckled black and grey coat of fur that clung to her skin like a soft varnish. I never knew exactly how old she was when I got her. She had been initially given to me by my sister. Sis had picked her up from a pound half a year back as a guard dog—big enough to be thought a threat but small enough so that my sister wasn’t afraid of her. But Pepper was a sweetheart, and it wasn’t even a month before the TV had gone out the window, with Pepper only holding out as much resistance as what warranted a pat on the head, or a scratch behind the ear. Pepper didn’t get the curb because of that, however. It wasn’t until my sis had moved in with her new boyfriend, into an apartment complex that didn’t allow dogs, that Pepper had been pushed onto me. Now, I never really liked dogs. I never disliked them, mind you, but I never had a dog before. I had never taken care of any animal other than myself up until that point. I put Pepper’s dog bed in the kitchen—my house back then was a little townie with only five feet of maroon brick from the back door to the adjoining neighbor’s wall serving as a yard, not suitable for an outside dog. I placed her water bowl in the laundry room and spent the first hour or so of having her failing to figure out how to install a doggy door. I gave up and decided I’d just take her out myself until I could figure the door thing out, I went to bed frustrated, but falling asleep was not especially difficult. 2:00 AM The stabbing and offensive red digital numbers of my alarm clock informed me of the time. I don’t really remember initially getting up to piss in the night, all I know is that I did so without turning on the light in my bedroom. I stumbled sleepily to the bathroom and flipped the switch. Once I had finished I clicked the light neatly off and fumbled back towards my bedroom. I had lived in that house for a while, so I knew the way around, but even with the familiarity I had to walk past quite a steep set of old wooden stairs down to the merged kitchen/living-room, so I never took my chances in the dark. Going slowly, I brushed something soft with my knee. It was Pepper. It took me a moment to rationalize the initial jump of fright that came before the remembrance of *oh, right, I do have a dog now, don’t I?* Thinking that I must have woken her up, with a sigh and an invisible smile in the dark I gave her a quick scratch and strode past her, over to my bedroom. I lightly pushed open the well-oiled door and it swung open soundlessly. Not waiting for it to swing back and close it completely, I plopped, face first, onto my queen-size. I was greeted by wet kisses. Pepper had snuck up the stairs and into my bed while I was detained in the bathroom. It took three beats. Three clicks of the clock that ran the timing of my brain to realize what didn’t make sense. Slowly, I pushed myself up and turned in the dark to where I knew my doorway was. Another three beats. *Beat, beat, beat,* my eyes adjusted, and I saw Pepper, another Pepper. She stood silently in the doorway that had swung back open soundlessly to let her peer into my bedroom. I sat there on my bed, transfixed at something that was almost invisible in the greyish black of my room. The numbers of my clock weren’t bright enough to illuminate anything but themselves. The Pepper beside me had long since noticed the other one. She was whining and fidgeting in place, never managing a sound loud enough to be threatening. My heart was thumping. Cold sweat was drenching every part of me. The Pepper in the door way inched forward with one paw, then two steps closer, never breaking eye contact. I couldn’t see it breathing, it didn’t make any sound that I could hear over the whining and shaking beside me. I felt like my heart was going to rip out of my chest! It was on the Other Pepper’s third step that my primate brain took action. Before I knew it, out of fear and indignant fury, I had flung towards the lamp on my bedside table, pulled the chain with its distinct click, and turned as the room filled with soft light to see…! *Nothing.* There wasn’t anything there. The door must have swung back to its usual, almost closed, position, or maybe it had been that way since I had come in. But there was Pepper beside me, still shaking, not daring to look away from the spot that I was sure Other Pepper had been. It was not a dream, it wasn’t. I got up and closed the door completely, locking it and giving it a slight pull back and forth to make doubly sure of its closedness. I spent that night sleepless, lights on and huddled atop my bed with Pepper. The morning came, we broke from each other, but never so far that we lost sight of one another. After that night, Pepper slept in my bed as a permanent fixture, her bed abandoned in the kitchen. I forgoed the doggy door and stood out with her when she did her business. In turn, whenever I was in the bathroom she would lean against the door as if she was trying to assure me that she was still there, and it was still her. Whenever I came home from work she would be there at the door with fervent kisses as if saying: *hey! It’s me! It’s actually me!* It wasn’t until she died in ’02 from liver failure that that dog actually, truly left my side.


Listen, I don’t know where to begin. I don’t even know how we got here, to be honest. But here we are, and we sure as hell aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. So we might as well make the best of it. Here, take a cigarette. I’ve got a few left. I guess you’re probably wondering why it happened. Well, why does anything happen? Just dumb fuckin’ luck, usually. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was just a down-on-his-luck construction worker looking to make some extra cash so I could pay my rent in the winter – construction slows in the winter, you know. Anyways, maybe in hindsight it was all a bit too good to be true, but that’s not what I was thinking at the time. I wish I had. But where I should have been seeing red, I just saw green. The job seemed simple enough: all we had to do was dig. Dig a few holes out in some worksite in the desert, and walk away with two hundred bucks in cold hard cash, every night. That was the catch, though – we could only work at night. The boss said it was because the sun was too hot out there during the day, and we’d be risking heatstroke if we worked while it was still shining. That sounded reasonable enough to me. So I get out there on the first night. There are five other guys out there with me – four with shovels, like me, and another guy there to supervise and tell us where to dig. Each hole had to be at least five feet deep and five feet wide. We spaced out far enough so we wouldn’t bump into each other and got to it. It wasn’t until I was about two feet deep in sand when I realized I had no idea what I was digging for. Maybe some kind of cables were being laid through this spot. I asked the supervisor guy. I didn’t get an answer – he told me he’s paying me to dig, not to ask dumbass questions. I guess he was sort of right. Some private company must want to keep this project quiet. So I played along, and kept digging. After about twenty minutes, we all started to finish up at roughly the same time. We climbed back up to level ground, one by one, and waited for this guy to finish his cigarette and come point us to the next dig site. I watched the lit end of the smoke burn down closer and closer to his fingers – it was just about all I could see in the darkness. He took his time, anyway. When he finally finished he came to inspect our work. He looked into each hole for a minute or two, like he was looking for something in the bottom. Finally when he was satisfied, he told us to fill the sand back in and start digging another hole a short ways away. For a second, we protested. What was the point in undoing the work we just did? But, again, no answers came – no dumbass questions, just digging. So we did as we were told. I, for one, needed the money more than I needed my curiosity satisfied. We dug for about two hours before packing in for the night. Before we left, the supervisor handed us each a couple of crisp hundred dollar bills from a large brown envelope. A hundred dollars an hour was enough to keep my mind on other things – a couple nights of this and my rent would be covered for the month. A few weeks, and I’d be set until summer. So I came back the next night, and the next, and the next. For a while, it was the same – dig a hole, call down the man, fill it in, repeat. The only thing I could figure was that they must be looking for something out here. But what could it be? Buried treasure? Did that tight-lipped bastard ordering us around have a map with a big red X on it, pointing him to this shithole? Whatever it was, apparently we weren’t finding it fast enough, because after a week there were five more shovels and one more cigarette burning in the distance. So our progress was doubled, and we reorganized twice as many grains of sand each night. But the money kept coming, so there wasn’t much to complain about. I had my days to enjoy my new cash flow, and we weren’t working long enough hours to lose much sleep over. I think it was the eighteenth night in the desert. I was onto my third hole of the night. I guess after a while, the monotony started to get to me or something, because I just couldn’t stop thinking about what could have drawn whoever was paying us to look out here of all places. I heard one of the other guys say that this whole area used to be a mountain chain, but over the years the peaks were battered down to sand by the elements. Doesn’t seem like the kind of place anything interesting would be buried if you ask me. But as I was thinking, I guess my body kept digging on autopilot – I was six feet deep by the time I snapped out of it. I could have climbed out and called one of the supervisors over, but something felt different about this hole. As I stood and looked to the bottom of the pit I had dug, something told me to keep going. I can’t explain it… but I had come that far, and I felt like my work wasn’t finished. So I dug the blade into the sand again, and again, not stopping to measure how deep I was going. Of course, the other nine guys had stopped at five feet like normal, so when the cigarette cherries died out and the supervisors came down to check our work, both of them stopped to gaze down at me. One of them asked me why I hadn’t stopped. I told him; something was down there, I could just feel it. I expected him to call me a dumbass again. But to my surprise, he actually called out to the other diggers and told them to drop what they were doing and come over to expand the area I was working on. I hardly noticed them joining in, honestly, that’s how focussed I was. Almost like I was in some kind of trance. I just kept digging and digging, that feeling pushing me to go deeper and deeper beneath the surface of the sand. We must have spent an hour working like that – me digging deeper at the center, the others widening out the walls. Not that any of us kept track. We were all lost in the work. But all of a sudden, I felt a solid clang when I pierced my shovel through the sand. I had struck something, probably a rock, big enough to not budge in the slightest when I struck it. It sent vibrations through the shovel and up my arm, snapping me back to reality for the moment. I looked up and could barely believe my eyes: we must have dug twenty feet deep. How long had we been at it? I knelt down and started scooping sand away by hand so I could try and get that rock out of the way. I realized then that my heart was pounding. I felt anxious, like we were getting close to something big. I pushed the sand as fast as I could, trying to get to that rock – and then, there it was. Only, as I got the sand off of it, and the others noticed I’d found something, we realized it was way too big to be a rock. That, and the top was perfectly round. Like, unnaturally round. Like it was artificial. Manmade. The supervisors called out for us to call it a night. I have to say, it was tough to walk away from what we’d – what I’d – found. I kept looking back at it as we packed up to leave. Hell, I almost forgot to stop for the money I earned. All of a sudden that wasn’t why I wanted to be out here. I just had to know what that thing buried in the sand was. I thought about it all night. I don’t think I slept four hours, and when I did I think I dreamt of the thing. If it was some kind of artifact, shouldn’t some professor type guys be digging it up? Arachnologists or whatever? I guess that didn’t matter, because now I was the one doing it. And now I was invested. The next night I got there almost an hour early. I had to do a double take – since last night they’d put up one of those aluminum sheds that take no time to set up. I guess now that we couldn’t fill the holes in to keep our work secret, this was the next best thing. At least it hid what went on inside. Even though I was early, I wasn’t the first one there. I got to the door of the shed and the first supervisor was standing there, smoking a cigarette. He let me in – a few men were already digging, with supervisors standing at the edge of the hole and looking down on them. More diggers trickled in, and by the time they stopped coming I counted thirty of us with shovels, and six supervisors directing us. A few of us worked to uncover more of the object in the middle of the hole, and the rest of them kept widening the hole so we wouldn’t get trapped. It wasn’t long before we got a clue to what this thing was – as we dug down, we saw that the round top was just the tip of something way, way bigger. It was definitely manmade. Turns out it was some kind of pillar. On top it was carved into sort of an egg-shaped tip about two feet wide, and at the base of the egg there were some kind of decorative carvings – at least, they looked decorative. A flared base separated the top from the main pillar, which was almost a perfect cylinder. It was perfectly circular all the way around, and as we got a little deeper we started to notice it was flaring outwards ever so slightly as we got closer to the bottom. Not that we stopped to measure. We just kept digging, down, down, down, desperate to unearth this thing. And the deeper we dug, the stronger the urge got. We worked all through the night, way more than two hours. We hardly noticed the time passing. We just wanted to see what was down there. It was nearly sunrise when the supervisors had to tell us to stop. We were more than curious. We were determined. The next night, we were ready to start almost as soon as the sun went down. It seemed like there was no end to the thing – the more we dug, the bigger it seemed. Every night for a week, thirty-six men met under that sheet metal roof to see just how far into the darkness we could dig. Then suddenly, we struck something else. The pillar finally came to an end about forty feet from the top. What we found was that it was connected to a huge, flat platform, and this pillar marked a sixty-degree corner of it. Again we realized this thing was way bigger than we had imagined – it seemed obvious that the platform was probably a large hexagon if the other corners were the same angle, and they were probably marked with a pillar of their own. As our mental image of this thing grew, so did our eagerness to keep going. And our workforce had to grow, too, to keep up with the demand. It was delicate work, so we couldn’t use machinery – before long there were over two hundred people on site, working all through the night to expose this thing. Later I found out there were two hundred and sixteen; thirty-six supervisors, a hundred and eighty diggers. Bigger and bigger the hole grew, and every so often it got close enough to the walls of the shed that by the next night it had to be replaced with a bigger one. We got to the point where we were so deep in the sand that the heat of the daylight sun didn’t reach us, and the light wouldn’t penetrate the shed, so we couldn’t even tell day from night as we worked. So we worked through the days, too, with nothing to stop us. I don’t know how long we’d been working like that when I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a break. I had no thoughts of stopping for food, water, or sleep – I felt no hunger, no thirst, and no fatigue despite digging for days without rest. It should have been a disturbing realization. But instead I pushed it to the back of my mind, forcing away any distractions to the process. Finally, after what must have been months in the desert, it was done. We could never have known the size of it when we started. It was on the scale of a football field or a baseball stadium. As we had guessed, the platform formed a huge hexagon, with each corner housing a pillar just like the first one we found. I think it’s called a dais – I heard that word in a video game or something. A big platform used for religious ceremonies and stuff. It definitely gave off a spiritual vibe. Not to mention the effect it had been having on us as we worked. It was hard to take it all in at once in the darkness – you could really only see a few feet in any direction. But once we had finished marveling at it, we kept shuffling around on autopilot. The compulsion to dig was replaced with something else – like a magnetic pull I was drawn to the center of the platform. I couldn’t see the exact center since I didn’t have the pillars for reference, but something was definitely drawing me in. I wasn’t the only one, either. Shortly after I got there it started to get crowded, as all of the diggers tried to reach that spot that was apparently calling to us all. The supervisors were up to something different. They had arranged themselves around us, six of them in a line, with each line radiating from the center out toward one of the pillars. I looked toward the first pillar we had dug up, and saw the original supervisor standing nearest to us, with five others dotting the space between him and the pillar behind them. The six supervisors that formed the ring closest to us was each still smoking a cigarette, and so I could just barely make out that they were each holding a piece of paper. I may not have heard it if I hadn’t seen his lips move in the dim light, but the first one began to read from the paper, his voice barely carrying across the room. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, it was just a dull rumble by the time it reached my ears. But every now and then he’d pause, and the other five would respond all at once, reading from their own papers. Their voices were calming, almost like a lullaby. I could have stayed there forever, I was so relaxed and content. But it didn’t last forever. The voices eventually stopped, and for a moment, there was complete silence. Then, in a quick motion, the first supervisor touched his paper to the tip of his cigarette. The paper burst into flames, and before he burned his fingers he tossed the page high into the air. The others immediately followed, and in the air all we could see were six fireballs floating in the darkness. I turned away in shock and pain, my eyes not used to the light – but the light didn’t care. It kept growing larger and stronger. The light of the flames seemed to activate something in the pillars themselves. They slowly started to give off light of their own, barely noticeable at first, but as the flames died the glow of the pillars grew and grew, until it became unbearable. Even with my eyes closed, the brightness made them hurt. Brighter and brighter, I was sure I’d go blind – then, all at once, darkness fell over us again. When I opened my eyes, the supervisors were gone. Me and the rest of the diggers were left on the platform, huddled at the center, wondering what had just happened. Slowly we began to realize just how strange everything had been up to this point – as we came back to our senses, we started to panic just a little. It was like coming out of hypnosis. Why had we been so obsessed? How long were we out here? And when was the last time we ate or slept? We figured the supervisors just went home for the day, so we might as well go home too. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been home, come to think of it. But we quickly realized that wasn’t an option. The entrance to the hole was nowhere to be found. The panic grew. Was this some kind of sick joke? How could we get out? Eventually someone noticed that they couldn’t even see the ceiling anymore. There was no sign of the shed that used to be there. But in the dark we couldn’t be sure. Someone else grabbed a rock and threw it upwards – in response, we heard the thud of the rock as it hit only sand. See, the place we’re in now, it’s not the same platform we dug up. It’s virtually identical in every way – same six pillars, same big hexagon. But we’re somewhere else now. This place, wherever it is, still has sand all around. It hasn’t been unearthed yet. That’s right. We’re underground. No way of knowing how deep underground, either. Now you’ve heard it, you know as much as we do. But we’ve got a few ideas. We figure whoever built these things, ages ago, must have figured a way to use them for transportation. Some kind of mystical understanding of the universe that got lost to the sands of time, literally and figuratively, along with their civilization. We dug one up, but wherever it sent us, there’s no way of knowing. We could be at the center of the earth for all we know. So all we can do is dig. Lucky for us, it seems like we still don’t need to eat or sleep. Or I suppose that’s unlucky, depending how you look at it. Obviously there’s something supernatural at work here, but at least it means there’s a possibility of getting out of here. How long’s it been? Well, you tell me. Every now and then, someone like you comes along who manages to transport themselves here accidentally – like I said, we don’t know how any of this shit works. It teleported us underground, who’s to say it doesn’t affect time too? But if the info we have from people like you is true, we’ve gone through a few presidents since I first got here. Down here in the darkness, though, with no sun to rise and fall and mark the days, time all kind of just starts blending together. So we dig. Some of us dig, still hoping we find a way out someday. Some of us dig because they don’t know what else to do. Some of us do it to keep from going insane. But it’s not all bad. We’ve got a few cigarettes left. Every now and then we’ll light one up and it lets us see how far we’ve come. We try to conserve them, though – only so many to go around. But you’re new here, so go ahead, feel free. I’ll have one with you. Call it a welcome to your new home. Just one question for you.


The cold, black-throated wind cuts through the warm air. It whistles past my headphones as I walk quickly on the sidewalk. They're silent, but I keep them on. I look busy this way. "....bve light?" I pause for a second, unsure if I heard a voice. The cars blow past me and splash water on my pants. Great. I keep walking. "Hey!" I stop and turn around while removing my headphones. The cool wind reminds my ears that the snow is not far behind us. "Do you have a light?" There is a woman hiding behind the plastic panes of the bus shelter. Under the weak street lights, I can barely make out her face. She's dressed for the weather, rubber boots and overcoat. She's holding a cigarette in her left hand. A car wooshes past us and turns the corner. In its headlights I get a glimpse of her. Her hair is messy, a bunch of old graying straw. She's been crying. Do I have a light? Of course I have one. It's in my pocket, blinging around in a glass box meant to hide the smell of weed and ashes. The box doesn't really work. I think I'm just getting used to the odour of damp dirt and dusty drawers. But the lighter is mine, and I like it. It isn't special in any way. In this wind, it wouldn't hold a flame. I know because I tried it a few minutes ago, before giving up. "So?" I have a light, I tell her. I take the box out, take the lighter out. Take a step forward. Hand it with a straight arm. If she's looking to rob me, I need to look confident. Her hand shakily rises and grabs the lighter. Her fingers brush mine gently. They are dead cold. She's been there a while. She struggles to light her flame, but eventually succeeds. She brings the flickering lighter to her face. Her eyes are red and puffy. Her cheek has a large purple spot. It's still tender. The light flashes off as she rips it away. The only light in the bus shelter is a floating ember five feet above the ground. The ember shakes. I ask her if she's okay, if she needs help. "No." I can tell she's lying. She starts turning around, the steps forward, into the light of the street lamps. She looks at me, then at the street. There's red mixed with the yellow of her hair, behind her head. Her eyes go back to me. "Are you okay? You don't look too good." I tell her I'm fine, just enjoying the night. She can tell I'm lying. Our moment of silence is interrupted by a gigantic mastodon in the street. Garish, brutal light and the stink of diesel. Her bus is here. She quickly walks up to the door and puts a shaky foot in. She turns around and hands me the lighter. I step back. You keep it, I say. Give it back to me when we meet again. She shrugs, flashes her card to the driver and gets in. The bus roars on into the dark street. I take a step in the bus shelter and look around. I wonder if she'll be okay. I wonder if I'll get my lighter back. I liked that lighter. A few drops of water fall on my glasses. Of course, first I lose my lighter, then it starts to rain. I straighten myself and keep walking on the sidewalk. Not sure where it ends. I think I'll try to find out. The weather's not too bad tonight.


“I want to express how lonely I am here, but I am finding myself short of words. I am getting really really bored out here. Just imagine that I learned how to make animal shapes by using hands. I have learned 5 languages, have studied all sorts of psychological theories and studied few religious manuscripts even. I can’t take my mind off anywhere else…sick and tired of brooding all day long. When I see earth from here, I listen to all kinds of earthly sounds, the traffic, sea waves, a dog’s bark..every single sound of earth is audible to me for half of the day. Though this feeling is temporary, the permanent feeling is of accomplishment, I am getting very meaningful data which can result in milestone findings. The samples I am collecting here shows that, we can build up colonies here and can live in a controlled environment. Anyways, say my hi to everyone out there. I better be a famous personality when I come back after 5 years.” He stood up from his chair after completing his mandatory daily video log. He knew that there is no way he can send these video back home. They will see them once he has reached back home, in case he does. The trip was supposed to be of 7 years and after 2 years, the nature of trip was becoming sempiternal. He looked at the mirror and noticed the mark over his chin and that day flashed again in his mind. **2 YEARS AGO** In a bathroom pub, only quite place there, he was noticing the mark over his chin. Then a friend came inside the washroom and said, “Dude you’re leaving in a week and therefore now will be a good time to have fun for the first time in your life.” He hated socializing, but his colleagues insisted that before this milestone journey, they should all have a fun night wherein they can ease off before the daunting task ahead. Sitting in a group at a pub, he generally is a surreptitious one. Not today though, he was facing all kind of questions; ‘What will you miss the most?’ ‘What will you do there when a day work is over?’ “You’re just 25, what made you take this decision?’ ‘Won’t you miss sex?’ Frankly, he had no answer for any of these questions and cursed himself for giving into his colleague’s pressure to come to this place. He decided he need to go away from them and started to look out for a place to smoke. Smoke saved him from such situations and let him be alone with himself and apart from science, loneliness was his bailiwick. Away from everyone, he lit up his Ultra Mild and looked at the Moon. He started staring various dark spots the moon had. He could recognize each spot and was looking at his own spot for a long time when a girl interrupted him and asked for a lighter. ‘I borrowed from someone too, I am sorry, here use my ciggerate and light up yours.’ She obliged and was smoking quietly when he noticed the Jim Mullen T-Shirt she was wearing. He was genuinely surprised. No one knows him, no one listens to him, how can she listen to him? He found himself intrigued by her and he just went to her and asked her, ‘How do you know Jim Mulen?’. ‘I don’t’, she smiled.’ I just listen to him.’ She took a puff and gave him a long stare as if studying him. ‘I am impressed you recognize him, not many people know him, is he your companion too?’ She asked. ‘Yes he is! The last one of the self taught jazz player. I keep listening to him in these prolonged emptiness when I travel from one place of relevance to another place of relevance, both in time and distance.’ She smiled and asked, ‘Let’s go inside and dance?’ They both threw away there half burnt smokes and left for the dance floor. Both of them were awkward dancers, clearly both of them were not used to such behavior, neither dancing and talking to someone unless it is work related. After 5 minutes they left the dance floor and were sitting at a private booth. Both of them had a drink in their hands but not drinking, uneasy and unsure about each other, both of their minds are asking them to stand and leave now but both were just sitting there and staring nowhere. Then he said, ‘I don’t do this generally, like dance..or talk, but I feel lighter with you.’ She said to that ‘Don’t ruin it by mentioning it.’ He smiled and she returned the favor. He asked for the bill and paid and they both started to walk towards the exit. ‘So where do you work? he asked, ‘I work with the government’, answering his own question initially. She told him that she was a teacher at school and then he told her that he was going away for 7 years. She was clearly surprised but then trying hard to not show that to him and asked. ’Where are you going?’ **PRESENT DAY** His thoughts were disturbed by the siren signalling him that it’s time to work. He gave himself a last look and then he wore his work suit. He had to be very meticulous with his suit, he checked everything and finally checked the oxygen levels and then opened the gates of his shuttle. Earth was visible from his shuttle, it was visible half of the time. He sighed and went on with his work. Every day he has to take air samples in the controlled environment he had built over moon. He took some soil samples and started making notes. He had built more than hundred controlled environments sectors so the checking would generally take more than 12 hours, but he loved it. He liked if any progress in any of the controlled environment is made. That would be a landmark thing. He had left his girl of dreams back in earth, it better be worth a ground-breaking discovery. **2 YEARS AGO** He just told her that he is going to the Moon for 7 years for a feasibility study of possible colonization at Moon. He was dropping her back home, wanted to say so much but was not able to. Million possibilities, there was an obvious connection. He knew in his heart that she feels the same too. He finally found someone whom he wanted to know but the timing was such a bitch! In his heart he was playing millions of scenarios. What if she agreed to wait for me? Why would she? We just met 3 hours ago! What if she agreed to wait and when I come back she won’t be waiting anymore? What if she is not interested? She is just being friendly..No it doesn’t seem like that! I am sure very few must had reached till here! The connection we have is not normal!! The things we are sharing are arcane for everybody else. She was blank. She just wished he would stop and won’t go. But in her heart she knew too many things are riding on him now. He can’t back out now. That won’t be fair to him. She still just wished. The eagerness to know him better was very high. ‘So what about us?, he asked blankly. He had used all his courage to say these four words. She was taken aback by sudden candidness, and the blood started rushing inside her body and her face was red within seconds. ‘You know that it is not practical, right?’ Silence. ‘I know’, he finally said, reluctantly ‘But this is not something which happens to me on regular basis, all my life I have been a loner, never been able to gel with anyone, I found every other one pretentious, hence trivial. You are real. You get me. I feel like I can be real me around you, who spends major part of the day studying research papers and listening obscure jazz players.’ ‘ I know, its new to me as well, but tell me, you are going next week, what’s the point, it will bring us pain and nothing else. What do you expect? I will wait for a guy for 7 years without any contact with him all this time and whom I have just met 3 hours ago? Part of me wants to, trust me! But there is rationale part of my brain as well who will overcome the stupid one, then what?’ ‘You are right! This thing is conceptually wrong! No point! I am leaving in a week, I will be better off up there if I know no one is expecting my return. Will focus on my work instead. Sorry for bringing this up.’ They have reached till her place. She kissed him goodbye and both were on their own way. As he reached home, he sat down and was trying to decide what is that he was feeling. He was not sad. He was experiencing butterflies for the first time, He was happy that something like this happened to him. He was feeling alive after many years. He decided that he should be happy that it happened. This was a new feeling. He was happy in his own little world and needed no one else. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* Next day at office, one his colleague came and asked, ‘Where were you last night? We realized that you met a girl and you guys were hitting off very well and hence we left without disturbing you. We never saw you smiling so much, did she drugged you?’ He smiled and said, ‘You guys did a right thing by not disturbing!’ Colleague kept staring and was wanting more info on what happened but he was not giving away anything. ”That’s it? You are not going to tell me what happened?’ ‘I’m going next week anyways, so no point’, he said with a smile on his face, ‘I will like to keep it this way only.’ His office phone rang and the caller from other side said someone is here to meet him. It was *her.* He asked receptionist to show her the way to cafeteria, and inform her that he will join her in a minute. ‘Hey! What a pleasant surprise!’ he said awkwardly. ‘I am sorry to show up here like this but I had no other place where I could reach you.’ She was speaking too fast. ‘No problem! So what’s up?’ he asked blankly, urging her to keep speaking. ‘You said that you have a week before you leave for the Moon?’ ‘Yes, exact 7 days!’ ‘Look, here’s the deal! I am not the one who live her life by thinking what could have been, I know the odds are not in our favor and I still want to take this chance, between no feeling at all and pain of missing you, I chose pain.’ **PRESENT DAY** ‘Hello Earthlings, What’s up? Everything is same here at my level. Still miss earth. About findings, I think we may have found a controlled environment which is stabilizing and is almost identical to the atmospheric pressure one would feel at the height of Mount Everest. Not ideal, but still a start. We will reach there I am sure.’ After completing his video log, he put Jim Mullen on his music player and started looking at her pics which were everywhere in his room. These photographs were of those 7 days they spent together before he left, they were eating, laughing and even making out in a photograph. He refer those days as the craziest week of his life. Had to be. He had 7 days to create memories that will help him go through these 7 years. Those were enough. Her words kept haunting his mind, *“between no feeling at all and pain of missing you, I chose pain”* He stared at earth from his window. His country was visible to him. He waved at her, hoping she knew that he is waving right now, Back at earth, she waved back, smiling.


"Soon, we will consume that which we came for. Passion is our God and fervor is our calling, let us approach bretherin," and so they did, they engulfed the hall from all sides, busting every entrance and window before anyone knew what was happening. The cheering stopped, the music stopped, the laughter stopped, the wedding would soon be a funeral. Everyone turned to the exits, fuming with priests neck high in rubies. The double doors open so aggressively that the table set in front of them dropped to the floor, honey and wine spilled and soaked the masses. Have you ever felt the thickness of blood? Feels like red wine and honey, though less gritty. Karlo's dressings dragged over the drudge, his boots let into glass and peach slices. What's a fucking mess. This is not how the priests of the flame worked, they would need to order this chaos. "You all might be wondering who we are, let me beggin by saying..." "We know who you are, Red Priest," Oringon had stood, exclaiming in the same tone, "its hard to ignore your trail of blood and offerings. The smell of charcoaled skin is unbearable." "I hadn't realized we had made any sort of lasting impact," Karlo retorted, "did you enjoy it at least? The sight of it? Dear God it must have been pleasant at some point, my Lord. After all, it is your people that set the stage, we but only set out to follow the rules. Now tell me, have you kept your promises o' faithful one??" His eyes had sparked as he challenged the patriarch. The flames of Irubis began to ember in his belly, the room began to heat, you could hear the rumbling outside getting louder and louder. "You and your cult of mystics are barbarians, mear rejections of a time gone, please, leave us be before this evening turns as sour as your mental sores." Karlo sneered at the capping comment, the flame in his Iris was now more evident than ever. It flickers with his looks, left, right, left, right, lagging but following. "Seems like you've forgot your ways wise man, let me refresh your memory," Karlo's hands went up, palms to the sky. Suddenly, the room became difficult to breath in, and the heat radiating around the hall became unbearable. The signal's guard stood, men like mountains shook the halls foundations as they rose, and with a unified "HOOOF" the fountain in the middle of the hall began to churn and slosh, an icy gasp released from the water they began to announce. Hands formed circles which cast out the ambient heat to them, belly full. "Erro-finose, signa-matara," the room popped with the immense pressure from the heat above, the roof flung right off of the hall, steeple and all, ripped away like a freshly sprouted branch in a desert storm. Korana and Trown held on to each other, looked into their eyes, and agreed in silence. They both stepped down from the regal throwns in the back and ran across the hall to the cubard they had planned on using. This has truly come to fruition, like she had said, this might be their only chance. As the crowd looked up, the magnitude of the problem finally manifested to them: a whirlwinding tornado of flames, as high as the clouds, now lay it's eye above the hall, sucking out all of the oxygen from the mouths of those willing to yell at the unimaginably desastrous sight. It's back bent from miles away, ready to kiss them all away. "Idno-sirafen-mataz...blegjhttu!" Trown had shot a mending bat at the high priest, who had shut his mouth closed with his silk. The rest of the red priests, unbenounced to everyone, had stepped back for fear of death by flame. There shock-and-awe entrance was useless now that the flames were receding, their blades meant nothing outside the halls doors, far far away from flesh. The flame once in the priests eyes now fickered in and out, immobilized by fear and unable to afford any sort of win in his mind. This might be his end, he thought. The Red Snake was easily undone, the head had already been bitten off and the rest mangled away in the end. The stallion stomped, a beat best left to the warrior, an ensamble of blood and revenge. The wine had been a metaphor, but for those that had spilled it. The honey was sweet, but gritty. Over whelming the win. How drunk do you have to be at a wedding to desecrate the enemy? And let their eye with a sown mouth watch. Does wine taste better from your enemy's skull? Is it fair to burn those who wish to burn you? Prisoners of war, especially the leaders, make great entertainment.


Past the tangling trees and budding flowers of the Forest of Dreams was one of Vendar's many trade routes. It was a well sculpted gravel path that cut right through the trees with plenty of room to spare. And it just so happened to be one of Sinetah's favorite spots to stake out. She lay in waiting, nestled in a vibrant green bush, with her eyes peering through a small opening in the growth. There wasn't much sound, save the caws and cries of animals and monsters that called the forest home. *I wonder how long it will take this time.* Taking a brief moment to brush her hair out of the way of her left eye, Sinetah let her hand caress the hilt of her left dagger. Both were enchanted years ago with durability, and would return to her hands if thrown, which often came in handy during difficult situations. Though it still wasn't the best option against foes decked in heavy armor, it made the battles more manageable during the uncommon occurrence that she had to face against one or several opponents who fit that description. Sinetah was unsure if whoever she would pounce on today would have such guardsmen around them. Most merchants could not afford services of men and women like that, so they often were alone. And a large majority of nobles would use different routes, or arrive in expensive carriages that Sinetah would usually let pass if it was more than she felt she could handle. The Empire had treated her and her kind so cruelly that self preservation had been ingrained in her mind at a very young age. She was just fortunate enough to have never been stuck in the cycle of brothels and inns that most elves found themselves in. Instead, ever since she could remember, Sinetah lived in the shadows, stealing and fighting just to survive in a world that hated her. Just as soon as her thoughts began to go to her days as a young girl, the sound of wheels rolling along the beaten path, and the hooves of horses hitting the rang rang into the elf's long ears. Red eyes turned to the side of the path facing away from Vendar, as her sight honed in on the carriage arriving from the North. It was fancy, every inch decorated in extravagant decal. On the side was what appeared to be the noble's family insignia, one she didn't recognize. Sinetah figured it was from far across the outer reaches of the Empire, not that it mattered. With only one armed guard, it was definitely something the elf believed she could handle. After just a few breaths, when the carriage passed her hiding spot, the thief pounced. Both hands flicked out her twin daggers without a sound, as one blade dug into the back left wheel, breaking, and with a dash, the other broke as well, stopping the carriage in its tracks. Sinetah barely managed to swing her head back as an arrow whooshed past and stuck into the back of the carriage. *Another guard? And an archer at that... how unusual.* She could hear the metallic grind of the front guard's plate armor as they drew closer, sword in hand. “A drow elf outside the brothel, that's not a common sight,” he exclaimed, hoping to catch her off guard with a biting insult. “And neither is an armed guard on the ground, but your archer friend will see that soon enough!” The left dagger left Sinetah's hand like lightning, aimed at a weak point in the man's armor, through the shoulder blade. It missed as the knight dodged it, and then advanced on her. She felt the corner of her lip smile as she moved back to avoid the swing of the guard's sword, and heard the clang of metal on metal as Sinetah's thrown dagger impacted into the man's back. It didn't break through, but the man did pause, confused, which was all Sinetah needed to leap into the air plant her foot into his face with all the force she could muster, knocking him back to the ground. Her blade whizzed through the air and returned to her hand, just in time to cut down another arrow from the trees. “I know you're over there. This man must have quite the money to afford an archer and a guardsmen.” There was movement in the trees, and a young man hopped out, a shortbow aimed toward her. He was young, likely not even 20 years old, which surprised Sinetah. Two arrows one after another cut through the air, toward her face. The elf rolled to the side, stopping before a third which planted itself in the dirt, right after where she abruptly stopped herself. “A young archer, fancy. Skilled, too. I don't see nobles typically employ someone so young, do you happen to have a special relationship with the man in the carriage?” To Sinetah's surprise, the young man began to chuckle, as did the downed knight behind her, who began to get to his feet, fighting against the heavy armor. It was the archer who spoke first. “I think you've made a grave mistake, thief. The man in that carriage is no noble. He is the heir to the Empire, the Prince!” Sinetah felt the blood drain from her face, eyes wide from terror, the first time she felt such a feeling in years. The insignia she didn't recognize was no noble crest, but in the back of her mind, it became familiar. The insignia on the Empire's flag. A lion with a mane of fire, to symbolize the might and power of an Empire that Sinetah had just pissed off with a single mistake.


It all started with a handshake. 11 years ago, I had found him at the corner of our middle school cafeteria in 6th grade, staring at the ground and glumly chewing on a sour gummy worm. I felt like I’d seen him before, but a distant memory wasn’t enough for me to remember his name. But I sat with him anyway. “You wanna sit with *him*? Eww, why?” One of my prissy friends had asked. The peer pressure almost got me, but I’d hung around the lot of them long enough to know that all they ever did was talk bad about other people. I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t about to tell them that either. “...He got the last pack of sour gummy worms.” I replied before sauntering off towards his table as my friends looked on helplessly. It didn’t take them long to decide that I wasn’t worth anything to them anymore, but I didn’t care. I slammed my lunch tray onto the table he was sitting at and plopped myself down in the seat across from him. He looked startled at first, staring up at me as if he was unsure if I was really there or not. “Hey.” I said. “Where’d your friends go?” He shrugged and refused to meet my eyes. “Let me know when you find me one.” “Found one.” I replied, pointing at myself. I was quite proud for coming up that one, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Yeah, right...you’re just sitting here cause you feel sorry for me.” “Hey. That’s not true.” He looked at me skeptically. I found myself unable to lie. “Okay, maybe it’s a little true. But so far, you’d make a better friend than the people I usually hang around with.” Uncertainty crossed his face. “...You think so?” I smiled. “It’s been at least a minute and you haven’t said anything bad about anyone else’s sense of fashion. I know so. And to prove it...” I stuck out my hand. He knit his eyebrows in confusion. “You want me to hold your hand?” “It’s a handshake, genius.” “O-oh. Right.” He reached out to shake my hand, but I pulled it away at the last second. “A *secret* handshake.” Confusion reached his eyebrows again. “Uhh...what?” “You heard me. Something only the both of us know. That way there’ll be no doubt in anyone’s mind that we’re friends. *Especially* yours.” We spent the rest of that lunch working out the first steps. Front hand high five, backhand high five, fist bump, followed by a twirl and a double snap into finger guns. It was a little awkward at first, and we got some weird looks from people at other tables, but before long he was finally smiling, and I found myself doing the same. “You know...you’re pretty cool.” “Cool enough to be your friend?” I asked with a shrug. He nodded. “Yeah. Friends it is.” The rest of middle school was a blur, but from that moment on we were always there when we needed each other. When his parents wouldn’t let him hang out with me after school just because I was a girl, when I almost failed math, and especially when we both needed someone to sit with at lunch. The handshake went with us, too. As our friendship developed, it became more complicated. We spent tons of time revising it and adding more steps. Elbow jabs, vertical high fives, and even a few rounds of patty cake. We didn’t even know why. Something about it was just really special to both of us. High school rolled around, and we both started to drift in other directions. We made friends who didn’t care about the fact that I’d been alienated by the gossip squad three years ago, or that his only friend prior to meeting them was the girl who’d been alienated by the gossip squad three years ago. None of that mattered anymore. It was the best. What wasn’t the best was the new form of peer pressure that was running rampant through the school; dating. All of a sudden everyone was getting snatched up, and before long he and I were left at odds. “Y’all are so cute, you should totally go out!” They said. And as much as I hate to admit, the pressure got to me that time around. It was awkward at first, suddenly declaring ourselves a couple. But over time, I came to realize that he was a lot more than that shy kid I sat with one day in middle school. He was sweet, and charming, and smart enough to explain trigonometry to someone who had avoided math like the plague ever since bombing her 8th grade algebra final. I denied it for a while, but the feelings I had for him were very real, and one fateful Valentine’s day, he worked up the courage to tell me that he felt the same way. A relationship had blossomed between us, and with it, our secret handshake got more complicated. Before I knew it, we’d added step-kicks, jazz hands and a ballroom twirl as per inspiration from when we took musical theater. It might have seemed childish and silly, but it was special. Every time we did that handshake, it reminded me how much he meant to me, and how much I meant to him. High school and college went by in what felt like no time at all. We’d both been accepted into different universities, but somehow we made it work long distance, so long as we talked every day and met in person at least once a month. At the end of my final year of school, I threw a grad party. Lots of people came, but I was especially excited to see my boyfriend. He’d even taken the liberty to dress up a bit for once, which I found extraordinarily sweet. At the end of the night, he was the last person to head out. We’d spent the evening talking and laughing like old times...just like we used to in 6th grade. He’d just told me a really stupid joke about lyrics to an Amy Winehouse song, and I playfully pushed him. “Alright, dude. You better get outta here before I actually have to fight you.” He shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, okay.” However, right as he stepped through the doorway, he held out his hand and flashed a smile. “Handshake?” I smiled back. “Totally.” We went through the whole routine with practiced ease; Front hand high five, backhand high five, fist bump, vertical high five, elbow jab, swivel, patty cake, hand grasp, turn, step kick, pivot to the left, high five, pivot to the right, fist bump, ballroom twirl, double fist bump blow-up(with sound effects), followed by a turn and a double snap into finger guns. I moved to do the turn, but when I turned back around to do the finger guns...he wasn’t there, gunning me back, like he had been for the past eleven years. He was on one knee. With a tiny box in his hands. And a ring in that tiny box. And a smile on his face that told him, and me, that he was absolutely certain of what he was about to do. “...Will you marry me?” For a moment, I was dumbstruck. But my answer was short, simple, and straight to the point. Blinking back tears, I smiled back and laced the ring into its proper spot on my left hand finger. “...Absolutely.


Sally Wong was six years old when she was diagnosed with leukemia. At first, her prognosis was grim: she was given only six months to live. She endured chemotherapy and many transfusions, but was able to pull through in the end. This whole time, she was determined to win her fight and, after a year, she was declared a healthy, cancer-free seven year old. As she walked out of the hospital for the final time, that’s when tragedy struck. I was in a rush to get my ice cream truck licence and inadvertently drove onto the curb. She was pronounced dead on the scene but at least died holding her mother’s hand. Luckily, I was on time for the Ice Cream Truck Drivers’ Certification Test and passed with flying colours. **Ryan Miller, 6, 18 Months Ago** Ryan Miller was a very bright kid, considering his parental circumstances. He was really good at shapes and colours as a kindergartener and wanted to be an architect. Everything came to a halt when he was diagnosed with lung cancer, likely transferred from the smoking habits of his whore mother, Sarah Miller. Ryan and his bitch of a mother were not in a good financial situation, but were miraculously able to secure the funds to get the required treatment. Ryan’s condition rapidly improved and he was back to school in a year. When crossing the street on his way home from school that fateful Thursday, I accidentally slammed my truck into him at full speed, splattering him. At this point in time, I drove really quickly with the windows open to keep the ice cream nice and cold. Nobody in the Ice Cream Truck Driving Academy (or ICTDA for short) ever spoke about freezers, so this tactic worked reasonably well. However, this made turning to avoid cars and children really difficult. **Charlie Hayfield, 5, 11 Months Ago, Ruined My Birthday** Little Charlie was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and his entire life he only knew pain. His GoFundMe campaign, featuring a heartbreaking testimony from Charlie and his extremely baffled yet concerned family, won over thousands of strangers on the Internet, reminding us that there is still hope for this world. He never gave up hope for a better tomorrow and after years of waiting and the kindness of the world, that tomorrow came. Unfortunately, that tomorrow came on my birthday when I was in a rush to buy a proper freezer. At this point, I was very upset because my business was hemorrhaging money in fuel expenses, wasted icecream, and lawsuits. In a sense, Charlie’s death was the turning point for my business. **Brian Schumacher, 4, Five Months Ago** Okay, this one was not strictly “accidental.” Brian was diagnosed with Devil’s Colon, a type of cancer identified by a heavily enlarged colon that excretes blood and incantations. Things were looking grim; treatment options were limited and Brian was not long for this world. I was contacted by the Make-A-Wish Foundation to make Brian’s childhood wish come true. I wasn’t provided any details initially, and met with Brian and his parents in the hospital. When I met Brian, I asked him if he wanted to tag along with me for the day, but he had other ideas in mind. He told be that his wish was to be run over by an ice cream truck, and that he wanted, in his words, for his “brittle brittle bones to become one with the truck of iced cream, as always desired.” Needless to say, I refused this request on principle. His parents threatened to reveal to the media how many children I ran over, but I’ve always been pretty transparent about this - all of them are painted on my truck in memoriam. They insisted and insisted, saying that Brian would really enjoy it, but I explained to them that the other children didn’t seem to like it that much, and that Sarah Miller was really busting my balls over this. That’s when the targeted harassment campaign started. After one-too-many death threats, I finally agreed to fulfill this wish. Then out of nowhere, Brian was miraculously cured - free from the grip of Devil’s Colon. Given that he was no longer dying, I called this off. After doing the rounds one day, I returned to my house only to notice Brian sitting at my kitchen table. He said to me, “don’t think this is over, we made a deal.” And then he said that if I don’t hold up on my end of the deal, I would be sent to the Place of Draining Colour. I didn’t know what this meant, but I was scared enough to comply. The next day, we met on an empty field. I began driving and rammed into him, ending his existence. I exited the truck and heard his final words, a faint “thank you.” **Sarah Miller, 36, Yesterday** This bitch was a child in my eyes. My only mistake was not doing this sooner.


“You can kick and scream all you want baby, but this ship is going dooown!” The demon howled joyfully as old-man-Ed scrambled on the floor of the empty McDonalds kitchen, like a fat rat having a stroke. By now, all his employees have escaped onto the streets. Not one wasting a second to help their obese abusive manager, who has been trapped in the inside of his fast food restaurant - at a very inconvenient time. “What the fuck is happening!?” Ed belched out between his fat lips. His round cheeks shined red below his forehead, dripping profusely of sweat. The panic and confusion towards the chaos erupting around him made him break out in pools of secretion. That, and the gigantic crack in the kitchen floor that seemed to have split open the earth beneath the shopping mall, omitting waves of heat that licked the surface. “My sweet baby Ed, it’s the final day - yeaaah! End of timesss, tribulation period over. D-Day is finally happening. Rapture ya- know?” The demon danced around the man and hopped onto the yellow counter to make himself comfortable with a fat cigarette and a pink milkshake. “Apocalypse now and all that fun stuff, you know?” Ed’s striped beige shirt was ripped open on the top, exposing a gold chain wrapped in curly chest hair. Some casualty buttons laid scattered across the dirty white tiles, while he fanatically clutched at his torso, breathing fast and heavy. “Who the fuck are you!?” he spat out, frightened at the site of this unnatural looking human creature, who had the face of an angel but topped with two small horns protruding from his soft locks of brown hair. His athletic body was dressed in the snazziest midnight blue suede suit. He also flaunted a pair of golden boots with black tips to finish off his ‘end-of-the-world-outfit’. “Moi?” The demon whirled his wrist in the air with a big smile. “I’m no one you should be concerned with right now. But, by the looks of it sweet-cheeks, we’ll be spending a lot of time with each other very sssoon. For all the getting-to-know-you-you-getting-to-know-me chitchats in the world” He happily replied. “Rather, you should be focused on more important things like the choices you’ve made throughout your life.” He blew a puff of smoke into the air. “What the fuck are you talking about!” Ed shouted in pain, “why is my leg disappearing?” “It’s not.” “Yes. Yes, it is I can feel it!” Ed tried to reach for the bottom of his left pant to lift up to see what’s going on, but his big belly pushed him back down on his back while the demon just slurped his shake and smiled. “And my eye! It’s. It’s going grey! I can’t see through it” he clasped his hand tightly over his left eye, hoping the pressure would stop the feeling that it was slowly being pulled out. The demon gave a satisfying burb and mumbled about how he missed the sweet taste of strawberries. “You see babes, today is all about the sssoul.” The demon dragged his long finger down his chest in a sensational manner while he licked his lips enthusiastically. “Today we’re all about finding out where our souls belong.” He winked. Ed let go of his eye and started to hit his head with the palm of his hand and commanded himself to wake up. “Wake up!” He yelled hysterically, “This is all a bad dream! Wake up!” “Oh, don’t be so dramatic” The demon tipped his cigarette ash on his chest. “This is just it. It’s every bad, selfish, fuckt-up thing you’ve ever done, comes down to this day.” He slurped some more, “But what makes you so special – why I had to really fight and beg to be the one to escort you back, is that near-death experience you had 10 years ago.” Ed’s eyebrows furrowed as he gulped like a goldfish out of water. “Don’t you remember sweet angel?” The demon’s ferret-like eyes closely observed his victim’s reaction and took another long drag. Ed remained quiet and pushed himself back up against the opposite counter, eyeing any options to escape. “You don’t remember, do you?” “Of course I do!” Ed snapped back, which made the demon grin. “It was that beautiful quiet night in September 2010 when you lied to your wife about a work function in Joburg,” air quoting the work function part, “But as I recall magoshas don’t do very well in giving strategic feedback on annual reports. Ha! More like anal reports. Am I right?” He winked and laughed. Ed snarled at him while he noticed sharp pains shooting through his back. “Sho, tough crowd” the demon smirked. “Anywhoo. Despite your colleagues telling you over and over again to not drive home, you ssstill insisted. Heck! You could barely hold your own balls up to shit straight. But noooo, you are big man Ed.” The demon mocked in gorilla-like voice. “And so, you got into your SUV, piss drunk, and sped down the M1 just to fall asleep at the wheel.” He licked his lips again, waiting for a reaction. “You woke up in the ICU the next day with half your body obliterated, remember?” He lingered again on the last part. “What do you want!?” Ed screamed hysterically. “Nothing really. I’m here for you baby.” Ed tried to get up, but gravity pulled his bowels back down and forced him to sit where he was and listen. “So!” The demon continued cheerfully. “What you chose to forget about that night is that you brutally killed a whole family, right? A sweet mother and a caring father to a baby boy and a 3-year-old girl. So pure, so innocent.” With those words he hopped off the counter and hunched down to meet Ed at eye level, his golden boots kicked open his legs to sit as close as he could – face to face. Ed could smell the sulfur breath and noticed a different gleam in the demon’s eyes as he stared into his soul. “But did it matter?” The demon asked softly. Ed gulped hard and tried to avoid making eye-contact. “Yes, actually!” The demon answered himself and bounced back up on the counter as if he was performing a hilarious skit at a children’s show. “Because ssince you were in need of a new eye socket, kidney and left bottom leg, the miracle of modern medicine and a convenient pile of dead family members - thanks to you of course - were able to transfer the parts to you. Did you know that? Ha! What a miracle that they had what you needed?” He smiled wide like a panting dog. “And you didn’t even get in trouble for that oopsie on the highway, did you? Just paid the man and made it all go away - you sssneaky snake you. I may learn a thing or two.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ed replied. “Oh. Well focus now honey, because this is important. You’re quite special since this was not the only transplant you’ve had, is it?” Ed grappled at his chest again. “Noo, you also have a new heart in you?” He giggled, “Because Mr.Tubby-wubby couldn’t control his brandy and coke intake, could he?” Ed moaned when he tried to move again but the tiles cracked underneath him as if an invisible force was pulling something inside him down. “Oh wait!” The demon exclaimed with a finger in the air. “That’s right, I just remembered what you told your brother the other day.” He cleared his throat and started to speak. But the voice that came out sounded exactly like Ed’s. “The only time a kaffer was useful is when this one died and gave me a new heart.” He even tapped his chest the same way Ed did when he joked about his new transplant from the African donor. The fat man screamed for help, but the demon just smiled and waited. In the demon’s own calm voice, he continued: “Fun fact, that donor was a doctor. Did you know that? One of those Doctors-Across-Borders type of guys, who sacrificed their lives for the sake of others. . . No matter what race or gender. I know, too fancy for my taste as well.” He smirked. “Oh, go fuck yourself!” Ed exclaimed. “Sweet baby, that’s the spirit!” The demon whooped like a drunk girl in a limousine. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there like you always say!” Ed finally slumped down completely on the floor, and felt his body being ripped apart in the different places where he had surgeries. Even though he couldn’t see anything happening he could feel the pain shredding through him as the invisible force tore into his insides. “Oh snap! Sorry sugar-tits! I forgot to tell you, silly me.” The demon got up onto the counter and paced it proudly like an actor in the spotlight. “I’m here is to tell you that our souls are sowed into every fiber of our bodies. Neat hey? So, it’s the rapture as you should have figured out by now, and that means it’s time for souls to travel to their final destination. Choo-choo!” The demon laughed hard. “You being you, of course - the oh so important Ed-magoo - means parts of you obviously don’t belong to you or here. And definitely don’t belong where you’re going. These parts, these foreign pieces of other people’s sweet souls, are returning to their rightful and righteous owners.


(WP) Simple Courtesy I got engaged to be married to a wyvern by holding the door for him. I didn’t think anything of it; I was only being polite. We both worked at the same bookstore, and we happened to both be returning from our break, and he was behind me, so I just held the door open. He beamed at me; his eyes dewy with something that I couldn’t understand. “Patrick, you’re too kind! We’ll have to tell our parents, you know. Wyvern-human marriage is generally frowned upon in my culture.” I stared at him, frowning. “Marriage? What are you talking about, Dalton?” “You held the door for me, Patrick!” He answered as if this was obvious. “In my culture, showing someone specific kindness, such as you just did for me, shows the other person that you wish to be married!” There was that word, again. Marriage. I didn’t even know if I wanted to get married, and now here I was, engaged to a wyvern. For opening the door. “Uh, that’s not what I meant,” I said hurriedly, damning the bright flush that was climbing up my neck and flooding my cheeks. “I was only being polite!” But it was too late to backpedal, and I found myself making a date to have dinner with Dalton and his parents. My stomach had quickly tightened into knots, and nausea was quickly roiling my stomach. How had this happened? \*\* When I returned home, I told my parents the situation, feeling embarrassed all over again. My dad, who’d been folding laundry in the living room, looked at me, brow furrowed. But his eyes crinkled up at the corners, the corners of his mouth turned upward as if fighting a laugh. My mother was sitting with a cup of coffee on the couch, frowning thoughtfully. “But surely you can say that this is all a misunderstanding,” She said, taking a sip of her drink. “I’m sure once you explain, it’ll be a laugh, and then we can move on with our lives. Besides, we’ve been long overdue for a night out. We need to make a good impression on our future in-laws.” She dropped a wink, and my embarrassed “Mom!” was drowned out by my parents’ laughter. \*\* We met with Dalton and his parents in a fancy restaurant on the outside of town. We were all dressed nicely: I wore my finest suit, though it was too small and parts of my wrists showed; Mom had donned a silk gray sheath dress and a little tiny bag to match, with heels, and my dad wore the tux he’d worn to his own wedding to my mother, fifteen years before. But no matter how nice we looked, my heart wouldn’t stop pounding, and sweat formed on the back of my neck, my forehead, the small of my back. The restaurant wasn’t even warm, but I couldn’t stay still. I had to get out of this, or I was going to be married to a wyvern.


"This wasn't any kinda fractal or visual i've seen in all the times i've tripped, this thing was alive. It was the fucking universe, man. The whole universe was like one big.... creature? God? I don't fucking know. But it was almost like it was squirming, like some group of gigantic fucking earthworms in one of those plastic things you get from a bait store. Like they were all packed in there tangled up in each other trying to go in a million directions at one time. But I'm telling you, this was one fucking thing. At first I started to flip the fuck out, but I've had some bad trips before so I calmed down and kept watching this thing squirm. It made me sick at first, not just because of how it looked but how the fucking size of it made my head spin. It was literally the entire goddamn universe. You remember that myth about the World Snake or whatever? Like how it stretches all the way around the Earth and eats it's own tail? Imagine how big that motherfucker is. Now take that and multiply it by some number we can't even wrap our fucking minds around. When I realized how massive it was, I didn't just feel nauseous. It was like my understanding of The Earth and our place in the universe melted away. People who have done a lot of psychedelics know what "ego death" is. You see your own death in a trip, so when you come back to reality you no don't have those pre conceived notions of "me". It makes you see shit in a different way. You aren't as selfish anymore, because you realize that you're like a drop in the bucket, you know what I mean? Ok, well this shit is beyond fucking ego death. The more I stared at this thing, it was like I had some kind of realization. It's the universe right? Well we're a part of it too. Our solar system, the next one over, hell even one a billion light-years away is living in it. And like how we're made up of atoms, like these tiny fucking things that all somehow stick together and make up everything. And then I realized something else. If the planets and stars and shit are like the fucking atoms that form this thing, what does that make us? We're like the fucking electrons and shit that spin around the fucking inside of the atoms. Hell, maybe even smaller than that. I mean we're like nothing. Like a fucking fly on a billboard the size of the United States. All this shit was coming into my head, and it was like my physical body and shit had melted away into this fucking thing. Even my fucking soul. None of it made sense anymore. I don't even think I was a person anymore at this point in the trip. It's like that atom shit I was talking about. Those atoms could be living their own lives that we don't even know about, but what does the life of that atom even mean compared to me and you? If that tiny fucking atom had a wife and kids that it loved a whole lot, and they all got wiped out in a car crash, or got fucking shot in the head one by one, what would that matter to you? It's just an atom, and the only thing that matters to you is that it does it's job to hold everything together right? Ok, now you're the atom. All you're doing is sitting there with a shitload of other dots doing Jack shit. So what if you die, or I die? There's trillions or probably more little dots doing the same thing. That was the scariest fucking feeling ever. Knowing that if we all got wiped out in a massive fucking explosion or war or whatever, it wouldn't even matter. So yeah, I was like this atom on the back of a giant space worm thing. But I started to feel it. The squirming. The goddamn slimy universe rolling around for no fucking reason. I completely lost my shit by then. I don't think the human brain can take that much. I was numb, and alive. It was like I got spread out in a million directions. I was the fucking stars, man. But it didn't even stop there. It kept moving out and out, and I could feel myself strecthing farther and farther and faster and faster until I got to the size of the worm.