The song Shoot To Thrill plays, we’re in some sort of venue as on a main stage scantily clad women dance along to the music as pyrotechnics fly into the sky. As suddenly the man of the hour arrives just in time to the beat of the song. The Iron Warden flies in from the sky as the crowd seems to come alive to this as they cheer him on. Coming out of his suit he puts on his shades as the suit dances behind him. “How’s everyone doing today! I just wanted to thank you all for coming to the convention! Now let’s get this party on the road!” The Iron Warden laughs as he begins to walk around on stage to the cries of the people. Staring from a table with a glass in my hand, I watch him walk away as I prop up my collar as I walk away. I hear the murmurs of the old businessmen and military officials around me. “Jesus Christ, did he really bring his groupies to an arms convention?”, “Eh, it could have been better. Craftsmen, brought supermodels to theirs. That was a night to remember.”, “He’s going to need a lot more ‘convincing’ for me to offer him a new contract.”. Walking towards the exit I try to keep a straight face, as the Iron Warden starts to walk off stage. Suddenly, the Iron Warden’s head explodes. **No More Heroes.** Driving on the way, we’re greeted to the crew. At the driver seat we have Steven who’s busy looking at the road beside him is Marcos who’s looking at a map guiding him as behind them are Deon and Nova. They’re driving an early 00s model SUV, using the basics, road maps and their personal notebooks, no personal electronics. Turning his attention from the window, Deon looks over at the front. “So, who’s next?” Steven looks at him through the rear view mirror, Deon gives him a serious look. “It’s better if you don’t know.” Steven replies. “So it’s him, America’s sweetheart.” Staring out the opposite window, Nova scoffs. Marcos looks over at the radio as he turns it on. Tuning it to the news. “The Iron Warden was shot dead last night during the annual Iron Convention marking the 10th year since the resistance against the Alien Invasion. At this time, the terrorist organization known as Red Cell has taken credit for the action. With us right now is a statement from their supreme commander, Rhi’ Lago. Humans! Your time on this earth has come to an unfortunate end! While you may be safe under the command of the interplanetary alliance, know that at any moment we may strike you and your heroes!” Deon begins to laugh. “Turn that bullshit off.” Marcos glances over at Deon with a smile. “Why? Afraid of Red Cell? That the Chupacabra is going to get you?” He laughs. “Man, shut up before I slap you.” Deon mutters. “Relax, it was just a joke.” Steven looks over at the radio turning it off. He starts to slow down the car. “Hey, I was still listening to that.” Marcos looks over at Steven. “We’re here.” Steven says as he stops on the side of the highway. Steven looks around at them. Walking in the forest, the group looks around at the situation. It’s just the three of them, Steven, Marcos and Deon. They walk around on the forest floor, as leaves litter the ground, scanning around methodically as they approach. The sun is setting as the birds can be heard chirping along with the cries of other woodland creatures. “Alright, I’ve reached the top of the mountain. I’m on overwatch. Send the signal.” Nova’s voice can be heard over a radio. Deon turns around as he begins to shine a laser on and off repeatedly in the sky. He walks backwards as he does, while Marcos and Steven continue to scan their surroundings. “I have eyesight on you, proceed as planned over.” Deon turns around, putting away the laser, he continues to follow in step with Marcos and Steven. Who have stopped just ahead. A log cabin is in the distance as smoke can be seen plumbing from the top of its chimney. Marcos clicks his radio. “Nova, see anything inside?” “Nothing, near the windows. Switching to thermal, looks clear from here.” Marcos looks over at Steven who nods at him. They silently approach the cabin as Steven signals to Deon to cover the back entrance way. Approaching the windows, Marcos peaks inside, it’s almost pitch black inside. They wait as if trying to hear for anything at all. But it’s dead silent. Steven thinks to himself as Marcos looks over, shaking his head. “I don’t like this.” Marcos mutters. Clicking on the radio, Steven says. “Deon, anything on your end?” “No, it’s empty.”. Steven heads towards the doorway, turning the knob it opens. The door creaks as he slowly opens it up. Walking inside he looks around. There’s dust on the shelves next to him. He lowers his gun as Marcos enters behind him. Steven signals all clear. “Fuck! It’s a dead end.” Marcos says as he walks out. Undeterred, Steven looks around inside stopping at a small kitchen, he notices a series of letters inside. He picks one up looking at it, it’s fan mail, setting it down he inspects the others. One of them is a few days old. Marcos walks towards the door. “Hey! If you’re done, let’s head out.” “Wait.” Steven clicks on his radio. “Nova, check the parameter.” “What am I looking for?” “Anything out of the ordinary.” Steven walks back towards Marcos with the letter, he hands it to him. “What’s this? Fan mail? Dying cancer patient? Don’t show me this.” Marcos drops the letter. Steven raises his eyebrows as he looks at the recently burnt out fire. “He was here recently.” “And we just missed him-” “I got something, looks like there’s some smoke in the distance but I can’t see anything else from my position, I’m going to have to move.” Nova replies. “Roger, get to a more suitable position. Over.” Steven walks out the door with Marcos. Deon is waiting for them near a tree as he looks over at them, he walks in line with them. Deon looks over at Steven. “Think it’s the captain?” “You think that it could be anyone else?” Steven replies. Deon doesn’t reply, as he cocks his gun. “Puta madre, I trusted him. We all trusted him.” Marcos spits on the ground. The walk is silent as from time to time they look around in the forest, but it’s empty. Deon breaks the silence. “Think the other groups have made any progress?” “It’s hard to tell. We can only hope the other regions were as prepared for this as we were. Only time will tell. We can always lend a helping hand.” Steven replies. “If we’re still alive by then.” Marcos mutters. On the radio, static plays. “I have eyes on the target, should I engage?” Nova says. “No, I want to talk to him first.” Steven replies. In the distance, we see the campsite, sitting in front of a fire, The Captain waits with a kite shield laying beside the fire. He’s suited up in red white and blue as he slowly turns a handle which roasts a rabbit attached to a line. “I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.” The Captain says not even turning to look at them. The boys come to a stop in front of the camp. “To be honest, I wasn’t surprised when I heard the news. There aren’t that many people in this would with your particular set of skills. The Captain sighs. Taking the roasted rabbit with one of hands, he takes a bite out of it. “Betrayed by my own countrymen.” “You’re the one to talk.” Marcos replies. The Captain looks over at Marcos and scoffs. “Well, I wasn’t talking about you, or the other one.” The Captain and Steven’s eyes meet, Marcos reaches for a grenade as Steven stops him. The Captain laughs as he continues to eat his rabbit. “Looks like you have a good leash on your dogs.” Steven raises his eyebrows. “Why’d you do it?” Steven asks. “Do I really have to tell you? Everyone else was doing it. Is there really anything else you really need to know?” Steven clenches his fist. “Ah, there’s the Steven I know. Maybe if you stood up for yourself more, you could have saved her. But you’re just like me, like the rest of you dogs. Always failing when it counts.” The Captain throws the bone away in their direction. He stands up, grabbing his shield. A sniper bullet grazes him on the check as the wound begins to regenerate on itself. He touches his cheek as he puts the blood onto his shield. “Looks like the team’s all here. Good, that’ll make cleaning this up easier.” The Captain smiles. Almost instantaneously, The Captain cuts the distance between them in half. They spring into action, Deon provides suppressing fire as Marcos reaches for a hand grenade. Steven runs in front to try to grapple The Captain. “You’re out of your league!”. The Captain shouts. The Captain shield bashes Steven as he flies backwards. A flashbang lands directly beneath The Captain’s feet, seeing it he tries to cover it with his foot, it’s too late. The grenade goes off as the sound rings in his ears. Deon is able to take a volley of rounds into his chest as The Captain moves to cover it. The Captain screams out. Steven gets on his feet, as Marcos looks over at him with a grenade launcher now in his hands. Seeing The Captain look up from his shield, Marcos shoots the first grenade out. It’s high explosive as it connects with the shield forcing him to his knees. Taking the opportunity, Steven takes out a unique sledgehammer with a rocket attached to the end, he runs towards The Captain who remains staggered as he tries to force himself up. Steven swings the hammer onto the shield as the sheer force causes a shockwave. Quickly, The Captain latches onto Steven as a body bag and throws him with a single hand to the side. Steven screams as his body connects with a tree this time. The Captain checks his body to see it full of bullet wounds and holes. Blood drips out as the bits and shards of the bullets are forced out of his body. “Hollow point, huh? So this was your plan!?” The Captain shouts. He presses a button on his suit as a red liquid lines into his body at a rapid rate. As the gunfire stops, The Captain attempts to approach, the second grenade escapes from the launcher, this time The Captain catches it mid air. He laughs as he does. Inspecting it, the grenade begins to twirl. It explodes. We see parts of The Captain’s exposed skull as napalm continuously burns and regenerates parts of it. He immediately moves to cover his face with his shield as a sniper bullet connects with the upper part of the shield. “Not bad, but not good enough. Nova!” The Captain shouts out. Deon continues his suppressive fire. “You’re too predictable. Have none of you learned anything!?” The Captain shouts frustrated. The Captain tries to run forward as Nova shoots him in the leg immobilizing him, lowering his stance, he slowly methodically makes his way over as Deon and Marcos move in tandem at a constant distance away. Again, Deon is forced to reload as The Captain baits another round from Marcos. This time, Marcos shoots off an entire barrage. The Captain isn’t phased as he crouches down. “I’ve brought enough blood and marrow to last me for weeks, at this rate you’ll be out of ammo before the sunsets! I’ll make it quick if you drop them now!” The gunfire continues. This time, The Captain rushes straight at Deon, grabbing ahold of him with his spare arm, he holds up his shield with the other. As he does another sniper bullet flies towards him as the shield stands strong. “When I took you in, you had something to prove. Now look at you, is this really all that you are!?” The Captain learns in, staring directly into Deon’s eyes, Deon looks away. Deon laughs. “Look at me!” Suddenly from behind him, Steven slams his hammer into his life systems as the rocket causes the support system to burst, marrow and all flooding out. The Captain looks back at Steven in shock as he takes out a pistol and shoots both of his legs causing him to fall to his knees. The Captain stares at Steven. Who’s pointed the handgun at his skull. He closes his eyes. “Do it.” *Bang.* The Captain opens his eyes as he looks around in surprise. Steven takes out a blood pack handing it to him. “Why?” The others seem apprehensive about it but look towards The Captain. “In a world with no heroes, all we can do is make our own.” A tear falls from The Captain's eyes as he looks at Steven, thinking for a moment, he takes the bag. “How many others are there?” “Enough.


Hello fellow writers. I pose the question, as today I am dealing with some personal family stuff and was thinking about writing something. However, as soon as I put my fingers on the keyboard, my mind literally went blank. I usually have no problem at least getting some words down and starting a story, even if I decide it's garbage after a little bit. But today I can't even get an idea out of my currently useless brain. So I instead decided to post a little differently than I usually would.


(warning, mental illness described) He looked over the balcony, the shimmering starlight reflecting in the growing puddles of a storm that had just passed. There was something beautiful about that moment. It was a space in between, when the future was still ahead but the past was now behind. This kind of moment could last forever. He inhaled the crisp, cold air of the witching hour. That’s what they call it, right? That liminal space between the twilight’s last tendrils, and the beautiful, piercing rays of the morning sun? I’ve always wondered if those hours were a gift to the damned and the broken. It always seems like they are the ones who take advantage. While the innocent sleep in the comfort of their dreams and ambitions. We broken few use the hours of silence, the hours of tranquility, to feel the full brunt of our loneliness, the entire weight of our depression, the deadly thrust of a blade which anxiety wields, while our anger and fear duel for supremacy of our mental stage. Forgive me, we were talking about him. You see, he’s right on the edge of the balcony now, looking down into the onyx pits that call him down, can you hear them egging him on? Daring him to aim for the center of their icy depths. He starts to believe, that maybe if he falls just right, he’ll never hit the ground. Instead, he will be transported somewhere else. Maybe to a place where it doesn’t have to hurt to exist. Maybe to a world where he can finally feel worthy of the air he breathes; maybe to a universe where he finally has purpose; maybe to an existence where he can be loved. He climbs the banister. He is not cold. The wind wiggles its way into every crevice of his clothes, wrapping him in a blanket of nothingness. He doesn’t even feel as it begins to pull him. He doesn’t even realize he is falling until the lurch of gravity begins to pull him downward. Not like this. Not now. Not here. He had so much to live for. At least, that’s what his friends will say at his funeral. Will his friends go to his funeral? Will he get a funeral? The invitation howls past his ears, incomprehensible, and yet so damn familiar. “Give Up” He stares up at the stars. They seem so much brighter now. They call to him. He can hear them sing. A melody so sweet and pure he feels unworthy to even witness it. They aren’t just singing. They are singing to him. Calling his name! Screaming out for him to reach up and grab a fistful of sky. If he could only reach, he knows they will save him. He remembers the melody they sing, a bittersweet tune of love and sadness. The stars must witness all that occurs under their valiant watch. The trees bring in a harmony and the stones of the earth add their deep, steady tones. He knows this song. It’s the one he used to hum as a small child, the one He always tried to write, but never found the lyrics for. It is his song, and the universe is singing it. He wakes in a cold sweat. It’s dark. The clock reads 3:14. The door to his balcony sits ajar, a howling wind and whispering rain siege the cracks of the doorframe. He closes the balcony doors. This is no time for sleep. We sang to him. And now he knows there’s still work to do.


Lucy’s Last Breath It’s been twelve years since I first witnessed death. The worst kind of death. A drowning. The lake seemed so big to me and I was so small. What felt like a never ending abyss of water, was really only a mile or so long. But it was the depth that made this lake so dangerous. No one quite knows how deep it goes. But it never stopped me from jumping in. I wasn’t afraid back then. But the fear I have now keeps me from ever returning to that town. It especially keeps me away from that lake. What happened there has left scars on all of us that experienced it first hand. I thought therapy would help me get over it, or at least learn how to process it. I don’t know if we will ever understand the darkness that surrounds that town. But I am a believer. I believe that evil has embedded itself there. For years I have begged my mom to get out of that town. I’ve tried to convince her to move in with me or let me help her try and find her own place close to me. Anything to get her out of that zip code. But she was born and raised there. All our family pets are buried in her backyard. She raised me and all my siblings in that house. She isn’t one to pack up and run. She is much stronger than me. Much stronger than the force that haunts us after all those years. She tells me often that it only has power if we let it. But I wish she would tell that to all those kids that lost their lives over the years, before they closed it to the public. Mom wants me to visit for Christmas. I haven’t been to her house in seven years, she always comes to me or my brothers visit her. But this year none of the boys can make it. She will be alone for the holidays and I know that comes with a guilt trip. My boyfriend offers to come with me, assures me it is only a few days and then we will be back home. I don’t think I’m ready. Obviously I know that I can just avoid the lake, not even leave the house if I can help it. But after the first drowning the whole town shifted. It grew dark. Everyone changed, the leaves fell differently in the fall, the flowers didn’t bloom fully in the spring, the sun stopped comforting my skin in the summer and it’s as if no one seemed to notice besides me. Am I the crazy one? I caved. I can’t allow my mother to be alone for Christmas. She isn’t in the best shape since my dad passed. It wasn’t a lake related death, at least I don’t think. Heart attack. But this could be her last holiday season. So I pack my bags. I am happy I’m not going alone and I find comfort in that. But there is this energy that makes me feel uneasy. It feels like someone is screaming at me to stop, to not go. I ignore it. It’s just my own doubt. It isn’t anything supernatural. It isn’t anything demonic. It’s my own shit. The fear I’ve allowed over the years. I am better than this fragile little girl I once was. I am a grown ass woman now. Capable of anything. So I shake it off and head to the airport. We finally land and I can feel it in the air. It washes over me so intently. It knows I’m back and the more time that passes the more I feel I made a mistake coming here. I keep my worries to myself. I push the feelings down. I text my therapist to find some sort of advice to get me through the next few days. God damn it. It’s Christmas eve, she isn’t working. She definitely isn’t waiting for me to reach out with my mental breakdown on the verge of erupting. I feel a full panic coming. I tell myself to reel it in and calm the fuck down. It’s all in my head. It’s all in my head. I repeat it over and over until he pulls the car around. He is smiling and happy to finally see my hometown and where I grew up. It’s as if seeing all of this will allow him to be closer to me and better understand my trauma. But I can’t help to think that is far from the truth. I think I will only push him away more. I’m terrified of that the most. To lose him. The best fucking thing to happen to me. No amount of my crazy has run him off yet. But I feel the worst has yet to arrive. We drive through town and everything looks dull and dreadful, just like I remember it. Why would anyone want to live here? Why haven’t they condemned this whole fucking place. Evacuate everyone to someplace else. If I didn’t know any better, this town was rotting and so are the people still here. I know I’m not the only crazy one, not many of us kids stayed once we graduated. Most of us went off and never looked back. There is something new. It’s in the center of town. A statue of some sort in the shape of a sun. The only sun that will touch this place. I tell him to pull over, I have to see this up close. As I walk closer I can make out the words “In Memory of..” and a list of names for those kids we lost so long ago. I trace the engraved names with my fingers, remembering each and every one of them. One person in particular. Lucy. Lucy was my childhood best friend. The first of the bunch to meet their fate in that lake. We were together that day. Playing like usual, celebrating me finally becoming a teenager. Jumping off the dock, pretending to be mermaids and soaking in the rays. It was a normal day. We did this all summer long. Nothing out of the ordinary. Lucy was the best swimmer, she would always out swim me. So it made no sense what happened that day, but I blame myself. I wanted to play lifeguard. You know the game where one person pretends to drown and the other has to jump in to save them. A game we would play so often. Why was this time different? I wanted to be the lifeguard this time, so Lucy jumped in and started her act. She was doing so well, it looked so real. She would go under a couple times and come back up. By the 3rd time going under, that was my cue to “save” her. She went under and I jumped in. Except I couldn’t find her. I thought she was messing with me at first, but as more time passed I became concerned. I screamed for her name. Nothing. My screaming got the attention of my older brother who came running over. He yelled at me and asked where Lucy was. I was hysterical at this point and could barely keep my head above water. So he pulled me out, told me to run and get dad and he dove back in. By the time I got back with Dad, my brother was back out of the water sitting on the ground with his head in his hands. The police and ambulance were shortly behind us. But still Lucy was nowhere to be found. They immediately evacuated everyone from the water and made a barrier between us and the lake until they could find her. It was late afternoon and dark would be here soon. My dad tried to make me go home, but I refused until we found Lucy. Her parents showed up and everyone was in a panic. I was hopeful they would find her alive. I was naive. It was getting late and at this point they had divers come in to search the waters. I was shivering and for the first time I felt the darkness. I knew that she was dead. That they were going to find her body. No sooner than I felt it, one of the divers yelled he got her. My parents tried to get me to turn away, but I pushed through them to the edge of the water. There she was. Lifeless. Grey. Empty. I wanted to turn away, but like a car wreck I kept my gaze. Her parents collapsed. My parents collapsed. I froze. She was the first, but not the last. Over the next four years there would be a total of five drownings in that lake. After the 5th one, they closed it for good. They tried to blame it on an underwater current that had a pull and decided it was too dangerous to allow the public to swim in it. It took five deaths to close that lake. Five. I never returned to it after Lucy died. But when she died, so did the rest of this town. It was no coincidence that kids kept drowning. There was something evil lurking under those waters and it was spilling over into the rest of the town. We made it to Mom’s and she is so happy to see me. See me standing where I stood as a little girl. I could see the memories flood back to her, she made a half smile and I knew she was reminiscing. Christmas Eve was surprisingly peaceful. We shared a lot of laughs and ate some good food, but it was getting late and we were ready to call it a night. I was the only one left awake. I laid in my bed in my old room, staring out the window as the moon cast light on my face. There’s that pull again. That pull telling me to get the fuck out of here. Then I heard her. I heard Lucy’s voice calling to me. This is it, I’m losing my mind for sure. It was clear as day. I sneak out of bed and make my way down the hall, following her voice. I walk out the back door and to the woods. There’s a short cut to the lake through these woods. She’s leading me back. I feel the tug telling me to go back to the house. But I have to see this through. Maybe this will give me answers, maybe this will provide the closure I need. Is that her? Holy fuck. I can see her. She’s standing on the dock. Wearing the same blue bathing suit, waving me to come to her. I figured the closer I got then she would vanish, but she became more clear. She is smiling at me. I call her and tell her I am sorry. Sorry for playing that stupid game. It was my fault. She just smiles and jumps in the water. I yell to her to wait. But she is already back in the lake. That lake. She is swimming around, like we did before. Is this real? It feels so real. This has to be a dream. I walk to the edge of the dock. She is splashing around, pretending she is a mermaid again. She waves to me to join her. “I forgive you,” she said. I feel a wave of relief wash over me. This. This is the closure I needed. I conquer my fear and jump in to join her one last time. I can feel her peace. But I can feel this other presence. I reach for the dock, but I can feel the pull. It is so strong. It’s like a magnet pulling me down. I keep reaching for the ladder. But it’s so dark, I can’t see it anymore. I feel the panic set in. This is what Lucy felt. This is what they all felt. The fear. Knowing you’re fixing to die. I’m so cold. I’m running out of energy, my muscles are weak. I can’t fight it anymore. Then I remember what my mother told me so long ago. It only has power, if I let it. One last push. I’m reaching my arms out. I feel a hand grab mine and pull me. I feel the release from the other end and I’m back on the ground. I look up and see Lucy, except she isn’t 13 anymore. She is grown, like me. She doesn’t say anything, just smiles and fades into the distance. I lay there panting, trying to catch my breath. The leaves are gone from the trees above me. But the sky is brighter. The air is chill and the wind is calm. I don’t feel the darkness anymore. It feels like it did twelve years ago. Before the accident. That’s when I knew.


Write a story about two people who run rival bakeries but fall in love during the town's annual holiday festival. Lavender and Molasses “Is it missing something?” I asked. “Tastes great to me,” said Sarah. “No, I can feel it. It is definitely missing something.” I walk over to scan my inventory of spices and flavors. What does it need? Peppermint? No, too predictable. Maybe cinnamon? Cliche. It has to be just right. Only noticeable when it isn’t there. I have got to figure this out. Livy's Confections hasn’t won the Baker’s Cup in three years. I can’t survive another loss. I’m already on a 2nd mortgage. I need a win to put us back on the map and bring in revenue. The phone rings. “You’ll never guess who needs to borrow some Molasses.” Sarah said almost sarcastically. I roll my eyes and make my way to the front desk. “Are you just trying to see what I am up to this year?” I said in a smart aleck tone. “Liv. Can I call you Liv? Or do you prefer Olivia?” Nate questioned. Nate is the owner of Crumbs Bakery downtown, also known as the reigning Baker’s Cup champ for the last three years. It seems like his shop popped up overnight and almost put me out of business. I have spent the last few years perfecting all new recipes and making sure I take home the victory tonight. “So you come to me in a time of weakness?” “Listen, my normal guy Ralph is sold out of Molasses and there isn’t any within a reasonable distance for me to go get. I only use the best.” he said. “So you want my Molasses? Are you saying you trust I purchased a high quality Molasses?” “Liv. I seriously am graveling at this point. I can’t complete my cupcakes without it. I am lining up nicely for my fourth win. Hell, I’ll even make sure to thank you in my speech when I do win.” he chuckled. “You know, for someone that needs something from me, you sure aren’t doing a great job at getting it.” I said. I look at Sarah and shake my head. I can not believe this guy. Needing little ole me to help him. I guess I could say no and make it easier for me to win. But then I hear my father’s voice in my head. This could be my moment to be on top where I belong. It’s not cheating, it’s just not helping my rival. “How about this? My sister’s wedding got called off this weekend. Too bad for her, but great for me because she has given me all of her wedding flowers to use on my cakes. So, if you help me I will give you six dozen pieces of lavender. I have no use for it. Lavender and Molasses don’t go together anyways. So how does that sound?” he asked. “I don’t think that will benefit me, being I don’t specialize in wedding cakes.” I said. “Yeah, but don’t you like lavender? I tried one of your cookies a few months ago and I tasted lavender, I’m certain of it.” he said. That’s it. I lit up like a light bulb. Lavender. I need lavender for my cupcakes. “Wait, you tried my cookies?” I asked. “Alright, don’t get a big head about it. It was my niece's birthday and I didn’t know you did the desserts. But yes, it was actually really delicious.” he said. “Fine, you can have your molasses and I’ll take all the lavender you got.” I said. I told Sarah to hurry over to Nate’s shop and get back quickly. We only had a couple hours to get everything done and set up at the festival. I ran back to the kitchen and started reworking my cupcake recipe to incorporate the lavender. I had so many ideas spinning in my head. I haven’t been this inspired since my dad worked with me. I feel the pep in my step. I feel the fire burning inside of me. I can do this. I can win, I just know it. We make it downtown and it is packed as usual. It is the town's biggest event of the year. Everyone and their brother comes to this festival. The main stars of the show are the sweets provided by all the local bakeries and shops. There are vendors set up everywhere. The air smells so sweet and salty at the same time. The perfect mix in my opinion. “Hey, they are ready for your entry.” Sarah said. I handed her a dozen cupcakes that were definitely made with love. Well that’s it. This competition will determine if I can keep my doors open for another year. As I am pacing back and forth I smell a strong scent of cedar wood and mint. I turn and see Nate standing next to my table. He throws a quick wave and bops his head back to get me to come his way. “I just wanted to thank you again for helping me earlier. We were able to finish our cupcakes and they turned out better than I expected. I think another trophy is calling my name.” he said. God could he be any more arrogant? Nate stands there all confident and cocky, with nothing to lose and everything to gain. And I hate to even admit this, but damn is he cute. Stop it. Stop it right now. I can’t think this way about him. I can’t think this way about a guy that shares similar interests as me. A guy that is painfully single like me. A guy that has a smile that could melt all the ice cream in Big John’s ice cream parlor. While he stands there boasting about how great his cupcakes are and how he has to put in more shelves at his shop for the awards he’s accumulated, I can’t help but be in a trance. I’ve never noticed the scar on his lip. Or how his eyes have a little bit of green in them. I was always so busy hating him, or rather envying him and his success. While dazed out and hooked on to all the soft hitting insults from Nate, I forgot that we had a competition to attend. “Liv, it’s time babe.” said Sarah. Nate walks with me to the stage while we wait for them to announce the winners. “So you never told me what you needed the molasses for.” I said. “Ginger Molasses Cupcakes,” he answered. “What did you end up making?” he asked. “Lavender Honey Cupcakes.” I said. “Well now if you win, you will have to add me to your thank you speech,” he said. The main judge makes her way to the mic. My hands are freezing and clammy. I have them squeezed together trying to calm myself down. Winning this award will give me the publicity I need to keep my doors open. As I stand there hanging on to every word the announcer says. Waiting for her to announce the winning bakery. Nate grabs my hand. I turn my head to look at him. “I may or may not have slipped one of your cupcakes before you entered. You got this kid.” he said. I smile and give him the look of relief. In the middle of the trance I was in, Sarah comes over and shakes me. “Livy you won!” she yelled. I stood there in shock. I was so completely smitten by this guy, that I didn’t get to hear the announcer call Livy’s Confections as the Baker’s Cup winner. Nate squeezes my hand and then begins to clap. I make my way to the stage, shaking the hands of many people in the community and taking pictures with the judges and answering questions about my entry. I scan the audience for him. Where’d he go? After getting the trophy I made my way down through the crowd to get to his table, but his staff had already packed up and left. I thank Sarah and the crew for all their help and tell them to get everything back to the shop. “You’re not coming with us?” Sarah asked. “We will celebrate tomorrow.” I said. She gives me the look. The look that she knows my mind has been any and everywhere since Nate showed up tonight. But she cracks a smile of approval and tells me to go. I’ve never been in Crumbs Bakery, but tonight is a night of firsts. The door is locked. Of course it is Liv. I don’t even know why I am here. I see a head pop up from the back. It’s Nate. He greets me at the door. “Come to gloat I see” he said. “Maybe a little.” I said. “All jokes aside, you had the winning cupcake out there. I’m still kicking myself about the lavender.” he laughed. “You know, I’d love to collaborate together on something. Maybe your sister's next wedding?” I ask. Nate laughs, it was genuine and so cute. Where are these feelings coming from? “I am totally on board, as long as we can make lavender and molasses work,” he said. “I think we can make anything work.” I said. “Can you make Saturday night at Big John’s work?” “Ice cream for dinner?” I ask. “Dessert always comes first,” he said. There I was. Standing in another trance. It felt like we were in a movie or a romance novel. The reader, waiting for the big first kiss. Who will make the first move? “What was in those cupcakes by the way?” he asked. As I start naming off the ingredients he slowly walks towards me. Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Butter. Honey. “and lavender?” he asked. He is standing right in front of me. Our movements are in sync and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. Nate pulls my face towards his. There’s that little speck of green in his eyes again. If he wasn’t holding me, my legs would give out. Apparently weak in the knees is a real thing. His lips meet mine. The sweetest dessert I’ve ever tasted. I guess lavender and molasses do go together after all.


I wrote this because my in-law's dog is getting older and I was feeling a little sad about it. Let me know what you all think.    I am new. My eyes will not open. It feels warm as mama covers me. Her fur feels like a warm Blanket. That’s how I’ll remember it when I learn what a Blanket is. I *think* I am a good boy. My brothers and sisters are packed in tight around me. They smell like home. They feel a lot like mama. They are making noises. Its loud. I soon realize that I’m making the same noises. Something in me aches. It ends up being my tummy. Oh, I was hungry. Thanks mama. Time passes. I struggle and struggle. Eventually, my eyes *do* open. What a remarkable world! Mama is the most beautiful thing in it. I meet Blanket for the first time. It’s warm, just like mama. One day, a tall and beautiful creature enters. It towers over even mama! It doesn’t have fur all over its body. Instead, it just has fur on its head. Its head fur is really long. It stands on two legs instead of laying or sitting on all four. It’s silly. The tall and beautiful creature comes to me. It speaks in words that I cannot understand. I am taken from mama. I’m sad. Blanket comes with me though, so I know I’ll be okay. I say goodbye to my brothers and sisters as we leave the only room I’ve ever been in. I find out that the tall creature is my new mama. She’s pretty, but different from mama. She rubs my ears and though I do not understand her words, I know she is telling me that I am a good boy. I like this. I meet my new mama’s children. They are adorable. They’re bigger than me, but they somehow feel smaller. Instinctively, I know that I will protect them. They are my new brothers and sisters. As time passes, I grow quickly. Before too long, new mama must hold me with two hands. It still feels good when she strokes my nose. My new brothers and sisters haven’t quite figured out how to pet me like mama does. I am a good boy. New mama and my new brothers and sisters put down hard blankets. For some reason, they become angry when I need to relieve myself even though they do it all the time in the house. They even have this big magic water drinking bowl. No sharing with me though. They call me “Jake.” That must be my name. I am a good boy. New mama slowly becomes just mama. I still have Blanket. Old mama is still the most beautiful thing in the world, but I don’t remember exactly what she looked like. Sometimes, when I smell Blanket, I remember a little bit better. I find out about ALL the wonderful things in the world like “treat,” “fetch,” and “walk.” I love them. I also figure out that mama and my siblings won’t be as mad if I relieve myself outside. I want them to be happy. When I need to go, I just give them a shout. They don’t understand my words because they still don’t speak my language. They’re silly. It seems that they get the point, because they start to let me out when I ask. Time passes again. I’m fully grown and so energetic. I thought I would be a lot bigger, but mama can still pick me up. She takes me to another place where I get stuck with needles. It’s awful. She makes me go back sometimes for some reason. I can never tell if we are about to go on an adventure or go back to the needle man. I get more and more walks. Lots of petting too. I love my home. I lay quietly in my snug little bed next to Blanket. A new adversary has appeared. She is white and fluffy. Looks like a treat to me. When I start to treat the new adversary like a treat, mama scolds me. She spanks me for the first time. I didn’t even do anything. I guess I have to be nice to fluffball. The adversary and I vie for mama’s attentions. It turns out that mama has enough attention for both of us. The adversary grows larger. I find out that her name is Princess. We become friends of necessity. She tries to sit on Blanket. We are not friends that day. She never quite reaches my size, but her place in my heart continues to grow. I’m not so young anymore. I still get excited to go on a walk, but it doesn’t excite me like it once did. My siblings are so big now, almost as large as mama. They are my home. Some of them are nearly as good at fetch as mama. The youngest boy is always a good begging target. All it takes a single whine and he drops at least something. It is a beautiful summer day. I can tell that its summer because it feels nice and warm. I get to go outside without having to ask twice. Summer is my favorite time of year. Sometimes it does get a little warm though. My siblings occasionally give me the honor of laying in their laps. It’s harder to keep up with mama than it used to be. My siblings begin to leave. Over time they return, sometimes with partners. I have never had a partner. Sometimes, this makes me sad, but mostly, I am happy. I’ve had mama. She’s never changed. The years have passed, but mama is the same. She is my fondest protector and the one who I also protect. I don’t move so well anymore. My days of fetch are behind me. Still, I have my companions, Blanket and Princess. At times, it’s like they’ve always been with me. On occasion, I walk into a wall. Mama always has a concerned expression on her face when this happens. We visit the needle man more often now, but curiously, he has almost become a companion in his own right. An especially beautiful and sunny day comes and goes. Today was not such a good day. I re-live days as a pup when I did not know what to say to get to go outside. It means that sometimes, I must relieve myself inside the house. Shame. Mama never scolds me for this anymore. I remember when I could not open my eyes. Now, the other side of aging closes them. I look into mama’s beautiful face one final time. Old mama is a faint memory now. I sit, cuddled with Blanket. Princess nudges me, letting out a purr. I wish my siblings were here, but all is well. As I let out my final breath, I know one thing for sure: I was a good boy.


Deputy U.S. Marshal Roger Kelly’s chair creaked as he tipped the glass to his lips. The dark liquor inside left a trail of fire down his throat before it took up home in his belly, spreading its now dull warmth up through his chest and arms. He lowered the glass back to the table, placing it gently without a sound. Across from him, the man who called himself Aquila banged his own upturned glass down on the scarred wood surface with a thunk. “Don’t drink bourbon, Marshal?” he asked without a smile. “Only with friends,” answered Kelly. “Well, shit, I should be honored then.” Aquila brought two fat fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle. The barkeep, a timid little shrew of a man with a curled mustache and balding pate, scurried over to their table. “Bring us the fucking bottle,” said Aquila, tossing the words out as if they were coins for payment. He brought a rolled cigarillo to his mouth, puffed deeply from it and exhaled a plume of thick smoke which drifted about the flat brim of his hat in a gray cloud. “Me and my new friend here are gonna have us a few drinks and chat.” The barkeep nodded urgently and rushed off. Kelly shifted in his chair. It creaked. His leg was tight. They weren’t the only ones in the saloon. Aquila — whose real name was Francisco Antony Sangino, Kelly knew — never traveled alone. A rabble of similarly grim figures surrounded him, dressed in leathers and cloth stained two shades darker by hard wear and long days lived off the land. A glance alone told of the violence these men were capable of, but Kelly didn’t work on mere appearances. He had seen the resultancies of their line of work firsthand. The Praetor Gang, they were called, a self-fashioned moniker undoubtedly cooked up by Aquila himself. It was a tad too bookread, in Kelly’s opinion, but he supposed in some way or another that actually made him respect the man sitting across from him a bit more. At least he knew history. History, though, had a tendency to bend towards the brutal and Aquila and his Praetor Gang meant to carry on that black tradition. They had crisscrossed the New Mexico and Utah territories, setting down on towns like a bloated, darkening cloud. They were robbers, bandits who took what they thought theirs and woe to those who stood in their path, but where other gangs were motivated by those baser human instincts of greed or even pride — understandable, in a way, if not to be condemned all the same — the Praetor Gang had a wholly distinct engine which powered it: Justice. Or so they called it. Those that stood before Aquila likely disagreed, Kelly would bet. For the Praetor gang, justice was meted out with a particularly heavy hand. Where other towns were left stained by gunfights or knifings or swinging pairs of boots from the local gallows when a gang passed by, the Praetor Gang’s work had its own unmistakable trademark. They were crucifiers. The barkeep returned to their table and placed a tinted bottle of brown liquor upon it with shaking hands. Aquila showed him no acknowledgement. He only took the bottle up in one of those large hands of his and poured, eyes never leaving Kelly’s face. When both glasses were filled, he set the bottle down and took one up, lifting it toward Kelly. “Salute,” said Aquila, still unsmiling. Kelly thumbed his own glass. Never a big drinker, even in his younger days, he could already feel the effects of the first shot. “You know, I’m a bit embarrassed here,” he said. “I generally speak more clearly. I suppose the badge,” Kelly shifted his coat, revealing the silver star pinned to his chest, “lent a bit of an authoritative candor to my speech, but over the years that may have dulled somewhat. My apologies. Let me be a bit less ambiguous.” Kelly leaned forward, chair creaking angrily. “I ain’t your fucking friend and I ain’t here to drink.” There was a bit of rustling from Aquila’s men, but the big man who sat across from Kelly remained nonplussed. He downed the liquor in his hand then brought the glass down hard on the table. He then reached across to grab Kelly’s glass. “Well, I suppose I know why you’re here, Marshal,” said Aquila as he threw back another shot. “And I suppose you know who I am and what that means for you.” He shifted his own coat. Kelly saw the glinting handle of a revolver there on the man’s hip. “I know who you *think* you are.” Kelly showed his own hip and the Colt resting there. A cramp ran up his thigh. He wished he was a few years younger. “Some righteous, vengeful arm of the Lord reaching out over the West. You think what you do lines up with divinity?” “I think there’s a rot that’s setting in across this land and we’re cutting it away. In a sense, Marshal, I think we’re doing your job for you. Doesn’t that fancy star of yours give you the right to bring outlaws to justice?” “Yes, sir, it does.” “Then why am I out here finding vipers under every rock I upturn?” Aquila scooped up the bottle once more, eschewing the glass this time and taking a long pull directly from its mouth. “You look like you’ve been at it for some time, Marshal. How many outlaws have you laid low? Because we’ve cleansed town after town of wickedness, both on that side of the Rockies and this one.” “And left a trail of corpses nailed to crosses behind you. I wouldn’t personally refer to that as ‘cleanly.’” One of Aquila’s men stirred. “I suppose hanging men is an act of clemency?” he blurted. He was a tall man, broad as a bull, too, with blond curls spilling out from beneath his hat. He stepped toward Kelly, full of menace, but a simple raised hand from Aquila halted him. “You’ve caught us at the end of a long stretch of riding, Marshal,” said Aquila. “And tempers can run hot when eyes grow heavy.” He took another pull from the bottle and then wiped a palm across his beard. “I have no outright quarrel with you, personally, recent rudeness aside. But, as I see it, this conversation ain’t going down any roads pleasanter than the one it’s on now. So, that being the make of this situation, I suppose there’s only a few options afforded us. “One, you use your authority to officially deputize us as members of the U.S. Marshal Service and allow us to carry on our work with the full weight of our benevolent federal government behind us.” Aquila’s men laughed heartily, squaring their shoulders and preening about as they pinched at invisible stars on their chest, doffing a hat to one another with smug, mocking faces. Aquila raised his hand again and they quickly fell silent. “Two, you apologize and extend a formal note of gratitude as a federal Deputy U.S. Marshal and lawman to myself and my men for doing so much of your work for you.” Now Kelly laughed. “Three,” Aquila continued, ignoring him, “you lay that star of yours down, walk right out of here and avoid even the smell of me coming down the road for the rest of your life.” Kelly dropped his smile. His leg ached intensely. Aquila brought both his arms onto the table between them. They looked like cords of wood, thick and heavy. He lowered his voice to a whisper. The saloon was quiet enough to hear a mouse’s sneeze. Aquila’s rasping voice filled the dusty air. “Or, of course, there’s the obvious. I shoot you dead and take that pretty star of yours for myself.” Their faces were close. Kelly’s wrinkled and tired, whiskers white as snow; Aquila’s streaked with grime under a beard of jet coal. The men looked on, unmoving, as the two squared off. Behind the bar, the little mousy man with the curved mustache trembled. “Can’t say I’m eager to oblige you on any of those proposals,” said Kelly. He did not whisper. “Though I must say I’m a bit surprised you didn’t offer to nail me to a cross. That being your wont and all.” For the first time since he sat down, Kelly saw Aquila blink. “You may be a salty son of a bitch, but you ain’t done nothing worthy of crucifixion,” said Aquila. “No, a bullet will do just fine.” He skirted his coat farther back behind his waist. The revolver lay bare in its holster. Kelly followed suit. His leg had begun to shake. He tried not to let the tension show in his jaw. The two men sat, inches apart, eyes trained on one another’s. All else was quiet. Kelly spoke. “I have a proposal of my own.” Aquila’s brow wrinkled a fraction of an inch. Kelly took that as openness. “Loathe as I am to admit this, I’m not quite the draw I used to be.” “Your days of tracking down outlaws should have ended awhile back then, Marshal." “Maybe, but I ain’t finished.” Kelly moved his hand up, slower than slow, from his side. Aquila watched him with eyes like chips of flint. “I may not be as quick as I once was, but I’m quick enough still when I need to be. You’re a younger man than me, though, and your draw is likely mighty quick.” Aquila nodded as his men chuckled behind him. “Right, then I propose the following on the grounds of equity: We place a single pistol here between us. Each of us place our hands, palms down, atop the table. My hands are still quick enough for that, I think. What do you say?” What could have been a smile danced under the dark forest that was Aquila’s beard. “I say you’re a crafty old bastard.” The men laughed again. “But I also say yes.” Quick as lightning, Aquila unholstered his revolver. The smile was undeniable now as he saw Kelly’s eyes grow wide at the speed of his motion. He placed his revolver down between them and then spread his hands wide across the tabletop. Kelly brought up his own hands and did the same. His leg was trembling something awful, convulsing and jittering. A knot like a tree stump had burrowed itself into his thigh, but he paid it no mind. He saw only Aquila’s hardened face before him. The air left the room. A graveyard’s stillness descended. Neither man moved. A finger twitched. A flash of movement across the table. Kelly kicked out his cramped leg, shifting all of his weight to the side. The chair screamed beneath him, splintering like he knew it would, spilling him to the floor. A gunshot cracked, shattering the stillness. Smoke filled the empty space. Kelly hit the ground, hard, but his hand was still quick enough, indeed. It found the familiar curves of his Colt, freed it, fired. A spray of blood exploded into the air. Before Aquila toppled from his chair, Kelly had gotten off two more shots. One buried itself in the chest of the blond man, the other passing through the neck of another of Aquila’s cronies. Kelly rolled onto his back in time to see another man reaching for his belt. His Colt blared again, erasing the man’s face in a red mist. The rest of the men stood shockstill. “Make a move and I will put you down,” Kelly called out. His leg was numb from holding up his weight, but he got it beneath him all the same. “Now,” he said, standing, “I know you know at least a bit of history to be riding with a man who names himself and his posse after Roman legions, but I’m gonna test you now on biology. What happens to a snake when its head’s chopped off?” The assorted men looked at him queerly, unsure. The metallic smell of blood hung on the air. “I’ll tell you what happens,” Kelly answered for them. “The body twitches and moves for a while, as if it’s still alive.” He hardened his voice. “But it ain’t. It’s dead.” Kelly swept his arm out over the floor of the saloon, which was strewn with the bodies of Aquila and a trio of his men, leaking their lifeblood into the floorboards. “The Praetor Gang ain’t got no head, so as far as the U.S. Marshal Service is now concerned on the matter, it’s dead. If it sprouts a new head, well,” he clicked the hammer on his Colt. “I’ll chop that one off, too. We understand each other, gentlemen?” Heads nodded. “Alright,” said Kelly as he fell bodily back onto the chair that Francisco Antony “Aquila” Sangino had sat, numb leg now regaining a bit of its old sensation. “I suppose I will take another drink then, after all.


“We’re live in 2 minutes”, said the voice in my earpiece. The restroom cabin door opened and an employee wearing a tight wetsuit came out. “Good morning”, I said, washing my hands. He ignored me. As he walked to the door, a small piece of paper dropped from his backpack. It read *Tank 3, Good luck.* What the hell. “We go live in 20 seconds”, the voice said as I rushed back to my station. They turned the broadcast tv on. “Good morning everyone!”, my colleague said through the screen, “I’m Alice and today we are live at the National Aquarium, where our anchor Peter will talk to the President. Pete, tell us how’s it going over there.” “Good morning, Alice!” I said, “this will be the President’s first public appearance after last month’s assassination attempt. We’ll not be allowed to speak to him in person, only through the—” “Sorry Pete” Alice interrupted, “the president has just arrived. Let's take a look”. The place looked like an arena. There was a raised platform in the center and three big water tanks surrounding it. Employees in wetsuits were standing on the platform feeding the animals. Four secret service agents scan the crowd for threats as the president walks behind with a woman— probably the host. All the action could be seen in real time from the big screen hanging in the center of the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen” she says, “the president of the United States of America!” The arena vibrates with energy. Chills ran down my spine as I saw the man from the restroom on the platform. That wetsuit is definitely not his size. “Mr. President” she said, “let me introduce you to our little pets. In Tank 1 we got the orcas...” The man seemed lost, out of sync with the others. “…in Tank 2, the adorable dolphins...”, she continued. He could be a newbie, still learning the job. But what about the the paper? *Tank 3, good luck?* “…in Tank 3, the most loved and feared of them all—the great white sharks! Don’t you get too close to that edge Mr. president!”, she said, chuckling. No. “Now, joining us on the screen” she said, “please welcome Mr. Peter Sierra from the Daily Bulletin. Hi Peter, can you hear me?” A drop of sweat fell from my forehead onto the microphone, making a loud thud. “Mr. President, it's an honor to…”, The words vanished as I saw the man from the restroom put his fish bucket down and turn to president. The agents were still scanning the crowd. “Are you alright Peter?”, the president asked. The man started walking towards him. “We may be experiencing some technical issues…” the host said. The man was running. His arms stretched forward. Oh my— “Mr. president, GET DOWN NOW!”, I shouted as fast I could. The crowd gasped so loud I could not hear the sound of the body hitting the water. In a heartbeat, a massive shark’s jaw emerged, sank its teeth on the body and disappeared underwater, leaving only a trace of dark, red blood. “You just saved the president’s life” said the voice in my earpiece.


In the darkest tunnel beneath the enormous facility wandered a light-headed woman. She did not remember where she was, who she was, nor why sand how she had gotten there. Her only hint was the ripped lab coat she was wearing, which had the capital letters “BCRI” engraved on it and then a hole beneath it, as if it had been half cut and half ripped out. She went to clear the sweat from her forehead with her hand, and there, she noticed that her forehead was bleeding. “What happened to me?” she asked the empty darkness that engulfed her. She then continued to walk around, holding on to the wall for balance and trying to overcome the fatigue, the hunger, the thirst and the urge to give up. The farther she went, the more she thought that she would die without knowing who she was in a dark, mysterious passageway. And then, just as she was giving up hope, she saw it: A door left ajar with light coming from inside the room. She hurried inside and dragged herself onto the chair that was in front of a computer screen. A half-eaten sandwich and a cup of water had been abandoned at the side of the desk, and she made quick work of eating and drinking them as fast as she could. She did not know when the last time she had eaten was, but one thing was for sure, it had not been recently. After she was done with her meal, she then looked at the computer monitors in front of her, which showed a background with the same letters on the lab coat, “BCRI”. She then looked up on the search engine these letters, trying to understand what they meant. As soon as she clicked enter, most of the first results were news broadcasts, others were articles, but they all had something in common - they all blamed the BioChemical Research Institute for the widespread toxic chemicals that had spread to most of the planet in their cheap and supposedly revolutionary fertilizer. An article by an acclaimed journalist mentioned in part, “Most of the affected become sick, and with the appropriate medications could be saved. If the medications are not available, then they will suffer in great pain until their life drains away. In a few select cases, the people exposed are not harmed and are asymptomatic. On the other side of that coin, although rare, some have been killed for even the smallest exposure. As unfortunate as this may be, the head of the BCRI Dr.Larenson, the person that is to blame for all this, has not been found. She personally created the fertilizer that was to save the world, as she many times claimed. Instead, she destroyed it.” At this point, the woman understood that she was in a place connected to all these horrific events. As disturbing as that was, she wanted to know more about this terrible doctor that had bought so much pain to so many. She simply searched the following: “Dr.Larinson BCRI”. The first search result was a picture from a scientific conference that had taken place less than a year before. The doctor was clearly labeled in it, and when the woman saw it, she remembered. She remembered every project, every idea, her dream of saving the world, and how her pride destroyed it all. As she screamed and sobbed, she wished she’d given up in the dark hallway, where she innocently walked as an empty slate.


#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 we 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 With NanoWriMo in full swing, I am curious about your writing goals and what you hope to accomplish as a writer. So let’s chat about that a bit. - **What are your goals as a writer?** - **Everyone has a different idea of what success looks like. So, what things do you hope to accomplish and what does success look like to you? Is it traditional or self-publishing? Gaining an online following? Getting accepted into magazines? Something else?** - New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? **Introduce yourself in the comments!** What do you like to write? You can check out previous Roundtable discussions on our ! *** #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.


The sound of shelling and gunfire rings throughout the trench. Soldiers scream for their lives as they suffer the wrath of man’s cruelest creations. Uniform and language blur into one as the war machine rages. In the chaos of the inferno, one’s identity becomes second only to their innate instinct to survive, and in the hellish landscape of battle, it is kill, or be killed. Thick black smoke bellows through the narrow corridors of the trench, as flames engulf all that they touch. Thick splatters of blood paint the walls of the trench, and the squelch of wet mud tangled with the distorted remains of mangled corpses can be heard underfoot. The resulting cacophony of sound is both deafening and blinding. Disoriented men stumble through the smoke and mud, thickened further by the blood of our fallen comrades. The finest, most stoic of us are reduced to the likes of children as we call for our mothers, cowering from the onslaught that we find ourselves entwined with. Injured men crawl and flail, helplessly grabbing the ankles of those still standing, hoping for some form of divine intervention. However, their fate is now in God’s hands, as they are left for dead in the cold, wet trench, some even drowning, as the unforgiving, relentless sludge fills their lungs, it's hardly the ‘glory of battle’ we were promised when joining. The smell of smoke, decay, disease, and filth fill my nose, as the metallic taste of my own blood, and the earthy, gritty taste of dirt fill my mouth. It is almost impossible to breathe, as the air becomes hot and thick with toxic smoke, and the exploding bombs knock the wind out of my chest, like a cruel beating drum. A repetitive cycle. Boom. Boom. Boom. The order for a retreat is shouted down the line. As men turn and run from the slaughter, the horrific choir of weaponry continues to play as the order is relayed. Many men fail to hear the orders over the ear-piercing sound. If they are not deaf, they are in no conscious state of mind to comprehend the order, frozen and shocked by the horrors in front of them. Human beings were not designed for this level of bloodshed. As the retreating men fall like dominoes, cut down by relentless machine guns, a low yet powerful tremor can be felt throughout the battlefield. Through the smoke emerges 5 beastly machines, monotonous in their tone, relentless in their advance. Unphased by traditional deterrents such as barbed wire or entrenchments, they continue their march, mercilessly rolling over injured men, burying them deep into the all-consuming dirt. Our men, no, our boys, could not have possibly imagined such devices, used to inflict such cruelty. As we watch our friends be desecrated without remorse by the ever-advancing enemy, we are helpless in our resolve. Many men accept that these are their last moments on Earth. They say goodbye to their families and pray that God watches over them in their absence. They make peace with themselves, accepting their fate before they are brutally gunned down in cold blood, for this is no place for remorse, prayer, or reflection. The front is a barren, godless wasteland, for if God were real, surely he would not allow such cruelty. There is no humanity here. As the trench is overrun by an insurmountable enemy, I take one last look at the sky. A small sliver of the delicate, blue, French sky is visible through the mat of grey and black clouds separating us from the rest of the world as if we were within some form of hellish, twisted arena. The sky reminds me of home, where I would seldom admire its beauty, however now, more than anything, I wish I could be back on home soil doing nothing but exactly that. I look at my hands, covered in thick, black dirt, and blood of unknown origin. Is it my own? Or that of the enemy… Perhaps my comrades? I am not sure, nor will I ever know. It’s amazing how intimate killing can be, yet ever so distant at the same time, never truly knowing your enemy. You see a uniform, and you kill the wearer, as if you were some primal hunter praying on another animal outside of your pack. None of that matters now though. I stand still, waiting to return to the land from whence I came.   **2 September, 1939** It has been 21 years since The Great War ended now, yet the memory still lingers in my mind like an ailment, unshakable, relentless in its persistence, almost as if it were the enemy itself. As I bathe, I watch the water drain, finding myself lost in the trickling sound. I see flashes of memory before my very eyes, memories of my friends bleeding and flailing like wounded animals, eerily reminiscent of the trickling I hear before me now. Whilst I am forced to endure the psychological torment of my own mind, I see the water draining start to become filth ridden, resembling the same drab brown colour of water within a flooded trench. I look at my hands, covered in thick, black dirt, as well as viscous crimson blood. As a wave of helplessness washes over me and I am reverted to my primal fears, I scrub harder than ever before. I want to be rid of the dirt.


Jennifer sat bewildered by what she was looking at; there was a golden orb laying neatly on the brown and yellow leaves that covered the wet forest floor. She hardly noticed that her running pants were soaking through and she'd completely forgotten about the sharp pain in her ankle that brought her to her seat. It looked, magical. Well, not magical, obviously. She wasn't one to believe in all that mystic nonsense. Still, there was something very peculiar, alluring, even magnetic about this... thing. "You alright?" a man asked from behind but, Jennifer barely moved. "Take a look at this, Mark." she said. "Alright, what are we looking at?" Mark asked as he sat down next to his wife. Jennifer motioned to the orb. Mark looked at her and smiled "The leaves, babe? They're beautiful but, are they worth soaking pants?" She turned her head and looked at him in disbelief. "No. The orb, right-" As Jennifer turned back to look at the orb it was gone. "I swear..." she faded off. "You OK?" Mark asked. "Yeah, sorry. It must have been the light or something." Jennifer stood and winced, remembering why she'd fallen to the ground in the first place. "I'd like to amend my previous statement, I think I sprained it again." Jennifer let out a groan. "You want front seat or back seat?" Mark smiled at his wife. Jennifer jumped onto her husbands back and kissed his head before lightly tapping her heel into his thigh "Giddy up, good steed!" she playfully commanded. "Hey, this bronco will buck you right off" Mark said in his best serious voice. "Less talky, more walky" Jennifer leaned her head down and whispered "please..." and off they went. By the time they reached the trail parking lot, Jennifer's ankle had began to resemble a grapefruit. Mark helped her into the backseat. "Walk-in or wait?" He asked as he grabbed her a blanket from the trunk. Jennifer let out a sigh "Wait. They'll just tell me to R.I.C.E it. Besides, I'm exhausted. I just want to go home." "You're exhausted? Well ain't that a bitch." Mark joked. Jennifer smiled. "I know. At least you'll get the radio to yourself." she offered. Mark smiled back. "Sounds good, babe. Get some rest." Mark began the drive home as Jennifer drifted off to sleep. She suddenly found herself in a vast emptiness. There was blackness as far as the eye could see except this small, rapidly growing golden light. Jennifer began to panic as the golden speck quickly grew into the golden orb and then into something much larger. She tried to scream but nothing came out. She tried to run but her body was stuck in place. The orb came to a stop mere inches from her face. It was now hundreds if not thousands of feet in diameter and had a heat emanating from its surface that nearly burned her skin. "Babe. Come on. I need a little help." Mark said as he shook her awake. Jennifer opened her eyes to see they were home. "I had the craziest dream" she mumbled and climbed out of the car, into her husband's arms. "It was about that orb from the forest" she continued, half asleep. "I have no idea what you're saying, love." He carried her inside and laid her down in bed. He grabbed a few pillows to elevate her foot. "You really are tired, huh?" he asked with genuine surprise. Jennifer raised her arm and motioned him over. "Thank you for carrying me, my stallion." and gave him a kiss before collapsing back onto the pillow. Mark smiled and went to the kitchen to make some food. As soon as she fell asleep, she was back in front of the orb. It felt like and eternity as the orb slowly closed the gap between itself and her face then, it touched her. Jennifer shot out of bed and jumped right onto her feet before promptly collapsing onto the floor in a squeal of pain. Mark jumped out of bed. "Are you OK? What are you doing?" he asked, hurrying over to his wife. "I... what time is it?" she was panting and out of breath as her eyes searched for the clock. "Uh, it's two in the morning, babe." Mark could see the panic in his wife's face and held her for a moment. "It's ok. You're here. We're here. Just breathe." Jennifer took a deep breath and suddenly felt exhausted. "Yeah. Sorry. I had a bad dream and must've forgotten about my ankle. Consider me reminded." she turned and kissed her husband. "Thank you. Will you help me..." Mark picked her up and put her back in bed. Before he'd walked over to his side she'd fallen back to sleep. There was no longer a void in front of her, there was only the golden orb. It covered her eyes, she could feel its heat over the whole of her body. She tried to move and could but, it was everywhere. She couldn't escape the gold nor its heat. "Babe. Babe." she opened her eyes to see her husbands smiling face. "If you don't get up, you're going to be late for work." he said. "I made you breakfast." Jennifer rolled over and looked at the clock. "No!" she nearly yelled. She'd overslept by almost an hour. She sat up before collapsing back down. "I am... sick day" she barely managed before dropping back into sleep. She could feel the orb coursing through her veins. Suddenly, a booming voice echoed in her mind. There were no words but she understood the meaning. "Jennifer! Are you ok? Hellooooo? Jennifer?" she shook her head and was saw her manager staring back at her from the laptop screen. "Uh, sorry. What was the question?" Jennifer stuttered. She was trying to make sense of how she'd gotten to her desk and why she was on a call with work. "Your project. The board wants a presentation Friday. I'm sure they'll have lots of questions but, my only one is are you excited? I guess your speechlessness is evidence enough." "Yes. Yes! Thank you, Marge. Uh. I am thrilled. But, do you think you could email me the specifics of the meeting? I just have to run." Jennifer said, still a little shaken. "Of course. Congrats again and let me know if you want to do a dry run or two." Marge offered. "Thank you so much. I will. Bye." Jennifer shut the laptop and tried to recall the last fifteen minutes but drew a blank. "Want a sandwich?" "Jesus!" Jennifer shouted, startled by Mark's presence. Mark chuckled. "Congrats! Seriously. I knew your hard work would pay off." he walked behind her and gave her a long embrace. "You're going to kill it. Want to celebrate now or after?" Jennifer was still trying to get her bearings "Um. Sandwich would be lovely. And a glass of ice-water, please. And always after. You know this. There is too much to do between now and then." She closed her eyes for a moment to think. ... tbc edit: tbc if you all like it. I don't write much but love a good story. Seeing if I can make one so, feedback appreciated.


The air was getting stale, harder to breathe. The main engines of the ship had shut down. Propelled through the vast unknown of by a storm of sorts. Sylvia didn’t quite understand how it happened, some mystery of deep space. Thirty days, and another twenty or so since departing the little spaceport she had called home for the past few years, Sylvia found herself sitting in the pilot seat of the sleek cockpit. She would stare at the displays, hoping something would jump out at her, but nothing ever did. The dim lights hummed gently, and the small amount of recycled air being pushed through the vents echoed throughout the ships tiny metal passageways and down into the cargo bay below. It was enough to drive a person insane over time, that and the intermittent beeping of the distress signal on the ship’s dashboard. Illuminating the various switches and controls every five seconds with its bright red light. Every five seconds. Every five goddamn seconds for the past thirty days. The heating systems were the first thing to go after the engines. She noticed this a few days ago and started wearing a cot blanket over her pilot’s overalls like a cape. Combat boots became a necessity to stop her feet from sticking to cold grated metal flooring. Sylvia’s head was feeling it the most, shaven so that the metal implants on her crown and forehead could interact with her helmet and help with tactical manoeuvrability in combat. A common practice for naval space pilots.   *“Is this ship going to be my tomb? Am I going to be rescued? Maybe there will be another ship out here, drifting like me…”* These thoughts seemed to be the only things that kept her going some days, they helped keep her mind active, even if some of them sent her into an anxious panic. With little oxygen left, the power reserves sounded like they were about to die at any moment. She prepped her space suit in the cargo bay, making sure everything was connected and ready to wear when the engine finally stopped, and the oxygen tanks ran dry.   Sylvia was lightheaded. Her heart was pounding. Fast. Faster than she had ever felt it beat before, like it was coming out of her chest, but something was constricting it at the same time. The amount of combat she had seen and still her heart hadn’t beat this fast before now. Her eyes were swelling with tears and her knees buckled under her weight. She fell to the ground and into the foetal position. The cold metal floor against her face. The thought of dying in space, the thought of never seeing her parents or her little cat again daunted on her. Like her future had already been set. She lay on that floor for hours, to the point that the panic subsided, and she felt calm about the situation. Letting her thoughts drift away from her inevitable doom. Eyes, heavy from exhaustion, she drifted into a deep sleep. Making sure to rest her head on the blanket to avoid becoming one with the floor. She wanted to get up and lay in her cot, but her body wouldn’t move. It was still recovering from the shock.   A slow thumping sound stirred Sylvia from her slumber. THUMP…THUMP…THUMP… Disorientated, she looked around and tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. It was nearly impossible with the echoing sounds of the reserve engine overclocking. Chugging away as it kept the last of the support systems online for a little while longer. She donned the fluoro orange space suit and screwed on the white helmet. Double checking that everything was intact and sealed, she made her way back up the ladder chute to the flight deck. The red light on the dash was solid, illuminating the room with its glow. She froze. This meant only one thing…contact. With whom or what she did not know but the thumping sound increased in pace, almost in tune with the thumping of Sylvia’s heart.   She kept what little she brought with her before departing in a small quarter behind the cockpit. Tearing open the locker at the foot of her cot and discarding the top layer of clothes, she found the energy pistol that was tucked away under the belongings. One magazine, that’s all she brought with her. Sylvia never intended to use it, it was a precautionary measure. “Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it,” her drill sergeant would say to her in basic training. Sylvia quickly checked over the gun, making sure the barrel was clear and the magazine slipped in with ease. It had a nice weight to it considering how bulky it was in her small hands. The first time she used one the recoil almost sent her off her feet, she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.   Flicking a switch on the main console, the shutter of the cockpit window ground open. The first time she had looked out into space for a few weeks, it would have been peaceful if it weren’t for the bloodied space suit thumping on the window. The visor cracked, the same fluoro orange of her own suit. *“Is this another pilot?”* Sylvia thought to herself. It took her a few minutes to get through the airlock, being cautious and closing the inner cargo bay door before opening the large, vaulted door that led to the outside. To the void of space. Attaching a wire from her belt to the ship, she made her way around the tiny vessel. Trying not to lose her grip on the railings, remembering a few weeks ago when she did exactly that and almost threw up in her suit. Heart still pounding, she didn’t want to be out here too long. The mysterious space suit was in sight. She grabbed another wire from her belt and attached it to the other suit, being careful not to push it off the ship. Getting the suit around to the airlock was no problem, it floated with ease. Once she was inside the ship it was a different story. The deadweight, a body was inside of it. Sylvia dragged them through the airlock and propped them up against the wall next to the ladder. The inside of the visor was covered in blood, making it hard to see who, or what, was inside. She unholstered the energy pistol from her hip and cautiously proceeded to nudge the suit with her foot whilst pointing the pistol at its seemingly lifeless form. No movement. Not even a slight reaction from it. Sylvia holstered her pistol and started to unscrew the helmet from the suit. It was the same as her own, bit worn and bloodied but the little details were all the same. Her heartbeat got faster, she was trying not to breath too heavily, trying to preserve the oxygen in her own suit. The helmet finally came undone. She slowly pulled it off. The human face underneath was familiar… it was her own.   Their nose broken; the doppelgangers face was covered in dry blood. Sylvia was frozen in place, helmet still clutched in her hands. Was she dreaming, was this some warped reality caused by the past month of loneliness? The doppelganger opened their eyes opened, an ocean blue, just like Sylvia’s. She was expecting them to be black, like some sort of creature from the depths of the warp. The doppelganger was calm, unlike Sylvia, as if they knew exactly what was happening. The doppelgangers mouth opened, but it took a moment for the words to form, as if being in space had frozen the ligaments in their throat. “Hello.” Sylvia was visibly shaking; she couldn’t control it. Not being able to grasp the fact that the voice she was hearing was her own, that the person in that fluorescent suit was indeed herself. *“I must be dreaming.”* Before Sylvia could respond the doppelganger leapt up, foaming at the mouth, blood spurting from in-between their teeth. The doppelganger tackled Sylvia to the ground, grabbing the helmet from her and smashing it into Sylvia’s. It took a few hits to make a dent in the thick plastic visor. Sylvia reached for her pistol, as she drew it the doppelganger slammed down on her hand if they knew exactly what Sylvia’s next move would be. Sylvia dropped the gun, the pure shock of her hand hitting the ground loosened the grip. A swift jab in her ribs and Sylvia momentarily lost her breath. The doppelganger got to their feet and picked up the energy pistol. Sylvia noticed a tear in its suit, as if an energy bolt had grazed it. *“How did this thing last out there with a hole in its suit?”* “This was you,” the doppelganger aggressively shouted, pointing the gun at the torn suit. “You did this to me, and I don’t know why, but now I understand. This time,” they pointed the pistol at Sylvia, “I… won’t… mi—” In a moment of pure instinct Sylvia hurled the doppelganger’s helmet at them, knocking them off balance. The pistol let out a squeal and an energy bolt pierced the air, tearing a hole in Sylvia’s suit, scorching the metal floor beside her. She jumped up and ran to the airlock control, smashing open the emergency release lever and slamming it down with all her might. A sinister laugh came from behind. The doppelganger had affixed themselves to the ladder with the wires from the spacesuits belt. “Goodbye, Captain” It cackled. Both the airlock doors opened simultaneously, abruptly sucking everything out of the pressurised ship like a vacuum. Sylvia tried to grasp at the lever, thinking it would help hold her in place, but it snapped under the sheer force of the pull. Her body shot out of the airlock like a cannonball. Her helmet once again colliding with the frame on the way out, forcing her face to smash into the visor and crack it from the inside. She looked back at the doppelganger, but they weren’t there. Sylvia checked her belt, the pistol still safely latched in the leather holster.   She was floating. Her nose bloody and pulped from the blow it took against the visor, oxygen very slowly seeping out of the space suit from the tiny crack in it. Her ship becoming a small white blip in the distance.   She was alone. Floating through the darkness.


With a mix of panic and desperation, I rushed to apply pressure to the wound. But hope quickly fled as I looked up to see a man made of only bones, standing 7 feet tall, with a scythe that radiated power and a cloak that was darker than the void itself. as he extended his hand, I inched away only to back into a tree. "please I don't want to die" I begged, but despite my pleading, the man cloaked in shadows still approached. With adrenaline coursing through me like the blood on my shirt, I grabbed the nearest tree branch and crashed it over his head. I honestly didn't expect anything to happen but to my surprise, I saw the scythe-wielding specter fall to the ground and groan in pain. knowing that this was my only chance at life, I immediately ran the other way. clutching the wound in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding, I formulated a plan as I made my escape. The only idea that came to mind was to run home and find something to defend myself with, so that's what I did. Looking back was a luxury that I couldn't afford so instead I said a prayer while trying my best to dodge the trees ahead of me. my house came into view and it started to feel like I could actually cheat death. While unlocking the door I fought the urge to collapse from exhaustion and finally took the chance to look behind me. no one was there? I knew I lucked out but I didn't think I'd be this far ahead of the guy. I let out a sigh of relief as I opened my door to see the grim reaper sitting on a chair with his arms crossed. I was at a loss for words, except for one. "fuck" The reaper wagged his finger in disappointment while he met my gaze with cold, empty eye sockets. "Let me show you something, Eric." I followed him into the bathroom, unsure of what was next but confident in the ending. "look in the mirror Eric" I did as instructed and saw myself as a rotting corpse. bits of skin hung off my face like ropes from a tree and flies buzzed around my still-bleeding wound, hungry for what little I had left. "I was like you once, alive. I don't remember when though, when you're like me time is like a comet. too fast to keep up with, always flying forwards until it one-day crashes. The first time I crashed it was from a heart attack at the ripe age of 60 and when I saw the reaper at my door, I hid. I started to rot, just like you and the stench was so unbearable I passed out. When I woke up, this is what I looked like. nothing but bones. That'll be you too one day Eric, just a black bag of bones holding a scythe wandering the earth harvesting souls that taste just like yours. Is that what you want?" I held my own gaze in the mirror as I watched my left eye start to liquidate. "no, it's not" The reaper tapped his scythe on my chest and felt something indescribable as the earth itself cut to black.


Note: As you will see the character's here are partly taken from League of Legends. Right now I have no own creation to take their place, nor do I know if I want to change that. Since I will probably never really publish this story, I wanted to share it with you lot. To get some feedback.  Alone he wandered through the forest. No moon, no stars were seen. The distant howling of wolf and owl were his only company. The wind tore apart his cloak, making him look like death himself roaming the woods. A deep wound stretched itself across his belly, a reminder of the attack he had just barely survived. And without help, it wouldn’t be long before he would die amongst those trees. After a while his feet would carry him no longer, and he sat down leaning against a moss-covered rock. The clouds slowly revealed the moon, but it still was a dark night. It was almost new moon, for a human the light was not enough to tell the difference between friend or fiend. He closed his eyes too tired to fight the urge to sleep. Soon after, he could hear a gentle humming. In midst of this emptiness, the voice of a woman was laughing and humming. It sounded almost carefree. The sound was easing and yet terrifying at the same time. A deeper, husky voice accompanied the one of the woman. Sometimes it was humming, then it would shift to a solemn giggle. And then again, a whistling could be heard. The humming grew louder as it came closer, and the man decided it would be best to just stay there. Two pairs of blue eyes appeared in the darkness, the bigger one showed an opened mouth so that one could see the glowing, bright blue throat. Then everything vanished, no sound, no glowing, blue eyes. “How one dies, shows how one lived.” Suddenly a figure stood in front of him. The face was hidden behind a black mask, the body was covered with white fur. And even if it was human, the creature which belonged to that womanly voice had a long, wavy tail. Behind her the bigger pair of eyes approached, his jaws open. He had the form of a great, black wolf slightly smaller than a horse and wore the same carved mask. Their eyes showed no emotion, even as the voice spoke softly. “Panic not when death is near,” the woman stretched out her hand. “Depart in peace.” “No!” The wolf called full of emotion which was missing in the woman’s voice. “Run, flee…” The woman took her bow and placed an arrow on it. Realizing what would happen next, the man raised his hands. “Wait! I can not die now, there is something I need to do.” “Death does not let you say goodbye, every being must meet us. Choose now, my arrow…” “…or my teeth.” Wolf finished the sentence. “I will not die before my deed is fulfilled!” He answered with determination. Wolf stepped towards him. When he stopped, their faces were just inches apart from each other. The man would have expected to feel a shiver or an uncomfortable feeling. Yet what he sensed was, ease and warmth.


*Location: Southern California* “Forty bucks worth of gas at pump twelve.” I said to the teller. “That all?” The teller asked. I thought for a moment and said “And a pack of Marlboro, if you promise not to tell my wife.” “I don’t make many promises.” The teller said. “But that one, I can keep.” I should clarify where we were and what I was doing. My family and I (aka my wife Jade, our thirteen-year-old son Ricky, and our eight-year-old daughter Deven) were driving towards Anaheim to take the kids to Disneyland. Even though the sun was starting to set, we were nowhere near any places to crash that wouldn’t be roach motels, so we decided to just power through for another hour to get into Los Angeles County. We could’ve already been there, but Jade wanted to go through a more remote route to pass a “hidden gem” natural site out in the desert she heard about on Instagram. Anyway, our last stop that night was a Native American reservation to get enough gas to make it all the way to the city. “You know, it’s a full moon tonight.” The cashier commented as he got me my cigarettes. “Yeah, I heard.” I replied. “Things get weird around here whenever there’s a full moon.” He said. “There are myths of an old curse, a supernatural disease that white settlers passed onto our people generations ago. They say it manifests every full moon, and that our land isn’t safe until the sun rises. If I were you, I’d drive far tonight; if the myths are true, you may regret being here once it gets dark” He then scanned the cigarette pack and said “Your total is $48.56. Paying with cash or card?” \_\_\_\_\_\_ When I went back to the car and started filling up, my wife immediately noticed something was up. “You okay?” She asked from inside the SUV. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I said. “The teller was really weird, that’s all. Said there was some kinda curse around here on full moons.” “Calm down, tourist traps love to tell ghost stories to travelers.” Jade said. “It brings in money. Back in New Orleans, my sister and I couldn’t go to a single bar without being told about all the ghosts that were haunting the place.” “Yeah, that’s probably it.” I said as I waited for the car to fill. \_\_\_\_ After getting gas, we hit the road again. Unfortunately, about ten minutes or so after leaving the gas station, we got a flat tire and I had to pull over. “Aw fu…” I started to say, before remembering my kids were in the car. “Fudge. Aw, fudge.” I then said. The kids looked worried, but I said “Relax, we have a spare. It’ll be a bumpy ride, but it’ll get us into town.” As I started changing the tire, I heard some kind of growl, almost like a dog’s howl but much louder. I reached into the trunk, and rummaged through it to find something I was desperately hoping I never unpacked after our most recent family camping trip. “Oh thank God.” I said to myself after I found my bear spray. It wasn’t much, but I figured it would stop whatever animal was out there. I continued trying to repair the tire until I heard it again, but much closer. I got in the car, locked the doors, and rolled up the windows. “Jade, check to see if the 9MM is still in the glove box?” She opened it and said “It is.” “Good, keep it close.” I saw that the kids were scared, and said “Don’t worry. It sounds like there’s some kinda animal loose, but that’s all. If we just stay in the car and…” Moments later, we felt something crash into the side. Then, there was a horrible sound of metal being scratched. And then, it jumped onto the hood. I shined my phone flashlight at it, and what I saw horrified me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was not expecting the monster I made eye contact with. It had a human-like torso but had the face and paws of a wolf. It roared when I shined a light on it, and then used one of its paws to smash through the window. Before it could enter the car, I shot it with bear spray. It retreated in pain, and Jade fired a shot that grazed its shoulder. The monster then fell off the hood, and ran off. “What the Hell was that?” Jade asked. “Shit, I don’t know.” I said. “But we’re getting out of here.” I got out of the car, lowered the car jack, and quickly tried to reattach the new tire. However, when I heard the monster growl again, I simply got back in the car, and decided to take a chance on a car with only three functional tires. I turned the car around, and slammed on the pedal to get us back to the reservation. Sure their hotels would be crap, but at least we’d be safe from that thing. “Jade, we gotta call the police.” I said. “I’ve been trying.” She said. “But I’m not getting any signal.” Just as I thought we were getting away, the car stalled. “Oh no.” I said. I popped the hood, and used my phone as a flashlight. “The battery terminals are damaged.” I said. “That thing must have ruined them when he jumped onto the car.” “What are we gonna do?” Jade asked. “I don’t know, I really don’t.” I said. I thought for a moment and said “We’ll continue on foot. Hopefully someone will spot us.” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ We walked for over an hour in the dark, sticking close to the road in case anyone was there to see us. Unfortunately, there were none, it appears we were alone that night. And then, we heard a familiar noise. “Shit.” I muttered when I heard the monster’s roar. “KIDS, GET BEHIND YOUR MOTHER AND ME!” I ordered. Jade had the gun, and I had the bear spray. We were both out of our depth, but never underestimate two parents trying to keep their kids safe. “IT’S COMING!” I shouted when I heard the beast running towards us. Jade fired two shots, but both missed. I then shined my flashlight at it, and saw that the light alone was enough to keep it at bay. “JADE, IT HATES LIGHT!” I shouted. Once we had it on the run, Jade fired another shot (one that grazed its stomach), and I hit it with another round of pepper spray to the face. Jade tried one last time to shoot it, but missed again. I then grabbed the gun, ran up to the beast, and hit it in the face. Unfortunately, the beast retaliated by slashing my chest. At first, it seemed like all hope may have been lost, until a car came approaching with its high beams on. The monster was so frightened by the light that it just ran off. When the car got closer, I could see that it was a Tribal Police cruiser. “You folks alright?” He asked. “We need help.” I said. “We were attacked by…a bear.” "A bear? Okay." The officer said, but I get the sense that he knew I was lying. "I'll radio for help, once we get you to the rez we can get you to the urgent care." \_\_\_\_\_\_ We spent the night in a crappy motel across the street from a casino. First thing in the morning, we called for a ride to bring us into the city. While we were waiting for our driver, I realized that I lost the pack of cigarettes I bought the day before, so I went back to the gas station to buy another. Believe me, I needed a smoke break more than ever. I walked right into the gas station and said “Another pack of Marlboro please.” “Welcome back.” the cashier said as he turned to grab a pack. “You look like you had a rough night.” “You do too.” I said, as a joke at first. But as I approached the counter, I could see that he looked worse than I did. He had a black eye, almost like he was hit in the face. And I could see some kind of bandage underneath his shirt, around his shoulder, right in the area where Jade shot the beast. At first I couldn’t believe it, but I also could see what looked like blood underneath his fingernails. He clearly caught onto what I was thinking, and said “Like I said, strange things happen in these parts when there’s a full moon. Don't say I didn't warn you. Your total is $8.56.