I sat on a chair and watched Tobias gather his thoughts. He lay on one of the beds, sporting the hotel’s white bathrobe with his hands over his stomach. We both were wearing the robes, since we’d handed in our clothes for laundry last night. “That’s it?” he asked after a moment. “That’s the summary,” I said. “You just jumped over a whole year of your life?” Tobias continued. “Jumped over the part where you learned to use magic?” “I didn’t think it was important to the story,” I said. “It wasn’t important to *your* side of the story.” I opened my mouth for a retort, closed it, and finally took a deep breath to calm myself down. I didn’t want to repeat the whole hide and seek again. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s not something I want to share... yet.” Tobias nodded. At first, it had felt great to spill things off my chest. But now afterwards, I half-regretted it. As if I’ve given Tobias a weapon to hold over me. “Can you recite that incantation for me?” Tobias asked. I shook my head. “I don’t even remember the first syllable. It was like I was being possessed. Was that Rosa — ” “No.” Tobias’ voice shut down my idea. “It has nothing to do with Rosie.” “How can you be so sure?” I asked. “You were wrong about her actions after the Hunters sealed you. I’ve seen her experiments with magic, combining different schools and triggers. Could she somehow put a spell which triggered when a Darmitage touched a Sarsen stone?” “I know Rosie, she wouldn’t open a portal and let demons into this world.” “Didn’t you listen? She was torn and angry after the Hunters sealed you. And I opened it due to one of her memories taking over me.” Heat rose up my face matching my level of frustration. Tobias was too biased, too blind to not accept that his sister might have done something wrong. “Nadia.” The way he said my name made me pause. I thought he would’ve raised his voice to match my tone. But instead, he’d said it with an outbreath, almost as a sigh. “You may have some of Rosie’s memories but I have shared a life with her,” Tobias said. “I know her better.” What a load of crap. But I bit down on my tongue and held my words. “How did you get sealed?” I asked, switching subjects. “You were the strongest out there. It didn’t seem like anyone could’ve matched your strength during your time.” Tobias shook his head. “Strength might win a battle, but it’s the mind which wins a war.” Someone had outsmarted Tobias? The guy who plunged himself into books and scrolls whenever he encountered a problem? A doorknock interrupted our conversation. From the other side, a maid addressed that our clothes were cleaned. I opened the door and received the bundle and headed to the bathroom to change. It felt much better to wear my own clothes than prancing around in a bathrobe. Tobias didn’t touch his pile. “I prefer wearing the robe,” he said. “It’s more comfortable.” “You’ll have to wear something else when we go outside,” I said. “Speaking of outside, what’s your plan?” “The plan was to ask the Calamity to help against the demons, but now…” I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t know.” He drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Don’t you have any questions?” I asked. “About Darmitage, about the current world? Anything?” “Loads,” Tobias said. “More than you can imagine.” “Well, let’s figure those things out first,” I said. “What are you wondering about?” Tobias looked at me with serious eyes. “What’s ‘witness protection’ and ‘mob family’?” “What?” “You mentioned that you thought your parents were under ‘witness protection’ or they were part of a ‘mob family’, what does that mean?” It took me a moment to understand what he referred to and I realized my mistake. I had been churning on and on without taking his background into account. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said, matter of factly. “Let’s take a walk. We’ve been stuffed inside for too long. We’ll get some clothes for you, eat something and I’ll explain what ‘witness protection’ and ‘mob family’ means.” “And ‘lottery’ and ‘passport’ and — “ “We’ll take a *long* walk.


The machinery of the oilrig ground on innocently, unaware of what lay in wait. Colored clouds nearly hid the setting sun. Suddenly, a towering fire rose up, eclipsing the dim rays of the sun and illuminating the towering structure. The rig afire. Workers were paralyzed for a moment, like deer caught in the oncoming lights of a car. Then, for most, the survival instinct kicked in and they screamed and ran. Other workers just stared in mute disbelief. The scene was utter chaos. The fire scorched the sky and began to spread on the metal construct, blocking escape routes from the rig. Charred, burning men staggered around on the platform. Some workers unhurt by the blaze rolled the victims on the ground to out the fire on their clothes; others tried to smother the flames licking their fellow workers. Those still trapped screamed and ran, mad with fear. In desperation, some workers braved the high fall and jumped on some trucks parked near the rig. Some landed on their targets, others on the ground; either way, the impact was bone-shattering and in some cases, nearly fatal. By nightfall, fire trucks and ambulances arrived to tend to the hurt and rescue the trapped. A new problem materialized. The fire engines’ ladders and hoses weren’t long enough to reach the conflagration. The state was growing dire – there were no fatalities yet, but if a solution weren’t found soon, that would change. By this time, relatives of the workers had arrived, tearfully comforting those who had escaped the blaze or screaming the names of sons, husbands, nephews and cousins still trapped high on the oil rig, saying tearful goodbyes. Night drew on, but the towering fire rebellious, lit up the scene like mid-day and seen for miles. Eventually, mercifully, rescue came. Hose extensions were found and firemen perched on the trucks’ ladders spread foam and water on the inferno and the platform nearest those trapped, bringing the fire to bay. Then a helicopter arrived. Unable to land on the still ablaze rig, it hovered above the trapped workers and, dropping a rescue line, was able to hoist the workers to safety. Amazingly, despite the intensity of the blaze, all souls on the rig were saved. But the drama had one more after taste. Firefighters fought hours to extinguish the blaze and it was days before the charred skeleton of the rig was cool enough for investigators to find the cause of the explosion. The rig was due for several electrical upgrades, which were never done. The fire may have been ignited by a spark from faulty wiring, but the true cause was negligence; company executives in their plush offices chose to save on expenses rather than make improvements to save their workers’ lives. Dollars before souls. When the truth came out, heads rolled, bosses were fired and new people were brought in. But in the end, was anything accomplished? All the workers and their families could do is hope their experience falls not by the wayside.


Submitted for (AND WON) Reedsy Contest #87, Prompt "Write about a mischievous pixie or trickster god." I’m not sure how long it was before I realized that the shuttle train never stopped, probably about the time it dawned on me that the people who had gotten on with me were gone. The train is supposed to run from Grand Central to Times Square, one stop, five minutes at the absolute most. But it had been… how long had it been? I don’t know, I was reading my book. I can space out pretty bad sometimes. Family lore has it that I slept right through a freak tornado that ripped off our roof. But the bluish fluorescent lights on the train flickered out with a hum, and when they turned on again, I realized something was amiss. The windows were turned into mirrors by the underground darkness, and in them was a face with a mischievous grin, complemented by a rakish light in the eyes and a tumble of curly brown hair. Samill, the trickster. He materialized from the window. “It’s been some time since we’ve seen each other.” “I can’t say I’ve missed you much, Samill,” I replied, sighing and putting my book down. He laughed heartily in response. “All of the wonders I’ve shown you and you don’t even have a smile to spare for me?” He had a note of mock offense in his voice. “I guess I’ll have to take this little adventure to someone else.” “Go ahead. I won’t mind.” He smiled, more broadly still. “Just kidding, it has to be you.” “Why?” “You’re the only one who’s done it before and let’s just say I need you to survive.” He meant that I’m the only mortal to travel to the realm of the gods and return both alive and a mortal. I did it when I was a girl; it was a whole thing I can’t get into now, but Samill was behind that, too. He damn near got me killed. “I don’t need anything from you this time, Samill. And I’m not a kid anymore. Why would I take this risk?” Samill appraised me. “Indeed, you are no longer a kid.” He turned his head to the side and held his fingers to his eyes like a camera lens. “A fine young woman, might I say. Are you in want of a companion?” “No,” I replied flatly. “Alright,” he said, smiling. “No need to be testy, just asking. Anyway, I need you to get something that was stolen from me.” “Get it yourself.” “Oh no, I can’t show my face there. But you would be able to slip right in and out, unnoticed.” “Surely there’s some other mortal in this world or another, aching for adventure or in need of your favors. I don’t need anything.” I looked down at my phone to check the time, but the screen displayed Samill’s mischievous face in profile. Samill looked at me seriously for some time, calculating something as he always did. “How is your sister, Stella? She must be twenty-seven years old now, am I right?” The air went out of me. What was he planning to do to her? He narrowed his eyes, a playful grin forming in one corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, love. Your sister is fine. I kept my end of that bargain.” “And I paid a huge price. We’re even.” He crouched in front of me. Up close, I could see the glow of his skin and smell his hair; unearthly and unfathomable. “I can give you your magic back. You and Stella.” I froze, not daring to breathe. Samill took our magic in exchange for Stella’s life. We’d lived more than ten years without it. Sometimes, I wonder if I dreamed that I had it: a memory of fire dancing on my fingertips or chasing Stella on the surface of a lake; ephemeral, slipping from me like water in a palm. A gnawing, gaping longing opened up in me. “Ah,” Samill said, standing up smiling. “You’ve missed your magic. I do wonder sometimes how any mortal can bear life without it.” “Magic attracts the gods and all mortals are better off without that.” Samill grabbed his chest. “My poor heart. Come, let me show you something.” He beckoned me to the front of the train. It had stopped moving. With a dramatic swipe of his hand, the front of the train melted away, revealing the damp entrance to a long tunnel. “I need you to find the goddess Badha and retrieve the emerald she’s guarding. She’s blind and can only sense the gods. You will be able to go without notice,” he looked down at me out of the corner of his eye. I shot him a sharp look. “The underworld? Last time was different it was the heavenly gods. This is the realm of the dead, I won’t make it out. They won’t let me cross back into the living.” “If you speak your secret name to the guardian, he will let you pass alive. And if you give me the emerald, I’ll return your magic to you and your sister.” “But my secret name is for my passage into the afterlife. I can’t speak it twice.” “That’s just superstition. Encouraged by the gods, mind you, because your secret name has power and the gods know it. But you can speak it more than once. I give you my word.” I faced him and looked defiantly into his eyes. “No, sorry. I don’t need the magic, neither does Stella. Find someone else.” Samill laughed. “Well, Phoebe, I’d hoped you’d come around on your own. But barring that,” he shoved me through the front of the train and I landed right on my face in the rock and the mud. Before I could stand up, he smiled at me and waved his arm, making himself and the train disappear over my head. I made a hearty effort to bang on the now closed wall where Samill had thrown me through, but it didn’t work. If I was going to get out of there, I knew I’d have to descend this tunnel to figure it out. I pulled up my phone. Dead. Technology didn’t really work in the magical realms. The gods are terrified of it; Google is better at reading our minds than they are. It took some time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they did I noticed tiny dots of light embedded in the rock. I hit my face on the occasional tree root that was hanging from the top of the tunnel. I can’t say how long I walked, but at some point, minutes, hours or days later I arrived at a dried up river bed that I knew I’d have to cross to continue. Water is powerful and even its absence can be a trap set by a sorcerer or a god. I crouched down and put my ear to the ground. The *whoosh* of running water filled my ears. Some kind of underground river. I pressed my finger into a spot of soft mud beneath a rock and pearly liquid that looked like a cross between clouded water and honey emerged. I recognized it from old stories my grandmother told Stella and me, the River of No Name that runs through the center of the earth. It would expect payment of some kind, I reckoned. All enchanted crossings did. But I had nothing on me. I was unprepared. I tried my phone, since it was the most expensive thing I had. I placed it gingerly on the rocks, but moments later the phone launched itself back at me. Ok, that wasn’t going to work. I thought for a few minutes and then realized: the river would want my name. I leaned over to the rocks and whispered “Phoebe,” but the rocks let out an agitated hiss and rumbled. I wiped my hands on my jeans and looked up, cursing Samill. The river wanted my secret name. I was forced to trust what Samill said about my secret name not losing power if I say it more than once. I bent my face even lower this time and said, in as low a voice as possible, the name spoken to me once by my mother the day I was born and written on my heart, *Efweth*. Water coursed through the rocks, gold and white and pleasant. It leveled off when it was a few inches high and pulled itself to either side, allowing me to pass over the rocks. Eventually, I came to the end of the tunnel which was a large, circular cavern with walls made of rocks and mud. The light in the rocks was brighter here, so I was able to see more easily. It seemed I was alone. I walked around the room, my hand on the walls, feeling for some exit or hidden door, but I came up empty. I looked up, but whatever was above me was either too high or too occluded by the darkness for me to see it. “Ok, Samill. What am I doing here? Help me out?” Just then, an enormous woman descended from the ceiling; twenty-feet tall with a tangled mass of hair falling over her shoulders. She seemed old, older than the earth, but also ageless. As soon as I noticed something that would indicate her age, a wrinkle, a grey hair, it would fade away before I could be sure it was there. *This must be Badha*. “Samill? Are you here you nasty little imp? I told you if I ever saw you again I’d rip you to shreds and it would take you three millennia to stitch yourself together.” I pushed myself into the wall and held my breath, not wanting to make a sound. The goddess moved a few steps forward and backward, shaking the cavern as she did. “No it can't be Samill. He couldn't be... But who said your name? Why would anyone speak of you here?” She moved her arm around the cavern to feel. I pressed myself further against the wall. “Make yourself known, whoever you are. Another useless goblin? Be gone, goblin. I’ve nothing for you here.” I looked all over her for some sign of an emerald, nothing on her neck, nothing on her fingers or in her hair. She made herself some kind of beverage and after she was done, she sat down with her great legs out in front of her. I was standing next to her massive calf, I could have reached across and grabbed it if I wanted to. She sipped from her cup and paused, putting her ear up like a curious dog. She sipped again and got on all fours. I had to run toward the entrance of the cavern to avoid her as she changed positions. Then she put her ear to the ground and knelt up. “Mortal, I know you’re here.” Damnit, Samill. “Tell me why you’re here, mortal.” I neither replied nor moved so much as an eyelid. “The river told me mortal. I’ll say your secret name if you don’t answer me. I don’t think you want that.” I wasn’t sure what the consequences of that would be; should I call her bluff or answer her? Everyone in my culture is given a secret name at birth, whispered in their left ears by our mothers at the moment of birth. We are never to speak it until we die. We were told to always guard it as the name possesses great power that could be used to harm us or someone else. “Did Samill send you?” “Yes,” I croaked out. I was very thirsty. She laughed, quietly at first and then so forcefully the walls shook. “Tell me, mortal, what did he tell you to get?” “An emerald.” She laughed again, this time wiping tears from her cheeks. “My sweet child, Samill knows I don’t have that emerald. What did he promise you?” My stomach dropped. What had he set me up for? “Eternal youth? Love? Please, tell me.” She was still laughing and occasionally broke into wheezing coughs. “He said he’d return my magic.” She stopped laughing. “Who took it?” "He did, Samill.” “Why?” “In exchange for my sister’s life.” “And you believed him, when he said he’d return your magic?” “I don’t know. I refused him. But when I refused he threw me down here.” She brought her hand to her chin like she was thinking very hard. “I don’t have the emerald, dear. Samill knows that.” “Ok, then, I’ll just get out of your hair.” She cackled. “You’re in the realm of the dead. You can’t return. You must know that.” “Samill said…” “Samill lied,” she said, still wiping tears of laughter from her blank eyes. “You can’t return. And I’m hungry, come here.” She swiped her arms out again, narrowly missing me. I ran again to the entrance of the cavern and had nearly managed to get away when a tree root ripped from the floor and pulled me back. “I told you, there’s no returning for you, mortal. Samill as good as killed you. I don’t know what you did to piss him off.” I had no weapons. No magic. No way out. I closed my eyes and readied myself for my fate. I wondered what death would be like if I died already in the underworld. Then I got an idea. Lining the walls of the cavern and up into the ceiling were tree roots, the ones that brought me back into the cavern when I tried to escape. I escaped from the root holding me and ran across, another root shot out and chased me. I ran back and forth around the cavern, narrowly avoiding the roots as I did. The whole time Badha was laughing. “Mortals always fight so hard. So entertaining. Well, I’ll be back in a minute when you’re dead.” She stood up but fell right away as the roots pulled her back down. I’d trapped her in them. She pulled and grabbed at them, breaking a few, but they held. I knew they wouldn’t hold long, so I made one final move. I leapt up onto the roots holding Badha, the tips of new ones chasing me as I did, and ran headlong into her chest, dodging out of the way at the last second. The root didn’t find me, but did find Badha’s chest, shooting straight through it and out the other side. She gasped and choked. “No, no. This isn’t possible.” She weakly pulled at the root in her chest, but then she started to disintegrate into the dirt below her, her flesh and hair and clothes falling into so much dust. I was stunned. I thought I would incapacitate her, not kill her. I had no idea what the tree was made of that it was strong enough to kill a goddess, but I ran out of there as quickly as my feet would carry me. The River of No Name parted for me, it did not expect a second payment. I clambered back up the tunnel as fast as I could, falling and tripping as I went. I reached the end of the tunnel, still closed off. “Samill! Let me out of here.” I could see the tunnel starting to fall away too. Soon the ground beneath my feet would be gone. “You feckless bastard let, me, out!” Nothing. "Damn it,” I said, realizing that this wall was the Guardian and I needed to tell it my name or I’d fall into the creeping oblivion below. “Efweth,” I said as quietly as my adrenaline would allow. I was back on the shuttle train. Samill sat jauntily across from me, legs crossed, smiling as though he could hear a distant good tune. The only evidence I had that anything had happened was that I was covered in dirt. “I’m going to KILL you,” I shouted and ran over and started battering him with my fists. “Kill you. There was no emerald.” He restrained me easily, smiling. “I know. I needed her killed. I knew you could do it.” My jaw fell open. “Why? Why didn’t you just kill her yourself?” “This is the problem with all of you magical mortals who chose to integrate into the larger society. You missed all of your lessons. Celestial gods cannot descend into the underworld. Only humans can. I would immediately evaporate if I stepped down there.” “Why me?,” I asked, crying now. “Why? It could have been anyone.” He shook his head. “No, not anyone.” He sat back down the seat. “It had to be someone with your talents.” “I don’t have any talents,” I wept. My shoulders were shaking. “I was just trying to survive.” “And yet, most would not. Just as most children would not have survived the ordeal you went through. No, it had to be you, I’m sorry.” He stood up again and walked to the door of the train, which I realized was moving again. “Here,” he said, reaching into a pocket in his garment. “Your magic.” “No! No, please,” I begged. “I don’t need it. Keep it.” He smiled again, larger than before. “I need you to have it. I’m not done with you yet, *Efweth*.” The loudspeaker called out, “Stand clear of the closing doors, please,” and he snapped his fingers in my direction, stepped out and disappeared into the crowd. People filed into the train and I wiped the tears from my face and tucked my hair behind my ears, but people still avoided sitting next to me, covered as I was in mud and dust. I held up my left hand, cupping it around my right forefinger as though to protect it from the wind, and produced a dancing blue flame from the tip of my finger. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.


With bright blue eyes and a pronounced chin, the man in the grey suit sported a handsome smile as he removed the hat from his head extending his arm, “Hey there, Gustaf Olrog, I work for the government.” And before there was even a moment to respond to the man he made his presence known as he made his way through the doorway handing over his hat and there I stood quite shocked for a moment over the curious man looking around my home, through shelves but before he could make his way to the living room I took a step in front of him and said “Well, so what? Does working for the government mean that you can just barge in wherever you want!?” “Oh but you looked at me so invitingly, I suppose I may have jumped to conclusions, although I do smell some coffee brewing so if you don’t mind can I ask you for a cup?” “Mr. Olrog was it? I can give you a cup of coffee and all the damn semi skimmed milk in this house if you so want if you can explain yourself and this intrusion. I am quite offended by you simply shaking a hand to enter my home and now when I see it I’m even holding your hat…” “And that is why I made an assumption,” mr. Olrog said taking off his coat, “now as I said I work for the government. Specifically, the Unusual Robot Incident Unit, so perhaps you have heard of what we do? No need to answer that question so please put my hat on the hanger and give me a tour.” On closer inspection mr. Olrog appeared to be a quite well built man and his two piece suit drew attention to his broad shoulders and slim waist. It was quite enough to be able and put up a fight or even roughen up someone like me, and so I made way through the living room showing some of my antiques. The man seemed quite disinterested and sparsely commented on them or any of the books he inspected closer, didn’t read much he claimed. Although his interest in all bookshelves near the antiques and small knickknacks was somewhat contradicting this. The kitchen was somewhat less furnished and clean, a large wooden table with a large red table cloth covered most of it, and in the centre were already the can of coffee, some cookies, and coffee cheese. I looked through my cabinets for the nice cups with saucers, the one with small gnomes dancing on it. Of course I was looking to seem nice and quite bothersome with all the small things to show and talk about, perhaps backing away from the encounter, perhaps because the man hade made his way in so effortlessly. I poured us both some coffee and looked on as he took a healthy portion from the cheese and a single cookie that he ate immediately, he looked at me and smiled “I do appreciate the effort and for you to offer me this cheese is a rarity indeed!” “Indeed…” I muttered with a sigh drawing my cup far closer to my chest, “so then mr. Olrog you didn’t quite specify what you do?” “Oh I did quite well but I suppose you want me to explain the details.” “I do” I retorted angrily, “nothing big ever happens in these parts and never have I seen a government employee!” “Well, big things happen in big places” said mr. Olrog with a great smile, “so this is an unusual incident indeed. Now as I was saying before being interrupted, there is something strange that occurred in these parts. I received constant calls about this machine that ran loose, that came close to homes, especially those with families, almost as if the machine was peeking in through the windows. And now I must ask you, why would a machine do that? For what purpose would it serve something that lacks any sort of video equipment or cameras?” “I wouldn’t know” I hesitated, “But then again I don’t have a family so perhaps that is why I don’t know about this event at all.” “Yes, perhaps you are much like me, working away our lives until there is nothing left but a heap of bills and wrinkly fingers. No, I shall tell you about this machine, it is quite large, about your size in fact. It has a colour scheme much like those produced by Prosperos Musical Machines, if you have seen them. They are built as entertainers, playing mostly piano but some able to play flutes and string instruments. And I can see you are quite the musician yourself.” “Yes, I do own a lot of instruments, but I haven’t played them in a while. I got sick and my lungs aren’t quite the same, can still play the piano though, if only I owned one.” I said thinking of better days. Mr. Olrog nodded and frowned at the bitter coffee, “The machine wandering around does not only look for families you see, it also appears to search for musical instruments. And what the families have in common is just that, a piano and a group of people nearby. Quite what a stray machine would want to find to fulfil its duties.” “I suppose that would make sense, if it is broken or damages to roam around for an instrument and guests.” I said spilling some coffee all over my shirt as I attempted to drink it, “Dammit… So what is your point anyway, that I am alone and without a piano? Am I really the only lonely man in these parts?” “This coffee has been standing for a while, hasn’t it? Not too hot. And no, you are not the only one. But you are the only one missing in my report.” Mr. Olrog said reaching into his pocked, “Now, I wonder, with so many instruments in your house have you even thought of owning a musical machine to compensate for your disease? I would certainly do myself if only to hear the fine tunes once more in the comfort of my own home.” “I wouldn’t afford one” I mumbled, “I wouldn’t afford one. Besides I can still play and play for my guests.” “Would you mind playing for me?” “For you?” “Yes, play for me” said mr. Olrog standing up, “play for me on whatever instrument you wish.” We walked into the living room, me with the coffee-stained shirt and a violin and mr. Olrog with his hand in his pocked tilting his head as he looked at me. He gestured and nodded. And I began playing, and I was playing for a moment before the violin broke down in my hands. It broke down as if the wood had grown soft and I simply looked at it. I looked at it for quite a while then back to mr. Olrog who pulled out a small handgun, “The term you are looking for is memory plague, you have existed for nearly a century and your memory banks are full and here you stand in the rotting home of your last owner, taking his personality. All fragments of your mind is from previous owners that began replacing programming as the congested memory began deleting files, with such a congested system it can no longer decide which to keep and which are important. You are now decommissioned PM-2781, the last of your defective kind.


How I die and the pigeon’s cookbook I happen to know how I die. And I do not mean in any abstract or metaphysical sense. I happen to literally know how I die. As all things in my life, I stumbled upon it. I was in a bookshop looking for a pigeon cookbook. Not a cookbook written by pigeons, but a cookbook on how to cook pigeons. I had always wondered what they taste like, and never really let go of the thought that they taste soda. Anyhow I digress. I was in this bookshop on Brooks Street. You know the place. It is right by the frog fountain and squeezed in between the Jewish baker and that man who shouts about vegetables all day. As I was idly looking for my book. I came to a section of the store, which somehow I had never been in before. I frequent this particular store quite often and yet a new section seemed to fold open when I rounded the corner from Greek food to Helenistic cuisine. This new section was unlike any other in the store. The shelves were made of old and almost rotten wood. There was dust everywhere and it smelled like my grandmother used to: Of mintcake and Chanel no 17. The bookcases towered over me and threatened to keel over at any minute. I paused, wondering whether I should seek the help of the proprietor, Mr. Dunder, but relented as I noticed the titles of the books. “Jordan Dale: Killed by his cat” “Jennifer Kendall: Slipped and fell in mayonnaise” It struck me as weird. Not that anything about this experience wasn’t weird, but this intrigued me. I put down a book named “Scottish Meals and Trantra Sex” and ventured onwards. The section seemed to expand and widen and with each step a new bookcase seemed to appear at the end of the row. Every book was named in the same manner: “Geoff Wintrop: Hit by a car while looking at his phone” “Ismail bin’Said: Choked on a piece of bread” There was no sensible order to the books, so I took one to read. It had 300 pages with the same sentence over and over again. “Danielle Winchester Cotton: Stabbed by her best friend” Over and over again. At first, I wondered how all these authors had managed to get published with such lackluster materiel. It gave me hope of being an author myself, at least if the bar was this low. But then it dawned on me. This is how people died. I took out my phone and googled Danielle Winchester Cotton., but there was no wifi, which was really disappointing for a store in 2021 not to have free wifi. Anywho, I did what anyone would do if they were in a store with a book about how people died. I looked for my family. Not that I hoped that they died, but those whom I knew was dead. My uncle, Frank. He kicked the bucket six years ago while inside a wheat silo, which collapsed and crushed him. I went looking, and searched for what seemed like hours, but no Frank Finkle appeared. There was a Francis Wonderwood who got shot, twice, for being a cunt. A Frederik von Finklevile who died giving birth, which just screamed intrigue, but my search was in vain, until I by chance said his name out loud. “Frank Finkle” And the book just fell from the top shelf into my hands. And there it was: “Frank Finkle. Crushed in a silo”. A thought popped into my head. Is it just people who died or how people will die? And you know you cannot help yourself. I said my own name. And \*plop\* a boo fell into my hands. It had my name on it, and my cause of death.


# The Downside of Infidelity **A girl tries to muster the courage to come clean to her boyfriend about her affair.** *Written by Gregory Patrick Travers* I left Nick’s house that night and got in my car. I felt a lump in my throat as I checked my phone to see another missed call from John. This can’t go on, I thought to myself. I needed to come clean and tell John the truth. Not just for him, but for me, too. Keeping this secret, running around behind his back and covering my tracks…it was utterly exhausting. I can't pinpoint exactly when I fell out of love with him, but I can remember the day I first met Nick. He came into the bar by himself; I had never seen him around before. He was shy for someone so cute. Usually, the guys around the bar act as guys do, horny and a little too honest with their desires…Not him, though. He just smiled and watched the sports highlights on the bar screen. Maybe that was the reason I kept coming back to check on him. He had just moved to the city from Vancouver for work. He did lighting work for movie sets; a job most might find uninteresting, but I loved movies…Lights, make-up, sound, whatever—if it had to do with film, I was all ears. I don’t know if it was the stories about being on set or his blue eyes and dimples, but when I got home that night he was all I could think about. In all the five years that John and I had been a couple, I never once thought about cheating. When we got together in high school it was this magical thing, like something out of a romantic comedy. He was this funny, quirky guy who everyone seemed to like and I was swept away by him. In the first years, I was thankful every day that I was the one he chose to call his girlfriend. I would get mad when he talked to other girls and I would be on needles all day until he was back home with me, cuddling on the couch and watching Seinfeld, our favorite show. My heart would race when he sent me a text message, even if it was just a smiley face or a "LOL". The sex was great; we had this connection like we knew exactly what the other person wanted without even saying a word… But we were young and I suppose we weren't sure who we really were as individuals. He maintains he did, but I *know* I didn’t. Back then all I wanted to do was get married, have kids, and live this fairy tale life with the man I loved. College made me mature…or immature. I loosened up and stopped taking life so seriously. The idea of being tied down to one spot with one person sounded more like a prison sentence than a dream. Slowly I began to have subtle resentments towards him. Where once I saw him as sweet, now he was kind of over-sensitive. The sex that had been so magical became routine and left me uninspired and unsatisfied. At this point, Nick had been coming into the bar more, which always made my night. Every time the front door opened I would prop my head up in hopes to see him walk through the door. I felt like such a goof but, at the same time, the fact that I felt this electric attraction made me feel alive again and I wanted more of it. Lots more. I found myself getting off shift and, instead of going home to John, staying for a drink with Nick. First, it started out as one, then two, then three…Then came the night he invited me back to his place for the fourth. He laid me and his bed and kissed my neck, his hands were rough but I wanted them on me. I was wet even before he shuffled my jeans off me and threw them to the floor. He made me shake and quiver…He made me cum. Six months later I was juggling both of them. At first, the affair made me feel dangerous and sexy but when John and I began to fight, I failed to see the reason as to why I was keeping up this charade. I guess I didn't want to see the hurt in his eyes when I told him there was someone I wanted more than him. Knowing John, he'd probably start crying or something. Maybe in some way, I as well didn't want to see all those years go to waste…but there was no denying we weren't the same couple we were in high school. As I drove home, I heard a *Barenaked Ladies* song on the radio that John and I used to dance to. That combined with passing by the park we used to hang out at was too much for me. I pulled over and started crying right there on the side of the road. How could I be such a bitch? I thought. How could I break his heart like this? Maybe if I had told him about my concerns with our relationship, he would try to change, try to compromise…I hadn’t even bothered to try. I got myself together and wiped my eyes. Be strong, I told myself. I sat in the underground parking of our building for about fifteen minutes before I mustered up the courage to do what I had to do. As I entered our apartment I heard the *Barenaked Ladies* playing on our stereo system and was hit in the face with the distinct smell of garlic. I walked into the kitchen to see John setting the dinner table. He looked up at me and smiled, “Hey, babe.” “You made dinner?” “Spaghetti and meatballs, your favorite. I wanted to do something nice, I know I’ve been kind of preoccupied lately.” Then he noticed my eyes. “What’s wrong, it looks like you’ve been crying.” I straightened up, “Oh, no…Nothing. Allergies…” “Well, it’s almost ready.” “Okay…I’m just going to get changed.” I walked to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Tomorrow, I told myself.


I don’t even know what to think right now. My body is shaking and it’s getting harder to move my jaw enough to talk. “I don’t know how much longer we’re going to make it like this,” I mutter to Patrick. As I glance in his direction I can see his lips are becoming a faint purple. His teeth momentarily stop chattering and he replies, “Let’s leave. We have to do something.” “It’s 20 miles Patrick, we’re weak, we’ll never make it.” “We owe it to our families to try! I’m not going to sit here huddled together in a cave waiting to die. I’m leaving! And that’s with or without you.” “You’ll never make it. Don’t be an idiot, someone could show up any minute now.” “Yeah… let’s just put the chances of our survival into someone else’s hands. Get real man. No one is coming for us. They would’ve been here. I can feel myself shutting down. It’s time to go.” We left our food and gold in the cave and began marching into an assassinating windchill of -47 degrees. With each breath, the skin inside my nose burns deeper. My feet feel prosthetic; I’m moving numb limbs. As we march, the hallucinations are becoming reality. I am delusionally euphoric. Is it my brain shutting down? Or is there something empowering about trudging through a frozen tundra knowing your life's on the line? “I’m done John. This is it for me,” Patrick croaks as he falls forwards onto the rock solid ground. “Think of Ellie,” I plead, but it’s too late. His eyes are lifeless. The necessity to continue takes precedence over the swarm of emotions begging me to mourn. I want to break down, but a force inside of me authoritatively screams I must keep walking. The sun has fallen. It’s somehow gotten even colder. I’m able to make out the dangling crescent-shaped branch of a tree we passed just two miles after arriving. I’m close. I’m captivated by a surge of energy unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s incredible, the resources our bodies reserve for the times we need them most. Flooded by adrenalin, my pace becomes brisk. Images of reuniting with Samantha, Robby, and Mark flash through my mind. I see a sign warning of bears and wolves. I’m close. I can’t believe my eyes. I reach the cabin and it’s empty. Everyone has gone home. Again, I’m alone. I reach for the door handle and pull with the limited strength I still have. It’s locked. I can’t survive another hour out here. I begin hyperventilating. Shaking my head back and forth, back and forth, moving it up and down in circles. I see a rock the size of my hand. Without hesitation I launch it into the window. The glass shatters and I throw my limp body into the cabin. “HEAT! HEAT! HEAT,” I pant. My system is shocked. I’d forgotten the sensation of warmth. I look up from the ground I’m lying on, and my heart sinks as I see the window. What have I done? This cabin is my lifeline and I’ve put a hole in it. Cold air is rushing in by second, this cabin is a sinking ship. I crawl to the back of the room, and open the door to the closet. I cram in and shut the door. I’m going to sleep, comfortable with the fact that whether I wake up depends on how early the cabin attendants come to work.


A villain is what? Who determines what a villain is? Why does there have to be a villain? When did the conflict between superimposed figures of good and evil come into play? And how long has it been since I was forsaken by my own world, shunted into this path of supposed darkness in which I have no choice but to partake in? *You know better than to ask such questions in the face of this world, Commander...* Perhaps I do, but after all this time, all these ages that have passed. Worlds built and destroyed. You and I, side by side, with no determination of what is wrong or right aside from our own perspectives. After all that, I have no other words left to speak. For what choice do I have? They have put this mantle before me, and ordered me to step upon it, in such a means to create a great evil to put down. And for what? This fake? This twisted glory? Are they so desperate to find themselves that they don’t even see that they are lost? *The battle approaches. I trust that you shall put away your words and fight?* ...Yes, I shall. For as I have said, what choice do I have? *There is no choice, just the illusion of one, Commander.* Then I tire of this collection of smoke and mirrors. I believe not in what we do, up here on this pedestal of lies and mysterias. Our path is one of a self-fulfilling prophecy. But it is not one we created, merely the one we live in. *I must prepare our troops, Commander… But, as parting words… I must say, it was an honor to fight by your side. I hope that you do not carry guilt into the next world.* Guilt and shame is all I feel, Lieutenant… And I hope that you may pass over in the blaze of glory you have always wanted to. Now, go. And carry the burden of my own unwilling will. *Goodbye, Commander.* Goodbye, Lieutenant. >*A noise is heard as the Lieutenant departs the observatory for the very last time, to die in a battle, their name never known. History would be quick to erase the happenings of the conflict between this Commander, doomed forever to be a Villain, and the Heroes, who knew nothing of the truth. There would be no grave for those who fell today. But the Villain would not lose. The Villain was forbidden from failure. Condemned for actions that were not theirs. What good was it to fight a Villain so against their own Villainy that they would seek to sabotage their own actions? The answer would not be found today. The Heroes forced their way through the Villains forces, only to find the Villain having awaited them, their head low with shame and regret, and a hollow determination. Today, like many other days, would be just another movement that aligned with the lost cause that was the governments that had knowingly installed a Villain to take the fall. There was no hope, and no despair. Just the illusion of choice.* > >*And so, to the Heroes, the Villain had but two words, empty as all else in this farce was:* > >*“Release me.


A man begins filming with his phone. Dressed in security uniform, the night guard had a grumpy look on his face. "Oh sh\*t, it's recording." He exclaimed with an accent so Russian that almost every word he said sounded like vodka. He tries to fix the shot to capture himself, ultimately settling with his face covering the entire screen. "Every night. At this time of night. This office gets infested. What is infesting it? Rats? Insects? No, no." The Guard walks over to the Meeting Room. He pans the camera over as he approached the door, which violently swings open. "You see that?" He says, completely deadpan to what was certainly paranormal activity. He then enters and turns on the lights, revealing three women standing in the far corner. They were eerily pale. Bloody lips and hollow eyes stared directly at the man, still and silent. "What the f\*ck are you staring at? And how many times I tell you not to slam the door, huh?" The lights flicker. A moment later the women vanish. The Guard sighs, looking at all the floating chairs. "You see? This not my fault but I get paycut? Bullsh\*t!" He continued ranting as he fixed the chairs back down. The lights kept flickering but he seemed unconcerned, cursing under his breath. "I don't get paid for this." The Guard switches off the lights and closes the door as if it was all part of his routine. "And now I'll show you the Director's Office. Hey man, after I show you this, you better give me raise." This time, he opens the door and switches the lights on. Small shadows scattered back behind furniture, leaving behind absolute chaos in the room. Cabinets were open, files crumpled, and the pens were stuck on the wall. The matted floor was littered with tiny balls of excrement and piss that had a terrible stench. "Ahh, I know you see that. Messy but no burglars, sir. Just Gremlins. I am very professional security, no one can break-in." The recording captures everything. He sniffs around and retches, coughing a few times. A crowd of mischievous and high-pitched laughter could be heard. A number of tiny shadows with glowing eyes were peeking at the Guard. The room seemed to darken as they multiplied. "Oh, you think that's funny? How about I bring my cat here after burning you all with water?" He cackled in protest, mocking the tiny creatures. They flee. A round of screams and whispers of fear filled the room. "Oi! You clean all this sh\*t up. I give you all cookie. I know you like cookie. But if you don't fix this, I bring firehose." The Guard shuts the door, keeping the lights on. He checks the time before making sure that the phone was still recording. "Gremlins are not bad. But they are more annoying than my mother-in-law. They are the ones who keep hiding your credit cards mister Director, sir. If you give me higher raise, I guarantee they bother you no more." He had gone through his bag, retrieving a pack of Oreos. The Director's Office was quite loud when he'd arrived. Putting his hand on the handle, he silently counts while looking at his watch. Just before the mark, he enters. Spotless. The office was cleaner than it was after the janitors left. "Very good. Sometimes cookie don't work. Sometimes they want money like little hookers." He narrated to the camera while leaving a quarter on the desk. The Guard left the room with the lights on, double-checking the locks before he moved on. Then he stops on his tracks. "It's Thursday. That idiot will be here again." This time, he exits the building. Nothing was spoken for a while as he walked to the nearby shore. With a flashlight in hand, he arrives at a lifeguard post and finds a megaphone and a key. "I know I'm abandoning my post but that's temporary and you'll see why I have to do this." He pulls out a half-full bottle of vodka from underneath the bench. "I am not drinking on job because I am outside premises." The soft calm of the waves stopped and the streetlights dimmed. An eerie silence engulfs the beach as it was plunged into darkness. The water retreats. Loud and rhythmic hums caused patterns in the dancing sand. Followed by heavy thuds and the sound of waterfalls. Clouds parted and stars shifted to the colossus moving in the distance as if drawn by its presence. The megaphone whined. With the key, the Guard lazily turns on the spotlight that he'd set up especially for this occasion. And there it was. A monster of vaguely anthropoid outline, but with an octopus-like head whose face was a mass of feelers, a scaly, rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, narrow wings behind. The creature was so terrible to behold that it destroys the sanity of those who lay their eyes on its form. It was an eldritch god. "OI, SH\*THEAD! IF YOU FLOOD THE SHORES AGAIN WITH THAT SLEEPWALKING BULLSH\*T OF YOURS, I SWEAR TO F\*CKING GOD." The eldritch god flinched. It looked around, confused. And then it waved at the Guard. Seemingly embarrassed. As the Lovecraftian creature descended once more to the depths, the world returned to normal. Just as the Guard came down from the post, however, the waves came rushing in. That night, a flurry of curses that would've made the devil cry was heard. "As you can see, I have to do this so that you can still have an office and I would have a job. Pretty good, ah?" He explained to the camera, which was the only thing left dry. "My shift today is almost done. Later I need to get silver bullets for the full moon. Consider company insurance, please." He lights a cigar whilst getting out of his soaked garments, revealing a bear-like bod. "Oh, and my raise. I want raise. Give me raise. If you don't give me raise..." He puffs out a ring of smoke whilst checking if his gun was also wet, looking at the camera with his grumpy expression while cocking the pistol. "Enjoy the next 24 hours." The recording comes to an end.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words. However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. Please read the entire post before submitting. Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **”The door crept open.”** This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, but the original sentence should stay intact.   ***   #Last Week A smaller group of stories this week, but wonderful still. Thank you to everyone who left feedback for another writer on the thread this week. I hope to see more feedback exchanged this week. Now for spotlights! - - Submitted by u/pathetic_optimist - A story about the sacrifices we make for our children. - - Submitted by u/katherine_c - A tale of love. #Two Weeks Ago Thank you everyone for being so patient. The holiday weekend was a very busy one! Great stories on the thread though, as usual. - - Submitted by u/GammaGammes - A short tale about a galactic boogeyman who can wipe out a planet with a single bullet. - - Submitted by u/LuvAPup - A fun, futuristic story about a man deciding when he’s put in his time.   ***   #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. Use to check your word count. The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **I will take nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or discord.** Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the stickied comment on this thread or through modmail. - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   ***   ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


“You built it right before… I did my best but-“ the cage swung softly from side to side. The men behind the wheels didn’t give the process a second thought. They lowered and raised cages, that was their job; what was in the cage was someone else’s job. Cleaning the cage was someone else’s job as well. Today under the blazing sun, I became what was in the cage and I prayed I wouldn’t be cleaned out of it. “The event will start once both cages hit the bottom of the pit,” the announcement echoed off the walls of the pit, followed by cheers from the lips of people who had nothing better to do with their day than to come to the market and watch a fool die. “Do you remember this? I finished it for you,” I whispered the words into existence and glanced at the opposite cage lowering beside my own. It held a man, which meant if people were betting, it would be for him. Women usually do not come out of the pit alive when they go in with men. He was glaring at me, ever since they closed the cage doors. I wonder what he saw. Was he scared? Maybe worried I was more than I appeared or was I just a fool standing between him and his prize. The cage touched the bottom of the pit and as he swung his door wide open I knew I would soon find out. “Come on out, don’t make this any harder,” He said. My fingers rested on the hot metal door and it squeaked as it slowly opened. His hand went out toward me and in another life I would think it was to help me, but I know why we’re here. I stepped out unassisted. “Do you have family?” he asked. “No, do you,” I replied and he gazed up at the top of the pit at a woman and two little boys. I took them in for a moment before the sight of zombies, with spray painted numbers on their chest, grabbed my attention as they were tossed in. He took a quick jab at my face. My head flung back. I stumbled for a moment. Cheers drowned out the sound of the zombies smacking into the ground. Some were still, killed on impact. Others crawled, spines shattered. And, then there were the ones that ran, unphased by the trauma. His boot connected with my gut and my body hurled back into the cage. The man grabbed me, like a butcher would a slab of meat, without care. He reached back and swung. Another jab to my face, there was blood, but from where I didn’t know. Another jab. More blood. He reached back once again preparing for another blow and then warm rain hit my face. I could see through my eye two fuzzy figures. “Oh God!” He shouted. I cleared the blood from my left eye. The right stung as I attempted to do the same. Only one of them was useful. It allowed me to see the zombie ripping into the man’s bloody arm. Flesh hung from its lips and instead of feasting on its victory, greed drove it to tear more. Grimy jagged teeth, with maggots jammed between them, ripped into the man’s open wound. They were huddled on each other, bent over the cage’s doorway. His fingers tightened around my shirt. I felt my body being dragged closer to the carnage, “Help!” He screamed. I touched the hot metal of the cage door, it was slick from the blood. I pulled it in as hard as I could, pinning them between the bars and the door. I stood up, shirt tearing underneath his grip and I slammed my boot down into the zombie’s neck. I raised my boot and slammed it. I raised it for a third time and then I felt it. The man’s bloody fingers warped around my ankle. “Please-“ So, I stomped down on him next. I kicked and stomped. Kicked and stomped until there was nothing but flesh and gore under my boots… and I kept stomping. It wasn’t until I felt arms pulling me from the cage that I realized they raised me to the top. There were cheers, boos from lost bets and tears from his family, but none of those things stood between me and my prize. People fought at the market table to buy supplies and zombies; some used them as pets, labor and slaves, “Well look at our little winner, so what do you want?” “I want a car and a zombie,” I said. “You get one prize for the pit,” he replied. “I killed a man and a zombie, that’s two deaths… one prize per death, those are the rules,” I said. “Zombies don’t count as a death,” he snapped back. “I just need an old car and an old zombie,” I said. The man combed his fingers through his thinning hair and sighed, “Alright, what kind of car? And, you can have one of the pit zombies.” “Don’t care what kind and I need number 87,” I said. “87? That’s a low number, I might not have it-“ “I went to four markets and they said you have the lowest numbers, can you check?” I pleaded. “Fine,” he said, “Just keep the collar on it or it’ll go rabid.” An hour later we were on the road. He said the car wouldn’t get me far but we didn’t have far to go. The tires rolled up the old driveway. I popped the truck to see you lying there, staring into nothingness. The bright green light blinking on your collar, keeping you simple and dull. It was one slow step after another until we were in the backyard. “You remember the birdhouse, Daddy? You were building it when…” I stopped and slowly loaded two bullets into the revolver, “ I finished it for you.


By the time we got Robin back, exhaustion had replaced agony and she was wearily dragging her feet as we set foot on the boat. She slept soundly in Alessia’s bunk, while Alessia slept on the floor next to her. I felt obliged to stay and keep watch, and so I sat with my back against the wall and slept in brief naps. Dawn broke, and I stepped out from the cabin to grab some breakfast. As I did, I could see the same people I had seen on the rock when we arrived walking down the beach towards us. Undoubtedly, they had come for Robin. “Alessia,” I called out, not turning my gaze away. “We’ve got company.” Alessia came out of the cabin just as the group, two men and one woman, started walking down the jetty towards us. I could see the clenched fists of the man at the head of the group, his eyes staring straight into mine. “We have her,” I said. “She’s safe. She fell and broke her arm. We took her in.” The tension in the man’s shoulders reduced, but his fists remained ready. “She’s not a prisoner. She just needed aid.” As I finished, Robin emerged from the cabin behind me. Immediately, the man’s facial expression changed from a furrowed brow to a wide-brimmed smile. “Marshall,” Robin cried out, charging past both Alessia and I. “Hey there, kid.” Marshall smiled. He looked down to her arm. “You okay?” “It hurts like shit. But they said it will heal.” She gently rubbed the limb. Alessia interrupted, “And with all due respect, sending teenagers to stalk strangers could’ve gone a lot worse - especially if we hadn’t come to her aid. So for saving one of your crew, can you maybe tell us what’s going on?” Mashall nodded. “We should talk. But not here. I don’t think Rachel and her lot would appreciate seeing us talking.” He looked over his shoulder, scanning the beach. “We have a spot. Robin, can you show them the way?” Robin nodded, grinning with pride. “Good,” Marshall smiled. “Give us thirty minutes headstart. We’ll catch you there in a couple of hours.” Half an hour later we began the walk to the unknown location. We were on the path no more than two minutes before Robin detoured off between the trees. The brush was thick; the foliage so clumped together that it was like walking through sludge. Looking back, it was clear we were already hidden from the path. Alessia was ahead of me; her hand poised by the spot on her belt where she kept her knife, ready for an ambush. However, something about the genuine affection between Marshall and Robin gave me hope that there was nothing nefarious waiting for us. The route descended to the coast until the path emerged at the cliffs on the island’s western coast. We followed the small undulations of the hills northwards as Robin calmly led the way along the maze-like paths. With my concentration no longer taken up minding my footing in the dense forest, I took the chance to ask Robin about her relation to Marshall. “He just leads our group.” “Not a brother, or a cousin or something?” “No.” Robin shook her head. “And what about your family?” “They’re in one of the towns.” “Do they not get worried about you being off all the time?” “I don’t think they’ve worried about me for some time,” Robin sighed. “Oh,” I replied, suddenly aware of my verbal misstep. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Robin took another turn, and we headed back into a darker, thicker part of the forest. “Don’t be,” she said. “They don’t want anything to do with me, and I don’t really want anything to do with them.” Robin spoke confidently, but the words still carried an underlying sting. “Why’s that, if you don’t mind me asking?” I asked as slowly as I could, trying to detect if I was pushing the girl too far. However, she showed no signs of being affected. “They kicked me out after one too many times of them crying over the past. They used to try and talk like the people in the shows in the museum, and dress like them. I told them it was stupid. That the way they dressed was stupid, that my name was stupid, the way they talk about the good old days as if they were there was stupid. And I said that one too many times.” “They kicked you out for that?” “Yeah. Not many worse offences round here than living in the present.” Robin shrugged. “So then I took up with Marshall and the others, living outside of everything. They’ve taken good care of me.” “Good,” I replied. “But I’m sorry, life without family can be tough.” “Do you not talk to your parents?” Robin asked. “They died a couple of years back,” I said. “But we were never very close. Not ever bad... but I was always distracted by other things, too busy working to worry about them.” “What about you Alessia?” Robin called to the back of our group. Alessia didn’t look up, her eyes remained interested purely on the ground in front of her feet. “Didn’t know my dad till I was thirteen. He was at sea my whole life. He only came back when word reached my mum was ill. Then when she took a turn for the worse I took off with him. Never saw her again.” Her voice wasn’t cold, but it seemed more interested in empathising with Robin than it did with her own emotions. I felt an odd guilt to only be learning about Alessia’s past here and now. I knew very little of her life before we met, but I was grateful to have the chance to understand her a little better. “You’ve been sailing the whole time since you were fourteen?” “How do you think I got so good at it?” She briefly looked up and flashed a quick smile. “But hang on in there, Robin. I know things seem tough. But you're brave, and you seem to have people who care about you.” “Yeah, I do.” Robin said. The conversation ended as we emerged at the top of a quick gulley: a chasm between two hills worn away by a small stream. The water cascaded in a flurry down the rocks, forming a gentle flowing pool at the bottom met by the lapping tides swimming upstream. There, next to the water and built against the gulley wall, was a large house. The home was clearly built from recycled pieces of wood, cloth and metal found elsewhere on the island, but despite its odd appearance, it appeared a well-built home. As we descended down a steep path, Marshall walked out from the front door. “Welcome to our home,” he announced with his arms outstretched. Robin bounded the last fifteen metres down the path and ran up to Marshall, embracing him in a hug. “Good to have you back, kid,” he smiled. Marshall led us inside and indicated to what passed for the furniture of their front room: an old couch with no cushions, a couple of rusting folding chairs, and a few crates repurposed as seating. One small oddity I couldn’t help but notice was the way that the chairs all seemed to face broadly in one direction. No two spots sat opposite each other, instead all had a clear unobstructed view of the wall on one side of the room. “Where do we begin?” Marshall said as we all took a seat. “Let’s start with introductions,” Alessia said. “I’m Alessia, this is Ferdinand.” “I’m Marshall,” her opposite replied. “That’s Leonard, and Monica. And of course you know Robin.” He leant back in his metal chair. The old hinges creaked as he did. “So, what do you want to know?” “Why have you been following us?” I asked. “We thought you were connected to the crates coming to the islands, some extra security or something. Which leads to *my* question. Why *are* you here?” “Just exploring,” Alessia replied. “And you meeting up with Rachel?” “She approached us,” I said. However, something Marshall had said caught my attention. “You said crates. There’s multiple?” Monica answered. “They arrive every few days. Have been for the past few months. Always with the same careful procession of people, and every one taken straight up to the museum.” “So you want to know what they’re about?” “Exactly,” Marshall added. “I take it you can’t just ask?” Alessia asked. Marshall laughed. “The top lot have their secrets. Secrets they don’t want to share. And they certainly aren’t going to share with us. Rachel and her cohort, they don’t like us much.” He paused. “I mean, we don’t like them much either, but they *really* hate us.” “Why?” “Because we ask questions.” Marshall tilted his head. “We’ve been trying to figure out where the crates go,” Robin said. “But we haven’t been able to work anything out yet.” “Actually,” Marshall replied. “We may have had a bit of a breakthrough last night while you were busy getting your arm busted up.” Robin turned to Marshall. “Really?” Marshall grinned displaying a set of white teeth that seemed to reflect the light of the room back out. He repositioned himself in his chair, leaning forward to tell his story. “We were waiting for you two to come out of the museum. Rachel told us to clear out after you went in, so we did exactly what she asked - walked one minute away, turned around and came right back again. Monica went round the other side of the building, and I stayed put on the western side. I was far enough away that I couldn’t really see anything, but I just waited in silence, hoping to hear you coming out of the museum. I was there maybe twenty or thirty minutes, when suddenly I got this smell. Like... smoke.” “Smoke?” Alessia asked. “Yeah. It was soft, but there was no mistaking it. I tried to follow my nose; get a little closer. Eventually, I realized it’s coming from within the grounds of the museum. The perimeter walls were too high, but I found a log by the edge of the forest and brought it back. From there I was able to reach up and grab hold of the wall’s edge.” Marshall mimed the actions as he spoke, weaving his account and drawing us into his tale. “I hoisted myself up, lifting myself just enough to get a brief view over the wall and into the grounds on the other side. Peering down, I saw this man next to a pit. This big hole, maybe five or six meters across. I couldn’t see everything perfectly. It was getting dark and he was still a good forty metres away. But I could still see enough. One-by-one, the man was taking items out of the crate, inspecting them, and then throwing it into a fire in the pit.” “He was burning it?” I exclaimed. “Yeah. I don’t know what he was burning, or why. But there was no mistaking it. They bring those crates there to burn the contents.” “What do they need to burn?” I asked. “Who knows,” Marshall pursed his lips. “But I’d love to find out.


In a small town called Fairwalk there is a mom and pop shop on Sunshine street called the Mary Sue Cupcake Factory. The owner, a young widow by the name of Mary Sue Meadow lives on the top floor of the store. She lives up there, all alone in a tiny apartment with the bare amenities. She is the sweetest little thing that you’ve ever crossed paths with, to everyone. Her baking is even sweeter than she is. Her shop reflects this, in its pastels of pink and green and blue, the whole building decorated and patterned off of a strawberry cupcake, complete with sprinkles and a giant plastic cherry on the roof. It looks so good that on a less sane day you might consider taking a bite out of the brick and mortar, but you don’t of course because that is ridiculous. The delectable aroma doesn’t help our case either, the scent of sugar and fruit, chocolate, caramel, and every good thing that could ever go into a dessert is so thick in the air that you can taste it from the other end of the town. It’s so enticing, the icing and frosting that she does daily from behind a display window in her shop being a free show to any lucky passersby. Then there is what happens when you actually taste Mary Sue’s delicacies. I swear the first time I took a bite I died right there and then, by soul being wrenched away and transported to heaven. Mary Sue’s cupcakes saved this town. You see, there used to be three feuding families that lived here, all of them big and important. One was the Butchersons, they were in charge of any and all meat that was brought, sold or otherwise kept in the town. They were fighting with the Millers, they ran anything to do with machines. And I mean any machine, even the Butcherson’s tools came from them, and of course they thought this made them indispensable and they were quick to remind anybody that passed by. Lastly, the Cointrees. They handled commerce. All three of them vying for power and it got ugly. Then one day, Mary Sue showed up. She just set up shop in the middle of the town square and started baking. It wasn’t long before the families noticed. She hadn’t even consulted them about it, so they all went down there in a fuss, but they didn’t scare Mary Sue. She just ignored them all while she put the finishing touches on her first cupcakes. I think it was chocolate with coconut cream… Anyway, they all took a bite and then suddenly their fight didn’t seem so important anymore. Course, they all went and wanted the recipes, but Mary Sue wasn’t budging. Before any more ruckus could start she decided to put them all to work for her, swearing them to secrecy and the town was saved. Nobody ever did see any of the big three so much as walk the streets again. Then there was the school house opening, she gave out free cupcakes to every boy and girl in the school. Everything was much calmer and quieter after that, these magic cupcakes can even calm down and fix the behavior of children, imagine that. Then farmers moved in and started bringing their families into town to buy supplies, and of course there was Mary Sue, handing out samples of her delicious cupcakes, always new flavours to try. I haven’t seen a farmer in years though. Oh but I’m rambling on again, here why don’t we both head down and get ourselves some cupcakes? What do you mean, you don’t want to? It would be simply rude to come to town and not try one, I insist. My treat, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m sure she’ll have a flavour that you’ll like, I think she said something about trying out cherry today, something to cheer up old man Wentsky, his dog went missing yesterday.


\[HR\] Seismic: Part 1 Herd Mother had crossed the desert three times before. The first time was when her grandmother made the journey to the God Beneath the Mountain as a sacrifice. Herd Mother had only been a calf then. Since, she’d made two other migrations for the elders of the herd to participate in the sacrificial rite in her lifetime. Now, it was her turn. Before she could do her duty for the herd and insure another Herd Mother’s reign was blessed by the Gods, they would have to make the crossing. This year, crossing the desert had been far more costly than any Herd Mother could recollect. \- - - For three nights and four days, the herd had trudged its slow, heavy path southward beneath the blistering sun and swirling sands. They needed to get far from the edges of the desert, to the shadow of the mountains and the thick cover of the trees, where root and stone protected them from the blowing dust, the heat, and the thing that lurked beneath the shifting northern dunes. The herd had fought with all its might to defend its vulnerable members, but the monster from below was far too powerful for even their strongest bull. When they had formed the defensive circle, forcing all their calves to the center. In response, the monster had simply burrowed beneath them. The earth had trembled furiously, startling them into a panicked flight. A massive hole opened in the center of the herd—three calves and two mothers vanished into the abyssal mouth of the creature before the last remaining calves managed to flee. As suddenly as the monster from below had arrived, it was gone, its passage evident only by the long, snaking ridge of sand pushed up from its subterranean movement. \- - - Now, thirsty, hungry, and desperately exhausted, what remained of the herd marched on. Massive grey feet pressed into the desert, taking each step with care. Healthy members of the herd walked near the elderly and the young, lest they stumble or collapse. Since the creature from beneath the sands seemed to be drawn by the earth-shaking tremors of the elephant language as well as any concussion with the ground, the herd had gone silent. They had lost the ability to communicate with the God Beneath the Mountains. All they could do was walk forward and hope to reach the jungle before their tormenting predator returned. \- - - Gaal Druz was not a patient creature. She didn't have to be. She was the queen of this land, and that fact had gone uncontested for a very long time. So when she summoned her cattle, she expected a reply. THUM, THUM, THUM! She rumbled the ground, sending out her seismic message to every herd within thirty miles—calling them to her—-calling them to fulfill their oaths. Her herds always answered, and she always fed; that was the way of things. It was a necessary sacrifice on their part, and in turn, she protected them from many enemies. Where in human-infested lands elephants were slaughtered by the hundreds,— Gaal Draz only took their old, their sick, their dying— and only as many as they offered her. Once she had hunted the elephants down, tracked them across their vast empires of territory, and slain as many as she needed to satisfy her hunger. In recent centuries, she had learned that compliant, subservient cattle were easier to manage than wild, fleeing prey. Gaal yawned languidly and stretched out her massive elephant head from the hundred feet of black scaled, coiled muscle which composed her serpent body. As her unhinging jaws inhaled the dank, chill air of the cave, her nine-foot tusks and rows of serrated teeth glinted from the smallest sliver of light penetrating to the depths of her lair. She rarely emerged from her subterranean kingdom, but today she had to discern the cause of her northern herd’s distress. Gaal would survive without them. She had other herds which paid homage to her and the jungle was abundant with wildlife on which she could feed, but her northern herd was her largest and most devoted. *If it can threaten a herd of elephants that size, maybe it will be a worthy opponent,* Gaal hoped, trying to remember what if felt like to have a real battle. Gaal Druz emerged from the mouth of the cave, her trunk swaying and arching, sniffing the air for all the scents of the surface as the jungle filled with the myriad cacophony of alarmed, fleeing creatures. Monkeys leaped away through the trees, retreating in silent haste and gripping their young. Birds took wing, and even the mighty tigers and leopards slunk swiftly to safer shadows. All that remained was the God Beneath the Mountain. She extended her massive body up to see over the swaying green canopy of the jungle. Above the trees, all she heard was the wind. She felt the trembles of the land beneath her, as her eyes scanned the horizon to the north. The herd was moving. She could see them approaching the jungle from the desert expanse beyond—depleted and afraid. Very few things aside from humans were capable of truly threatening elephants, and Gaal Druz suffered no humans upon her land. Something else was out there now, something massive and ancient. *One of my kind?* She could not let that stand. She was the last Grootslang, and only for her, did this land have space. Grumbling deep within her primeval throat, she flattened herself to the ground and slithered towards the desert at tremendous speed. Despite her mythic size, Gaal Druz passed through the forest as a whisper, leaving little trace aside from the wide trail her body pressed into the undergrowth.


(For context: I'm not exactly an expert writer and I've never posted a story on reddit before. This is a Sci-Fi semi-dystopian setting where instead of actual food, people eat Deram, a perfectly efficient yet super bland food that's basically just a block of nutrients.) Entry 174-1, 24/7/2063 I've been looking into black market circles recently. I know that Deram is government regulated ultra-healthy perfectly efficient stuff, but I just want good food, you know? Like those old people talk about. Some of them say that taste can be almost as vivid as sight when you have the right food.I'm gonna go down to a place soon. It's far away so I probably won't have time to write any more. Entry 175, 25/7/2063 Wow, I expected this place to be less well kept than it is. Some of the stuff round here is really expensive. I'm going for apples because they're only €4,000. There's an auction for Gillams. It's a recreation of some kind of vintage snack product, worth €1,200,000,000. I guess that's what happens when you have to conduct operations underground while running away from police drones. Apparently it was only a few euros back in the late 20's. I wonder what the apples will taste like. A lot of people on the internet told me that when people have their first taste of certain "flavours" of food, they go into "food shock" for a few minutes, like their brain can't figure out what's happening. They stop actually thinking and just go into pure emotion Surely it can't be that crazy, right? Entry 176, 25/7/2063 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH WOW, food shock definitely exists. I've never felt so surprised. I'm gonna have to throw away some Deram or I'll be too heavy to pass the weight checks. I'm pre Entry 177, 25/7/2063 Oh god. The market just got attacked by police. Some guy was giving away stuff so he wouldn't be incriminated by the food and I now own an €80,000,000 can of "Brody's Instant Mac N Cheese." I'm either rich or in prison. I've been running away from the drones and I've placed some bread, just to tempt the officers. There's no way I'm leaving without this food. It's too valuable and I can't give something like this up. Entry 178, 25/7/2063 I've done it. I've actually done it. I've secured the Gillams. I found a pile of food on the floor - Really expensive stuff - And the guy with the Gillams traded my big pile for his bag. This is a once in a lifetime experience. If I go into food shock here they'll probably catch me, and I don't wanna risk it so I'm going home. Entry 179, 26/7/2063 The taxi driver held me at gunpoint. He knew about the market too. But there was this guy named Kyle, he was running away from the raid and just hit the driver with a shovel. I gave him some of the Gillams as thanks. And I can confirm: They taste great.