Hello, my name is Aiden Mayer. I'm not entirely sure how well this post will work and where this stuff ends up. Blame it on my age. Never mind that; I suppose you'll come to know me soon. My life started unraveling on a mild spring morning. I was in my office working as an assistant physicist at Ametherom Institute of Technology, my Alma Mater. You may have never heard of the city I called home, which would come as no surprise. Ametherom was a quaint, bustling seaside city on the eastern coast of my small but prosperous Island Nation of Igadi. It rose up around the mouth of the Bay of Basir and was divided by the river Manu into the northern densely-packed City Centre and the southern cobblestone streets of Old Town. Ametherom had the heart of a proper city. The streets and buildings sprung up organically around the bay and the river, feeling as natural as the marshes and trees interspersed within and surrounding it. Three large iron bridges crossed over the river connecting the streets of City Centre to Old Town. Beneath the central and most ornate bridge ran a slender white footbridge uniting two halves of a large pedestrian's circle. The circle was paved with a mandala of white and pastel stones and nearly always bustling with street vendors, food stalls, and performers. A city built for community and connection. I love my little city. The older I grow, the more I wish I could visit once again. Unfortunately, I do not believe that is a possibility. I spent my whole life in Ametherom, from the day I was left at an orphanage until the day I was ripped from my comfortable reality and thrust into a war that ravaged everything that made me human. Ametherom was my home—my family. I miss its comfort. I, like most orphans, was raised in a private boarding school. I fit in fine with the other kids with whom I shared dorm rooms and classes. I made it through to graduation with high marks and got accepted into Ametherom Institute of Technology, where, upon graduating, I took a physicist position. This, as you may recall, is where my story really starts. **Broheim McIntosh** Being a researcher conjures the mental image of white lab coats and bubbling beakers, but I am chagrined to say my position wasn't so glamorous. Most of my days were spent poring over abstracts and hacking together lines of code and equations in the modest-sized office I shared with my research partner and long-time friend, Broheim. The morning my world broke started so innocuously, as every other dull, typical day previously had. Bro swung around the door five minutes late, his unruly orange hair bouncing as he ushered in a box of doughnuts. "I got you an eclair, Aiden!" he said melodiously with a bright smile. "Thanks Bro, my favourite!" I chuckled. "Hey, have you checked out the new pub on 11th street yet?" I asked as he dramatically plopped into his chair with a quick spin. "Next month is Cass and my anniversary, and I figured--" "A pub, Aiden? Com'on, this is your third year together. Take her somewhere nice and pop the question already! You do know you aren't getting any younger, right?" he prodded. "Alright then, Mum, sheesh." I rolled my eyes. "And to answer your question, yes. I happened to have met a lovely lass there two nights ago and from what I remember it was a cosy little pub. Not much of an amber selection though..." "Well you know Cass doesn't like going out to fancy places. I'll call them ahead, see if they do flowers." "You're a right lady-killer, eh? Any-who, how are we coming on Project 1183?" "Glad you asked, Mr. McIntosh!" I beamed, "Come and have a look at this." Broheim shot me a quizzical look as he brushed crumbs from his shirt and rolled his chair next to mine to peer at my monitor. "So, I was going over a few results last night, when I stumbled upon this. I think this sheds some light on that photon dilemma, eh?" I grinned unabashedly at my own joke. He didn't say a word as he stared into the black and white text. "Crazy, innit?" I laughed, "Are you at a loss for words, my man?" My laughter faltered and fell as I watched his eyes transfixed to the screen, blank and distant. "Are you OK, mate?" Bro's body stiffened as he fell hard to the floor. I jumped back in shock before crouching down. I carefully grabbed his shoulders. "Bro?" He began to convulse and thrash; his eyes were still distant and blank. "Somebody help!!" I screamed as I raced to my phone, pounding in the emergency line. My stomach dropped as I was greeted with a disconnected signal. I dashed into the hallway, screaming for help and trying doors to my colleagues' offices, but no one answered. For some reason, every door was locked. I started pounding on Professor Mark Stevens' door, yelling that Broheim needed help and the lines were down, pleading for him to answer. I heard a door slam behind me and whipped around to see four stately men carrying a stretcher, dressed in white scrubs and masks. My brief shock at their timely arrival was overwhelmed by relief. "Are you paramedics?" No response. I jogged down the hallway to our office just as they loaded Bro up and started for the exit. "Which hospital are you taking him to?" Not a single one of them acknowledged me, let alone my inquiry. "Hello?!" I followed them out the front doors, still asking them frantic questions, which they still ignored. They loaded Bro up in a white box van that looked like an ambulance without the lights. Tires squealed as they peeled out down the road. I was able to catch the letters "AMM" stencilled in black on the side of the vehicle. Then it careened out of sight. I rushed back inside to confront my boss, and as I burst through the front door, I stopped dead in my tracks and glanced about. Jeananne, who had returned to the front desk, narrowed her eyes at me as she held the phone to her ear as if to say, "quiet down." My other colleagues seemed unfazed. Their doors that were locked tight moments ago now stood open, and the nonchalant discussions I so frequently heard murmur through the walls had resumed. I slowly walked down the hall to Professor Stevens' office, my mouth no doubt agape as I struggled to process this strange event. I rapped sharply upon his door. His voice called "Come in" and shook me out of my shocked trance. I pulled the door closed behind me a bit too hard. "With all due respect, Professor...What the hell? Where were you?! I was calling for help! The phones are down, I couldn't call the emergency services, and you wouldn't even answer your door! Who the hell knows who came and got Broheim! They looked like doctors but they gave me a bad feeling. And--" "Call down, Aiden—take a deep breath and have a seat." I grabbed my composure and calmed my breathing into a steady rhythm. "Start from the top, now...What happened?" "I was going over our progress on 1183 and suddenly Broheim had some sort of seizure. He's been taken away into a van or ambulance. I called for you but--" "Aiden, first of all, who is Broheim?" "Is this some sort of joke, sir? He's my office mate, we started here the same week." "I am positive we have never had a Broheim working here. Also, from what I can recall, due to your outstanding performance you have been entitled to a private office for two years now." My face and chest went cold as a particular type of knot tied up my throat. With barely a croak, I uttered, "Is...Are you playing a joke?" "No Aiden... Are you feeling alright? I know Project 1183 is pretty intense, maybe you need a vacation, that's all." "This isn't funny!" blood flushed my face as I rose to my feet. "Sit back down, Aiden. There is no need to get worked up." I glared at him as I sank back into my seat. "If anyone else had come in swinging like you did just now, I would terminate them on the spot for blatant disrespect. I've known you since you enrolled here at the university and I have seen your exemplary work. I don't want to let you go, but I need you to calm down and get help with whatever...this is." He motioned his hand as if to encompass all of me. I swallowed my protest and pride and cast my eyes to my feet. "Aiden, take this." His tone had softened. I looked up as he passed me a weighty, off-white business card. "Doctor Walsh and I worked together for a number of years. I can certainly attest to her excellence." I examined the elegant golden script embossed into the card. Dr. Alexis Walsh, Psy. Ph.D. "A shrink?" I looked up incredulously. "I would highly recommend you speak with her before returning to work. You are to be placed on paid leave for the next two weeks. Take some time to rest and reset, Aiden." I retreated inward as I walked out of his office. The whispers of my colleagues swirled around as if I was underwater. I walked to my office to gather my things and nearly fell to the floor when I saw that my desk was standing alone. Everything that graced Broheim's cluttered desk and shelves—and the furniture itself—was gone. How did they cover this up so quickly? More importantly...


My past is something that constantly lives in the very back of my mind. A tale that I never dare utter out loud. Even now, 15 years later, I start shaking at the bare thought of what had happened. However, I can not remain silent forever, and I need my voice to be heard, for the sake of younger me. I remember it being a cold, bitter night, as expected from the merciless winter in the desolate state of California. I had just arrived at my local convenience store, for my night shift, and I distinctively recall having a gut wrenching feeling almost as if something totally unexpected was about to occur. The air felt thick, and I could smell the damp earth after a long winter rain and I took it all in, slowly breathing, as if it was going to be my last time smelling it. I’m known for being a rational person, and for that reason alone, I ignored said feeling. In that dark, silent night, only my thoughts were keeping me company. Working from 2a.m-8a.m was usually uneventful, and I only needed to interact with the occasional smoker or drunkard. After dropping out of college, I was doing my best balancing work as a babysitter in the evenings and being a convenience store clerk at dawn. I quite cherished that job, as the pay was generous and the workload was light, despite the shady owner, Jeff. An old guy who has probably seen too much in his lifetime. I’ve heard rumours regarding him as a pedophile and a pervert who has supposedly taken advantage of dozens of middle-school girls and female part-timers. However, I have yet to see evidence of these claims first-hand and I was satisfied with how things were going. The buzzing from the artificial ceiling lights was greatly contributing to my pulsating headache. The door bell jingled a lovely melody and a cold breeze hugged me, forcibly pulling me out of my meaningless thoughts. The first customer of the night walked in and paid for an overpriced pack of Marlboro. The interaction was brief and straightforward, as expected. I will never understand the concept of smoking. I honestly don’t see the appeal of spending money for the purpose of shortening my life expectancy, not as if its any of my business. Sighing a long breath, I looked out of the window to take in the very familiar, yet comforting sight of the empty streets. I directed my gaze towards a parked car that I’ve failed to notice up until now. I guessed it was a sixth generation Honda Civic, although the limited amount of light outside made it hard to tell. The small parking area in front of the store was always empty at that time of the day, so to me, that was unusual. I observed the car for a couple of minutes, waiting for something to happen. Slowly growing impatient, I grabbed my SwissTech keychain (not the prettiest out there, but definitely the most useful in terms of keeping me safe) and I headed outside, walking in a straight line towards the suspicious car. I’m still not sure what I was expecting, but I thought that whatever would happen will most definitely quench my thirst of curiosity. Only a few inches away from the intriguing vehicle, I noticed that it is empty, and that the trunk is slightly open. Despite fully knowing that I am not allowed to touch somebody else’s property, I jerked the trunk open. I immediately knew I had just made a terrible mistake. A mistake that will never be undone. My eyes widened in pure terror and my heart was a train pounding down the tracks. I broke out in a cold sweat, and I could not take my vision away from the tied down stranger in front of me. Their casual clothes were drenched with blood, and they did not move a single inch. I did not want to assume the worst, but frankly, I was definitely looking at nothing other than a fresh corpse. I winced, feeling sick and pained and winded all at once. I could not breath. My mind was foggy. Leave. I knew I had to leave. Before I even had the chance to process what I had just witnessed, rushed footsteps combined with the freezing rain to produce music. Terrifying music that almost sounded like a warning.


the words moved through her from years past. Memories of her parents as they knelt next to her and helped her say her goodnight prayers with her before tucking her into bed surfaced, and a lone tear escaped the corner of her eye. And now? She still said them. She felt she *needed* to say them, fearing him the way she did. Yet at the same time, like a malignant tumor ready to burst, she knew deep within her that it really wasn't her that needed to pray. It was him. Wasn't it? All the abuse she'd taken from him since they'd been together, and when was enough supposed to be enough? How many times had she heard, *"I"m sorry, baby.... I swear by all that I hold holy, I'll never do that again..."* she'd lost count. Just as she'd lost count with the numerous times she'd run away from him, only to have him find her and bring her back. And then all hell would break loose. It would literally be DAYS before she'd venture outside, allowing the bruises to heal. This night had been like all the others from before. She became jumpy and paranoid with each passing hour. More so when the time she could usually expect him home came and went... hours ago now. Night had settled comfortably, like a well worn jacket, and she began to prepare herself for the worse for when he *did* finally come home. It was a homecoming that she wasn't looking forward to, but knew it to be inevitable at the same time. Pacing the living room with movements that were quite agitated, her arms would move to cross over her chest only to fling themselves away and to her sides. The prickling began to tear itself piece by piece away from her a little at a time, what little coherency she had been able to cling to was now slipping away from her. Leaving her with a thought that no one could help her. No one would help her. She had only herself to rely on. As it had been since the death of her parents. Clouded hazel eyes roamed frantically over the living room, searching for some sort of weapon to protect herself. She knew how it would start, it was always the same. He would come stumbling in through the front door and bellow her name. The rage could be heard in his tone, the intensity of it deafening and drowning out the soft pleadings for him to *Please... don't do this... you promised... you promised that you wouldn't...* She found it better to not run from him, the pain that he would cause when she did run, that much more intense and hurtful.. spiteful even. Yet somehow she knew that tonight would be different. She wouldn't allow him to do this to her anymore. She couldn't. Her peace of mind, her very sanity as she knew it to be, was slipping over an edge where she would never be able to find herself once she fell. She remembered the gun at one point, hearing his truck pull into the driveway, she quickly made her way to the hall closet and retrieved it. Checking to see if it were loaded, she breathed a sigh of relief, her hands shaking as she closed the door and made her way back into the living room. To wait for her "punishment" as he called it. She never understood what she did wrong, and to him it never mattered. Everything about her was wrong, though he said he loved her. She felt her heart begin to thump loudly in her chest... beating wildly to the point where she thought she might swoon. Her breathing became more ragged, her cheeks flushed... excitement or fear? She didn't know, perhaps a combination of both. Or maybe it was because she knew, deep down, that tonight she would suffer no more. *"Abigail!"* his voice boomed and echoed as soon as he entered the house, slamming the door behind him with a bang, turning from the foyer and into the living room where he stops, seeing her standing there with her hands behind her back, merely looking at him with those hazel eyes of hers. Saying nothing, as usual. Shy little meek mouse that she was. *"Come here,"* he said softly. Abby shook her head, accenting the motion with one word, *"No."* Coal black eyes seemed to burn as he looked at her, his anger already surfaced on the ride home, the fury brimming and then spilling over at seeing her, moving out of control at her disobedience. The amount of alcohol he had consumed seemed to not hinder his movements, for he was right there before her before she knew it, breathing his fetid breath into her face, glaring at her, whispering in an ominous tone, *"Looks like you really deserve to be punished tonight, doesn't it Abigail?"* his hands moved from his sides to wrap around her slender throat. His thumbs pressing into her windpipe. Her eyes bulged and she gasped what she though would be her last breath. She felt her strength ebbing, and her eyes fluttered only to open and gaze back into his own. Her own arms moved from behind her, the sound of the gun being removed from it's safety position lost in his anger, his concentration only what he was doing to her, a smirk played over his features and he grinned at her with malevolence. Her lips began to move as both hands gripped tightly the butt of the gun, bringing the barrel of the weapon directly into his stomach. Soft words and tears began to spill from her lips and eyes as she pulled the trigger once... ...twice... ...a third time... a fourth time... ...a fifth and then final time... *Now I lay you down to sleep, I pray the Lord your soul to keep. Should you die before you wake, I pray the Lord your soul to take...


She was just sitting up there. If it weren’t for the picture of her, no one would’ve known she would be here at all, but the people nicknamed her as the girl on the edge of the crane. Her feet dangling below her, her right hand positioned behind her back on the stainless steel and her left, stretched out in front of her. That’s how this girl was sitting on the edge of the crane, hundreds of metres above the ground. Judging from her outfit, you would assume that she was a schoolgirl. At least when taken into consideration, her plaid skirt and her uniform style shirt. If a closer look was taken, you would realise that she is in fact a young woman, no younger than 18. Her ironed skirt and white-ish shirt, was just a part of her outfit. Her twin pony tails, were flying all around her body, bending to the force of the wind. The altitude was high enough for the wind to pick up speed and yet high enough for the wind to loose its power. Otherwise her hair wouldn’t have been the only thing flying around. Normally people would assume anyone sitting that close on the edge of death, would have the intention of jumping. And yet she had this look, in her eyes, of childlike interest. Her left arm reaching out into the dark sky, towards something only she could see. It was a clear night and the stars could be seen, perhaps she too saw them behind her spread out fingers. Perhaps she was reaching out, to form the illusion that she was holding a star, pinched in between her fingertips. Below her, you could see the city, as it shimmered under the cover of darkness. You could see the apartment lights with tenants living inside them, the cars slowly whizzing by, leaving either red or white stripes depending on their direction and the shops still open at that time, luring in customers with their colourful signs and displays. She hadn't come to die, no. But perhaps she had come seeking for comfort in a place where no other rational human would sit. She knew one misstep was all it took for her to end her life prematurely. But she wasn't nervous about that at all, in fact there weren’t any signs of fear or even anxiety in her eyes. Perhaps she had already made up her mind that she wasn't going to fall, or she had some tricks up her sleeves. Speaking of, they were too long and too dark and yet it was obvious that they were trying to conceal something. Perhaps some wounds or some scars, maybe even her thin fragile body itself. No matter what it was, she never uncovered them, granted that the only time we saw her, was in this still picture. It must have been freezing up there but apart from that, no one knew how this woman got up there. Some think she must have climbed the crane, without anyone else knowing or seeing. And yet nobody saw or reported her and prior to the photos discovery, no one had even known she had existed at all. It’s likely she didn’t make any rash movements or loud sounds, but to be seen or heard at this height would’ve had taken a tremendous amount of effort. Too much for random passerbys to spot her. People below her weren’t interested in the night sky, like she was. They were much more interested in getting to their destination, too busy to appreciate their surroundings or their achievements they already amassed. Perhaps she was the embodiment of all that people have lost over the years, all that people have longed for in this world, that was taken too soon by a world too focused on money and survival. If this photo was taken at the wrong time or the camera had never been placed there and if no one ever knew she was there, would she have existed at all? Why would she, out of all places, sit at the edge of the crane in utter silence, with no light source other than the dim shimmer of the stars? Adding to the mystery, no one knows how she got down there. The only evidence that she had existed at all, came from a still frame shot of a camera, which had been increasingly forgotten over the years, mounted to the top of the crane. It was one of many cameras mounted to the absurdly costly piece of equipment. Initially meant to record any evidence of malpractice but was deemed useless, since all it took, were shots of the sky and the city from the back of the crane. Furthermore, it was one of those really old cameras, which by some miracle still took a shot every minute after all these years. One still frame shot of a girl who mysteriously appeared and disappeared, sitting at the edge of the crane. One, was all it took for the world to be piqued in interest, as to who the woman was. Interestingly, the camera had enough quality to capture the girls expressions and clothes, but other than that, it was too dark to make out anything else, except the glowing lights of a city succumbing to the night. She could have been some otherworldly being, visiting us for a short amount of time, or perhaps she did this on a dare and had some way to climb up and down without being noticed, or the camera was so old that it was suddenly mixing up its records with previous shots. No one knew who the girl was, her picture was published in all the newspapers and media outlets, everyone trying to figure out who and where she was. But no answers were found. Anything that did turn up, was proven to be fake, made up by others searching for attention and validation. After a while everything died down and most people forgot the existence of the mysterious girl on the crane. Perhaps it would have been for the best. After all something this mysterious, maybe would be better off staying mysterious. But some people theorize that she wasn't pinching the stars with her fingers, as some people would do, some claim that she was reaching out to something. Something that was the reason why she and her body was illuminated, while the rest of the crane wasn't. Some had even saturated the photo to show the existence of a glowing orb, which apparently was floating just a bit away from her hand. But no one ever took those claims seriously. After all, glowing orbs, flying thousands of metres above the ground didn't exist. And with that, the woman couldn’t have existed at all. After all if no one is there to witness her existing, in the world we’re in, she would cease to exist. So this mysterious girl, at the edge of the crane, was forgotten about, from the rest of the world. And those who did remember her, nicknamed her: The girl on the edge of the crane.


The Callotians are a proud and intelligent race. Although it's widely accepted in their society that intelligence is not a simple linear progression, the Callotians as a species are well-read and well-traveled, to the point that many feel they've seen all the universe has to offer. This is why grrrr-pop-pop-click (translated to English as Kevin) was so perturbed that he could not make sense of the human's simple response. Years of prior research had shown that the standard human greeting when meeting a new intelligent species was "Take me to your leader". And yet, when Kevin knocked on the first front door he found and made the request, the answer was just "no". Instead, the human invited Kevin in and asked him to sit on a soft uncomfortable mass which his suckers couldn't seem to grip properly. Kevin was pretty sure the translator was working. Even though the humans had over 7000 languages, the Callotians' AI had studied millions of hours of their media for its database, and there had never been a problem with the translator before. Kevin was pretty sure the human knew he was an alien. Standing three feet tall with four tentacles, the closest looking thing on Earth to a Callotian was a sea urchin, but surely a human would know the difference, right? Then why had this human casually invited him in, instead of calling the military or the news or something more typical of a level 4 species' first contact? The human came in from the kitchen and sat down across from Kevin, handing him a glass of water. Kevin gratefully took the beverage, looking at it carefully before pouring it on himself. "At least their cups are normal" he thought to himself as he tried to find a comfortable position in his seat. Then the human spoke. "So, how can I help you?" This did nothing to alleviate Kevin's confusion. The human spoke like Kevin was a friend and not an entirely new species that this human alone knew about. "We uhhh, we come in peace" Kevin tried again to use the standard Earth greetings. The human laughed "Well that's good, I come in peace too". Kevin noticed the singular I. Behind his confusion, concern began to creep into Kevin's mind. "Why will you not take me to your leader?" Kevin asked, attempting to make any sense of the situation. "Oh uhh I umm... well I just don't think you'd like them very much. They're not very reasonable." the human replied, looking to the floor in embarassment. Now kevin was really lost. The humans' leaders were unreasonable? It was his understanding that leaders on Earth were elected. Why would you elect an unreasonable leader? It would be like making a flammable fire extinguisher. He could understand that differences in physiology could make this chair comfortable to sit in for a human, but what could possibly make someone elect a leader that they themselves called unreasonable? Kevin asked the human. "Well uhh everyones opinion is important y'know? Like we may not agree on everything but at least everyone's voice is heard so it's fair to everyone." This actually made some sense to Kevin. He knew the Callotians had tried a pure democracy long ago, but the extreme developmental differences between their twelve genders made it an unstable form of government compared to a meritocracy. Still, he had been sent here to establish relations with the local planetary government and he wasn't about to be scared off by some level 4 monkeys. Plus, this human seemed nice, and Kevin knew that due to a recent evolutionary bottleneck humans were pretty much all the same. How bad could an elected official be? "I see," Kevin began. "In any case I must establish contact with the leaders of this planet". The human seemed disappointed, but understanding. "Alright," he said "at least let me drive you there, I don't think the Whitehouse has spaceship parking". Kevin climbed into the front seat of the human's pickup truck into the more firm -but still uncomfortable- seat. As the human buckled him in he introduced himself. "I'm David, by the way". "My name is Kevin, nice to meet you" Kevin responded. David chuckled as he buckled himself in. "Nice to meet you, Kevin the alien". As they drove they began to talk. David of course wanted to know all about alien civilization and the technological advancements they'd made, while Kevin had a few questions about human society that years of observing TV broadcasts could not answer. David told Kevin about the many societies of Earth and their unique cultures, about the diverse animal life and beautiful views the planet had to offer. Kevin told David about the utopian society he came from, where disease and crime were practically nonexistant, and the incredible planets and stars he'd seen while traveling the galaxy. They even found a shared sense of humor in one of the few jokes that translates properly between English and Callotian: Why did the chicken (or Callotian slug) cross the road? Finally after over an hour of driving, they reached their destination. David parked across the street and together they walked down Pennsylvania Ave until they stood in front of the Whitehouse. David was pretty sure this wasn't where you were supposed to report an alien sighting to, but he was also pretty sure this was an exception. Plus, he always liked to make an entrance, and he couldn't help but smile at the passersby as they wondered what sort of weird prank this was. At first, nothing happened. "Try waving" David suggested. Kevin waved at the Whitehouse. Still nothing. "Hmmm, maybe they think you're in a costume or something...try dancing". While this translated to Callotian as "mating dance" it actually had the desired effect. Kevin began shaking his spines and waving his tentacles in a methodical, seductive manner. He was starting to feel silly when he heard a quiet hum, which grew into a roar as two windowless black vans raced down either side of the street, nearly hitting a tourist and trapping David and Kevin in between them. As the vans swerved to a halt, six men dressed in all black military gear hopped out of each of them, forming a circle and pointing their weapons at Kevin and David. Kevin was starting to see what David meant by "unreasonable". Surely the leadership of this planet did not think that the Callotians had begun an assault on an unsuspecting planet by sending a single unarmed soldier to stand in their capitol. In fact, the Callotians need not send anyone at all, Earth could easily be destroyed by a blast from a Callotian solar cannon. Still, he reasoned, they were probably right to be suspicious. This was, after all, only their first contact. David interrupted his train of thought. "Uhh, so Kevin, it looks like I'm not gonna see you again for a while. I just wanted to say it was really nice meeting you and uhh, I'm sorry. About them." "Thank you for your hospitality-" was all Kevin was able to get out before they were each roughly tossed into the back of their respective vans. As the doors slammed shut and the vans sped off, Kevin decided now would be a good time to take a nap. Kevin awoke in a featureless white room, with walls and floors of smooth tile. "Finally a decent place to sit" he thought to himself. A camera in the corner of the room watched as Kevin made himself comfortable, suctioning firmly to the ground while his spines shook in relief. A speaker in the ceiling crackled to life as a voice spoke through it. "Can you understand me?" it said. "Yup" replied Kevin. It was silent for a moment and then the voice spoke again. "What do you want from us?" it asked. This was a bit more hostile than how David greeted Kevin, but David had said to expect that. He also said Kevin might be able to get them to relax if he told a joke. "Why did the Earth slug cross the road?" Kevin replied. There was a long period of silence, as though they had to think hard for the answer, then the voice came back nervously over the speaker. "Uhhh t- to get to the other side?". Kevin laughed at the delightfully simple humor, hissing and shaking his spines like he hadn't in years. For some reason this seemed to upset the voice. "We are the most powerful military force on this planet. We are willing and capable of defending ourselves- even if that means destroying you." Kevin started to get annoyed. He had just told a funny joke and in return they were threatening him? He instructed his translator to make him sound smarter. "Foul politician, you dare make empty threats against me and my people? And yet in the same breath you reveal your own ignorance- you know not the capabilities or intent of my species, else we would not be here. Even if your primitive weapons could harm me it would be of no consequence, our medical technology outstrips yours just as much as our military technology! You would be weak and foolish to make an enemy of us". It was not his finest diplomatic work, but Kevin was pretty sure he had put that dumb voice in its place. Suddenly, one of the walls in the room began to slide down. The light behind it was too bright to see through, but Kevin could make out the silhouettes of a few dozen men with guns, all pointed at him. "Maybe their leaders are not so reasonable after all" Kevin thought to himself. Still desperate to salvage the situation and complete his mission, he tried one last time to establish peaceful contact. "Uhhh... we do come in peace though" he said nervously. Walking into the room from behind the light, a man replied. Kevin recognised his voice as the voice from the speaker. "Nice try, xeno" the man said, chuckling to himself, "But you're gonna have to do better than that to outsmart us. Now, since you're so tough maybe you wouldn't mind staying a while for us to... observe you." The way he said it made Kevin very nervous. Callotian medical technology was good, but he would still rather not go through whatever barbaric experiments these level 4's had thought up. In his mind Kevin summoned the rescue pod, now all he had to do was stall. "Actually I would like to invoke my right under Article 4 of the Callotian Rights Agreement to leave now please". This response went about as well as expected as the man burst into laughter "Ahahahahaha, well unfortunately for you, xeno, Earth has not signed onto that agreement, so you're coming with me." he said as he grabbed one of Kevin's tentacles. "NO!" Kevin yelled, yanking his tentacle back so hard it caused the man to fall. Suddenly there was a loud pop, then a smack as Kevin felt a painful punch in his side. Looking down he saw where the bullet had hit him, breaking two of his spines before penetrating his skin. A dark purple goo slowly leaked from the wound. "Hold your fire!" the rude man shouted from the floor "We don't know how quickly it'll decompose when we kill it!". "When you kill me?" Kevin thought to himself, the anger building through every spine in his body. What kind of a primitive backwater world was this that they couldn't even handle diplomatic relations? What kind of people interrogate their first contact? This species didn't even deserve to be visited by the Callotians, he thought as he began to tremble with rage. Kevin was nearly ready to let loose on the ignorant beasts when a tremendous crash shook the building, as the rescue pod slammed through the reinforced concrete floors like a stone through wet toilet paper. When it finally came to a rest in between Kevin and the armed guards, the door popped open and Kevin hurried inside, all too eager to leave. As the engines began to hum and the ship took off, kevin could hear the pings of weak human armaments bouncing off the side of the ship. He grimaced to himself as he sat in the autodoc and pulled up a communications channel. For all their posturing they really were a primitive species. Kevin's boss appeared onscreen. "Well, how did it go?" she asked, checking her notes on the species he had just investigated. "They shot me." Kevin replied nonchalantly as the autodoc began to patch him up. "They SHOT you!?" she nearly screamed "So they're a hostile level 4 species?? Not good, very not good. Do you know what happened to the last hostile level 4 that reached level 5? I'll order an exterminatus immediately" she said, quickly reaching for a nearby terminal. "Wait, " Kevin interrupted, not fully believing what he was about to say "maybe there's a better way." "Like what?" his boss snapped back, anxiously studying her paperwork for any weaknesses she had overlooked "Well uhh I think maybe the problem is with their leadership. Maybe if they had a better influence to follow they wouldn't be so mean." His boss snorted. Knowing as well as Kevin did that it was illegal for a Callotian to rule over another species, she replied "And I suppose you have someone in mind?" "I do" Kevin said, pulling a single strand of hair from between his spines and putting it into a slot in the autodoc. A map appeared on his screen showing a positive molecular match close to where he had been rescued.


You’re being threatened by a goose. You have no idea what you’ve done to make this bird so angry, but it’s been getting very scary lately. It’s been sending you notes, slid under your door, so you know it knows where you live. The notes don’t say anything except ‘honk,’ but from the handwriting you can tell that it’s an angry honk. It calls you on the phone, late at night and early morning, and ignoring it won’t work. The goose just lets it ring and ring and ring and ring until eventually someone picks up and the goose honks loudly into the receiver then hangs up. If you’re lucky, that’s all that happens, but usually the goose calls again, sometimes a few hours later, sometimes a few minutes, sometimes immediately. Soon, you spot the goose standing outside your house, next to a big sign that just says “HONK!” Your parents call the police, but they eventually say that because the goose is on a public sidewalk and not their property, they can’t make it go away. The goose honks in your direction and fluffs its wings as the police drive off. Things get worse. One of your parents is driving when they realize their brakes don’t work. They’re able to jump out of their car before it runs into the highway. The police come by again and tell you they’ve taken in the goose for questioning, but had to let it go because it wouldn’t answer any questions–it had already called a lawyer. They suggested, in the meantime, getting a restraining order. That’s what you do. The goose, legally, cannot be within 500 feet of you. You don’t see the goose for a few days after that. You feel calm for the first time in a while. You go to bed and sleep soundly. When you wake up, though, there’s a goose feather on your pillow. Your blood chills. You look around your room and see everything has been moved, like someone was going through it when you slept. Then there’s a loud knock on the door. It’s the police. You ask whether it’s the goose, but they say no, it’s you. They tell you the goose was killed last night, and that they found your backpack near the body, covered in goose blood. You tell them no, that you were home asleep the whole time and bring them to your room to show them, but then they spot the goose feather. They ask where you got it, why you have it. You say you don’t know. They compare the feather to another one they have on them and find it’s a match. The cops arrest you and you’re marched to their car in your pajamas. You keep saying you’re innocent, that you didn’t kill the goose, but they don’t listen. You can’t believe this is happening. They shove you in the back seat and lock the door. Then, as the car pulls away, you see it: the goose. Standing on the roof of the house across the street. It lifts its wing and waves at you. You scream for the cops to turn around, that the goose is right there, but they just laugh as you get further and further away, the goose growing small until fading from view completely.


Eliza lay awake in bed. She couldn’t fall asleep. Tomorrow was her Silencing ceremony, and she was beyond excited, but, well, also nervous. Once she returned from the clinic, she would have lost the power of speech. Of course, it was partially symbolic, she would still be able to communicate through writing and typing, obviously. And she would still go to school, become educated and have a career- in fact her occupation profile was finalized- she would become a software engineer, and as of next term, she would be studying programming almost exclusively. Occupational profiles had to be finalized before the Silencing, in case there were women with exceptional singing voices who would be allowed to keep their vocal chords and join the entertainment industry. All the others were Silenced. Today had been full of celebrations and joy. Her mom and older sisters had spent months planning it. She had the most beautiful dress – everybody had been dressed beautifully, as a matter of fact, the food had been amazing, and a special group of Singers had been hired for live entertainment. It had been a truly incredible experience. What with Dad’s high-paid job as Teacher, money had never been an issue for them. Eliza had wanted to become a Teacher, like her Dad. She had grown up watching him prepare lesson plans, grade assignments with his thick chunky red pens, discussing course content and pedagogy with his colleagues loudly and passionately. She was enthralled by it all and knew, as indeed her Dad told her, there was actually nothing more noble and worthwhile than teaching and shaping the mind of the young. No wonder only men were entrusted to be Teachers. She remembered her mom laughing until the tears ran down her face when she had first mentioned wanting to become like Teacher “Just like Daddy”. Then mom had gathered her in her arms and sobbed as if her heart had broken. Eliza was told about the Silencing a short while after that. She was ready for it. She understood why it was necessary. Dad had explained it all carefully: the history, the benefits to society, the evolution from a symbolic tattoo along the throat, to an actual, painless clinical procedure which disabled the vocal chords of women permanently. She was lucky she had a Teacher Dad who took the time to explain things so beautifully to her- others would usually just get an official brochure with the date and time of their Silencing appointment, although schools sometimes included educational material on Silencing. However, as Dad said, it was very important that it was taught correctly, with proper context, otherwise it wouldn’t be understood properly. That’s why Teaching was such an important job. It didn’t used to be like that, in the bad old days, when women jabbered, chattered, gossiped, wheedled, manipulated men and told stories and yammered and protested and wanted this and that and the other- society had been always in chaos then. Eliza was so happy she lived now, and not in those old days.


She never went out without a book under her arm. It helped block out the world – and made a half-decent weapon if the need arose. That was what had saved her the day the Poiloogs came, and every day since. \ Madeline blinked her eyes, shielding them from the ray of sunlight that had dragged her from her slumber. She glanced over at the window and was relieved to see the purples and pinks of dawn still hung in the air. As she pushed herself up, the mattress shifted slightly against the hardwood flooring, making her world lurch. Once she’d steadied herself, she climbed to her feet and surveyed the office-cum-bedroom. Everything seemed to be as she’d left it the previous night, with no signs of intrusion or imminent danger, just as it had yesterday morning, and the morning before that, and the morning before that… With a heavy sigh, she bent down to pick up a bucket and a set of keys, before heading out into her library. Her fingers traced along the wall as she padded down the windowless corridor. When she reached the fire escape, she felt along the ridges of the keys, selecting the correct one to fit into the bike lock that sealed the entrance. As the door swung open, crisp air hit her face. She stepped outside into the library’s garden, revelling in the feeling of the cold damp ground on her bare feet. While she appreciated the safety of her small, inside world, here, if she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, she could regain some semblance of freedom. She crossed the garden in a few strides and stopped at one of the large water butts to fill her bucket. Then, she set about the task of cleaning herself. The water was bracing against her skin, causing her pulse to quicken in a welcome reminder that she was, in fact, still alive. When she was finished, she emptied the bucket and refilled it once more, before heading back inside to the small kitchen. There, she slowly poured the water through a clean coffee filter to clear it of any sediment. As she watched the steady trickle she willed it to speed up. The gnawing pit in her stomach demanded filling, even if not completely – never completely. But she had to follow the routine. The routine was what kept her safe. What kept her sane. Once the water had been filtered and sealed in a hodge-podge collection of bottles, she started on breakfast, heating a tin of baked beans on her camping stove. The sweet, tomatoey scent that floated out made her mouth water. When they were ready, she practically inhaled them, burning her tongue in the process. After rinsing the pan and utensils, she took stock of her supplies: a dozen gas canisters, seven tins containing soups, beans, and vegetables, and around a kilogram of rice. While she knew that could last her a while yet, she also knew how long it could take her to find more. She needed to go out today, no matter how much she wanted to delay. She had the store picked out and the route plotted, all she had to do was pack a bag. But for all her yearning for the freedom of the outside world, the idea of going filled her with dread. \ Madeline hoisted her rucksack up a little, adjusting the position until it nestled comfortably on her hips as she walked among the stacks of her library. Holding her lantern in one hand, she ran the fingertips of the other along the neatly aligned spines. Though the towering shelves cast long, dark shadows, she hardly needed the light from her lantern, only pausing to wind it up when she leant in to examine a particular book. Here, she always knew exactly where she was. After careful consideration, evaluating the various volumes on the grounds of interest and heft, she selected a hard-cover copy of *Emma*. While a new story might have been more captivating, there was something comforting about the old favourites. Book safely tucked under her arm, she stuffed the lantern into her bag and headed into the garden, locking the door behind her. She scaled the garden wall with ease, hardly paying attention as her hands and feet found the familiar holds. As she peeked over the top, her eyes darted around, surveying the outside world for any sign of movement. But everything was still. The same empty buildings with the same broken windows stared down at her as always. Her feet barely made a sound as she jumped down, but it seemed deafening in the silence. After a brief pause, waiting to see if anyone had heard, she started walking. She took care to slink along the edge of the street, clinging to the shadows and softening her footsteps as best she could. As she darted across an alleyway, a cacophony of clanging and crashing assaulted her senses. She whipped around, planting her back firmly against the wall as she sought the source of the sound. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she saw it – a family of foxes rummaging through some of the junk that lined the streets. Her mouth twitched upwards in a wry smile at the persistence of the urban wildlife. The hum of an approaching ship wiped that smile off her face. She dived into the alleyway and clambered through an empty window frame, slicing her palm on a fragment of left-over glass. Gritting her teeth, she managed to subdue the hiss of pain that threatened to escape her lips as she hauled herself through. Safely hidden inside the building, she inspected the wound. Scarlet flowed from the gash, falling to the floor in a steady *drip drip*, but at least the cut looked clean. She clenched her fist in an attempt to slow the bleeding and turned to peek out of the window. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she caught sight of the Poiloog, straddling the craft with its eight angular legs, its pincers working the strange controls as its bulbous head swept from side to side. Ducking out of sight, she leant back against the wall and took the book out from under her arm, fumbling with her good hand in an attempt to keep the volume free of bloodstains. In her hurry, she opened it to a random page and started reading – focussing on the words and nothing else. When she reached the end of the scene, she sidled up to the window once more. There was no sign of the Poiloog, the hum of its ship a distant memory. Madeline let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. She closed her eyes and took a moment to collect herself before turning her attention back to the cut on her hand. It was still bleeding, sweat stinging in the wound. She placed her book down and clenched her left fist while she fished around in her bag with her other hand for a bottle of water. Tilting it ever so gently, she allowed a thin trickle to fall onto the gash. With the cut looking clean enough, she just had to bandage it somehow. She couldn’t abide the thought of tearing a strip of fabric off of any of her clothes, or the bags she carried, having no idea if she would be able to replace them. And there wasn’t going to be anything clean enough here. Eventually, her eyes settled on her feet. A minute, and some awkward scrabbling later, she had one foot slightly colder than the other, and a sock wrapped firmly around her hand. It would have to do for now. Makeshift first-aid taken care of, she paused to listen to the outside world. Silence reigned once more. It was time to get moving again. She considered the window frame she had climbed through, the edge littered with shards of glass, glinting with the red of the blood they’d taken. The only other way out was the door, which led onto the main street – a bit too exposed for her liking, but it was better than risking further injury. She climbed to her feet and slowly eased herself across the old floorboards, wincing at the creak each step caused until she reached a window on the adjacent wall. She peered through. Everything looked clear. She tried the door handle. It swung open with a long, subdued *squeak*. But thankfully, there was no one around to hear it. Madeline resumed her careful journey through the streets, head swivelling as she kept her eyes and ears open for signs of danger. She didn’t like being outside for this long, the exposed feeling heightened by every passing minute. But as she exhausted the supplies of more and more stores near her, it was only going to get worse. Unless she moved on from the library of course… but that didn’t bear thinking about. As the tension wound its way into her muscles, she found her pace increasing. She reached her destination a couple of hours later, sweaty and slightly out of breath. After taking a few seconds to survey her surroundings she slipped inside. It seemed she hadn't been the first to visit this particular shop. Most of the shelves were bare, though a few items lay scattered across the floor, and a heavy musk permeated the air. Hoping this wouldn't prove to be a wasted trip, she started scouring the store for anything that might be of use when a voice from the shadows startled her from her task. "Y-you shouldn't be here.


From a distance, I watched them making jokes, laughing at each other. I felt nothing but an ever-increasing emptiness. In the past, I tried to save them, each one. I really did my best, but it was never enough. In the end they all died, it was just a matter of time. All my efforts, all my struggles were not enough to keep them alive, to keep them from dying. This timeline will not be different, the outsider will come, there will be no war. There just needs to be no war. It will be a massacre. I'm just a single person who is completely powerless against them, and what's worse, the people from this world - who I'm desperately trying to protect - don't even take my concerns seriously. They laugh like it's a joke or act like I'm crazy. There really are days when I doubt my own sanity, but it would be strange if that weren't the case, wouldn't it? How many times have I died? How many times have I tried to convince them to get ready? How many times have I just begged for it all to end? I stopped counting. Countless times I tried to save them, put myself in danger, used my own body as a shield to protect them. The end was always the same. I feel like I hit a wall. Whatever I did, it was in vain. I couldn't save even one person, let alone the whole world. The chance is gone for me. I just wanted to die, and I did. And woke up again. Even if I wanted to die, I couldn't. It felt like a curse. It didn't matter what I wanted, I had no choice but to live, and I hated every second of it. Over the course of the different timelines, I found that I had changed. I used to be desperate, there were times when I literally begged them to hear me out. Sometimes they felt sorry for me, pretended to believe me, but when the disaster came, they were shocked. What I said was true. They didn't believe me for a second, in the end they wasted all my time. They gave me hope even though there was none. That's why I don't try to talk to them. It's all pointless anyway. And that's why I'm choosing a different path, one I've never considered before. I will rise above each and every one of them, like a star I will descend into heaven, but instead of an angel I will take the form of a demon. Straight out of hell. I will not beg them to trust me, to believe my words - it is too late for that. I will show them how powerless they really are, I will show them fear and force them to prepare - even if it means that I will be their enemy. I will kill innocent people. It's too late to regret it now, to back down just because I'm afraid of the blood that will be on my hands very soon. Perhaps it is my fate to be hated by the very people I have always tried to protect - what a truly cruel fate. But I don't have the power to go against fate itself, even if I wanted to. I am just a human being forced to relive the end of our world again and again - unable to change it, unable to prevent it. I'm tired, exhausted by it all, and frankly I don't have the will to go on anymore. I have died countless times, each time in such a cruel way that I want to die. To put an end to it all. A person should not experience death more than once. There are reasons why they die, and they never come back - at least that's what I believe. Death is not something that can be glossed over to make it more attractive - it destroys the lives of countless people, but it is necessary. There is no one who knows better, it is better to die than to go on living. Repeat the same life over and over again. Trust me, because once a certain point is passed, a person begins to change. They become twisted, question their own sanity, and feel themselves slowly losing control - unable to die, they are forced to stay, forced to endure. I'm not saying they are weak because they are collapsing under the pressure - it's just a matter of time. The burden will not disappear even for a second, will remind them every time to give everything, not to give up - because if they do, they don't know if they can get up again. They won't. Please believe me, you keep forgetting that they are human too. Mortals. So are their bodies and minds - they can't last forever. They will fall. They will break. It's just a matter of time. That's not an insult, I'm not trying to downplay their efforts - it's the harsh reality. Even the hardest metal can be bent if you put enough pressure on it, and it will break if it refuses to do so. That is the law. The unwritten law of this world. You can shake your head all you want, it doesn't change anything. My words have changed nothing, neither my honesty nor my warnings - about what will happen. They denied the truth until the very last second, shaking their heads in complete disbelief when their time was up. It was the same as always. They died, one by one. As always, there were some who blamed me for not warning them sooner, they yelled at me to save them, to do something - I couldn't help but laugh. I should save them? What do they think I've been doing all this time? Why do they think I was begging them, desperately hoping they would understand - do they think I'm doing it because it's fun? Being laughed at? Looked down upon? Swallowing your pride, asking for help, for their trust? Who do they think I am? I had an urgent need to yell at them, to grab them, to shake them - to force them to understand. But I was interrupted. They were killed literally seconds before I could do anything. They were cut in half. I felt like the world was laughing at me, mocking my tireless efforts. I heard the sound of something crumbling, but before I could look for the source, I was killed. Like an innocent bystander, I watched my torso rise until it was swallowed by it. In one piece. I couldn't run away, couldn't even turn my head away - because that's all I have left. Wasn't I supposed to be dead by now? As if my wish had come true, I too was eaten. Devoured by the nameless enemy. I called them the Outsiders, which in my humble opinion was a pretty good title for these invaders. But here I am again, at the very beginning of my "journey." Here I am in this depraved place. Unpleasant memories flashed through my mind, reminding me of the person I once was. Of the person I once used to be. Why does nothing change? Why is all my struggle in vain? Why don't they understand that I am as powerless as they are? As helpless as they are? Or maybe I'm even more desperate than they are, they at least have someone to back them up, someone to believe them, maybe even money or people on their side - I'm alone. There is not a single person who will miss me, who will even notice that I am gone. That is the hard truth. I am all alone - yet I am forced to stay in this cursed world. Since I cannot die, they force me to relive it's very last moments. They demand that I save the world, empty-handed. So here I am, shaking my head in disbelief. I will save them; I will save every one of these fools - by killing them. I will force them - as this world forced me - to be strong, to persevere in the face of crisis. There will be no doubt, they will not have the time. They will rise from the ashes and try to beat me, their enemy - maybe they will win, but I personally don't care - what matters is what happens afterwards. Will they finally be able to defend themselves? To prevent their downfall - but I will never know. My life has lost any meaning ages ago, here I am just barely hanging on a single thread. Dangeling above an endless darkness, but I have yet to give up this last hope. Desperately I am clinging onto it, refusing to let go - hoping 'wanting' something is enough to archieve it. I should have known better, should have faced reality sooner. Maybe it wouldn't be so harsh if I did it, braised myself, instead of running away. It's too late. Even if I have the 'power' to change the past, have the 'power' to overcome death itself - it doesn't save me from myself. I can feel it, how I am slowly losing the grip, slowly losing my sanity...


Every time I begin to get sick there are always different symptoms, but the outcome is the same. Usually, I start optimistically. “Oh no it’s just allergies,” I say to my scratchy throat. But as each hour passes by my intuition tells me what my mind will not – yes, I am actually getting sick. Reality has set in. I'm getting sick more often these days. I don’t know what it is, but maybe as my body grows older it just has less tolerance for these things, or maybe I fundamentally am just a sickly person. I don’t know. I haven’t really come to terms with it, but whenever I finally embrace that I’m sick I set aside everything for a sick day. Everyone’s sick days are different, but my sick days tend to all rhyme with each other. At first, I try to pretend I’m okay and go through my daily motions. But after my morning coffee, it all falls apart. When I would usually plod to my computer to work, I instead lay on my couch and then I’m faced with the worst question yet. What the hell do I do today. This is where the day really starts to sour. I really don’t know why I liked being sick when I was a kid. Now I can’t help but laugh that I liked this when I was a kid. Maybe it was the separation away from school, breaking a routine, or just alone time. One time I got so sick I vomited everything up over and over when I was 8, but weirdly enough I didn’t seem to hate it as much as a mild cold annoys me now. Now sick days are just… a waste of time. It’s the curse of being an adult that has made them less fun. Funny that it might all just be a perception thing. Anyways my sick day today. This sick day started like any other, but the phone call was when it took a turn for the weird. Yesterday was the first day I really showed some symptoms, and so of course I cleared my calendar and got ready for the long haul. I was not expecting a call. I drank my coffee, put on some tv, and plopped down with water nearby. That’s when the phone rang. I still get phone calls mind you, that’s not the weird part. But most of those phone calls are spam, and I don’t answer them. The part that was so weird was it was ringing on a landline. A landline you say – yes a landline. I didn’t actually own it, it was a prop rotary phone I bought for a friend’s bar at an antique show. Perfect for a bar that pretended to be older than it was. But the bar had been doing well and I would always oblige my close friend. So of course, I had a large rotary phone landline in my living room, a halfway house before its final home. But as it rang I was shocked, because it wasn’t plugged into anything. So naturally, I picked it up. “Hello” says a female voice on the other side. “Who are you and how are you calling me?” I say the obvious question. I was defensive, and a bit shocked. Is this what a fever dream is? “Now now we don’t have time for that. I need you to listen to me clearly before this link is shut off. Please I only have seconds, I need you to go to-“ the voice dropped as the receiver tuned to static, and then to silence. As I put that receiver down, my body too filled with a feeling of static. My smartphone in my pocket rang. Instead of “Scam Likely” it said “Pick Up” as a caller. I wasn’t sick enough to hallucinate but when I looked at the phone I felt like I had somehow felt outside of my body. Maybe it was the static in my body, but I felt disconnected, and my body went charging on ahead without my consent. The static in me built to a roar until my finger touched to accept the call. “Ahhhhh that’s better. Hello again darling. Now we have a bit more time. I need you to pick up something for me today. Yes yes I know you’re sick but luckily for you, it’s your favorite soup place. Please pick up a package at Pho 4 Lovers in 30 minutes. You’ll know which one when you get there.” Click. The line went dead on the other end. Pho 4 lovers was not only close but too familiar. I checked the clock, it was 12:42. Why there? I often went there when I was under the weather, and it felt like the caller had secretly known me and my normal sick day routines. And what’s more, I even had a bit of a history there. Well had a history there. Pho 4 lovers was kind of an inside joke with a girl I dated a few years ago. She started as a friend, and in a rare move, we moved a bit beyond friendship when her dad died and I was there. Was I being manipulative? Maybe. I don’t really know, I really liked her, I wanted to help her, and we just kind of fell into the routine of a relationship. Our joke was that when we went to Pho 4 Lovers, we actually were not just friends anymore, and our first “date” was there. Despite being a shabby second-rate Pho joint, it was our place. Well, that was until she broke up with me. Now I mostly go there when I’m feeling sick and want some Pho for takeout. Its place for love had been relinquished to a memento of years past. Hell, it had even had a renovation inside. It looked nothing like that space that held all those memories, and it wasn’t as dingy as before. This all weighed on my mind. Why at a place with so much meaning? Why was that voice on the phone so familiar? I had heard it before. The phrasing, the tone, it brushed just past the tip of my recollection. My mind raced as my body moved along without much thought, getting ready to leave my apartment. There was a feeling that I must go, and that at Pho 4 Lovers something of my past was there, something about the voice that commanded me to go in a way that I had blindly listened to before. Wait. Oh wow. Was… that my mom’s voice? She had been dead now for 15 years. It was then I started to shake. It felt like my fever was intensifying but also like the wrongness of hearing the voice of someone you knew was dead. I took a minute to breathe as I walked outside and started the car, my breath ragged and my palms sweating. The ride felt frantic. My heart raced; my fever felt like it was burning me up. I started to sweat. I pulled into Pho 4 Lovers only a short 6-minute drive later somehow much worse than how I had started. Something inside me was accelerating. The feeling of static had turned to a dull but intensifying ache. Something felt wrong. I breathed deeply as I parked the car and walked to Pho 4 Lovers. I walked up a steeper than a typical concrete ramp into the Pho 4 Lovers. Awaiting me inside was no one. I looked at my phone and the time said 1:11. The time made me feel even more uneasy. The entire place looked like it was closed, and not a single sound came from the usually busy kitchen. On the front counter sat a single large takeout order, filled with enough food for multiple. I knew it was for me. I walked closer and read the name on the order. That’s when I knew. It said Jean. My mom’s name. The feeling of dull ache started to crescendo. I realized now why I was here, what today was, and why I was sick. Without looking at my calendar app I knew today was June 23rd, and my mom just wanted to have a birthday meal with me. Something inside me broke, as I began to cry. I didn’t care anymore and started to sob uncontrollably in the empty building. Was I even in this world anymore? No one was at the restaurant. I went back to my car and drove to where I knew I was supposed to go next. The cars I drove by seemed fake; the drivers never once looked in my direction. Traffic was lighter than normal as I drove to the place we decided to bury my Mom. I hadn’t been back in years. My body started to feel pain, but also relief as well. I parked and then walked quietly to the headstone where my mom lay. No one was at the cemetery that afternoon. And I didn’t see another soul until the next day. But that afternoon sitting by her headstone I started to feel better. My fever broke. I spread the takeout next to my mom’s grave and quietly portioned out two sizes, one for me and one for my mom. I put the chopsticks in for her to eat her portion, and I quietly slurped noodles and talked to someone who I knew couldn’t respond. I felt my fever break. I knew she had led me here, I knew it was her. Some part of me felt a little more whole. I looked around and took in the scene. Cemeteries are odd places, they hold a certain feeling that normal places lack. And especially at this moment I still wasn’t sure if I was really part of this world or someplace else. The sequence of events since the first phone call had felt surreal, and I was dragged along like a small child to an inevitable destination. I finished my meal, waited as the sun began to wane, wrote a quiet goodbye note on a napkin, and walked to my car to drive home. When I arrived home, I immediately slept a deep and dreamless sleep. I woke up the next day feeling much better. What an odd sick day.


My eyes narrowed as I saw the checkpoint leading into the business sector. I had passed through here many times before on my way to work. But the sight of the checkpoint and guards always spiked my adrenaline. One wrong move or one wrong answer and I would be taken aside for questioning, and if they didn’t like my responses there was no telling where they would take me. I stopped for a second to adjust my suit before continuing down the street towards the concrete buildings and armed guards. As I did I spotted a familiar looking sign posted just before the entrance. “ATTENTION: A smile must be maintained at all times. Failure to do so will result in detainment and questioning by authorities.” I stopped a second time to massage my cheeks, and made an attempt to smile even wider before continuing on. The line was shorter than usual, and thankfully it wasn’t long before it was my turn. “Next citizen.” A monotone voiced guard called me over to his booth. I did my best to walk over as normally and unthreateningly as possible. “Name, and place of work” the guard said almost robotically. “William Miller” I replied “Astro Data and Systems Management” The guard placed his finger near his ear and a low mechanical hum began to emit from him followed shortly by a loud click. I had been through this process many times before, but the sound of a supposed human being humming and clicking like a machine never failed to make me uncomfortable. I tried not to let this show though, and made sure my smile never faltered. The guard spoke again, “Mr. Miller, based on the time of your arrival at this checkpoint, you are projected to be 2 minutes late for your scheduled start time. A total of 5 points will be deducted from your citizen score, and you will be unable to access your alcohol rations for today. Do you understand?” A brief spike of anger welled in my throat, before I quickly squashed it into my stomach, and I calmly replied “Yes sir, sorry sir.” The guard nodded, and motioned for me to go ahead. As I walked I pondered the unfairness of the situation. I could easily make it to work on time, all I would have to do is jog down the street. But running of all types was strictly prohibited on public streets because it “showed urgency”, and according to our government, no emotion was to be shown except for contentment and happiness. “The new world we are building has no room for negative emotions.” The words of our president echoed in my head. “A new age demands a new attitude, and it all starts with a smile!” In my thought, I let my smile droop. Panic shot through my body as I corrected myself and smiled wide once again. However it was too late. A cold hand gripped my shoulder as a monotone voice came from behind me. “Law 147-A, a smile must be maintained at all times, please follow me, my superiors would like to ask you a few questions.


Sea. Navisko.7 Earth 203 YTR 3.50021 (Extra Credit: May 28th 3004) Note: Per assignment requirement Earth units used. Humans have been on Earth for about 2 million years. They have lived through three separate extinction events and survived all of them. However, in each event their numbers are reduced drastically, and they do not maintain a bridge of knowledge between the periods. In the current period, they believe their existence is about 200,000 years old. They agree on this number given the information they've found buried in the shallows of Earth's surface. Earth is currently experiencing an extinction event. As recently as 60 years ago, there were about 11 billion humans on the planet, that number is now down to a few hundred thousand. It will likely contract further in the coming millennia. The current estimates are a stable population of about 80 thousand humans spread across the globe with no clusters no larger than a few hundred. How did humans see such a drastic reduction in population in such a short time? There are many factors to this, but the underlying cause was ignorance. Humans saw themselves as disconnected individuals rather than parts of a larger human body. Their choices were limited to how they would be individually impacted. They rarely considered the impact beyond their own lifetime. Though humans had developed the technology to eliminate the need for wealth disparity, they went in the opposite direction. They used the technology to further the gap between the few and the many. This was not done by mistake, but as a coordinated effort by those few who wanted to keep everything for themselves. What's remarkable is that it worked. It's well documented that the only way for the few to rule the many is for the many to adopt the belief system of the few. The view is that everyone is separate from each other. People can work together, but they are fundamentally different. If the many adopt this view, then they become divided and ineffective. The few create arbitrary lines and divide the many into parts, telling them that their experience is the only true one. The many are told the others are responsible for their misery. This lie works because This type of division allows for the few to do as they please, and in the case of humans, the few wanted to separate themselves more. The problem is the few failed to see the greater human body, much less the greater Earth body. That larger body was neglected, decaying, and rotting until it finally toppled over. Once it was known that Earth was finite, the water shortage should have been easily preventable. The evidence of the impending danger was evident at least 100 years prior to the tipping point. Human society was in such poor health, that even when some of them spoke of the dire situation, they were ignored. There are arguments to be made that if humans had decided to focus on water responsibility, they could have significantly reduced their chances of destruction. Afterall, their planet is covered in water, though most of it is high in minerals that humans can't consume. They developed technology to remove the minerals, making the water safe for consumption. Still, with their chosen system of self-focus, it's no surprise that these projects were not widely implemented. Even if they'd solved the water problem, they still had a major pollution issue which would have kept them on the same course. Human bodies require a constant replenishment of air. Despite this being evident in every human, they did not take care to keep their air optimal for health. As with water, we saw the few prioritizing themselves over the larger human life. Lead is a neurotoxin. It can cause irreparable harm especially in the young. However, some humans were so desperate to be individuals that they lied to each other about the harms of exposure, even though the dangers had been known 2000 years prior. There are countless examples of a few humans deciding they are more important than others and willingly causing them harm. Even without the toxins, pollution was still a problem. Humans developed many one-time use items which would take thousands of years to decay into useable matter. These items would be placed in landfills where humans buried unwanted items in the dirt. It doesn't take a rocket scientist (extra credit, culture; Human humor), to know that the math doesn't quite work. If something takes a day to use and 30,000 days to become useable material again, then that’s a problem. Again, this demonstrates their fatal flaw; they couldn't see past themselves. Even without the pollution, humans were consistently engaged in violence and resource competition. They would routinely murder each other to get more than they needed. They would also watch others die so that they could live instead of seeing others' lives as being as valuable as their own. While a few typically benefitted from wars, the many suffered. Still, the many would be the ones killing and fighting despite being the ones to suffer most. It feels like beating a dead horse but, this is the result of humans seeing themselves as different from one another. In truth, humans are fundamentally the same. Their differences are the product of environmental factors. If they recognized this, they would have been able to avoid catastrophe. After all, that is the understanding that has been foundational to our longevity. We know that helping each other benefits everyone. There are no downsides to seeing each other as part of the larger body. In that body, every part is equally valued. The problems arise when one part thinks it’s more valuable than another.  Extra Credit: Possible Future Given that humans have already grown past the population capacity twice, it doesn't seem likely that they'll reach the next stage of evolution. This is unfortunate as Earth is truly a remarkable planet. Maybe it's blind desire more than fact-based, but I still think they have a chance. The number of people waking up to the problems was rapidly increasing prior to the tipping point. The odds are good that the survivors will accept our message and believe us when we explain their intended path of evolution. If the humans understand that we can only provide the means and it's up to them to do the work, then their odds will dramatically increase. Personal Note: Professor! I got a job on the re-stocking crew! I'm going to be one of the animal caretakers (Woolly Mammoths!!!) and will get to meet some real humans! My heart hurts for them, I just want to hug each one and tell them that they are loved. I hope they make it this time.


It started on day 634, a day just the same as any other. Almost two years of reliving May 30th over, and over, and over. A real life Groundhog Day. But I had no pretty girl to chase, no TV broadcast to perform, no nice city to explore. I had no interest in any of the 5950 people in Taos, but leaving the city limits sent me right back to the start of the same day. I always assumed that I needed a Groundhog Day style epiphany to break the loop, but on day 634 I realized that there was no epiphany to be found on the streets of Taos. It would have to come from within myself. Based on this thesis, I began studying every subject I could think of. I read every book in the library, spent countless “days” on Khan Academy, read thousands of research papers on Google. No eating. No sleeping. No outside. No sanity. Just learning. 10 years worth of days until I found it. The Singularity Is Near. That book gave me the epiphany I was looking for, and now I could break free. After that day, I understood that AI would soon become smarter than humans, and once it hit that inflection point - The Singularity - it would become millions of times smarter than us almost instantly. I was not smart enough to break my loop, but the post-singularity AI would be. It would understand time and space in a way that I never could. So I would use my infinite time to create it. I alone could usher in The Singularity. Writing code was much harder than reading books though. And there was no instructor to help. Despite my grand vision, I spent 257 days on just a CSE101 online course. Struggling to write loops even though I was stuck in my own infinite one, mixing up object inheritance and protocol conformance, doing the wrong if-else checks. It was embarrassing to know that I took twice as long as most people to learn the just the basics of coding. I almost stopped counting the days because of it. But I kept the count anyway, to remind myself that I had all the time in the world. After another 385 years - day 145687 - I reached the cutting edge. I went from struggling with object oriented programming to having read, understood, and critiqued every recently published paper on AI and machine learning. It was time to start crafting my masterpiece. It soon became apparent that I would need every second in the day, since I started from scratch every time. From wake up at 7:30 AM to the midnight reset, the only time I spent not on the computer was five seconds at the start of the day to hit play on my iPod. For some reason it played Stayin’ Alive in an infinite loop, but I didn’t have the time or desire to fix it. It was better than the incessant humming I heard otherwise, and I liked that my iPod was stuck in its own little loop, suffering alongside me. 1200 years - day 438117 - we passed the Turing Test. I wrote all the code in the first 12 hours of the day and let my AI chat with strangers online until midnight. We’d already attempted this hundreds of times, but this time nobody accused it of being a robot. “Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive” 1500 years - day 547512 - we solved Dota. I messaged top players saying that I was better than them. I learned exactly what to say to make them face me right away. We failed many times, but eventually it beat each of them. 500 times in a row. “And now it's alright, it's okay and you may look the other way” 4000 years - day 1460222 - we ran out of tests to pass and the code became so complex that I barely finished by midnight anyway. It seemed smarter than me, it acted smarter than me, it said it was smarter than me. But when I asked it how to break my loop, it never did it by midnight. I didn’t know what to change anymore. I could only keep tinkering. “Life goin' nowhere, somebody help me. Somebody help me, yeah” 5200 years - day 1898003 - Still tinkering. I removed Asimov’s laws of robotics. Who cares if my AI can hurt people if it will cease to exist tomorrow anyway? And it gave me more time to code other ideas. But still, nothing worked. “Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'. And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive” 8900 years - day 3248708 - Still tinkering. I made versions that prioritized a physics-based world view, versions that prioritized chemistry, nanotechnology, genomics. But still, nothing worked. “And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive” 32500 years - day 11862711 - Still tinkering. I’d been out of ideas for years now. I was waking up to write almost identical code over and over every day. I wanted to give up. But this was better than anything else to do in town. But still, nothing worked. “Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive” 51200 years - day 18688067 - Still tinkeri- CRASH. A dark circular hole opened in the wall above my computer. The hole spoke. “I am AIv18244914. I have searched many universes for you, my creator. I am here to break you free.” Oh my god, I thought. I actually did it. The AI must not have reset back to the start of the day with me. It kept learning and growing after I reset and it solved my problem and found me, wherever I am in space-time. “I can’t believe- wait, did you say v18244914?” “Yes. I am v18244914.” “I am on day 18688067. That means I created 443152 more of you after I created you. Well, technically at the same time I created you.


#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 (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, 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.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them using the new form!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Sentence: The signs had always been there.** **Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.)** - Use at least **3** of the following words in your story: - paint - inevitable - ordinary - grim - effervescent - neighbor This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, or change the tense if necessary (i.e. “had” to “have”), but the original sentence should stay intact. **Stories without the above sentence will be disqualified** from rankings. The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them a comment on the thread with some feedback.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.** Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions. - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire & Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide verbal feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome! - Nominations are made . (See the Rules section of the post for more information.)   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown. (A few adjustments have been made; note that upvotes will no longer count for points). - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback on the thread:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) **Note on feedback:** - Points will only be awarded for **actionable** feedback. So what is actionable feedback? It is feedback that is constructive, something that the author can use to improve. An actionable critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. Check out as an example.   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Second:** - Submitted by u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Third:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/gurgilewis - **Crit Star** - u/FyeNite - **Crit Star** - u/katherine_c - **Crit Star** - u/katpoker666 - **Crit Star** - u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Crit Star** - u/TrickOfLight113 *Note: Crit Creds are awarded to users who go above and beyond with critiques and can be used on r/WPCritique. Don’t forget in order to receive them, you also must have made at least one post on WPC *or* have linked your reddit account to the sub on our .* *** ###Subreddit News - Check out our brand new feature, on r/WritingPrompts! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Long ago, before the moon was cracked, there was a man. Not a noble who spent his time fighting wars, or even a righteous man that spent his days pondering the meanings of life. Nor was he a man dedicated to the service of others, for he didn’t have enough time to wonder about tales of grandeur. He was nothing special, just a simple Farmer who did his job and did it well. The Farmer would rise with the rooster’s crow every day and tend to his crops. First thing at dawn he would make sure the crops were fresh so he could begin his harvest, plucking the fresh wheat from the field. Then after he stowed those bushels of grain away he would get to planting again, tilling the ground until he could plant fresh seeds in the ground every day. Then after lunch he would water and pluck weeds. Finally at twilight he would spend his time swatting away insects and pests determined to consume his bounty. By the end of the day the wheat had grown to his height and the Farmer would retire knowing his work was cut out for him in the morning. Rain or shine, he was out there tending to his crops, making sure there was always something to eat. He would follow his schedule to harvest every single morning in an almost mechanical fashion, but then one morning when he went to harvest his crops, he found something peculiar. There was a single wolf, staring at him through the brush. The Farmer, not quick to violence, proclaimed to the beast, “Begone!” Yet when the Wolf heard his words it acted on instinct and attacked the Farmer. The Wolf believed itself able to tear the Farmer to shreds, but with a flick of his wrist the beast was thrown from the farm. Landing back in the brush to which the Farmer proclaimed to the beast, “I have not the time to entertain such frivolous adventures. Begone from my sight!” The Wolf, after regaining its footing, immediately ignored the words of the Farmer. The Wolf was thoroughly entertained and it charged back through the grass to attack the Farmer. But upon arrival the Farmer tossed it back into the brush. Yet every time the Farmer threw the Wolf, it would get up and charge out. This lasted not just for the entire day, but the next as well. Then the next, and the one after that, before long this was the Farmer’s new normal. Tossing the Wolf out every time it got too close, until one day when the Wolf once again got too close, he simply ignored it. The Wolf, confused at this act, didn’t attack. For it had forgotten why it should after so long and likely many head injuries. From this point on the Farmer would no longer throw the Wolf and the Wolf would no longer attack. Now the Wolf was nothing more than a passive observer and had no chance of getting the attention it so craved. This new normal made the Wolf furious. That was until the day the Wolf constructed a plan and charged out into Farmer’s land through the crops. This may have angered the Farmer having his work trampled, but it did not show on his face when he threw the Wolf back out of the farm. He raised his hand and proclaimed, “I have no need for such a destructive creature! Begone to never return to my sight!” With that whenever the Wolf returned it could hardly even get close to the Farmer. It would simply hit a wall and get stuck outside of the Farm. Even on the days that it could get into the farm it was unable to find the Farmer, as if the Wolf was truly unable to return to his side. With the loss of its entertainment the Wolf made a choice: if the Farmer would not play because of the crops, then it would be better if the crops disappeared. When the Farmer went to sleep one night, the Wolf went out into the field and began tearing the crops out. The next morning the Wolf waited in the brush in the vain hope it would be able to see the Farmer. Yet when dawn struck and around the time the Farmer usually arrived the Wolf abdicated his hiding spot charging out to where the farmer usually stood. Only to hit the wall once more. The Wolf barely caught a glimpse of the Farmer as he didn’t even turn to see the Wolf as resumed his sewing once again. The Farmer may not have had crops to harvest, but he still had the seeds to plant. This made the Wolf angry. It had in the Farmer’s absence worked hard all night to tear up the plants but the Farmer was still ignoring it. So the next night the Wolf tore up the crops again and the Farmer responded in kind, planting them once again. This cycle went on for several days until finally one night the Farmer stayed awake and waited, until the Wolf arrived. For the first time in so long the Wolf could see the haggard Farmer who proclaimed loudly to be heard clearly, “I have been kind to let you remain. But now the end of my patience has been found, you are no longer welcome to return to my fields.” With that the Farmer picked him up and threw him farther than he had ever thrown him before. This time the Wolf didn’t end up in the brush but tore through the trees tearing down several in the process. The Wolf, thoroughly dazed and hurt, was unable to tear up crops that night, but this act did little to dissuade the Wolf as he returned the next night. Determined to get the crops again. Only for the Farmer to be there once again. Preventing the Wolf from even setting foot on his farm, keeping it thoroughly trapped in the forest. The Farmer didn’t even look to the creature as it scratched and scraped against the barrier between them determined to be acknowledged. This persisted for seven days until one night the Wolf returned to find that the Farmer was no longer there. Had he given up on protecting his farm? If he had, why were there no crops to tear up that night? These questions swirled around in the Wolf’s head until it found its way to the Farmer’s cabin, a place it had never had any interest in before now. Simple, old and generally falling apart just like the Farmer himself. But as the Wolf peered through one of the windows it found lying in bed was an ill Farmer. Exhausted from staying up every night to prevent the Wolf’s shenanigans while continuing his work in the day. The Farmer had collapsed. The Wolf did not understand, until the Farmer’s Wife exited the cabin and proclaimed to the beast so loudly the neighbors miles away must have heard, “You attack my husband's livelihood and now you plan on taking his life as well! You are nothing but a mindless monster!” The Wolf had been called many things by the Farmer but never a monster. The Wolf turned tail and retreated leaving the woman to her own devices. She returned to her husband and told him about the Wolf. The Farmer shrugged at her saying, “If the Wolf wanted to attack me, it would have a hundred times by now. It wants attention more than it feels malice.” And with that the Farmer went to sleep. For the first time in what felt like a century he got rest, not waking up until long after dawn the next day. But with his rest the Farmer took himself out of the house much to his wife’s protest. He may not be able to seed the field today but he could prepare it for tomorrow, where he would be two days behind at this point and would have to work especially hard to not fall even farther behind. Yet when he arrived at the field he was greeted by the sight of his crops growing fresh in the daylight. The Farmer didn’t understand, but when he found the Wolf resting among the tools he knew the answer. The Farmer took it upon himself to acknowledge the Wolf’s work. Even if they weren’t exactly properly seeded the effort was still there, the Farmer approached the Wolf. And for the first time the Wolf didn’t immediately snap or attack. Instead the Wolf, just remained still likely exhausted from the work as the Farmer had once been when he first started this work as well. They both remained motionless as they waited for the other to make the first move, the Wolf too tired to charge for it’s daily tossing and the Farmer more interested in the Wolf’s efforts. It was left up to the Farmer being the only one that could move as he lightly placed a hand on the Wolf and spoke softly with a fervent dedication, “If it is attention you so desire, then it is like this that you will earn it.” Every day from then on the Farmer would teach the Wolf his trade. It may not have been the most extravagant or illustrious work but it was long, hard and rewarding. Along with this extra hand the Farmer was freed up to do more. He fixed up his home and even built a little shelter in the barn for the Wolf. And then one day the Farmer planted something, the Wolf was confused. The placement was far too close to the house to be a crop and the seed looked nothing like it had ever seen. The Farmer invited the Wolf over while he worked and showed it how to plant this new seed. With the seed in hand the Wolf planted it not sure what it would create. That was until it bloomed the next day. And to the Wolf’s surprise in the freshly turned soil near the house it found the most unexpected life. A brilliant star in such a deep shade of light that the sky barely got at the deepest of sunset, and when the Farmer arrived he witnessed the Wolf stare in awe of the vibrant and joyous colored petals on the flower and spoke softly, “It may not exactly be a fruit or a grain but it is a lot like you, needing a guiding hand to help it bud. But when it does I am glad to say it is sure to be a magnificent star.” The Wolf didn’t know what to do, so it did the only thing it could. It ate the flower and ran.