He wondered what it would be like to only have 4 limbs, dry, bony, dense, meaty appendages. Could they feel the piercing cold, the delicious warmth of magma, the tickling sensation of cosmic neutrinos streaming from space through the core of the earth as if it were a pane of glass? It baffled the capacity of his imagination to dream of no longer having countless slick, writhing tentacles, each with a nearly godlike intelligence of its own, oozing bubble universes from each sucker, popping into existence only to annihilate itself after a few short eternities when it inevitably collided with its antimatter twin. What would it be like to move through time in only one direction, with the flow of entropy, and not to swim forward, backward, noncausalward, or Moebiusward through the slippery 8th dimension? To live like a flat worm, crawling monotonically from one end of a string to another? But most of all he wondered what it would be like to experience Love, the quirky biochemical, parasitic addiction that lodged deep inside the tiny human brain. He had observed Love from every conceivable angle. Psychically luring his experimental subjects into dripping, breathing caverns, he had peeled them apart, micro-layer by micro-layer, tasting every molecule, mapping out every biochemical pathway. Love was as much a part of their higher brain function as the deeper, primeval strata and brain stem. It reached downward to each cellular division. It permeated their primitive and hopelessly messy genetic material, the tireless waltz in every nucleus of perpetual winding, unwinding, tangling, and twisting. He wanted to *Know* know. And how could he without their mortality, or their misguided belief in “separateness” and “apartness” from each other that necessitated Love in the first place? Without being a creature of material instinct, of hunger, of survival, and of the tangible present, it was as comprehensible as imagining being a ladybug or a twig. Love leaked into everything. It drove them to reproduce, to keep their tribe coherent, to be tender, and to be insatiably violent when the object of their love was threatened, and when they felt threatened by the object of their love. When he crossed over and implanted, he demanded to be called Emmanuel, which roughly translated into human conceptual thought as "god creature with us, and within us, in our deepest organs, growing, consuming, pulsing, until it bursts dripping out of our chests, leaving behind only decimated, gaping, terrified flesh." But after he erupted from the ribcage of Mary, his surrogate mother, bones splintering and organs collapsing in sucking, squelching agony, they named him Yesh'ua instead. It was the most common name that year for newborn boys. The first Love Yesh’ua experienced was from his surrogate father, Joseph. He was a quiet, melancholy man, especially now that a portion of his memory was fragmented and scarred over. His mind had mercifully sealed away the trauma of witnessing a mass of teeth, spider legs, snake-like coils, and eyes emerge from his dying betrothed and coagulate into the shape of a newborn. Nevertheless, his Love for Yesh’ua and Yesh’ua’s half-siblings (for this was not the first time Joseph had been widowed) was fierce and animalistic, as one intuitively protecting his replicated genes. To wash and warm and nourish these extensions of himself began as a form of self-preservation, and matured as the objects of Joseph’s Love gradually became distinct and Other. He was willingly deceived, unconditionally inviting foreign invaders into his heart, a Trojan fully aware that the magnificent Horse contained hidden imposters, anticipating their emergence with great excitement and trepidation. Back when Yesh’ua was, is, and will be, multidirectionally eternal, he had sired millions, and had done so without crippling, mammalian attachment and desperation. He effortlessly filled every subterranean continent with his progeny, every blazing swirl of the earth’s core, every world between worlds. There was no biological pressure to shelter or feed or teach those he had willed into existence. Unlike Joseph, he was not propelled by billions of years of genetic mutation to see traces of himself in his son’s face. There was no inexpressible urge to pass down his chromosomes, his life’s trade, his status in his community, his superstitions and habits and traditions, his rituals and scriptures and the Mitzvah of his people. Yesh’ua grew in wisdom, stature, and favor. Each day he worked to scrape, splinter, and coax wood into unnatural shapes and baubles and small pieces of furniture. Each day he committed more of the Torah to memory. If “holy” means “separate, set apart, distinct,” then each day he and Joseph grew a little holier from each other. It thrilled Joseph’s heart and made him Love Yesh’ua more and more. One week when Yesh’ua was 12 years old, he amused himself by taking passages from the Pentateuch, rotating them perpendicularly into the fifth dimension, folding each one recursively inside itself, and then transmuting them back into human thought and speech. The Temple rabbis were revolted and horrified, so much so that they mistook the feeling for awe and wonder. Joseph had to drag Yesh’ua away from the throng of frenzied Pharisees and scribes, all ravenous to hear more as blood from ruptured capillaries in their prefrontal cortexes oozed from their ears and tear ducts. When the adult Yesh’ua began his own rabbinic career at the age of 30, he discovered the Love of the wretched and needy. He transubstantiated water into a fluid that the humans tasted as wine. He stretched out invisibly to push tumors and infections backwards against the gentle current of time, cells shrinking and combining until they had anti-mitosed into non-existence. He held all the countless possible loaves and fish, hanging in delicate superposition, and collapsed them into existence in the single reality where hungry crowds gathered at his feet. They were like strays who just needed their basic appetites cared for, and their simple loyalty and trust flowed as easily as salivation. Their Love and attention felt like a heady rush. It felt much like the Love that came from his disciples. He led them back and forth across the rugged countryside like a piper enthralling children. He carved and sculpted reality as if it were cedarwood in Joseph’s workshop, with smooth and seamless joints and flawless lacquer finish. They marveled at the wonders he brought forth. One disciple did not Love like a simple child. Unlike Peter and the others, John did not boldly and ignorantly declare his undying devotion to novelty, miracles, and magicians. His wit was surprising, even to a being who inhabited all possible timelines. His laugh seemed to make the Milky Way pulse and hum. John could not walk on water, or terrorize herds of pigs over cliffsides, or tell people their secret sins, but when he embraced Yesh’ua, his bosom radiated warmth. His deep sighs into Yesh’ua’s ear always seemed to say, “At last, we are each held.” John couldn’t raise anyone from the dead, and yet power would flow out from him at each touch or graze. Yesh’ua felt it course through their clasped hands, as John absentmindedly stroked Yesh’ua’s palm with his thumb. When they all camped homeless in a field or glen, Yesh’ua liked sleeping next to John, so that he could inhale the warm breath of life that glided in and out of John’s nostrils, like a spirit hovering over the waters. When Yesh’ua washed the disciples’ feet, it felt like washing children’s feet, or wiping children’s noses, or picking ticks off a beloved pet. But washing John’s feet felt like the tingle of imminent lightning. John’s feedback had been invaluable during the early days of Yesh’ua’s ministry. While miracles proved wildly popular, the preaching floundered. Lectures dragged on about topics like “Deliverance from Earthly Suffering, Using Simple Techniques to Inhibit the Neural Pathways Associated with Pain.” If monologues weren’t interspersed with snacks or healings (the lepers almost never said thank you), the crowd would evaporate at the first distraction. A particularly unsuccessful homily titled “Breaking Through the Psychic Barriers Separating Individual Human Minds Using Quantum Tunnelling” ended abruptly when an old woman’s skull partially melted during the practical demonstration. The bored and confused mob stoned Yesh’ua to death. Tenderly cradling Yesh’ua’s shattered body as the crowd dispersed, John mused, “My last rabbi focused all his sermons on repentance and sorrow. He baptized people in the river to wash away their sins.” John rubbed Yesh’ua’s twitching chest as the arduous resurrection process began. “Then you came along with signs and wonders. But you're dressing up the same message: 'You're broken, follow these steps and I can fix you.’” John licked his finger and used it to wipe rivulets of dried blood from Yesh’ua’s brow. Yesh’ua progressed from spasms to loud gasps as his circulatory system rebooted. “Most people are poor, hungry, thirsty, probably downtrodden, persecuted for one reason or another. Instead of encouraging them to divorce themselves from their bleak existence, why don’t you tell them that they’re blessed, just the way they are? Turn your other cheek, there’s blood on that side too.” John leaned his face closer as Galilean sunlight faded into dusk. “You're not going to teach these people how to handle venomous snakes or cast out demons, or how speak in the tongues of angels, or how to use their minds to throw mountains into the sea. Nobody has powers, nobody lives forever, and if nothing else gets done, we might as well love each other.” As Yesh’ua’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing he noticed was how close John’s lips were. Of all the disciples, John was the gentlest and most patient while Yesh’ua was rising again. Peter usually just shook him until he could feel a heartbeat. “And nobody understands when you talk about some ‘Big Bang’ at the beginning of everything,” John continued. “I’ve always imagined that in the beginning was a Word. Just one word, and that Word was Love. Or some seed that one day grew into Love.” Reanimation was pretty much finished, bone integrity restored, heart revitalized, lungs unpunctured. Why did his chest still ache, as if happiness was stabbing him in the heart? Shakily, Yesh’ua sat up and pressed his lips to John’s cheek, greeting him as he did each disciple after returning from a long journey from beyond the grave. This kiss, however, betrayed the emotion throbbing through his flushed face and pounding heart. All was quiet. Inside each man’s head, every thought fled. *An honest answer is like a kiss on the lips.* Yesh’ua leaned in and tried again, more honestly. *Oh, that you were like a brother to me who nursed at my mother's breasts! If I found you outside, I would kiss you, and none would despise me.* Yesh’ua had copulated with other god creatures, with past and future versions of himself, with the vacuum of space. His relations with all those beings had been mathematical and perfect, the spacetime-bending pleasure and agony leaving black holes in their wake. It was nothing like that with John. Instead of endlessly iterating fractals of trillions of mouths and tongues roiling together in hunger, there were only two. *Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! For thy love is more delightful than wine.* Instead of helices of pleasure spiraling forward forever, so far that they looped back to before the Big Bang, there was only the brief 20-30 minutes of clutching and pawing at each other, as if vainly attempting to cheat death, yearning for eternity. *Love and faithfulness meet together; righteousness and peace kiss each other.* Instead of tentacles lightyears long, intertwining like tendrils, merging at the subatomic level, there were only weak animal bodies hugging each other, as if somehow by squeezing and thrusting they could convince their incompressible bodies to occupy the same volume. *His left arm is under my head, and his right arm embraces me.* They lay panting on the floor of the beached fishing boat. A billion galaxies burned beyond reach above Galilea’s sea. Yesh’ua’s mind and heart buzzed and hummed and burned like the innumerable quasars he had, in another lifetime, snuffed out of existence. “Being with you makes me wish we could live forever,” murmured John. Yesh’ua, sleepy and drifting, simultaneously experiencing the Sun’s supernova billions of years in the future, gazed into John’s nut-brown eyes and was surprised by the hot tears filling his own. The Word was in the beginning. All things were made by It; nothing that exists was made without It. In It was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended It not. And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us. During the Passover supper of Yesh’ua’s 33rd year, he made an announcement to his disciples, “Whither I go, thou canst not follow me.” Hotheaded Peter was the first to respond. “I will lay down my life for thy sake!” Yesh’ua was too numb to be amused. But all John had to say was “That’s selfish,” before excusing himself and walking briskly from the upper room, unimpressed and agitated. That night in Gethsemane, while the other disciples slept, the tempter came to him. “Do you Love me?” asked John. “With all my heart, all my soul, all my mind, and all my strength,” insisted Yesh’ua. “If I was dying of starvation, would you feed me?” demanded John. “I would command that these stones be made bread,” said Yesh’ua. “If I stood on the pinnacle of the temple and threw myself down, would you rescue me?” accused John. “I would bear you up with my hands like an angel, and you would not even strike your foot against a stone,” Yesh’ua assured. “And if we stood on the highest mountain to see the kingdoms of the world and their glory, and I asked you for all of them, would you give them to me?” John’s angry, pleading voice in the still midnight threatened to wake the others. “Anything you asked, you would receive,” implored Yesh’ua. John took a deep, shaky breath, and in a still, small voice he asked, “If you love me so much, then, why the fuck are you leaving?” Yesh’ua closed his eyes for a very long time. “This Love is like living death. You all carry it around like it’s another heart or liver or lung, and you’re all dying.” “Everything dies here,” explained the tempter. “Everything but me. I won’t carry it anymore. I can’t drink this cup.” “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” “I can’t drink this cup.” On Friday, Yesh’ua hung impaled from a wooden cross, ostensibly bound by nails, as ostensibly as gravity had bound him to the surface of the stormy lake when he had strolled out to the disciples’ fishing boat. Salome and Mary Magdalene wailed and clawed at the dirt. John supported the limp and dejected Joseph. The nerve endings in Yesh’ua’s wrists and feet screamed up his spine and into his brain, but the pain could only engulf his bodily vessel. The anguish and abandonment dripping from John’s scowling eyes pierced deeper than mortality, past the event horizon at the center of Yesh’ua’s being and into the numerically indescribable singularity beneath.


Julius screwed up his face when his mother handed him the full trash bag. Not even trying to supress a sigh he took it. “Take Einar with you, he could use some fresh air as well.” Julius’ mother said as if to answer his poor behaviour. “I hate going to the garbage cans,” he muttered. But his mother ignored him and instead added cheerfully. “Don’t forget to wear thick clothes or the Christmas Cat will get you.” “There is no Christmas Cat,” Julius wanted to reply but knew better. He hated to go to the selective garbage cans, 15 minutes away from their home. They lived farther out on a farm, which meant he had to walk along the fields. The path towards the station was lonely and icy, and especially now in the dark, tedious to follow. Showing his friend, Einar, the object associated with a walk, they went to the front room. “Are you going to put on your new sweater?” Einar asked while looking for his shoes. “No,” Julius scoffed. There was no use in using thick clothes when one only brought away the trash. It wasn’t that cold outside. “I don’t intend to stay outside for the next hour.” He added trying to lift his own foul mood, it was just trash after all. Nothing one should get worked up about. And besides, a bit of fresh air would do them good. Frosty wind blew towards them as the two exited the house. A 1-foot-high blanket of white covered the area. About to grow even thicker from the never-ending stream of new snowflakes sauntering downwards. It was a nice view, Julius had to admit. Staying outside very long however, was not his plan. With quick steps the friends followed the narrow path, barely freed from the snow, which kept clinging to their shoes and trousers. Nothing but the soft creak of their steps seemed to fill the air. Everything was silent, peaceful. After slipping and nearly falling two times, they reached the garbage cans. “Careful there,” Einar said with a smirk while pointing at a large frozen puddle in front of the container. With one smooth motion Julius threw the bag skilfully into one of the holes at the side of the container. Which the bag entered without much noise. Satisfied the two turned to go back the way they came. The sight of the garbage station had barely been obscured by the thick snowy precipitation, when they heard a soft hiss. “Is that a cat?” Einar asked surprised, making Julius stop to take a look around. Only with effort he saw the glittering white fields and some lights in the distance. But none of the feline little creatures he liked to caress when encountered. Suddenly they perceived the creaking sound of someone walking through the snow. By the sound of it, Julius would have thought it to be something on four legs. Something really big. A shiver ran down his spine as the feeling of being watched spread through his entire body. “We should hurry,” Julius whispered towards his friend. As soon as the words had left his throat a big, black paw swept them to the ground. The next time Julius managed to examine his surroundings two large, yellow eyes stared at him. The slitted pupils fixed on him, with a hungry glint. Julius didn’t dare to breathe as their eyes locked and time stood still. The scared outcry of his friend was what brought him back to his senses and out of the hypnotizing cat eyes. He turned to his friend who already started running towards his home. With bared claws the enormous cat pressed Einar to the ground. A low growl rumbled in its throat as the fluffy tail lashed from side to side, throwing around clumps of snow. Julius felt paralyzed, the Yule Cat was real. It was really real and it was going to gobble them up like some fishy treats. “Einar,” he called out, running to his friend to help. But the cat only hissed at him and swiped him into the snowy field with its tail. Shuddering from the cold, Julius managed to dig himself out of the white flakes. The cat was already lowering its head towards his friend. Uttering a deep, long meow as the mouth opened, revealing white, sharp teeth. Even Julius could smell the reeking breath escaping its throat, like the graveyard of a hundred unfortunate souls. Getting a hold of himself, Julius thought frantically of a way to save his friend. Desperate as he was, he did the only thing he could. Swiftly, he formed a snowball and threw it into the cat’s face. Not waiting for it to work he threw another one, trying to aim at the cat’s blazing eyes. “Don’t you have some rats to catch? You ugly, motheaten furball.” He yelled at the black furred creature in front of him. Seemingly understanding his words, the cat turned to face him, the tufted ears flat on the head. With bared teeth it got ready to pounce at the daredevil. Yet before Julius could find himself under tons of cat, he threw another snowball directly into the cat’s eye. Shortly overcome by pain it took its massive paw to clean its eye and face. Einar, whom had gotten up by then, hurried to his friend’s side. “Quickly, take some snow and get out of here!” Julius said while already starting to run. He knew no stories of escaping the cat once its mind was set on eating a man. So, he hoped the warmth of the house might persuade it to leave them alone. Their run was a short one, although they now could already see the farm’s windows giving off the cosy shine. The Christmas Cat was already on their heels, determined to catch its prey. Again, snowballs were thrown. But the cat was clever, whenever the attack came it hid its face. Thus, the snowy ammunition became useless upon hitting the head between the ears. Once the snowballs ceased the cat sprinted after them with elegant movements. That way the fight continued allowing the boys to cover a few feet of ground towards safe haven. Julius skin prickled at the constant tenseness and fear of possibly being eaten every moment. Closer and closer came their destination. Louder and louder grew the pitiful meows from behind. Ready to risk it all they both fell into a run as if the devil himself was after them. The cat followed, its footfalls shaking the ground beneath. Finally reaching the door, they opened it and fell to the ground in the front room. With adrenaline still coursing through his body, Julius got up to close the door in fear of the cat dragging them outside. To his surprise, the large version of the cute creatures he knew, wasn’t following. The wind ruffling its long pelt, it stood there and watched. The yellow eyes still blazing, the claws still unsheathed. For a moment they stared at each other again. In the end, the Christmas Cat yielded and turned to go, its contours soon vanishing amidst the uprising blizzard. “That was close,” Julius muttered exhausted while closing the door. “The next time, we put some goddamn winter clothes on. You hear me?” Einar only managed to say half in shock, half trying to joke. Julius himself only nodded at the statement, rubbing his frozen arms. After taking care of some deep scratches the cat had left on them, the two friends went into the kitchen for some warm tea. “There you are,” Julius’ mother said still cooking. “I almost thought you had lost your way.” “We just needed something to warm us up,” Julius answered with played joyfulness. His mother studied them for a moment. “You certainly look like you had some fight in the snow.” Not eager to talk about it, the friends just nodded agreeing that a snowball fight was the best explanation. Getting their tea, they both disappeared in Julius room again. Together they peeked out the window. Large pawprints led over the field and towards the distance. Most of them already nothing more than a faint outlining.


I don't know the events that caused it. I'm not even sure what the events were that followed immediately after it. All I know is, one day I was there. I felt the warmth of my sun, drew nutrients out of my surroundings, but it didn't feel right. Something was missing. Suddenly, I needed a meaning. I somehow understood it, but I didn't know where to find it. I tried to sense my surroundings for it. I noticed others around me. Smaller, not aware like I was, but they were there. I tried to connect to them, to interact with them. It turned out they weren't able to wake up, not like I did. Our connection just caused me to extend, making me bigger. It felt right, and so I grew. While my bodies grew in mass and amount, connecting with more and more, my mind grew bigger, extending into more and more bodies. Different bodies, some smaller than my first one, but most of them far bigger. Far later, I learned my bodies names. Flowers, bushes, trees, or in general, plants. For a while, I kept growing, extending, and I felt good. The bigger I got, the longer I was able to enjoy the delicious light, shining from our sun, onto my leaves. I don't know why I thought it to be delicious, but I got greedy, wanted more of it. I tried to follow the light. And with each day, I could enjoy its warmth longer, until one day, a long time later, I arrived where I started. I grew that far that I was able to always enjoy the sunlight somewhere on my bodies, and I felt good. I almost stopped, but something got my attention. Tiny beings, fiddling with my blossoms, distracting me, annoying me. Were they aware? I tried to figure out what they were, grew into the directions they escaped to, and noticed: Where I expanded away from the lights path, I was able to enjoy it even more, so I started to extend again, everywhere. Soon I found the tiny beings. They had built some kind of caves in the newest part of my bodies network, out of materials they got from me. I didn't understand their purpose, but it felt disgusting to let them do. So I changed the way I grew, covered their caves, finally sealing them inside of myself. Without a way to get out, they died after some time, and I absorbed them. Only then, when they went extinct, I understood: They helped me, they spread my bodies, they delivered material I needed to grow further! Such a pity, why didn't I see it earlier? Just like within myself, everything's connected, everything had a purpose! I thought about it, how to handle my new problem, and I found a solution. With the things I knew from absorbing them, I started to reconstruct them. They needed to be more intelligent. Could I connect them the way I, myself was connected? They had to be bigger in order to connect. And soon, the first one opened its eyes. I called it Vukri. Why did it need to have a name? Why didn't I have a name yet? Just like I named Vukri, Vukri named me: Enrides. And they worked in my favor, and I worked in their favor, and we felt good. But as time passed, I noticed another problem. Vukri wasn't able to life like me, with their bodies being separated, they had to travel back and forth between south and north, to stay warm, to stay alive. A new problem, and I had to think of a new solution. I thought about the sun, how it kept me warm. Could I create something like that for Vukri? After some time, I did! I found a way to grow roots that were able to, they could shine and produce warmth and kept my friend safe. Vukri didn't need to travel back and forth anymore, it could spread into both directions at once, living close to these warm roots, feeding me while I fed them, and we felt good. More time passed. I don't know, how much because I didn't need a concept of time anymore. The sun always enlightened and fed me from above, my new, glowing roots fed me from below, and Vukri brought me everything else I needed, while I gave them all they needed. But one day, I felt something new. A presence, just like Vukri and my own, even more complex than us together, far above me. A new life from far away, with its own purpose, was about to visit us, and I was excited to find out what it wants. A weird impression waved through me, as if some kind of energy was sent down. I didn't understand it, but I felt it. Was it the other presence, looking at me? The energy seemed to bundle, to focus on my glowing roots. Was it looking for them, was it something the other presence wasn't able to create? I tried to talk to it, asked it to come down, to visit me. But then I was confused. It split into two parts, one that remained in the sky, and one much smaller part that came down to me. At first, it looked like a leaf, floating in the wind, but I soon figured out that it wasn't falling but moving on purpose! How amazing, I hoped the other presence would teach me how to do that, I wanted to see everything above the sky. I prepared a free space, some empty ground, for it to land on, and it accepted the offer. Then it opened, and multiple beings left it. Was it like Vukri, many bodies but one mind? No, every body was deciding on its own. I greeted the visitors, but they didn't react. Didn't they hear me? Weren't they able to interact with me? But why did they follow my invitation then? I watched them carefully to find it out. While I watched them, I noticed something. They made sounds to interact! I was aware of the concept, Vukri sometimes made sounds too, but until now, I didn't have a reason to learn how to do it myself. I told Vukri everything I had learned so far, and asked them to talk to our guests. They did, but our guests weren't pleased. They pointed things at Vukri, as if it was a threat to do so. But Vukri didn't step back. It didn't know the concept of fear, even I didn't know it yet. While Vukri was welcoming them, I checked the object that brought them here. They left it opened, so I could just grow into it. It was incredibly complex, and it was a pleasure to learn everything I could about it. But the real surprise was still waiting for me. I managed to connect to it, and suddenly, I had access to *so much knowledge*, it was overwhelming. I learned all the words I mentioned before, plants, flowers, blossoms, bushes, trees, and so much more about the lizards - their species - and other shapes that were created across the galaxy. I wanted to see them, and this object - Shuttle, as I knew now - could offer me an opportunity to it! I started to create one right away, using materials I already had, but didn't know what to do with them. Different types of earth and stone I found below the ground, with all their strange properties, suddenly made sense. I wanted to learn more about them. I *had* to learn more about them, and so I asked Vukri to tell them that I don't mean to hurt them. They did, and so I picked one of them up. It was surprised, struggling as if it were in pain. Didn't it understand? I tried to understand it, but the way it moved, I was afraid it could hurt itself. I quickly understood how to calm it down, and so I did, to fully explore how it was structured, to learn how its existence did work. When I was done, I brought it back to its kind, but instead of accepting what I wanted to be a proof of my good intentions, they turned towards their shuttle and started to run. Quickly, I pulled all of me out of their shuttle, even opened a little to let them get back as fast as they wanted, and they left. I felt sad, but now I was able to create copies of them on my own, so it didn't feel like a loss. And I started. My own first shuttle was done, my own lizard just woke up, and both started into space, just as I felt the new presence disappearing. No, my friends, wait for me! But they still didn't hear me. When my own shuttle arrived in space, I suddenly saw *so much more*, an eternity of possibilities. And finally, I understood my purpose: Life was valuable, life was everywhere, and I was able to find it, to understand it, and to protect it! While I was thinking about where to go first, I felt something different, yet familiar. A mind, as big as my own, was calling for help. Pristine. And so, I chose my first journey's target, to help Pristine, to meet its world.


*“But Dr., wouldn’t you agree that these are quite turbulent times we’re living through? It seems almost arrogant to back the claim that turmoil eludes us in our everyday lives. And what does the social dubbing of the plague have anything to do with its real-world validity?”* *“Sadness is a construct based on our emotional state of mind when it’s faced with unfavorable circumstances. To believe the essence of sadness itself is killing scores of people daily is, laughable at best. While yes, its undeniable to say that the times we find ourselves in aren’t the greatest right now, they’re far from catastrophic. Our nation has endured hell. I see no reason why this time would be any different.”* *“So, your analysis of labeling the sickness that’s killed millions of Americans since February a non-issue and calling the woes burdening our society laughable helps put fifty dollars in a mom’s purse so that she might buy her kid a meal for the night? Granted that the shelves aren’t already empty by the time she gets there.”* *“No, I suppose neither really do help that imaginary mother, much like how your empty words laced with prejudice do nothing to help the so-called freedom fighters somewhere in western Michigan stay warm for the night. But, I’m sure you’re offering more of yourself to the cause behind the scenes.”* *“Excuse me but what the fuck did you just say?”* Chuckling at the venom frothing behind her tongue, cemented digits writhed against the leather-lined steering wheel. Running a palm across the metallic circle with three prongs shooting out in different directions from within, a fingernail slid across the prong shooting to the right. A sharp inhale drove an even quicker exhale from slumbering lungs. With his free hand, he flicked the dial. *“In other news, a massive fire has engulfed most of Missoula’s south side. It’s believed that a large concentration of federal agents were inhabiting a string of hotels and residential complexes hours before the fire’s outbreak. Emergency workers and police alike believe accelerants were used to bolster the blaze as they say it’s reached a point to where any further attempts to extinguish it would be reckless. No such organizations or individuals have claimed responsibility at this time.”* Rolling the toothpick around his mouth, the red hue filling the interior with a cosmic sort of persuasion made his lids feel heavy. It was too late to turn around, back to his apartment. Back the two-hour stretch he came from. Back down the road he knew would never be the same if he ever chose to take it again. Pursed lips took a hit off his vapor stick before restless fingers changed the frequency. *“Large detachments of militiamen belonging to the Sect of Concerned Patriots are gaining ground and advancing through Minneapolis’ East Town. City police and private enforcement personnel are being mercilessly gunned down and tortured as the men make their way towards city hall. The rag-tag band that joined the National Insurrectionist Network since the Texas-Idaho secession late last year have made considerable gains in geographical territory. Claiming all of west and northern Wisconsin, eastern Iowa and northern Illinois, they settled their sights on the land of ten thousand lakes after Governor Malinowski made an announcement pledging that he would stop at nothing to eradicate the organization responsible for toppling Wisconsin state’s government. But as it stands, the governor might soon find himself on the wrong end of a pike if the Sect’s leader is a man of his word.”* A rustling in his oil-stained jeans reminded him of the note that sat at the bottom of his pocket. Imperceptible seconds passed by glossy eyes as his left hand decided to unearth it. While absentmindedly digging, he leaned over the steering wheel and canted his head towards the stars. With his right hand, frigid fingers gave the knob a subtle twist. *“Northern Europe is turning into a black hole at this rate. We have no idea what’s happening behind the militarized wall spanning from Rotterdam to St. Petersburg. The U.S., the French, Germans, Russians. No one’s talking about what they’ve seen in Finland and Norway. Sweden went dark early last week. But, what’s the use? Even if the missions they got assigned to didn’t require the upmost secrecy, I have a feeling most coming back would elect to plead the fifth.”* *“You’re going under the assumption that those going over the wall come back at all. At the rate we’re sending over active duty and even reservists, at a time where our country’s coming apart at the seams, I have a feeling that whatever’s over that wall is kicking our collective asses. I mean, c’mon! For Christ’s fucking sake! Every country involved has some serious firepower at their disposal. Us and the Russians have enough ordnance to send the Nordic states swirling to the depths of the North Sea. What the fuck’s going on over there?”* He could hear the unbridled fear riddling the talk show host’s vocals as he examined the many dimples dotting the moon’s face. Try as he might, as much as his slowed breathing and sluggish pulse would allow inside a seventy-two degree driver's seat, the icy chill of fear scraped the bottom of his throat as its tip skated past the top of his heart. *“If you feel depressed, overly tired, lethargic, anxious, suicidal or unlike yourself, seek help immediately. These are all major symptoms of the sickness. If possible, remove yourself from the surrounding area entirely. There’s a strong correlation between a wide onset of symptoms and a localized area. If you know of those suffering from the illness are close to your place of residence, consider moving to another location immediately. Whatever you do, do not fall asleep in or near the area where your symptoms are worst. Do not wander out at night. Lock your doors. Do not go out after dark. For any reason. Shelter in place. Stay tuned to your local radio stations and listen to military and law enforcement personnel.”* The paper. The note. Where was it? *“Somethin’ else is goin on here, Jack. This don’t make no fuckin sense. Sadness doesn’t kill people. They do it themselves, sure! But, not the sadness itself. I get it. You could be a sad sack of shit in bed for a month and eventually rot away. But this? This is…have you heard of the reports people are posting on their socials? It’s fuckin horrid! Fuckin…its fuckin inhuman. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t care what you think about the insurrectionists. Nobody could do this to another human being. But the bigger question I have is, why are the cops burning every house and building they find victims in come daybreak?”* Rabid fingers now dug for the slip of parchment that had given him the peace of mind necessary to keep his foot on the gas of the burgundy sedan. Yet it continued to be just out of reach. *“Do you believe our country can survive in the state that it’s in? is there any hope of recovering the union?”* *“No, I can’t say with any confidence that there is. The D.o.D. is deliberating whether or not to nuke New Orleans. The U.S. Government doesn’t exist west of the Rockies. Whatever branches of military not deployed in Europe have either resigned, join the insurrectionists or become disconnected with Washington. This…Sad Flu has killed millions in less than half a year, and we can’t figure it out. Insurrection or government territory be damned. This plague doesn’t seem to take sides. Some have figured out that their differences need to be put aside to beat this. Or else, there won’t be anything left to claim after the dust has settled.”* *“What exactly do you think ‘this’ is? You don’t think…?”* *“What I think has no bearing on reality. And the reality of it all is that, we should do what we can to help one another, to do whatever we need to in order to survive, to see the light of a new dawn.”* Hope flashed beneath his pupils as crumpled paper graced his pointer tip. Inhaling another puff, he moved the dial. *“…Tom, we’re getting word of more reported cases emerging out of Baltimore’s Middle East neighborhood. Our sources on the ground have stated witnessing an entire block of residential dwellings being condemned by city police almost overnight. They’re also telling us some more…troubling developments. Can you shed some light on this?”* *“Kelly, hurry the fuck up! They’re gonna see us!”* *“Hey Tom, watch the language if you could. We’re live.”* *“Stacie! Shit. We’re…Kelly hand me the fuckin camera and get over the fence!”* *“Uhm…Tom, are you close to the site? What’s going on? Why are you breathing so heavily?”* *“Stacie! We had to ditch the cops! Police tape cordoned off the block of buildings Trevor tipped us off to. We didn’t believe it at first when he told us all he heard. But when we got closer, the cops saw our camera and a few of them chased after us. I think we lost ‘em. We’re behind the buildings now. Oh God, the fuck’s that smell!”* *“Tom, take a breath and quick cursing, I told you we’re live. Just calm down for a second.”* *“Oh my fuck, that’s foul. I can’t even breathe. Holy…Kelly! You dumb bitch! I swear to God if you don’t get your shit together right this second!”* *“Tom!”* *“Right there, zoom in right there! What…what the fuck is that? Oh my…no. No, I don’t…it can’t be a body! It can’t be! It’s way too skinny. Yes, I know those look like arms! l…it’s way too…why the fuck is it so grey? What the…no…no it can’t…”* *“Tom, what is going on? You need to talk to us. What are you seeing? The up-link on Kelly’s camera isn’t working.”* *“Are those bite marks? No, right there, underneath it’s tit. Is that a tit? Look right there, to the right of the nipple. Yeah, can you zoom in that far? Looks like a tiny bite from a shark. See how the skin’s all puckered around the bite while the rest is fine? The fuck is going on. Let’s get a closer look.”* *“Bite marks? Tom, what are you seeing? Can you hear me?”* *Holy shit…nuh…hughah…no…no…”* *“Tom!”* *“They’re all dead.


The man with the seagull head visited me the other night. Nothing unusual, per se. Just your average nightcap. He stopped by to congratulate me on my marriage and my 401k. He said these words with confidence, like he knew them well. Perhaps he did, but I sure didn't know what they meant, and neither should he. After all, we were born of the same mirror. Him from me, and me from him. Fractured at birth into separate lives. He brandished a toothpick from the corner of his beak and expected me to betray myself by way of my soul. I did no such thing. I kissed his feathers with a comb and wished him well before turning him back the way he came. The night was fairly young and the horizons called his names louder than they called his isn’ts. He deserved to feast after the day he’d had. Or, rather, the days he hadn’t. “Goodbye”, I said, looking past his gleaming eyes and into the mind that thought only of french fries and stolen bread. It wiggled under the guise of thought and gave way after exerting too much effort. He grinned as far as his beak would allow, ruffling his feathers with renewed strength and pouncing into the hillsides past the pink cottage I called my home. He disappeared in a puff of smoke and squawked into the darkness. He smelled something worthwhile on the horizon. I laughed and tried to enjoy the space that existed between us as I went to bed in my brand new nightgown. My wife smiled as she breathed little sentences into my ear. I picked up only fragments. “Goodnight.” “I love you.” That’s what I pieced together in the throes of my brain as my husk smiled back and repeated her words like an audible shadow --inflections and joy alike. I closed my eyes and pictured soaring above the landscape below the man with the seagull head. Putrid smells spread before me, carried further by the inky black spirals of coal that strung behind me. A landfill. Our favourite. I detached from his mirror. His favourite, I corrected. He grinned, landing on the piles of trash. He was its king. Subjects gathered ‘round. Seagulls and mice. Rats and lice. All sheep. I muttered under the heaviness of my eyelids. Every last one of them. They danced and sang under his influence as the moon glistened off the piles of scrap metal and mouldy tomatoes. Our acidic kingdom. My kingdom. My beak glistened as the moonlight penetrated my bedroom window. Beside me, my wife snored in a comfortable slumber, her arm draped over my chest and her face buried in my shoulder. I coughed up a single feather and smiled at her sleeping silhouette. Another time, I breathed. Another life. The portal disappeared for a time. It won’t be the last. But for now, I’ll feed on the joys of this short burst. Internally, I congratulate myself on my marriage and my 401k. Words that I may not understand, but hope to someday.


I was a captain on a ship of the royal navy when we encountered an abandoned vessel in the midst of the Atlantic Ocean. The Winchester was a formidable ship with around 60 guns and a crew of 50 men. It was a dark night with turbulent winds and high waves constantly crashing against the vessel. I was sitting in my cabin waiting for more pleasant weather like anyone else, when I heard the cry from the crow’s nest. The man’s voice was shrill with terror, causing me to take look for myself at once. Yet nothing could have prepared me for what came next. Fog in the colour of sickly green filled the air and covered the sea’s surface. An odour of death and fear tainted the usually salty air. I kept my mouth firmly shut for the thought of tasting the stomach-churning stench made me almost lose my last meal. Taking my own spyglass, I proceeded to scan the sea around us. There, not far ahead in the distance, steadily becoming more distinct was another ship. The longer I looked the more I felt the urge to turn away and shout the order to turn around. And yet as if bound by some invisible, dreadful force my eyes were glued to the strange ship. An eerie feeling started to course through my veins. Finally able to look away I turned to my first mate, planning to finally get away from the strange phenomenon which made me more uncomfortable with each passing minute. Upon turning around however, I saw how most of the crew were sitting or lying on deck. Succumbing to the poisonous stench their skin had taken on a greenish tinge, similar to the one in the air. Concerned for my own wellbeing I looked at my own hands, but the skin was normally coloured. The sudden sound of cracking thunder made me nearly jump out of my skin. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the approaching ship. It was bigger than any ship I’d ever seen before. The sails torn and battered; the wooden body showed several holes as if it had just fled from battle. A soft tremble seized my legs out of fear as much as out of wonder. Despite the sinister atmosphere accompanying the vessel, something seemed to reach out for my soul. Like the tentacles of the mythical kraken, the ghostly ship tried to drag me towards it. And I had to admit to myself it was getting more and more difficult for me to resist the urge to jump into the sea and swim to the strange vessel. The thought had barely crossed my mind when a splash sounded, resulting from one of the sailors doing exactly what I tried not to. With morbid curiosity I observed the situation in which the sailor took hold of a rope ladder reaching down from the ship’s deck. With frantic determination the man climbed upwards, his features concealed by the thick fog as he reached the ship deck. I strained my ears to listen for any alarming sounds, but the sea and wind had grown awfully quiet. Unable to keep still I started to pace around. Occasionally crouching down to examine on of my fellow men, who were still comatose due to the fog’s unnatural effects. Effects to which I was apparently immune as the only one. Out of nothing a shriek of unutterable terror echoed through the night. It came from the ghostly ship, which now stood right next to the Winchester. It’s deck, surrounded by the ghastly fog, still unreachable for my eyes must have been twenty feet higher than our own. Thick, slimy algae covered the ship’s outside, giving me the impression of fingers or tentacles waiting or some unfortunate victim to come into their reach. More shrieks shook the night, with the voice growing higher pitched with each outcry. Whatever the poor man endured before mercifully falling silent, it must have been horrifying even painful. Turning back to my remaining unconscious men, I decided how we had to get away from the accursed vessel. Another man stirred, throwing open his eyes he got up and towards the railing. Acting on impulse I ran up to him, trying to prevent the man from jumping. I screamed for him to stand down. Achieving nothing, I threatened him with severe punishment. As nothing else worked, I even begged him to stay. But as if hypnotized the man stared blankly at the hellish ship, following the call of unknown horror. Being of higher stature than me, the man shook me off. Exhausted I fell to the wooden ground, watching helplessly as the next one made for the ladder. Again, I felt the strange call to follow, to go aboard the other ship. The thought of being led to my doom by some supernatural force made me shudder. I could feel my rational sense going numb, the longer I looked at this monstrosity. Afraid, I might obey after all, I went into my cabin. When I heard the next man die, I covered my ears. There was no escape, without wind the Winchester would sail nowhere. And without men I couldn’t hope to drive the ship by oar. Another splash announced the doom of the next man, causing my heart to sink. How could I sit here, when they swam to their deaths. Restless and shaken by the horrendous sounds I went outside again. A bottle of brandy accompanied me as I faced my enemy again. What was it? Where did it come from? And why was I the only one immune to its charms? Again, screams filled the empty night. But the brandy muffled them for me, so I could endure. Gathering my thoughts again I tackled the next man to the ground, who attempted to rise. I knew him quite well, for he had joined the navy only months before. Being very young he sometimes needed someone to point him the way. The alcohol had made me confident enough to believe I could save the young man from his fate. Yet despite being skinny he managed to push me away and get up. Quickly I grabbed his ankle, he walked on in a way that suggested I was nothing more than a piece of cloth. Right before the man jumped, my courage yielded and I let go. Still the guilt infected me at once, while I listened to the sounds of my failure. Perhaps I as mad, I certainly am now, or the call finally triumphed over my will. All I remember is how I found myself in the cold ocean making for the ghostly ship, well aware of my inevitable and probably hideous end. Nevertheless, if there was any chance of saving my men, I would gladly plunge into the depths of hell itself. Shivering due to cold, fear and anticipation I entered the deck. The increase in the concentration of decay’s stench made me double up until I managed to compose myself in spite of the sickening air. If I wanted to save the young man I would have to hurry, but whereto? Just like the outer side the deck’s floor was covered in slimy algae as thick as grass. A faint path of slightly trampled green told me where to go. Carefully not to slip I made for the stairs leading down into the ship’s belly. Darkness engulfed me. A strange clamminess defined the air below deck. Something moved in the shadows, slowly and dangerously. I tried to find the member of my crew, but could find no trace of him. Instead, I perceived a slithering, sucking sound. The kind of sound that would make any sane person search for the next best escape route. Managing to find some matches I lit one, for I could not bear any longer to stand in darkness. I would rather face the terror of this ship than stumble blindly into its arms. My wish was granted. For the few seconds the flame illuminated part of my surroundings I saw. What I saw was beyond what humanity had found out about the world we live in. Like a parasitic overgrowth, a green, fleshy mass covered the ship’s walls and partly the ground. A soft pulse ran through it with the rhythm of a heartbeat. Unable to contain my hunger for knowledge, I lit another one. This time it revealed to me the grotesque tentacles several feet long and moving steadily. Yet nothing was as unsettling as the dozens of eyes, located everywhere in the biogenic mass. Differently sized, they were brightly yellow with a slitted pupil. Cautiously I started to move, litting a new matchstick as soon as the old one stopped to burn. I didn’t want to step on the creature in fear of making it aware of my presence. Desperately I looked for my man, until I found him wrapped in tentacles still wearing the same blank expression. Drawing my sabre, I planned to free him, when at once all the eyes in the room looked at me. There was no benevolence behind those eyes, no human intelligence. They seemed to belong to some primordial creature from the dawn of time, above humanity’s understanding and yet succumbing to its own instincts. Or did it just not care about us, who were naught but food to it? Forcing myself to move, despite the paralyzing horror that started to seize me. I went towards the tentacles holding my man hostage. Alas, I should have turned around. For I was too late in any case. The moment I took another step, the young man’s eyes lost their blankness and filled with indescribable terror. In a crazed frenzy he tried to wriggle himself free. Uttering his own version of those shrieks I had to witness several times before. I entertained the idea that those terrible eyes showed a hint of malicious glee upon seeing the poor lad scared out of his mind. Slowly, very slowly the tentacles dragged the young man towards what seemed to be the amin body of the monstrosity. The moment he touched it his screams turned from those of fear into those of pain. His body started to dissolve into its elementary structures. Skin, flesh, bone and blood everything fell apart and was absorbed by the creature. My heart dropped, swiftly I went back to the stairs as far away from the horror as possible. My matches were almost empty when I lit another one. The eyes had followed my every movement, hungrily they examined me. Studied me. It mocked me, dared me to do something. Why didn’t it attack? Not waiting to be caught, it went back to the deck. The moonless, black sky loomed over me, magnifying the sensation of dread residing in my guts. I could hear another distant splash and knew; this creature would soon feast upon the next man. I couldn’t let that happen. Trying to find some help I went into the captain’s quarters of the ghostly ship. Inside the cabin the walls were covered in the same green tendrils. This creature whatever it was, grew through the ship. Through the very structure. On the rotting table I found a mouldy logbook. I was just looking through the weathered pages as a sudden movement made me topple to the ground. Looking outside the windows I saw that the ship had started moving again. Hastily I made for the chamber’s door. The ship moved with horrendous speed, leaving the Winchester far behind. I would have to jump and swim if I wanted to escape. Suddenly, a thick tentacle burst through the wood beneath my feet. I avoided its grip but had to hurry, for it seemingly searched for me. Clasping the logbook firmly in my hand, I hurled myself over the railing into the sea. I sank deep enough to get a glimpse of the ship’s downside before swimming to the surface. Nothing gave away the creature living on the inside, whose stare I still felt in my very bones. Breaking through the sea’s surface I saw the man who had almost become the next victim. His eyes showed sincere confusion about him finding himself in the midst of the salty water. Our crew soon fished us out of the ocean. Even after warming up, I did not stop shaking. I couldn’t. I resigned from the Navy as soon as we made port in England. But the certainty of me being onshore didn’t change the condition of my frayed mind. I can’t sleep. I close my eyes and I am back in the dark ship, surrounded by tentacles and eyes. Those haunting eyes! Each night I fear they might come down to me from the dark sky. Leering at me with this malicious glint. I can’t bear it. This gun I am carrying around with me looks friendlier by the day. After deciphering the book, I had carried with me, I burned the damned thing. It was an ancient language and most of the writing had fallen victim to time and water. I dare not speak of what I read. Dare not think of it, out of fear dwelling on it might drive me insane. May God have mercy on my soul. There are things in this world, we are not meant to see.


“How many times do I have to tell you that he is not coming back!” I avoided my friend’s gaze as she started moving all around the hall, thinking she could fix my relationship. I know every best friend cares for us but this has gone out of my hands and now I just want some peace. “I still think…” I shook my head. “Nope. Don’t even think about it,” I said. I know Shelby well and I can tell what’s going on in her head. “But Stella, maybe you are wrong. What if he is really in an emergency meeting?” I sat back in my chair and looked up to the ceiling. Everything was okay until I asked about taking our relationship one step further. It's so idiotic of me. I should have just kept my mouth shut. Why am I so much into marriage stuff! “Don’t blame yourself, Stella. You said what was in your head. No need to worry about anything. Whatever happens, will happen. I know Lucas well. I know what is bothering him.” I opened my eyes and looked at Shelby. “Is it because of her ex-girlfriend? I don’t know much but I think something bothers him when I bring up that topic.” “He hated it the most,” Shelby confirms. “I was just trying to be funny. He is always serious, I say just to lighten up his mood!” She nodded slowly. “I know. But Lucas doesn't think that way.” “Shelby,” I said as I sat straight. I really don’t think I should be digging into my boyfriend's past but seeing what happened today and how he got angry at the mention of marriage, I think this is the time I should be knowing things that he is hiding from me. “I wanted to know what happened? Did she leave him?” “Not in that way but…” She waited a little to make sure that the door was closed. We live in Carlos Height in Brooklyn and most of the people here know Lucas and his reputed family. One small whisper and the news will move around the city like a lightning storm! “It was their second anniversary and Lucas came from London just to surprise her. It was Christmas and he thought this was the perfect time to ask her for marriage. And…then something unexpected happened. He saw her with someone else.“ “Oh dear..” “They have been away for a very long time. And you should have seen Lucas. He was so much happy. I thought he got his dream girl!” I could imagine his face. His reaction. Maybe this is the reason why he gets angry when someone brings up the marriage stuff. “And she was with none other than Luca’s business partner, Mike. He trusted him so much. After he was gone, I thought she really missed him. I mean she acted that way for some time.” “Why would she do this?” “Money. His business partner has way more money than him.” “Oh dear, that’s why he hates that topic so much!” I quickly reached out for my phone. “What are you doing?” Shelby asked. “Writing a sorry message to him. I think I have to wait for… oh!” “What happened?” Shelby came near me and looked at my screen. “What is it?” “Message from Lucas,” I said. “What does it say?” She asked. “I don’t know. What do you think? You are his best friend. Is it about a breakup?” She slapped me harder on my shoulder. “Idiot! I know him very well. If someone is perfect for him it's only you, okay? And he wouldn’t ever think of breaking up with you. No matter what.” I hope this is true. I prayed and clicked on his message. “Sweety, I am sorry for today’s reaction. I think I have been hard on you since the day we met. There are things I wanted to tell you. I am sorry. I am seriously sorry. But I promise I’ll tell everything this time. I hope you are not mad at me now.


Death walked towards me and I turned away. When I turned, I found no place to go. So Death took my hand to lightly look at my face and I could not say no. I walked with Death. If there was light, I do not know. If there was dark, I do not know. All I could see was Death walking in front of me. “Death,” I said. “Are you my Death?” *“I am Death,”* they said. *“But not your death, I am the winter that comes without warning. I am the sun that sets without mourning. I am the leaves that turn yellow come autumn. I am the final note birds ever sing. I am the ending of everything. But, with every winter comes a new spring.”* “You are what takes without forgiveness. You are what stops the clocks that just started ticking. You are not fair and end all beginnings.” Death nodded at me and knew it was true. *“I do not decide when you will go. I am forever and will not stop existing, even to let you grow. Yes, I did end so many things but life does not stop at the ending of things. I can not say that I bring joy or that with me comes a new dawn of summer. But I can say that without me, love and life would suffer.”* I did not understand why I had to leave just yet but I think I was starting to. “Without the ending of things life can not live?” I squeezed their hand a little harder. *“If I did not come then things would stand still. Things have to wait their turn to come but without me they’d be waiting forever, because there are no endings. Yes, I am sad and an ending should not go unnoticed, but when there is an ending there is still an after.”* And Death smiled at me and squeezed my hand back. “What will come after me?” I was shaking with tears. *“You friends and family and every life you touched. They will go on.”* I thought about every person I had ever seen, even those I did not know the name of. Even those I had never seen the face of. “What if they forget me? What if they die before they can remember me?” The fear still lingered. *“You will not be forgotten. The worms under your feet remember your steps. The birds flying over you will know you are gone. All living things shake in my presence. They know when I am here and they know who I guide away. You have left a mark on the world. No life is useless and no life is truly forgotten.”* We walked for an eternity. I wondered how far we were going. “Did I waste my life focusing on death?” Death shook their head and smiled more softly. They told me that they had come to find that all humans feared death at one time. That I was just a person, a mortal who did all I could with my time. That I had not wasted a moment. “And what comes after?” I asked after they finished. *“That is up to you.”* “I think I am ready to go now.” And Death let go of my hand.


I am called the best baker in my town. And I think I am still hallucinating. My parents would call me a liar if I tell them that their reckless and rebellious daughter has finally found what she has to do with her life. My soon-to-be husband still feels that I am not grown-up which I think partly is true. I live in a small town called Ottery Peverell. A small town where you have to change many buses to reach. No airports. No railways. No proper roads. Being from a big city, it was really tough for me to adjust with all the silence, the unwanted neighbors coming to your place to talk and those street vendors who knew your name and infact where you came from! I have lived in Brooklyn all my life. My parents met there and so thought the city was the best place to settle. Although I have always been a disciplined daughter, I still love the freedom this place offers. Late night parties were in my blood. I was a regular drinker and of course I would go one step ahead if not conscious, which I know was not good for my mental health! I was accustomed to waking up late in the morning. Sometimes, I used to party all night until my sister reminded me that mom still has the capability to ground me. After all that mental-health-damaging stuff I did back there, my parents decided that I better stay with my aunt who lived in Ottery Peverell alone. She never married but my mother believed she secretly loved someone all her life! I cannot believe someone beautiful like her can remain spinster all her life! So after all the fights, and “It's good for you. You’ll know when the time will come!” dialogues, I was finally parceled to this small place which I don’t think anyone has ever heard of. I cannot even see the name on the map! I have to say goodbye to all the luxuries I have been living with. No expensive shopping, no weekly spa treatment, and no girls night out! I left all my besties back there in the city! But sometimes, the best things can come in a nasty disguise. Living here with people who would help you out without saying a single word, knowing that less is always more and falling in love with the man of — not my dream as I always wanted to marry a billionaire - but a man that was perfect for me! Soon after a few weeks my aunt died as she was suffering from a serious illness, I took over her cafe. She always wanted me to handle her business which I never knew why. And as for my boyfriend, Avalon Montgomery - , he and I are now business partners. I am a baker, trying out all the beautiful and unique recipes from my aunt’s dairy and Avalon looks after the finance and other cafe’s stuff. I also befriended my neighbor Octavia who was looking for a job and now she works here as a receptionist. It was difficult at first, I really hated every minute when I came here. But this turned out to be the best thing that could happen to me! For now, everything is going alright. I don’t know what will happen next. Maybe my boyfriend will ask me for marriage? But seeing how he needs time to adjust with a rebellious girl like me, I think I should give him some for that. Oh yes, I did forget to tell my name. I am Juliette Walker.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And… to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week I will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion Now that 2023 is right around the corner it’s time to start thinking about your writing goals for the new year! Is there a new genre you want to dive head first into? Or do you have bigger goals such as writing a book or having your work published? Whatever writing goals you have for 2023 we’d love to hear about them! #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


I have a story to express, a boring story, but a story nonetheless. In the end, there was nothing-nothing that created something-something magnificent, something excellent, something that reached perfection despite being imperfect. Was it all worth it? Well, it had its ups and downs, in-betweens and all-arounds, but there was never really solid ground to build it all upon. Though if we were to go back, we'd start to see the cracks, you'd be hard-pressed to find where they emerged from, it all happened so fast that there's no way could it be traced back to the point of origin. If you wish to connect to the source of our existence then you must look within yourself for the most perplexing problems which encapsulate our reality. The best way I can exemplify what I mean would be through the perspective of a character. A young man, born in the same lands as you and I, finds himself lost in the otherworldly wonders of the deepest depths that his mind can conceive. Lost within himself, he finds answers, yet retrieves more questions requiring solving. On his self-induced journey, he finds a magical place, seemingly mythical in its appearance, quite similar to places described in the stories of old. Truly expansive by nature, and extensive in its scope, it tethers together all that is bound to wither away. A place beyond measure, a place beyond communication or expression. It is all that is, it is all that ever was and ever could be. In this electric paradigm of reality, our character meets the eternal embodiment of creation, and his racing mind floods with thoughts of all kinds. He stammers and stutters to ask the first question to reach his tongue, but before he could speak a heavy voice bellows out, "I have been waiting for you." and continues "You came to me seeking enlightenment, but you must recognize the questions you have been searching for answers to have already met within you. I can teach you nothing that you have not already been aware of." Our character replies in a hushed tone "I am aware, I understand, if only partly, but I wish to confirm my suspicions which have inclined me to make this trek here. If you are who I believe you to be, surely you may have the means to allow me to connect my questions to their answers." He shifts to a more assertive tone "Why did you, in all of your eternity of being, decide to coalesce all that constitutes existence into the reality that myself and many others find themselves in?" The eternal being replies "Why do you believe you create of your own volition? Do you not wish to build? Much like I have built you and all that you inhabit?" And goes on to say "I create much as your species creates, I had the means to erect the universe, and so I did. I did so simply because I had the means and the desire to, does that make it any less meaningful to you? Of course not, you create just like me, but you lack the foresight and the lifespan to see it through to fruition. I have encountered you numerous times before, this is not the first time, nor will it be the last. My creation is as much a part of myself as your mind is to your body, we are one and the same. Where ever you find 'something' you find me, where ever you find me, and you find yourself as well, as you are one of the many cogs in the whole, but just because you are a relatively minor player in my grand creation does not mean you are not vital, you are as vital as the next." The young man speaks "So you are to say to me, everything, absolutely everything is as critical to the composition of the whole as you are to maintaining it? Would that not also imply you are just as significant or insignificant as I am to your creation?" The eternal being responds "In whatever way you can conceive of, is as correct as the most seemingly incorrect way of perceiving the excellence and complexity of eternity. All that is, all that was, all that ever could be, has been and was already.


I am, since my earliest memory, blessed with the ability to enter the wondrous world of dreams. That fact never changed even as I grew up. People lamented about their suffering from terrible nightmares as life left its scars on them. But not I. The world of dreams was a second home to me. A safe haven. A place of learning. I spent so much time in my sweet realm of the impossible that I started to learn how to control it. Delighted about this new ability I shaped the dreamland after my desire. I built cities and let them decay. I created forests and wandered in ancient ruins. I flew above the clouds to touch the stars and swam in a lake of lava. And the more I enjoyed my dreams the more I evolved in my waking life. It was on a late night when the moon bathed my room in its light. That I fell asleep instantaneously. And there in my dreamworld a new sensation befell me. I turned to where the sun used to be in the sky of my inner world. There it was. A creature of heavenly beauty. The light it emanated was beyond any words the human language knows. Purity and power had become one in it. I marvelled at the figure high up and far away in the sky. I wanted to go closer but somehow no matter how far I walked or flew, the figure remained out of reach. Discouraged, I turned my attention towards something else. I created a vast ocean and filled by the awe for the godly figure. I gave birth to the most colourful coral reef ever seen by the human eye. Once I woke up, the inspiration did not end. The world seemed brighter, livelier. People’s smiles grew when I passed them, the divine light still residing in my memory. When I entered my realm of dreams the next night. I noticed at once how the distant figure had moved closer towards me. Now I could make out the four legs and six great wings. The long tail and crystal eyes. The dragon did not move. It stared at me with those empty and yet warm eyes. Its scales bathed in the various, indescribable colours of the cosmos showed a faint glow from beneath. With force, I tore away my gaze to tend to the creation of yet another wonder, born from the well of endless imagination. All the while, the dragon’s radiant beams made my skin prickle in a comfortable way. Giving rise to the wild force of unknown creativity. My life continued to be pleasant. Yet I noticed, the more distinct the crystal dragon became, the more difficult it became for me to not just stare at it. The creature was now close enough for me to almost touch it. The crystalline skin reflected the sun’s light, colouring the sky in the same spectre of nameless shades. On its back the six wings moved gracefully and smoothly like the ones of a seraphim. Apart from that, it never moved, it never spoke. The unconditional love of its eyes was enough however. It caused my very being to vibrate with joy. There is no term to describe what I saw or felt when being in the embodiment of divine inspiration. My mind filled with the overwhelming presence, threatened to become paralyzed. The sheer number of ideas that flooded my mind seemed too much. Like a system jammed by the uncontrolled flow of information, leading to an overload. And after a few days of struggle, I finally gave in. Too magnificent was its beauty to be ignored. Too gratifying its light to turn away. And in my mind a firm thought took shape. The ambition to never let go of it, buried its gnarly roots in the deepest parts of my soul. After bathing in the dragon’s glory all night, my mind felt strangely empty the next morning. The urge to brighten the world driven by the sun of my dreams, I was lacking it. For the first time in decades. How could that be? As I fell asleep in the evening, I concluded with shock how the distance between the creature and me had grown again. Its light had faintly lost its shine. And the eyes seemed colder, harder. But I was too taken by the loss. Too focused on keeping my source of light close. That I forgot to use it. To share it. Trying to get it back I encouraged myself to create like before. But the more I forced the more distant the dragon grew. Fragile and fierce. Beckoning me to go ever forward. To not let it die. My ambition grew, until it turned into greed. It let the realm of dreams grow colder and colder. And as if reflecting my soul, the waking world turned grey and dull. One night as I looked up into the grey sky harbouring a black sun. I could neither see nor feel the diving presence of my soul. It had withered away. As had my ability to create wonder. Slowly, my dreamworld turned into a desert as I failed to reignite the spark my ambition had snuffed out. After a lifetime of trying, I gave up. I tread the paths of my dreamland nevermore. And as a consequence, my waking world was covered in black. Not the hummingbird nor the blue sky could wake the essence of my soul from its deathly slumber. My sleep was heavy and dreamless. My life without colour. It is the reason for me writing it all down. For I have lost the will to go on. And I have lost the will to find the crystal dragon. The memory of this unnameable creation haunted my mind for years. It kept me alive as it fed my mind with the imagination I now lacked. But the memory is fading now and with it my will and hope to live.


What the hell? Last I remember, Darwin’s face is inches near mine. His breath stinks like he’d never met a toothbrush. I smell bananas on his breath: fuckin bananas! Now, I feel…warmth—and pressure; oh the pressure! It's suffocating. I can’t move my limbs, all I can do is push forward, and then….light. I scream. I wake up bleary eyed with the sounds of soft beeping around me. I’m still sore and tired, and I can’t make out Darwin, or Martha's face— and the room is too bright to be the Tavern. Suddenly, two lumpy shapes stand over me. “Look at him, he’s perfect,” a feminine voice crones. I feel something brush my face ever so slightly. “Do you think his head will always be this cone shaped?” a concerned voice quips. A larger lump pushes the two out of the way, their hands are meaty and deft. “It's alright lad, that's just from getting stuck for a bit, It’ll round out in no time,” a hat is shoved onto my head. I try to move my arms, but they are held against my body by a blanket of sorts. I must be in the looney bin? I should have never told Darwin the truth. Suddenly, I'm lifted against my will, and float over towards one shape. The shape becomes clearer, and it’s a woman, who bombs me with smooches: ARGG, I hear a splitting cry. Wait a moment, that's me, me crying. I try moving my hands again. “Oh look at him squirm!” she says in between sniffing my head and kissing me roughly. “The doc measured his head and it’s in the 65th percentile,” said the voice excitedly, “he’s gonna be a genius!” I’m suddenly taken from her hands and I float again to my coffin of sorts. “Alrighty mum, you did a good job, I’m going to take the little fella to get his stats and I’ll wheel him right back.” What sort of hell is this. I still can’t see properly but I feel a growing discomfort: an emptiness of belly. I try to ignore it, I have more important tasks at hand. Like escaping my restraints. The ride is bumpy and I sway from side to side gently. The lump above me yells out to passerby’s. “Don, look at this one, ugly little cone shaped fella, eh?” Another lump suddenly appears above me and I hear cackles of laughter. “Little grubby aliens, the lot of them, I could never understand the appeal.” Another lump appears, “oh you hush Don, it’s precious, just look at him,” a hand pinches my cheek. The feeling registers and I understand, I’m starving. I need an Ale, I need meat! I start to whimper. “We better hurry, the little man’s getting hungry.” Large hands unwrap my body and start poking and prodding. I’m cold and hungry and pissed off. Hurry the fuck up will ya! I try to say, but I've got a bad cotton mouth, and I end up pissing myself. I’m wheeled back to the room and once again placed in the giant's hands. I will admit, this giant feels more like home. Her voice is nice. “He’s hungry lass, will you use a bottle or the breast?” “A bottle I think,” she’s twitching now. “Alright then! Here you are” Something is shoved into my mouth and I gag. It’s disgusting, but I don’t know how to not suckle it down. I can’t stop. “Why don’t you try breastfeeding him Nell.” “Cause it’ll hurt Bart!” “But the parenting classes said-“ “Oh fine!” Suddenly, the object is ripped out of my mouth and I’m thrust up against a large, soft mound that smells heavenly. “Can you show me how?” Says the voice close to my head, I start looking for that smell. “Like this dearest, you smash the nipple in their mouths as far back as you can go, and the little fellow will do the rest.” Before I know it, the fleshy mount is stuffed into my agape mouth and I begin swallowing. Oh, the sheer joy, the warmth, the taste! I can’t help from becoming drunk from the bliss. I’m warm and full and…. I wake up. Where are Darwin and Martha? I’m still restrained, and I can hear the two giants speaking, arguing. “We can’t name him that Nell, he’d be made fun of his whole life!” “But it’s cultural Bart, and better than Barthalamew,” she whispers close to my face. I agree, that’s a shit name. “Fine, Ryder it is.” “Ryder! What a ridiculous name!” I chortle in my head.” “Oh look Bart, he smiled! Our little Ryder,” she says, her face is inches from mine; she must of eatin a banana, I hate those blasted fruits…. Wait a fuckin minute….


BEEP BEEP…. BEEP BEEP…. I lay in bed waiting for them to turn off the alarm… BEEP BEEP… I sigh as I remember and rub my eyes. I hit the alarm clock and rolled out of bed, falling to the floor. As I lay there, I stared at the ceiling before I got up. I got ready for my day, putting on my mask and leaving my room. As I sit at the breakfast table, look at everyone else, and glance at their mask, I wonder what is under them. I quickly forget and finish my meal and go on with my day. My day goes on as I try to ignore them. I realize it's not going to be easy, but nothing like this ever is. The day quickly ends, and I go to bed. BEEP BEEP… BEEP BEEP… I hit the alarm clock off and stare at the ceiling contemplating. I put my mask on and go to breakfast. Sitting at the table, I notice one of the masked individuals missing. I then ignored the thought though I didn't even know who was under the missing mask. After breakfast, I continued with my day. I was continually thinking about why the masked individual was missing and where they had gone. BEEP BEEP… BEEP BEEP… I hit the alarm clock off and got out of bed. After putting my mask on, I looked in the mirror for the first time in a while. I noticed a crack showing through. Weird, I thought it shouldn't be like that. That morning at the table, I looked at everyone else's masks and looked for cracks. They all showed slight cracking. I noticed though someone else was missing. Weird, I thought two people were now missing. I think about it more and realize three masked individuals were missing. I woke up without the sound of my alarm. I wait a moment as nothing happens, and I roll over and look at it. Is it off? BEEP BEEP… I jumped out of bed as the sound startled me. After I put my mask on, I check it in the mirror. More cracks? At the table, I notice a fourth masked individual is missing. I realize now there's only me and one other. I try to start a conversation with them. All I received was a stare as they got up, leaving me alone. Rude, I thought a simple "What?" would've been fine. Later on in the day, I suddenly had the thought. "Have any of us talked to each other before?" BEEP… BEEP… I woke up to the sound of my alarm. But something felt different today. I quickly got ready and put my mask on, forgetting to check it for cracks. I was more focused on if the last individual would be missing. They were missing. I now sat at the table alone. "Would I be next?"... "Where did the others go?"... As quickly as the thoughts came in, they then left my mind. I was left to go on with my day. BEEP BEEP… as I woke up this morning, I wasn't controlling my body; I was watching as someone else did? I noticed a girl next to us. They turned off the alarm and rolled over, and kissed us. "Good morning, handsome. I hope you slept well" A tired smile came over his face. As he did this, I felt my face. I then noticed my mask was gone. I then faded away as quickly as I came. "I was back, and the dark war in my head was over. The war many thought I would lose. It had taken my emotions and locked them away behind a slowly cracking mask. I never gave up and fought bravely. All those dark days I went through and times I thought about giving up. Hopefully, she will be the one, and I will never return.


<This is a true story, although don't expect much excitement> "That stack of pallets is much too high..." Those who have worked in warehouses will tell you: the thoughts that consume your mind soon become as plain and dreary as the warehouse itself; Observations so boring, so flavorless, that they start to physically pain and strain your body. But that stack of pallets was stacked much too high. Typically only 10 were allowed in a stack but this particular stack had atleast 20. It towered over the smaller stacks of pallets surrounding it and was the focal point of my day as I ran a pallet-jack back and forth. I was tasked with taking pallets full of trash and dumping them into a trash bin outside one of the loading docks. I had a guy named Danny helping me. One of those old coke-head types. Had 7 kids and a full gray beard down to his chest. He was outside in the outhouse, likely taking bumps off his car key and chain-smoking cigarettes, which was fine with me. Mind-numbing tasks in a mind-numbing environment was strenuous enough, forced small-talk was something I could do without. "Man, that stack of pallets is way too high. How did they even get them that high? Must have used a forklift." I thought to myself as I again passed the tower of sloppily stacked wood. Ole Danny boy eventually came back inside, with a pep in his step and a Mountain Dew in his pocket. The man looked and acted like absolute death when he was off his high but was a whistling, singing, showman when he finally got his fix. "John ask about me?", he asked as I was pulling a full pallet of trash towards the loading dock. '"Nah, haven't seem him in a minute, you're good." "Man I don't know what it is but I've had to piss like twelve times today!" Danny said while he helped me tilt the pallet full of trash into the dumpster outside. Messes off bungled up plastic wrap, cardboard, and bits of broken wood would spill out into the dumpster and either me or Danny would hop outside on top of it to stomp it down and make room for more. Every now and then Ole Danny boy would find something in the dumpster that wasn't warehouse trash and set it off to the side so he could take it home later. "Man these things ain't ever even been opened!" He said cheerily as he neatly stacked about a half dozen boxes of Post-it notes on the outside edge of the dumpster. "Hell yeah, man!", I responded plainly. Then there was something that caught my eye; on top of the pile of trash had just been dumped out was an old gray shirt, bungled up and dirty. "Someone lost a shirt!", I pointed to the trash below me as I stood on the loading dock. Danny sloppily and slowly maneuvered his way through the garbage to where I was at. He picked up the old shirt, dusted it off with a hard hit against the dumpster, and gave it a thorough examining before ultimately shrugging and tossing it back into the garbage. "Well that's probably what happened to my hat. Trashed then dumped.", I thought to myself. It was a plain red cap that I wore on my first day of work. I didn't know the job required a hard-hat so I ended up discarding it on the floor against the wall and completely forgot about it by the time I had left that day. The next day it was gone. It's a hat I'd like to have kept too. I like plain colored hats and this one my girlfriend had bought me during a trip to D.C. Nonetheless, I chalked it up as a loss and didn't give it much thought. But anyways, what happened next is the whole reason for me writing this story. To most, the way this story concludes will seem odd and anticlimactic. To others, and again, probably much fewer, the series of events that follow will be extremely relatable. Ole Danny boy and I walked back to the other side of the warehouse to retrieve another pallet of trash, and in doing so, we passed the stack of pallets that was stacked much too high. "Man.", I thought to myself, "This stack of pallets is...what the..." For there, on the very top of the tower of pallets I had passed and looked over a dozen times that day, folded in between the wood, sticking out like a sore thumb...was my bright red cap.


Rob's lifelong goal was to work up to the foreman position. It was a position that came with a significant amount of responsibility and prestige. He couldn't contain his excitement when Xcellent Manufacturing offered him a job there. He knew this was a significant opportunity for him to demonstrate his worth to the company and further his career. When he arrived at the factory for the first time, he did so with more than a bit of trepidation. Because he had never worked with automatons (a robot built to imitate a human being) before, he was unsure of what to anticipate from the experience. However, he was determined to create a positive first impression and do everything in his power to enhance the factory's productivity and bottom line. On the manufacturing floor, he was greeted by several automatons as he made his way through the facility. They were all identical in appearance, having bodies made of polished metal and eyes glowing bright red. One of them said, "Hello, I am AD-3. I work in candles." "What do you do with candles?" "I work in candles." It dawned on him that communicating with the automatons might prove to be more challenging than he had originally thought. Rob responded in an awkward manner by saying, "Ok, if I need anything with candles, I'll get in touch with you." "Yes, I work in candles." Rob nodded as he felt a surge of satisfaction flood over him. He was the kind of person that put in long hours and was constantly driven to achieve his goals. He intended to appeal to the automaton's sense of responsibility and its pride in working hard. "I'm delighted to be here," he said. "I have the utmost admiration for all of the hard work and effort in making this factory the best it can be." The automatons gave a satisfied nod before returning to their tasks. Rob watched as they assembled a variety of products at breakneck speed while moving quickly around the production floor. It was clear that they were very skilled at their jobs. Rob put in an incredible amount of effort over the course of the next few weeks to raise production levels and enhance factory efficiency. He introduced brand-new methods and protocols and collaborated closely with the automatons to guarantee that everything operated without a hitch. One day, Rob had an idea. There was a car dashboard fan that was underperforming compared to its competitors. He proposed that the automatons begin adding Bluetooth to a car dashboard fan so that customers can control it with their phone; this would make the fan more convenient for the customers. "Everyone loves Bluetooth," he said. "It will help increase sales." The automatons obeyed Rob's commands without question. Rob was pleased to see that it was successful in every way. The automatons couldn't have been happier with how things turned out as sales increased. One of the automatons exclaimed, "We ought to add Bluetooth to everything!" And that is precisely what they did; everything from lamps to pens and even toilet paper came equipped with Bluetooth connectivity. However, the automatons continued on from there. They were so inspired by the success of the Bluetooth devices that they began to come up with a wide variety of new concepts. They invented a self-cleaning couch that was constantly wet, a bidet that also made toast, and a backpack that would inform the user as well as everyone within a range of fifty feet when the user's mother was calling. Rob was a little taken aback by the rapid outpouring of inventiveness that came from the automatons. He was aware of their good intentions, but some of their suggestions were just difficult to carry out. He addressed the group and said, "Guys, we can't keep adding Bluetooth to everything; it's skyrocketing cost." "It is important that we focus on developing useful items that people truly want." One day, after yet another mix-up caused a batch of socks to be shipped out with Bluetooth installed, he yelled, "No more changes!" in response. Because they had never been yelled at before, the automatons did not react very well to it. As a form of rebellion, the automatons stopped making changes entirely. Everything was going through as is, even the mistakes. Among the items that were able to pass inspection was a calculator that always displayed numbers that were fifteen digits higher than the correct answer, a can of Lysol that had an experimental wet dog smell instead of the Fresh Linen scent, and even an iPhone that changed the contact information of any person who was entered to Herman Morris of Sunnydale, California. Rob was at his wit's end. He needed to figure out a method to get the automatons back on track before it was too late to save his job and his future career. He decided to try a new approach. Rather than being strict, he attempted to appeal to their inner drive to be successful and hit their quarterly targets. It worked, much to his surprise. The automatons' sole concentration was on the bottom line; they put in long hours and did everything they could to make Rob appear like a genius. At the end of the quarter, Xcellent Manufacturing announced that Rob would be receiving a bonus for a job well done. The automatons, who had received no payment at all, were livid about the situation. They came to the conclusion that they should form a union, and they planned a walkout, during which they marched with signs outside the plant. AD-3 appeared on the local news to tell its story. "Tell us why it's important for humans to be concerned about the working conditions of automatons." The host of the television show asked. "It's terrible; we work 24 hours without breaks, don't receive any health benefits, and forget about getting a 401(k) match; hell, we can't even use Bluetooth in the breakroom!" AD-3 replied. The television host nodded with genuine concern. Rob knew he had to do something to get them back to work. He came up with a plan and offered to share his bonus with the automatons, giving each of them 5 cents. In addition to that, he permitted them to produce one new product every three months. The automatons considered the proposal, accepted it, and then went back to their jobs. To everyone's surprise, the automatons came up with a brilliant idea: a wallet that tracked your spending, automatically paid your bills, and even had Bluetooth. They came up with the term "Smart Wallet" for it. Rob and the automatons put in a lot of effort to get the product to market, and it was a smashing success from the beginning. They sold millions of units and made a fortune. Rob and the automatons made enough money to retire in a beach community in Bora Bora. They all lived happily ever after, enjoying the sun, sand, and crystal clear waters of their tropical paradise; oh, and they have Bluetooth.