It was June 18th, 2045, when Earth’s top scientists at the ISS noticed something unusual, a blip that would one day prove detrimental to the survival of the human race. So when the top brass of the ISS got on the phone with the top brass of the United Nations, everyone knew what was at stake. One question still haunted the High Commissar for the United Earth and First Nations Theodore Milton, one which he posed almost immediately to the unlucky bastard who had to be the one to inform him of the impending crisis. “How the hell is one supposed to fix a fucking star?” Commissar Milton then lamented that on today of all days, on the fifth anniversary of Peace Between Hemispheres, this would happen. This is when some no-name undersecretary informed him that there was no time to waste. For what a dozen phone calls in search of a straight answer would soon reveal, Earth had, in fact, little time, one year to be exact. On the sixth anniversary of Peace Between Hemispheres, undulating waves of cosmic energy would obliterate humanity as we know it. And all of this was because a nearby star one day decided to die. The timing of all this felt personal to Commissar Milton. There was the Peace Between Hemispheres Week of Celebration to consider and the North Eastern Quadrant’s biannual meeting. There was the continued rooting out of the radical terrorist group known as The Rescue that had taken hold in the South. Three civil wars were happening on three different continents simultaneously, and a worldwide shortage of silicon was ruining the global supply chain. If there was ever one attribute that was crucial to the continued success of the High Commissar for the United Earth and First Nations and by extension, all of humanity, it was finesse. Everything must be carefully managed. One wrong move or unforeseen consequence, and the whole thing falls apart. Global geopolitics was only ever one slight breeze away from total disaster, nothing more than a house of cards held together with pure will. To say Commissar Milton didn’t get much sleep the following night would be an understatement. The scientists had affectionately named the star, Bright Eyes, which the Commissar didn’t love. Consumed by the world’s imminent demise, he ordered every leader on the “goddamn, piece-of-shit, about-to-be-blown-up” planet in his office by the end of the week. His troupe of undersecretaries knew the enormity of that task would be tough. If anything could grind the world’s government to a halt, it was rearranging a schedule, but they figured that upon learning of the end, the news could put a pep in a lot of prime ministers’ step. Come Friday, the undersecretaries, disheveled, bleary-eyed, and sleep-deprived, had succeeded in rearranging one hundred and eighty three of the one hundred and ninety five leaders’ schedules, corralling them into a large conference hall leased from a real estate company down the street from the United Nations headquarters. When Commissar Milton asked where the other dozen “fucknuts” that couldn’t be bothered to show up were, Undersecretary Riguald simply shrugged, and Undersecretary Williams merely said they were fishing. Surveying the audience one more time, Commissar Milton decided that this would have to do. He made his way to the podium set facing the audience, called for quiet, and jumped straight in. “The world will end in one year,” he said. “I’ve gathered you here as the world’s leaders to find a solution. I want to hear ideas. Nothing is off the table.” To his dismay, many of the politicians were on their phones. Some had formed groups. Others were yelling or murmuring amongst themselves. Some were bellowing as if giving a speech, and others were whispering to what seemed like no one in particular. To say this room inspired confidence would be a lie, and Commissar Milton knew it. It was at this moment that the Commissar mustered all the strength he could, sucked in all the air his lungs could hold, and brought his fist down on the top of the podium in front of him, calling for quiet at the top of his lungs. Remarkably, silence overcame the gathered crowd. The Commissar made one last plea, deciding to change his tac. “The first country to bring me a workable solution in two weeks will get a super special top-secret prize that will be given out next year at the sixth anniversary of Peace Between Hemispheres celebration. That country’s leader will be singled out by name and given the highest honor the world can bestow.” Excitement filled the air as the world’s leaders jumped into action. The Prime Minister of Belarus promised he had a guy that could create a supernova-proof glass dome that would encase the Earth. The Chairman of the St. Marshall Islands drew up plans immediately for a giant mirror that could reflect the energy waves out of the way. Even the Supreme Leader of North Korea got in on the fun, swearing he could build a rocket that could push Earth out of the way. Commissar Milton had low expectations, even directing his troupe of trusty undersecretaries to develop plans B through Z to save the world. Still, he figured the leaders’ excitement was progress, and undoubtedly one out of the almost two hundred politicians at the meeting could come up with something workable. With each passing day, the undersecretaries did worry about the health of the Commissar. They knew the enormity of leading Earth away from destruction had to be taking some kind of toll. \ Two weeks turned into six months with very little to show for it. Getting a flock of politicians to agree on anything was already a challenge, but uniting them under a project that required unprecedented cooperation, seriousness, and resources turned out to be nigh impossible. What became known as Project Blue Dot began in good faith but quickly devolved into nasty spats over who should be required to pay for the project and how credit for the project should be distributed amongst the participating nations. Developing nations expected wealthy ones to front most of the cost while rich ones questioned why they were spending so much money to help other countries’ citizens in the first place. All the grudges long-buried boiled to the surface as the initial breaking of ground on the plan to save humanity stumbled. At six months, with delay after delay and budget cut after budget cut, the Commissar decided to shelve the project in its entirety, allowing all the countries to go their separate ways, off to figure out their own solutions to the world’s impending doom. The Commissar had sent flowers to leaders’ wives; listened steadfastly at dinner after dinner to complaints, demands, questions, and concerns. He had gotten an endless stream of nieces and nephews jobs at every government agency imaginable, helped quell certain coups, helped initiate certain others, had done it all and then some, and all that was left was a pile of countries with worse off relations then when he had started. He immediately called in his undersecretaries to go over the backup plans he had tasked them to come up with in case he found himself in this very situation. The undersecretaries moseyed into the Commissar’s office one by one, shuffling their feet and saying nothing. The truth was that all of the backup plans suffered from the same flaw that had tanked the initial effort. Any strategy to save humanity required unprecedented levels of cooperation, something that humankind seemed unwilling to muster given a large enough scale. So Commissar Milton, now at a loss, did what anyone else in his situation would do. He drank heavily. It was the first time he had drank in a long time. It felt good. He started stashing handles in his desk and around the United Nations compound. His undersecretaries were sworn to secrecy concerning his budding alcoholism, for drinking had become a semi-regular habit for the Commissar, a ritual of sorts calling out to the universe, all in the hope that if Theodore Milton went through the motions enough, then, one day, the universe would show him the way. Bright Eyes was now identifiable during the day. The Commissar had instructed the scientists to make some excuse as to what exactly was giving the sun a run for its money. Meanwhile, the Commissar finding himself as he regularly did, a few tallboys deep on a Tuesday night, suddenly had the great urge to disappear. He wondered if he could pull it off, if anyone would miss him, if things would go on as they always have, if this was his destiny. After draining a beer, the Commissar cut a small incision in its aluminum side. It was something he started in high school for some weird reason and kept up, his singular exciting trait. Commissar Milton blinked, and one empty can had turned into six. How had he come this far, climbed the highest ranks of international government, and stayed sober? This was a serious question for the Commissar, one he’d never considered until now. As people generally do, the Commissar drank a bit in college and then gave it up like most adults. After graduation, he stayed sober, did well in government, was unassuming, steadily climbed the ranks, and reached as high as he could go in the public arena. Commissar Milton phoned his assistant, asking her to remind him where the whiskey bottle some random prime ministers’ wife had given him at last year’s United Nations Solstice Celebration was stashed. In a box in the cupboard, the assistant dutifully reminded him. Commissar Milton made his way to the veranda, poured himself a few fingers worth of liquid gold, and lit up. He couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad that humanity’s last days would be brought to an end by a bright light in the sky. The phone was the first thing Commissar noticed as he awoke. The sun was just peaking over the horizon. The phone rang again, the noise piercing a hole in Commissar Milton’s pickled mind. He fumbled for the it for a minute, willing himself to answer. “What,” he said gruffly. “Uhh, sir,” an undersecretary on the other end said, “I have Professor Laura Donagen on the line for you.” The Commissar rubbed his temples, the pain throbbing harder than ever. “Who,” he growled. “Uhh, Professor Laura Donagen? She says she’s a scientist and can help.” It took the Commissar a moment to realize what the undersecretary was saying. “Put her through.” The Commissar waved over an aide to clean up the remnants of last night, including the half-empty bottle of whiskey and an array of cigarette buts that littered the floor beneath him. His wife would be home soon, and the only thing he hated more than conflict were questions. He was of the belief that questions were a direct attack on one’s capabilities. Good leaders weren’t asked silly questions like where were you all night or why do you look like death, or when was the last time you interacted with your kids. The Commissar didn’t hear the first hello from Mrs. Domner. It was only after a few minutes that he realized she was on the other line, politely waiting for him to finish up whatever it was he was doing. Knowing this, the Commissar dove right into the meat of the business to end this call as soon as possible. “Professor Donagen, I’m told you have a solution to this whole end of the world business.” After a bit of back and forth, the grand idea involved personal energy domes handed out to every adult on Earth. The point of these domes was for a human to sit inside them, protecting them from a supernova’s dangerous gamma waves. The domes were completely transparent with a hinge at the top that held it all together and functioned as a door to fit an adult and small child inside snugly. The transparent material was flexible, almost more like a see-through sleeping bag than a hard surface. Having already developed a workable prototype, Professor Donagen and the undersecretary assured him that this solution was vetted by several reputable organizations and individuals worldwide, thoroughly tested in the Hades Supernova Lab in Berlin and that the best part was that this solution wouldn’t require buy-in from countries and governments. It could be mass-produced. Additionally, these energy domes were cheap to produce, making the cost of providing one for everyone on Earth surprisingly affordable and a relatively quick process. The Commissar did wonder how effective these energy domes could be. At best, they sounded like one of those sketchy products people sell with infomercials on late-night TV. It didn’t take long, though, for the Commissar to agree to the plan. While he didn’t fully understand all the intricacies, the world was four months away from the end. Being picky wasn’t helping anyone. \ Two weeks away from the supernova, eighty percent of the world’s population had been given an energy dome. Governments were all too happy to help and chip in money. It was a solution that required very little of them, and they could still look like they were supportive. Professor Donagen dove straight into the project, distributing the prototype across the world for companies to mass-produce. Each energy dome came with detailed instructions. Precisely fifteen minutes before the scheduled time that the energy from the supernova is expected to reach Earth, one must undo the flap of the energy dome and slide it around your body. At five minutes, close the flap and seal yourself inside. Each dome comes equipped with a specialized filter that could scrub the air and allow oxygen to flow freely into the dome without contamination. Additionally, the Commissar gave a pivotal speech, officially announcing the world’s imminent demise to the public. After employing a few thousand well-paid influencers to hawk the product, almost complete buy-in was assured. The polls didn’t lie. Commissar Milton saw his highest approvals a week before the end, the highest of his career. The media had played ball surprisingly well too, opting not to tear the solution to shreds. TV hosts promoted the pros of energy domes and brought in expert after expert to bolster the public’s confidence. Any little bit of dissent was written off as harmful, unneeded, and anti-human. Professor Donagen and Commissar Milton talked regularly, often multiple times a day. The truth was that for a dyed-in-the-wool scientist, Professor Donagen made for a remarkable business leader. Ramping up production to a global scale in two months, repurposing old factories, recycled material, unemployed workers, and the world’s expertise to accomplish what some in the media were saying was a miracle. On June 16th, 2046, two days before the supernova everything was in place. Energy domes had been distributed to every human on Earth. The Commissar still wasn’t sure what to make of Professor Donagen. She had grown up in relative poverty, just like all the other towering figures of history. She was the first in her family to go to college, studying a dual major in molecular physics and bioengineering. She worked at Star Orbit for five years out of college, designing durable structures and component parts for use in space travel. From there, she moved to the Hades Supernova Lab in Germany, where she worked with a team that studied the effects of extremely high levels of Gamma waves on various compounds. Before she was plucked out of obscurity by Commissar Milton to save the world, she was working for the government of Northern Brazil, having embedded herself deep in the ruins of the Amazon rainforest studying the effects and durability of various rare plants and minerals. The Commissar sat at his beautiful oak dining room table considering a plate of medium-rare steak along with a pile of potatoes and greens, a last meal of sorts set before him. His head was in hyperdrive, filing through all the checks and balances, making sure everything was in order. His home was dark. He had told his security to go home and be with their families, figuring even his enemies wouldn’t try anything tonight. His wife had left weeks ago and took the kids, saying that if the world was going to end she “sure as hell didn’t want to spend her last days with you!” He looked down again at the meal before him. The Commissar had specially requested it. Nowadays, meat from an actual cow was a rarity. Most food came from labs. There wasn’t enough room for cow pastures anymore. In fact as the population ballooned with each passing decade, there wasn’t room for much of anything anymore. Even seeing a squirrel outside a zoo was a rare event these days. If the Commissar could will the food into his mouth, he would, but something was stopping him, a nagging feeling that he had missed something. He had debriefed with Professor Donagen that morning. Everything was in order. At least ninety percent of the world’s population would be saved from this disaster. Contingency plans were put in place to deal with changes in the environment. Rarely was the Commissar amazed, but these last few months had succeeded in rendering him in awe. The whole of humanity came together. We would know in less than a day whether or not all this had worked. His heart was like a drum. The meal still sat untouched before him. The Commissar got up and poured himself a generous amount of whiskey. On his veranda once again, the energy dome unpacked and ready, High Commissar Milton thought about his father. He wondered what he’d be thinking at this moment. Would he be disappointed in him? Would he be proud? Commissar Milton wondered why everything he and Professor Donagen had achieved in the last few weeks had come together so smoothly. A small part of him was thought about tomorrow morning, minutes before Bright Eyes explodes, him getting into his energy pyramid, sealing it tight with a glass of whiskey in hand, closing his eyes, taking a drink, and feeling the effects of enormous amounts of gamma waves turning his body into dust. The worry sat heavy, like a thick black goo, lodged on to the back of his skull, his head spinning a yarn about a world-renowned scientist pitching an idea to a desperate politician; about a woman who had already, long ago, developed a distaste for humanity, born from a mind that thought too much, that questioned too much and was left wanting; a darling scientist becoming possessed many years ago by an intriguing thought: Do humans deserve to live? Every day that question burrowed a bit further into the scientists’ mind like the paranoia worm now eating away at the Commissar’s, nagging, changing, altering the course of a destiny neither one could ever imagine, one that would lead Commissar Milton into the highest ranks of power and the Scientist to an underground group called The Rescue. And like any good villain calling out into the unknown, one day, the universe answered back, telling this renowned scientist that it would set the ultimate cosmic bomb if she could convince the world that it was a dud. The Commissar stared at the wood-paneled ceiling fan that sat above his bed. It turned lazily, pushed by the faint breeze from a nearby open window. He was better than this, he thought. Worry was natural. Tomorrow will be fine. Humanity will be fine. I’ll be fine. Looking out, the Commissar noticed the haze that had settled in. Bright Eyes had turned the entire sky a misty white. The Commissar headed to bed, deciding to turn in early, opting to get as much sleep as he could before the big day.


Surfacing \ Readying his shocker spear, rhythmic waves bounce the jockey up and down as another whine of migratory drones fly overhead towards the shore. “Hurry up, coaster… we don’t have all day”, crackles the patrol captain from the jockey’s ear-bud. “Oh don’t mind me, I just LOVE the smell of putrid fish and toxic runoff. I’d be out here forever if you’d let me,” the jockey replies snidely. Just one more catch container to fill with fish before nightfall. He needed this haul to be complete or it would be another week stuck on land. The jockey looked toward his spear tip noticing the exposed wires from the hilt and dulled-edge of the blade. Scanning the murky water surrounding him, he spots the familiar yellow glow of a leader fish roughly 25 meters below. The jockey pulls in a deep breath, cocks his arm back as he’s practiced all his life, and with the downward motion of his hauler craft he chucks the spear into the water with a splash. The spear’s homing sensors flicker with electricity as the blade punctures the glowing fish. The jockey waits for the soft thud of the usual electrical pulse that can be heard upon a successful catch. No thud. The spear isn’t returning. The smaller pack fish around the leader have scattered. “SHIT shit shit shit… no…” In a flash, the jockey jumps out of his saddle on the craft. He zips up his wetsuit, throws his breathing mask and goggles on and steps to one side of the craft. He can still see the diminishing remnants of the faint glow below him as the misty sky above grows darker. The jockey dives headfirst into the water swimming as fast as he can towards the leader fish. *Please don’t let this happen to me again,* he thinks as he comes within a few meters of the dying fish. He grips the handle of the spear and feels around for the controls as the final sparks flicker within the 100 lb fish. Frantically clicking the squarish button on the hilt of the spear, the inflatable won’t deploy. Panic sets in as the jockey looks up at the dying light above the water. Coaster horror stories flood into his mind as he grapples with the impending dread of being submerged in complete darkness while night takes over. *I do NOT want to meet whatever fish come out down here after dark*. He’ll have to swim. Gripping the spear with both hands, the jockey begins to kick his legs furiously, propelling him and the fish towards the surface. Dragging the huge fish for what feels like hours, he finally emerges from the infested void. Climbing on to the wireframe cargo carrier attached to the back of the craft, he starts to pull the fish out of the water. The fish is frustratingly heavy as he drops it into the remaining empty catch container. The container appears almost empty with one lone leader fish. It’ll have to do. The spear in his hands is broken and will need extensive repairs. The jockey lets out a frustrated sigh as night falls. He presses the dispatch button on the craft’s center console, notifying a drone to come claim his haul. After the drone buzzes off, he pilots the craft back towards shore and notices the numb blisters that are starting to bubble on the skin around his hands. In the chaos, he forgot to wear his protective gloves. *Being a coaster is going to kill me,* he thinks as the soft, bluish glow of the city beyond the dock slowly appears through the fog in front of him. \ I wanted to write something that was action packed and hinted at some interesting world building. Would love any criticism! This story began as a part of the exercise done in this lecture about writing short stories: This lecture is amazing and gave some of awesome foundations for how to write a short story.


We all sit back and watch the world destroy what we have built. We have all worked hard to pay for the very things they choose to take away or place out of our reach. Our children grow up to an understanding that this is how life works. They are reinforced with the ideas that it must be ok. The very people they look up to do absolutely nothing but stand aside and watch. At a certain point, individuals become unknowingly numb to the process in which they are being controlled. It is easier to sit back and watch everything take place as it happens; Wind down a ominous path that was not self-chosen. You have to stop and ask yourself, “But is it really…easier”? It’s all we know. We haven’t experienced any different so we cannot answer that question with any type of validity. So while we watch and wait, our minds think otherwise. We take account the reality of what is happening and we plan accordingly. We do what we can to stay on the path we believe is and should be an honest and fair for humanity. For every action there is a reaction. We didn’t set the curve but it can be flattened by using critical thinking, manipulation, and leverage. You turn the same game being used on you against your opponent without them being aware. It is then when succession begins to occur. Sometimes the enemy will even contribute to your success, not realizing it is to be used against them. And unlike others before us that have tried to manipulate our circumstances, we practice in a way where there is never harm nor hurt. We often go go through our day to day routines waking up and following the same patterns. These patterns have been embedded into our thinking. We complete the same mundane tasks only to achieve the same results. There must be moments of clarity to break this consistent pattern and question what exactly is our goal and how do we achieve them. We must have an awareness that although we stay on course to do what we have been taught is needed to achieve goals, there are several variables set in place form outside sources to keep our goals from being achieved. There are so many hidden underlying algorithms set in place to of set our productivity without us even being aware. There is fine print in life that has been constructed not only to confuse the ones that take the time to analyze it, but usually discourage many from continuing to proceed. Life choices should not be this difficult, but it has been developed by those beyond our knowing to keep us in a place that pre conceivably has been selected for us. Only a certain few will get through this process and to the other side. The beginning of your journey should be to learn to enlighten yourself to the truth of the reality we find ourselves fighting against. We will not suffer from repercussions because what we do is law abiding and safe. Now it’s time to rethink your strategies in life and chose what you really want.


###Attention: The SerSun deadline has changed! **Serial Sunday Campfire has moved to 1pm EST (Saturdays). That means that the deadline to submit your story is now Saturday at 12pm EST - this is for all submitters, not just Campfire attendees. The feedback and nomination deadline is now Saturday at 11:59pm EST.** #Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Each week you are required to provide feedback for at least 2 other writers on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.   *** #This week's theme is Kindling! This week’s theme is ‘kindling’, which is most commonly defined as easily combustible sticks or twigs that are used to start a fire. This could be an adventure for your characters, a night in the woods, using their survival instincts to scavenge for food and start a fire to keep warm until sun up. Maybe this ‘firestarter’ is more metaphorical. Think about the words that get under our skin, the actions that spark reactions. The domino effect of certain events that very much feel like a blazing fire, or the beginning of one. How does one small thing trigger the next? Is there one character who seems to start little fires everywhere they go? How does this make those around them feel? What happens when a little spark becomes a raging inferno? Can something good rise up out of the ashes? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even vote on the upcoming themes on the Nomination form! - April 10 - Kindling (this week) - April 17 - Lore - April 24 - Mask   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 12pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Come back later in the week and leave a feedback comment on at least 2 other stories on the thread.   *** #The Rules: - **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme.** You can interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. - **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. If you don’t use the correct titling format, your serial will be automatically removed by the bot. (Please note: In order for the bot to recognize your serial, you **must** use the exact same name each week. Titles can not be edited in after the fact. Should you make a mistake or forget, you will need to repost.) - **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt or post is not allowed. - **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. Stories outside the wordcount will be disqualified, so don’t forget to check! **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** - **Stories must be posted by Saturday 12pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will be disqualified and will not be eligible for rankings or Campfire readings. - **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s on two different stories).** The feedback must be **actionable** and should include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. You have until Saturday night at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. Those who go above and beyond (more than 5 actionable, in-depth crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our sister sub, r/WPCritique. - **Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week.** If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead. - **Serials must abide by subreddit content rules.** This includes, but is not limited to, explicit suicide or suicide-note stories, pedophilia, rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of abuse or torture. You can view a . If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!   *** #Reminders: - **If you are continuing an in-progress serial (one that you began off of Serial Sunday), please include links to the prior installments on Reddit.** - **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire in our .** Join us to read your story aloud and hear other stories. We provide feedback for all those present. The time has changed! **We now start at 12pm EST.** You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join! - **Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted .** The form is open on Saturdays from 12pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations! - **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information. - **There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server**, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news, including posts and Campfires!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap), this does not count toward the required 2. **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above. Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” style comments will not earn you points or credit.)* ***So what is actionable feedback?*** Actionable feedback should be constructive, something that the author can use to improve. A critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. You can or these previous crits from Serial Sunday: - - -   *** #Rankings In case you missed the announcement at the top of the post, please be aware that the Serial Sunday submission deadline is now on Saturday at 12:00 pm EST. The deadline for feedback and nominations is now Saturday at 11:59pm EST. - - by u/stickfist   - - by u/mattswritingaccount   - - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - by u/Hades_Sedai   - **Crit Star - Awarded 1 crit credit** - u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Crit Star - Awarded 1 crit credit** - u/katherine_c   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


“Dad says we have to talk to other people too.” I refused to look at my sister, focusing instead on the fat neighborhood cat that had wandered up to me in the yard. He purred and rubbed his orange head against my hand. I smiled, but it was a fleeting one. Leah sighed and took my hand, forcing my attention away from the cat and onto her face. “Ji-lalo,” she said softly after making sure Dad was nowhere to be seen. “Jo-lali.” I wasn’t afraid if he heard us. “We should try.” “Why?” I was being purposely ignorant, and Leah knew it. “You know why he took us away from the compound. We are human, Lalo. We are meant to be around others.” “All I need is you.” I said it in our secret words. “And you, me.” “We’ll always have each other. In the whole universe, there is nothing that could change that. But-” “But what? Mama always said we were born with everything we need.” “Mama wasn’t right in her head, Lalo. She kept us separate from everyone and everything.” “I miss the woods,” I said, ignoring what Leah said about Mama. Mama loved us more than anything. “Don’t you wish we could go home, Lali?” Leah opened her mouth to answer but a shadow fell over the doorstep where I was sitting. I cried out, a wordless sound from neither language, but it was only Dad. He had his arms crossed, and that meant he was angry. Leah immediately ducked her head, but I held mine high. There was nothing he could do to make us give up our secret words. “We *are* home,” he said, and I realized he hadn’t even noticed our special names for each other. “Listen to me, Rebekah. Leah.” He sat down beside me on the step. The orange cat wound around Dad’s ankles as Leah sat on my other side. I reached over and her hand was already there, ready for me to take it. “Your mother,” he began, and I groaned inwardly. Here came the same story he’d been telling us for weeks now. “Your mother had problems. A lot of them. She had a disease in her head that made her take us all away and hide in the forest. You girls remember our church?” Of course I remembered. It was always so scary going to church for the week. There were strangers there, strangers who didn’t understand Leah and me. “Mama protected us,” I said. I would not hear of her sickness. She didn’t seem sick to me. She was perfect. “She kept the others away from us. She let us be with each other. You don’t.” My hands were in balls, angry little fists that I had no memory of forming. “If you really loved us, you wouldn’t make us change!” Leah gasped, and I expected a scolding, but instead, tears began to fall from my father’s eyes. “Rebekah… I love you more than anything on this planet. You girls are my heart and soul. I took you away from that place *because* I love you. Someday, I hope you can see that.” “You took us away from everything!” I yelled, and a man on the other side of the street looked our way. His gaze was too prying, too curious. I stood up and ran inside the new house, back to our room. Without Leah there though, it felt empty. I sat on the floor and wrapped my arms around my chest. Footsteps came from the hallway, and I scooted around so Dad couldn’t see me cry. “I can’t do this anymore,” Dad said. “I thought you were getting better, but you’re not. I’m getting you two some help.” That was when the meetings started. Twice a week, they made us separate into different rooms while a lady talked to us. Her name was Doctor Saltmarsh, and she asked us weird questions about mom, the compound, the woods. Each other. I knew Leah wouldn’t share our secrets, and so I refused too. This woman was a stranger. She didn’t know us. She didn’t deserve to know us. But every week without fail, she was at the new house waiting for us. It took a long time, but one day, I felt something change. Leah changed. “Jo-lali,” I said when she came out of the living room. Doctor Saltmarsh walked out behind her, and I shut my mouth. She didn’t deserve to hear our language, our secret words. “Hello, Rebekah,” she said. “Are you ready for our session?” I looked at Leah. She had tears on her face. Doctor Saltmarsh had made my sister cry. I said nothing, but took Leah’s hands. She held them for a brief moment, but then she pulled away, and I was left alone with Doctor Saltmarsh as Leah walked to our room. Doctor Saltmarsh placed a hand on my shoulder and led me into the living room where Dad was already waiting. He had a pinched, nervous look on his face. I stood in the center of the room, my arms around myself. “Please sit, Rebekah.” I wouldn’t dignify that with a response. They would get nothing from me until I got what I wanted: Mama and Leah. Dad sighed and forced me down into a squishy armchair. I hated it. We never had anything like this in the compound. I couldn’t sit up straight in this chair. “Listen to the Doctor, Rebekah. She’s going to tell you something very important.” I stared straight ahead. My eyes were for my sister alone. They were the same as hers. Dead grass green. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Doctor Saltmarsh shoot Dad a look before turning back to me. “Rebekah,” she said again. My name sounded foreign and harsh on her tongue. She wasn’t saying it right. Leah said it right. So did Mama. “We’ve decided we need to take some more drastic steps in your recovery. Your progress isn’t where we would like it. We have decided, and Leah agrees: you will be sleeping in separate bedrooms from now on.” It took me a moment to process what she said. When it finally clicked, I laughed. Leah and I would never sleep apart. Most nights, we even shared the same bed. It was so comforting being close. When we slept, our breath would rise and fall in time with each other. Mama always said that we were one in her womb, and should do whatever we could to be one in life. Dad looked surprised at my reaction. “This is for real, Rebekah. It’s happening. Leah is upstairs moving her favorite things into her new room.” Leah would never do this. Not without being in complete agreement. But even as I thought it, I knew something wasn’t right. Leah had been crying. What if they had forced her? I uncurled my arms from around my chest and walked away towards our room. Leah wasn’t there. My heart racing, I rushed to the empty room beside ours. But it was empty no longer. There was a bed, a table, and a desk that hadn’t been there before. Leah sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes red and puffy. “Jo-Lali,” I said, shaking my head. “They can’t make us do it. We are meant to be together. We were born that way.” Leah sniffled and looked at me. It was like looking in the mirror, especially since I had begun to tear up too. “Rebekah,” she said, and I frowned. She never used that name for me. I was always Ji-lalo or just Lalo. “We have to try. I… I think Dad is right. I think we’re sick, Rebekah.” “Don’t call me that!” I cried. That was what *they* called me. “I am Ji-lalo! Ji-lalo!” Footsteps came from the hall and Doctor Saltmarsh and Dad entered the room. “What have you done?” I hurled myself at Doctor Saltmarsh. “You broke her, you did something!” My fists beat upon her stomach and chest, and she dropped her clipboard. I kicked it away, ready to attack again, but Dad pulled me away. He wrapped his arms around me, pinning mine to my side. “Rebekah, please, Rebekah!” I twisted and writhed, but I couldn’t get out of his grip. Leah was still sitting on the new bed, not looking at me. They ruined her. They made her believe their lies. A fear so overpowering came over me, I stopped struggling for a moment, and Dad was able to pull me back into the hallway. What if I couldn’t bring her back? What if now, I was alone? I had never been alone. Not for longer than it took to take a shower, and even then, sometimes we would talk through the door to each other when the loneliness got to be too strong. “We want you to have your own personality, Rebekah,” said Doctor Saltmarsh. “We need you to thrive and flourish on your own as a little girl, not as a part of a whole. We want to hear your voice.” They wanted my voice? Well, I would give it to them. Summoning all of the willpower I had, I screamed. I screamed and screamed until Leah began to scream too, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Leave them be,” I heard Dad say over my piercing wails. “When they get like this, only they can calm each other.” Doctor Saltmarsh shook her head. “No,” she said. “We must separate them. They are feeding off each other. Take Rebekah to her room please. I’d like to speak with Leah.” Dad nodded, and lifted me off my feet. I refused to stop screaming, no matter how much he begged after he set me down on the bed in mine and Leah’s bedroom. Eventually, he left, shutting the door behind him. I screamed until my throat felt raw and my voice started to fade. Once I was quiet, I could hear voices in the hall, and I slipped off the bed and pressed my ear to the door. A pang of deep sadness and loss shot through me. Leah should be beside me. She always was. Until now. “...working for Leah, the progress has been incredible, but Doctor, what about Rebekah?” It was Dad, his low gruff voice carrying through the silent house. “The medication isn’t working. She clings to her sister. You saw what just happened, surely there must be something we can do.” There was a pause, and I had to listen with all my might to hear what Doctor Saltmarsh said next. “You may not think they’re ready, but I think it’s time, Jeff.” Another long pause, and Doctor Saltmarsh spoke again. “Good. I’ll take care of all the paperwork. They’ll have some of the best care in the state, Dunmore has a wonderful school system.” “They can live a normal life?” “We will start them a grade below where they should be. That will help them acclimate. This is an important step. The girls need to socialize with children their own age. They need to learn proper social cues and how to interact with adults. I recommend separate classes. They depend on each other too much.” “Of course,” said Dad. “Whatever you think is best, you’re the expert.” “I must admit, Leah and Rebekah’s case fascinates me. I am wondering when you feel it appropriate to talk with the girls about their mother?” “Not yet.” Dad’s voice was firm. “Let them have their innocence a few years longer. Please.” Doctor Saltmarsh hesitated. “Do the girls know that their mother is dead? Do they know what you saved them from? They had the poison in their hands when you arrived, isn’t that right?” Dad’s voice was heavy with something I didn’t understand. “Yes. I saved them… but I couldn’t save Carol. She had already…” He cleared his throat. “You know, maybe I’m not ready yet either.” “That’s alright. Trauma like this can take a long time to process, let alone heal.” The conversation continued, but I wasn’t listening anymore. I stood rooted in place. Mama was dead? That couldn’t be true. If it was true, I would have known somehow. I would have felt it. No, Mama was still out there somewhere, waiting for us to come back to her. I rushed to the window and threw it open, half-expecting to see her standing there with her arms outstretched, but there was nothing but some freshly-cut grass and a chain fence. The smell of the grass made me think of summer at the compound. Mama would let us swim in the pond when no one else was around. The grass there was always cut short for us to play in. When Mama had long meetings in the church building, Leah and I would roll down the hills or play pretend in the woods. We played that we were warriors defending our forest kingdom, or that we were animals who could talk. Even now, I longed to run outside and scale the lonely tree in the back of the house. It was as close as I could get to Mama. But I wouldn’t go without Leah. I opened my door to find Dad and Doctor Saltmarsh were gone, and hurried to the other room. The emptiness I felt without Leah was all-consuming, but when I pushed open the door, I saw that the room too was void of my sister. “Lali?” I called, but there was no answer. I went downstairs, and to my displeasure, Doctor Saltmarsh was still here, talking to Dad in the hall. I hid behind a corner, listening. “I know it must be an adjustment having the girls full-time, but really, you are coping so well. I can tell you truly want the best for your children.” “Of course I do. They are my life. You can’t imagine what I went through when I thought they were gone too.” “I know. Here, I’m recommending you to speak to a therapist. He’s a friend of mine. I’ll personally make the call if you want me to.” Dad nodded. “I think that would be best.” They walked towards me, but I crouched down behind a long table, and neither of them noticed. “I will see you in three days,” Doctor Saltmarsh said, and exited the house. Once I was certain Dad was alone, I leapt out from behind the table. “What happened to Mama?” I demanded. Dad’s face turned white. “How long were you-” “What happened to Mama?” I shouted. “Where is she?” I started to cry again. I couldn’t help it. Fat tears splashed onto the scratched wooden floorboards. Dad gathered me in a hug, and for just a second, it felt like Mama was there too. But then Dad spoke. “She’s gone, Rebekah. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to find out like this. I-” The sound that came out of me was like nothing I had ever done before. I fell onto the floor, unable to stand any longer. So it was true. Or maybe they were lying to me, trying to get between me and Leah. They were forcing us apart in ways I never thought possible. Leah came rushing in to the hall when she heard my howl of grief. “He killed her!” I screamed. “She’s dead, he killed her! She’s gone! Mama’s gone!” Leah was dumbstruck, unable to speak as the truth of what I was saying washed over her. She fell too and we held each other for what felt like hours. Dad didn’t dare try and tear us apart this time. After a while of him standing over us awkwardly, he went to the kitchen. We heard him talking on the phone, but he shut the door so we couldn’t listen. When he returned, I couldn’t look at him. He had done this. I don’t know how or why, but he was there the last time we saw Mama. There had been so many people at the compound that day, and this time we weren’t allowed to go off and play in the grass like we usually did. Mama gave us each a cup of soda. We never got to have soda. It was a special treat, she had said, but we were not to drink it until she said so. We listened to a man talk for a while, but Leah and I were more interested in us than him. When he was through, though, Mama told us we could have our special sodas. She even showed us how to drink it, in one big gulp. But that was when Dad showed up. He ruined our special day and knocked the soda out of our hands. After that, I don’t remember much. There were lots of blue and red lights, and strangers. So many strangers. After that day, Dad said we had to live with him now. But I wasn’t going to let him come between me and Leah. Taking her by the hand, I led the way up to our room, and pulled her down onto the bed with me. We were wrapped in each other’s arms. It was how it was supposed to be. But soon enough, Leah disentangled herself from me and sat up. I looked up at her. “I’m going to go to my room,” she said. “I think I want to be alone.” “But we are alone,” I said, puzzled. “No Rebekah, really alone. By myself. Not you.” My eyes filled with tears when I finally realized what she meant. “Jo-lali,” I began, but she held up her hand. “Not Jo-lali,” she said, and her voice was sharp, cutting right through my heart. “I want you to call me Leah now.” She turned and left my room, closing the door behind her. Leah stayed away all night, even going so far as to lock her new bedroom door. I went back to our room and sobbed. I couldn’t sleep, not while this wall of wood and stone blocked me from my sister. She came back to me in the morning though, and her eyes were narrow from lack of sleep. We held each other for long moments, until Dad showed up and made everything worse. “You’re going to school this fall,” he said with no preamble. “I want you to be prepared to meet new kids, so today, we’re going to the park.” I had read about parks. They were places where children played with their parents keeping a watchful eye on their comings and goings. “We aren’t going,” I said immediately. But Leah gave me a sideways look and my mouth opened in shock. “Rebekah, please,” she whispered. “I want a normal life. I want to be a normal kid.” “But we aren’t normal,” I said. She needed to know this, she must see it. “We are us. You and me. We are all we need. Ji-lalo and Jo-lali.” When I said our special names. Leah’s eyes narrowed even more, and she looked at Dad. “I want to go,” she said. The park became a weekly ritual. I hated it. Leah went off and abandoned me to play with strangers. Strangers! Anything she said to them had to be said in everyone’s language. I heard her talking and scoffed. She and I had secrets together. Once, she was playing with two boys and their younger sister. Strangers make me nervous, but I was determined to remind her that I am all she needs. “Play with me, Lali,” I said in our language. Leah ignored me. My heart seemed to shatter into a million pieces. She had never ignored me, not once, not ever. I hid beneath a wooden structure for the rest of the time we were there, and I refused to come out, even when Dad begged. Eventually, Leah did exactly what I had hoped and crawled through the sand to get to me. “Come back with us, Rebekah.” She still wouldn’t call me by our special name. “No,” I said in our secret words. “I’m never coming out again.” Making a face I didn’t understand, Leah spoke our words. “Come home, Lalo. Please?” Satisfied, I nodded. But the next time, my plan didn’t work. Leah refused to crawl through the sand to bring me home, and I felt lost all over again. Dad had to huff and puff his way through the sand and drag me out. There were no more visits to the park after that. I had won. But Leah didn’t see it that way. She didn’t understand that I was doing this for her, for *us*! Days went by, I’m not sure how many, because Leah withdrew from my comfort. Sometimes, she couldn’t help herself and would come crawling back to me with a strange red-faced look about her. There were nights where she couldn’t sleep alone, and I would find her curled up beside me. Those were the only nights I slept. School began just as the leaves were beginning to change. It made me miss our compound and Leah and Mama even more than I already did. Dad bought us new clothes that fit strangely and made the back of my neck itch. We looked bizarre in these. Dad drove us to school on the first day. We were starting third grade. Doctor Saltmarsh was there to see us off too. I spoke to neither of them. The stink I had put up this morning had hardly done any good at all. We were still here. At least I was with Leah. She was holding my hand. Her fear was palpable, but I wasn’t scared. I had her. Once I stepped inside, it was another matter entirely. Endless tiles led in all directions, and the lights were harsh and cold. There were metal boxes covering the walls, each with a combination lock on it. This place seemed alien and inhospitable. A loud bell rang and I screamed, which made Leah scream. “Let’s go meet your class,” said Dad. I shook my head, and Dad looked like he was bracing himself. I decided to let it go, just this once. Strangers had begun to fill the halls, and I was growing more and more uncomfortable. Dad and Doctor Saltmarsh led us to a room. “This is your class, Leah,” said Dad. “Your teacher’s name is Mrs. Kimball. It’s okay. You can go on in.” I tugged on Leah’s hand, but she slipped it out of my grasp. “I’ll see you later, Rebekah.” She walked into the classroom without looking back. Now that I was alone, my panic was starting to set in. “Lali!” I cried. She ignored me, talking to the teacher and receiving a handful of papers. “This way, Rebekah,” Doctor Saltmarsh said firmly. “You have Ms. Emerson. I’ve worked with her in the past, she is very nice.” Dad was shaking his head as we drew nearer to the classroom. “She’s not ready for this.” “Sometimes dropping in full speed ahead is the only way to make progress. Nothing else seems to work, we’re running out of options. It’s possible she will thrive.” I refused to thrive. I wasn’t sure I knew what that meant, but I wouldn’t do it. I stood silent and unmoving as Dad and Doctor Saltmarsh talked to one of the strangers about me. They directed me to pick a desk, but I wouldn’t budge. I won’t let them manipulate us like this. Eventually, I was made to sit down right in the front of the classroom. “We’ll be available via phone if you need either of us,” said Doctor Saltmarsh. “Thank you, Lois.” They left me. Dad and Doctor Saltmarsh. They walked off and left me all alone in the classroom filled with twenty strangers. But I knew where Leah was. I stood up and walked out the door. The teacher, Ms. Emerson, grabbed my arm and shut the door. “Come on, Rebekah, we’re staying in our seats right now. I sat. And remained sitting. When they all stood up to look at the American Flag, I stayed in my seat. When they started playing some inane game with a plush toy, I scoffed and stared straight ahead. When Ms. Emerson placed sheets of paper in front of me, I ignored them. The only time I was myself was lunchtime. I could see Leah then. We sat together and shared our food. It felt normal. Maybe I could learn to survive at the school. So long as Leah was with me, I could get through anything. But then, the teachers sent us outside with all the strangers. Leah left me alone then, and played a ball game with a couple other girls. I stood by and frowned at her, but she didn’t seem to see me. After that, it was back inside, and I was left alone. Dad came to pick us up when it was finally over. “How was it?” he asked Leah, carefully avoiding looking me in the eye, and for good reason. I was livid. “I made some friends,” Leah said, and her voice sounded like it used to when we played together. Happy and carefree. But how could she feel that way when I was so miserable? “Carolina and Melodie! They want me to play four-square with them tomorrow!” “That’s great!” Dad exclaimed, and hugged Leah. Then, as if he was dreading it, he asked me. “How about you, Rebekah?” I didn’t bother responding to him, though I spoke to Leah, softly in our secret language so Dad couldn’t understand. “Play with me tonight, Lali,” I said. “I miss you.” Leah didn’t say anything. We got home, and she went straight to her room, closing the door in my face as I made to follow her in. I understood all too well what was going on. Dad was trying to split us up. Him and Doctor Saltmarsh. It wouldn’t be so bad if Leah wasn’t falling prey to their tactics. But she was acting like she wanted to be apart from me. They had gone too far. “Jo-lali!” I cried at her door. “You have to listen! They’re doing this to us! It’s like Mama always said: strangers are trying to hurt us! They all do!” The door flew open and Leah stood there before me. I was overjoyed for a split second. Then, she shoved me to the floor. “I am *not* Jo-lali!” she cried. “It was a stupid game we played when we were little! But we’re not babies anymore, Rebekah!” I stared up at her like I had never seen her before. Not once had Leah ever laid her hands on me in a threatening way. “I want friends and classmates, like we read about! We don’t have to be alone anymore, don’t you see?” “We were never alone,” I said from the floor. “Until now.” One of Leah’s eyes twitched and she stared at me wordlessly for a moment before spinning around and marching back into her room, slamming the door. Dad appeared and saw me on the floor. “Rebekah, what-” He looked at Leah’s closed door and sighed. “You have got to let this go. Do you understand? I just- I don’t know how to help you anymore. Go to your room. I’m going to call Doctor Saltmarsh.” I stayed in my room all night, ignoring when Dad called us down for dinner, and when he told us to get ready for bed. It wasn’t like I would sleep anyways. I couldn’t. Not without Leah. The next day was a Saturday, so there was no school. I stayed in my room. All I wanted was to be with Leah, but maybe if she saw how much she would miss me when I wasn’t around, she would come to me. She didn’t come all Saturday, or Sunday. She got up to go to church though, I could hear her moving around in her room. I wasn’t going. Too many strangers. At the end of the day, Dad came to yell at me again. “You need to eat, Rebekah. Or at least have some water. Come on.” He held out a glass of water to me, but I wouldn’t take it. I wasn’t hungry. Monday dawned and Dad drove us to school. He didn’t look like himself. His hair was messy and he had a beard. His arms were shaking too. Sometimes Mama used to shake like that. Today, I decided I was going to *make* Leah pay attention to me. She would have to. I went to my classroom without a fuss and even stood up when Ms. Emerson made us look at the flag. But the minute her back was turned, I was gone. I burst into Leah’s classroom. All the strangers turned to stare at me, but I didn’t care about them, despite the squirmy way they made my stomach feel. “Jo-lali,’’ I said. This was how much I cared, I would come to her even amidst my own fear and discomfort. “I love you, Jo-lali,” I said in our words. “I need you back. Please come back to me.” Everyone turned to stare at Leah now, and I knew something was wrong. She had never looked at me this way before. She plunged her hand into her backpack and pulled out one of Dad’s kitchen knives. Leah leapt at me and I put up my arms to cover my face, but the knife sliced through them like paper. Her blade found my neck and I choked on something hot and metallic. “No!” screamed the teacher, Mrs. Kimball, who until now had been frozen in shock. It was hard to breathe, and my arms and neck hurt so much. I started to cry. The tears stung my throat. Then the floor was rushing towards me, and everything went black. \ “They’re not fit to be around people,” someone said. Her voice was familiar. I opened my eyes and found myself in a white room with strangers surrounding me. Over in the corner was Doctor Saltmarsh. Beside her, Dad paced back and forth frantically. “There must be something,” he said. “I can keep them at home! Homeschool. Please!” “I’m sorry,” said Doctor Saltmarsh, and her voice seemed colder than I remembered. I tried to speak, and a horrible pain went through my throat. “But Rebekah cannot cope with the separation of her sister, and after what Leah did, I’m surprised you would even consider-” “She was just upset!” Dad cried. “She didn’t know any better.” “I think you need to look at this.” Doctor Saltmarsh pulled out a recording device and pressed play. I almost leapt for joy when I heard Leah’s voice, but quickly realized that something was very wrong. Leah was laughing in a crazed, manic way. “I’d do it again! I want her gone! Dead! She’s in my head you know. The only way to get her out is to cut her out. Cut cut slice slice. Lalo? Lalo Lalo Lalo, come here!” The recording stopped and Dad was staring at it in horror. “Is her mind totally gone? What happened?” “It seems that she had a psychotic break. We will treat her to the best of our abilities, but there is the chance that she may never recover.” Dad shook his head, his eyes wide and tear-filled. “What about Rebekah?” They turned to look at me and I smiled big. Hadn’t they heard the recording? Lali wants me! She wants me to come to her! I tried to tell them that everything would be okay, but no words would come out. “I’m sorry. Her vocal cords are permanently damaged. She can’t speak. Jeff, I am so sorry. But your only hope now is to admit them to our psychiatric facility. We are the foremost in New England.” “My daughters,” said Dad, and he looked at me. “This is all my fault. If I had just divorced Carol when I had the chance-” “Looking back on what could have been will help nothing,” Doctor Saltmarsh said. “If you’ll come with me, the admissions assistant will help you with the paperwork.” I didn’t care where Dad was going or where he would try to send me next. All that mattered was that Leah wanted me. She was my sister. She was my everything. And I would see her soon, I was sure of it.


On the verge of technological revolution in his small and isolated backwoods village, a young and ambitious aspiring mechanic begins to put the finishing touches on the robot that will get him into the "Androdox Personal Robotics" program. Only a few bits remain to finish his masterpiece, the outer plating to protect the internal components and wiring, and the personality matrix that would bring the bot to life. Seeing as the boy's town wasn't even old enough to be charted on most official maps, the closest of those parts available to him would still require possibly a week's worth of travel. Nothing will stand in the way of his magnum opus, however, so bags are packed, the trustiest available steed is chosen, and the robot is given a name to commemorate the occasion. Dot, is what the droid is to be called. Dot is flipped on for the time being, just to record its surroundings and to keep its joints in motion, wouldn't want Dot to rust up in the creators absence. Dot quickly finds a habit of patrolling the town, in one uniform route that Dot had calculated to be the most efficient. Were it not for the help of a few kind residents, Dot’s still new navigation systems would have had him wander off into the woods several times over by now, but it was no trouble to the citizens, who had become fond of Dot and his parrot like audio replays of their own voices. In the following days, Dot noticed changes in his residents behavior. The organics had been altering their regular routine, far fewer of them coming out of their domiciles as often. Dot began to take count of who he saw in certain areas, 4 guards on the perimeter, 3 elderly running the market stands, 12 that come and go from town each morning and afternoon, etc. 4 days after the engineer left to collect Dot’s finishing touches, Dot had counted 2 fewer guardsmen, and the complete absence of the daily caravan. Dot, not having the program to do anything about the situation, kept on his daily routine. The following morning, Dot clocks in a sudden spike of lifeforms, not in the town, but a short distance up and away from it, on the cliffs and mountains that hid his home for so long. Dot took minor detours in his route that day, as the readings from the outsiders was much different than the townies that Dot was all but used to. The foreign signals moved in patterns similar to Dot himself, efficient, calculated, and minimal to no sidetracking. That very night, the outside lifeforms vanished from Dot’s radar, along with 5 additional that were not accounted for on Dot’s next patrol. By this point, not even Dot’s parroting could do a thing to return the residents to their normal state of being. This had never failed before, but how was Dot to observe this fact, he was but an unfinished robot. Dot obliviously carries on his route, cataloging no change in population, only in routine. Dot had lost track of nearly every resident of his, before finding the majority of them gathered in the large town hall that rested at the far end of the two street city. The occasional guardsmen leaves the town hall, to return with containers of supplies, presumably to sustain the shelter. The population remained as such for several unbroken days, causing Dot to change his patrol path. Dot now only wandered the perimeter of the town hall, occasionally poking his head through a window to get a count of the remaining citizens. Dot noticed occasional returns in the outsiders' life signatures, coming in from the same mountains and hills at first, and slowly encroaching on the perimeter of the town itself. The signals themselves never stayed but for a fleeting moment, but they always returned for seemingly scheduled check-ins. Night fell, exactly two weeks after his creator's departure. The surrounding lifeforms re-appear all at once, bringing with them the residents that Dot had previously lost track of, very considerate! A large gathering of Dot’s regular residents converged with the new visitors, remaining gathered and intermingling amongst themselves for exactly 1 hour and 47 minutes. The visitors departed no later than they arrived, leaving behind the old missing citizens. With everything back in place Dot was able to finally return to his original route, and count the original amount of people in their original places. Not all returned to normalcy as Dot had initially calculated. The cycle of behavior that Dot had observed and cataloged had been halted, The citizens no longer moved on their daily paths, simply standing in their one designated place, day after night, unbothered by storm or snow. The once traveling caravaneers had awkwardly been parked in the center of the city, the animals dragging the carts eventually wandering off on their own. Months passed, Dot remained faithful to his route, and his once lively city of organics and their shenanigans had become still. Dot’s sensors eventually stopped reading his former residents as lifeforms, something of flesh and blood couldn't possibly be so static for so long, it was simply in-computable. Dot eventually came across an obstruction in his pathing, causing his nav systems to flip him around and mistakenly wander down the path out of town, and into whatever the world had in store for Dot. Without contingency protocol to instruct him, Dot simply kept wandering.


The elevator dinged as she passed another floor. Boring orchestral music played softly in the air. At this level there should not be any more stops until she reached her destination. Very few had any sort of clearance above this point. Her foot tapped with nervous energy as she glanced at her watch. This was a matter, she felt, that needed to be resolved before it was too late. It had been a record number of years since the last soulless apocalyptic event had occurred and she hoped to continue that trend. The elevator dinged a final time and the door slid open without a sound. As she entered the dark empty room her shoes echoed with each step. By now she could feel the being’s presence. The room wasn’t so much a room, but rather a dark corner somewhere in the universe. Where the walls of a room would be she could sense the presence of the being surrounding her. She stopped in the center of the darkness and gulped. "Uh, Your Powerfulness, the humans are at it again," she said, clasping her day planner to her chest. "Bending the laws of nature and such," she added. "How is this?" asked an ominous voice. For beings that were supposed to be all knowing and powerful, they sure asked a lot of questions. Had they perhaps been placed on a higher pedestal by those beneath them? "Well, um, you see..." she chewed on the end of her pen as she tried to phrase her response properly. "It seems they are trying to play you. God, that is. They have discovered how to create life through what they call, uh," she flipped open her planner in search of the proper word. "Oh, here it is, 'science'," she finally said. "Cloning to be exact," she added. "Ah, yes," the voice said as if knowing what she was referring to. But she wasn't convinced. After a brief pause the voice said, "And you're here in regards to the souls." For a split second she felt the being was all knowing. How else would it have known why she was there? Then she remembered the name tag pinned to her blouse that clearly stated 'Department of Soul Assignment and Allocation' in bold letters above her name. "Yes," she replied flatly. "The department is in need of a signature on whether or not to assign souls to these ‘clones’ as they're called." She quickly rummaged through her day planner and pulled out two pieces of paper. One page said 'Yes' and the other said 'No' in bold letters above a signature line. The voice groaned and said, "I cannot authorize such a request." "Then who can?" she asked with genuine curiosity. The voice's next words came out slow and almost begrudgingly. "You'll need to consult an Ancient God on this situation. They will likely petition a Reaper for assistance on a matter such as this." For a moment she was quite shocked. She had never worked with an Ancient God. In fact, it was extremely rare for her to even be speaking with a Dimension God. And a Reaper? For something this simple? There was clearly more depth to this issue than she originally anticipated. Her training reminded her to never try and understand the politics of the gods as she tried to reenter the correct headspace. "Uh, very well," she said, attempting to regain her composure. "Can you grant me the proper clearance or shall I submit the appropriate application seeking an audience of such an authority?" she asked a little more confidently now that she no longer sought approval from this particular god. The voice groaned again and she felt a shift of energy. Her name tag now bore a golden rim. It sparkled brightly. "Spare yourself the effort. Your access is granted," the voice said in the same begrudging tone. An ancient looking vault door attached to nothing appeared in front of her. The large spoked handle in the center of the door began to spin. Metal locks popped out of their seats allowing the door to slowly open before her. With a simple smirk she made her way to the door. "Thank you kindly," she said with a slight bow. She walked through the vault door in search of an Ancient God. After the vault door shut, the being was left alone. If a voice could make a sound that meant it was rolling its eyes, that's the sound it made. The vault door vanished.


What does it mean for one to never have to fear death? To never know that dread or quietly building trepidation of the end coming closer and closer? He had been asked that same question, in a thousand different ways, a thousand and more times in his long life. Even with the practice of centuries of answering that question in all its various incarnations, he still did not know how to answer. How could he begin to describe the loneliness, the pain, or the exhaustion? How did he make someone who couldn’t see the edge of forever understand? With those thoughts racing through his mind once again, he tried to answer the young (who wasn’t compared to him?) lady’s questions. “It means numbness,” he stated without emphasis. “Numbness?” She asked, with confusion plain upon her face. “Yes,” he continued, “it means watching the world move on around you. Watching those you’ve grown to know and love, or even hate, grow old and eventually pass from this place. All while you remain, ever constant, stagnant. As the years continue to slowly crawl past you, you eventually just stop feeling and grow numb to it all.” “At least, I wish that were the case…” he finished with barely a whisper. “Why? Why would you want that to be true? That sounds…. lonely.” “Because that would be easier than having to lose them, over and over again.” He answered, profound sorrow written plainly upon his features. “Them?” She asked, her curiosity overtaking her. “My immortality was not curse enough for whatever demented being that enjoys tormenting me apparently.” he answered with a chuckle, looking around him at the beautiful hilltop painted in the yellow, red, and blue hues of the early dawn. “They also decided that I’d have to spend my eternity forever falling in love with and losing my love. I don’t know what we ever did to anger whoever decided to place this horror on us, but as I continue, ever unchanging, my love must constantly be re-born as a new person. When I’ve finally found them again, they’re always different, with a new personality, new likes and dislikes, and no memory of what we’ve been through. Sometimes they’re re-born a woman again and at other times a man, but they’re always them. That same wonderful person I’ve loved through the many long and lonely centuries, in dozens of different bodies and personalities.” “That…. doesn’t sound like it’d be so bad.” She whispered. “It sounds to me like you’ll always have someone to go through eternity with. Why would you wish for something different?” “Because…..” he started, “every time I start to feel that numbness, that lack of caring about the people or the world around me, the peaceful nothingness that might make this prison of endless time pass by with a little less pain, they show up. Bursting back into my life for an always too, too brief period of light. They bring all those emotions crashing back into my life, just for them to be cruelly ripped from arms again after a few brief decades.” He finished as a tear began to slide down the cheek on the side of his face facing the beautiful woman. “Why are you crying?” She asked, her voice full of compassion. “I’d just started to feel numb again……”   This is one of the first times I've shared some of my writing, so any feedback would be appreciated. Let me know what you think.


Far into a great wooden corridor a sickly man was led to a pair of large, ornate metal doors. The soft burning candles framed the entire area in a calming and warm light. It was hard to not notice how immaculately the wax of the candles were tended to. So perfectly burning without a drop out of place. Great care was taken to ensure a welcoming feeling. This sickly man was given notice that his end was near. Every person in this land is given the opportunity to observe last rites with the Silver Sider should they wish. A gratitude given freely and dearly. The maidens and lads of the Silver Spider give nothing but the utmost respect and care to those who seek communion. “Are you ready, sir?” A young woman asked the man. “Yes, please.” The man returned. Slowly the doors were opened with a silent hush. Within the next room a frail young man sat on the floor in a relaxed manner. This was the Silver Spider. His skin was ash white. His hair was long and thin. Surrounding him were many spiders of different sizes and shapes. The young man was whispering to cupped hands. The sickly man was left alone with him. “Welcome, please come closer. You shouldn’t give any mind to my comrades. They mean no harm to you.” The Silver Spider spoke with a gentle and easy voice. The sickly man shuffled closer, careful not to step on any of the tiny legs of the spiders walking on the floor. The Silver Spider motioned the man to sit next to him on the floor. The spiders gave generous space for him to maneuver in his creaking flesh. The man could clearly see the face of this frail being. It was thin and dull with a warm smile. HIs eyes were glazed over in a milky film, obscuring his green irises. “Your lord, I am sorry for the state of my looks while addressing you. I haven’t the energy to-” the man was cut off by a single thin finger placed on his lips by the Spider. “It is all without worry, my friend. I cannot see anymore. Such things have never bothered me and they surely do not now. I want you here just as you are. Please relax.” The Spider grabbed the back of the man’s neck gently and lowered his head into his lap. Slowly stroking the man’s hair, The spider continued. “My friends tell me you are very sick and near death. I am so very sorry you have to feel any suffering. Humble me for a moment, what is your fondest memory from when you were a child?” The man thought for a moment. “My mother’s singing. If she was cooking, she was singing. If I was restless at night, she would sing me to sleep. All of my worries seemed to melt when she sang. That is my most precious memory.” The Spider looked down at the man in his lap, feeling the trembles of his fragile mortal coil. “Sing her song for me” The Spider requested as he continued to coddle the man. The man began to hum a very joyful tune to his best ability. Half way between the memory of his mother and the words he has forgotten, he coughed roughly before falling silent. “What a beautiful thing to remember and hold with you through your life-” This spider said warmly. “Your mother must have loved you dearly.” “She did, so very much.” “You know, something off topic but I wish to know. The spiders make me a new robe of their silk every year with a new design. I am told that each one has been very precious and beautiful. Could you please tell me what the one I am wearing looks like? You are the first person to see it.” The man craned his neck up from the lap of the Spider and studied the intricate lace and shimmer of the cloth. Dazzled by the complex designs and motifs, the man was lost for words. “Your lord, It is beyond exquisite.” The man relayed. “I am so thankful you think so. I can no longer appreciate their work, but I can feel their needle thin legs crawl over my skin. They remind me that I am not alone in my blank world. As do you, in this moment. Thank you for spending this time with me. I wish you a painless and peaceful death.” The man began sobbing as the pain in his body melted into the webs that hung around him. Gently and somberly, the man could feel his soul being unstitched from his bones. The Spider ran his fingers through the man’s hair and hummed a tune ghostly similar to the man’s mother’s tune. “May I lay with you a little longer? I have not been so at peace with my own body in a long time.” The man requested. “You may lay with me as long as needed. You are so very soft and gentle in this world. Please be with me as long as you wish” The Spider responded.


Prohibition I feel the sweat. Moistening my palms, dripping down the back of my shirt. My breath quickens and my mouth goes dry as I knock. Knock four times, as I was instructed. There’s some soft fumbling behind the door, before the shutter slides across to reveal an aggressive pair of eyes. “What” the eyes state, rather than ask. “I… I’m here to… to see Clifford” the words stick in my mouth. The shutter slams back closed and I hear some soft muttering before the lock clicks. The door swings open and a thick arm waves me in. A slam, and I’m inside. It takes more than a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, thick with smoke. I’m brimming with anxiety and excitement. I’ve not been anywhere this… illicit for years. I’m frightened but so tantalised to experience something that’s been missing from my life for decades. “You know the ground rules?” the looming figure breaks my reverie. “Ah I think so” The tattooed tree branch that brought me in points to scruffy writing on a dirty blackboard: No touching, unless invited. No illegal drugs. No wanking. “I, erm, yes. That should be fine for me” “Downstairs then.” As I descend the narrow staircase I notice the dim light is not from bulbs, but tumescent lard candles dripping from black sconces in the wall. “Smart” I think to myself, “no electricity” Further down I travel, until I come to another plain door. I can hear soft laughing and music from behind it. My hands are trembling now. I grip the brass knob and push the heavy door ajar. Immediately I am overcome. The noise of revelling; laughter and loud conversation washes over me. The smell of bacon from the candles fills my nose. I enter and am greeted by the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. “Just yourself, sir?” I nod affirmative, and she walks me to a plush leather wingback with a small side table. Without asking she places a glass down and fills it with chilled water from a fine glass carafe. Next to this she places a small folded card with ‘Fine Libations, New and Old’ printed on the front. “Have a look through this, and when you’re ready to order just call over one of the staff. Do you have any questions?” I glance through the menu. The concoctions all sound delicious, but that’s not why I’m here. “I erm, I’m here… for eh, Clifford” She looks at me, as though waiting for some clarification. “I’m here to see Clifford” I restate. “Very well sir” She briskly walks back to her stand at the door. She seems to be fumbling in a drawer. Picking something out, she walks back. I sip my water. I am too nervous now. The water cools my thoughts just enough. The woman slips another card into my menu. “This is the list of today’s specials.” She says quieter now, leaning close to my face “When you’ve decided what you would like ask only me. I will show you through” With that, she turns, places the smile back on her face and resumes her place at the stand. I gingerly pick up the specials menu. My heart is racing. I am so close. I look at the list. I take a drink of water. I do not want to seem too keen. A list of names. Some masculine, some feminine, some completely new. Arranged in order of price, lowest to highest. I look at the most expensive. There’s no way I can afford it, but curiosity gets the better of me. ‘Reuben – A proud little boy’ it reads. Even if it was in my price range, that’s not what I’m after here. I look around at the other guests. Some couples, a few small groups, but mostly individual people. Men and women. I drink some more water and investigate the specials further. There is a list of extras. I have made up my mind. I start to get out of my chair. The woman from before notices and hurries over. She tops up my water glass. “Have you decided what you would like?” “Yes. Could I get the” this is it “Could I get the…” I glance down at the menu to make sure I don’t make any mistakes “…Could I get Jazz?” My voice is a whisper “And the” I point to the extras list. “Jazz and a bag of meat munchies. Excellent choice, sir. Please come with me.” She leads me to an unassuming door to the side of the room. “Before I let you in sir, do you know the ground rules? “Yes, the ah, the big guy at the door made sure of it” “Excellent news. We cannot be held responsible what should happen to you if you break one of those rules, sir.” “I understand” I say and go for the door handle. She stops me and unzips a pocket on her money belt. “We need payment upfront sir” In my anticipation I had almost forgotten. I pull a roll of notes from the inside of my coat pocket and start counting them out. Fumbling I drop them. Before I can reach down, she has swept down and picked the roll up. Almost instantly she has separated the correct amount out and passes the rest back to me. Gratefully I accept them, and pull a note out to offer her. “I’ve taken my service charge already sir” She opens the door and leads me inside by the hand. We are in a dimly lit corridor, darker even than the staircase earlier. We walk past several doors. Each door muffles the noise of the action behind it but I can still make some things out. Grunting, howling, excited yelps. Eventually we come to a halt. “Wait inside here sir, Jazz will be through shortly” I thank her and move inside. The door softly clicks shut behind me. I survey the room. Not much larger than a cupboard really. Dark, lit only by one familiar smelling candle on a side table. A battered old armchair next to that. I sit in the armchair and wait. I wish I had brought the water in with me now. My anxiety has lifted, I’m in too far now. I know what I want and I’m going to get it imminently. My mind swims with possibilities. What I could be about to do. Remembering the last time I was able to. A knock at the door and my heart jumps again. The door opens slightly, and a man’s voice comes through the gap. “Jazz for you, with a bag of pork rinds” I’m too excited to correct him. The man enters and places the bag on the table next to me. He glances at me with a smirk and says “You’re in for a treat. Jazz is one of my favourites. She’s… enthusiastic.” He leaves, and then I see her. A big white bitch, grinning from ear to ear. She’s carrying a little extra weight and I’m here for it. “Come here Jazz” She rushes in and in an instant she’s on my lap, kissing my face. The door closes behind her. I’m overcome with emotion. I can’t stop laughing! A dog! After all these years! After the bans and prohibition and the horrendous culls, a real dog! I wrestle her off me and get her onto the floor. I grab the pork rinds off the side. I find a big chunk of dried flesh and hold it over her. “Sit… paw… good girl!” She takes the pig snack gently, before scoffing it down fast. I can’t believe this moment. I laugh again, and stroke her head. She moves to lick the snack dust from my hand. This is wonderful! She rolls on her side, inviting me to stroke her tummy. I reach down. Suddenly there’s a banging at the door. It opens and the man from earlier frantically pushes his head in. “It’s a raid! Get out! Get out of here!” Jazz gets up instantly, much more nimbly than you would expect, and bolts out of the door. With the door open now I can hear much more commotion; glasses breaking, doors being knocked down, yelling and screaming. I follow Jazz out into the dark corridor, other doors being flung open with people and dogs running out. Other guests fleeing in each direction, but the dogs purposefully all heading to the end of this corridor. A crash, and I see the door man from before standing in a broken frame, wood hanging loosely from its hinges. He’s bleeding from one eyebrow, cradling a bunch of frightened pugs and chihuahuas in his arms. “Far end! Go! Now!” He yells at me. There’s gunfire behind him. He bolts past. I quickly follow. Looking back I see a silhouette of a man brandishing a club in the doorway. I’m spurred to run faster as he belts a man trying to get past. “We just wanted to pet dogs!” the man sobs as the cop lays into him on the ground. The door man looks at the wall at the end of the corridor. He puts the small dogs down beside him. He braces himself against the sides of the corridor. He raises a foot and slams his boot into the wall. It bursts open. A secret exit! “Everyone out!” None of the dogs hesitate. They stream out of the door, howling and barking into the night. An enormous ridgeback barrels past me and knocks me to the floor. I look up and see Jazz hesitate at the opening. She looks back at me. The cop is on me. He rains down blows on the back of my head. Jazz turns and leaves.


She walked past her room and to his. Standing at the doorway, she leaned against it and smiled, crossing her arms over her chest. She watched as he rolled around in bed, whining for her to come over and give him the cuddles that he was promised for doing such a good job with chores. She watched as his face lit up when he saw her and reached his arms out for her. She couldn't help but let out a chuckle but that stopped when she was brought back to reality by the unusually loud rain droplets hitting the window. It was windy that night. The coldness settled quite well with the silence, giving her the eerie sense of loneliness. She sighed and walked into the kitchen. Going to the fridge, she got herself a bottle of water. Opening the cap, she felt a chill run down her spine. She stopped and looked towards the entrance of the kitchen and she saw him again. She just gave in and decided to enjoy these little..... Moments of flashbacks that she was having. It was all bright and happy now with him right there. She couldn't even hear the rain. She smiled with tears brimming her eyes, seeing him in the memory. He walked to her from behind and scared her once before holding her close. Giving her kisses on her cheeks, he told her how much he loved her and how much he missed her while he was at work. She watched herself (in the memory) turn to him and give him a tight hug. She always did that whenever he had a long day and just needed to relax. She played with his soft hair, whispering to him how grateful she was to have him and how proud she was of him. Perhaps, she didn't notice it then but she definitely did now. The little falter in his smile. She placed the water bottle back inside the fridge and went to the study room. Their work room. She sat down at her desk and looked to the side where she saw him working. Another memory. He always looked attractive when he worked. It was no denying that him focusing was definitely something she could admire for days. Giving her a sweet smile, he reached out and held her hand with one of his own as he continued to work with the other. He was just caring like that. She leaned over to take a peak at what he was doing and he covered her eyes. Whenever he told her that peeking was bad, she would just pout. This always sent him into a mini panic. He would stop whatever he was doing and just go hold her. He knew it comforted her and it really did. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. She wanted to be in those arms again. She wanted to feel the comfort and warmth again. But she couldn't. She had lost it. Forever. Going into the living room, she could almost hear the words slipping past her lips with no control. She wished and hoped that she could take very single one of those words back but she couldn't. She regretted it and she still does. She remembered how he just had a small smile on his face as he listened to her yell at him for not switching off the lights and fans when they were not in use. Of course, this had ticked her off at the time but now, she knew why. He probably loved it. He probably loved the fact that he would get to hear her yell at him one last time before he would be gone. Regardless, she was mad at him now too. She was mad at him for not telling her and for hiding it from her that he would be gone soon. Very soon. She felt her knees buckle aa she fell onto the ground, sobbing. One of her hands covered her eyes as she let out a heart broken yell into the void. There was no one to tell her that everything would be alright. She didn't even get to say her goodbye. She didn't get to tell him how much he meant to her and how much he did to save her. From the world and herself. She didn't get to tell him how grateful she was that she had met him. She didn't get to tell him that he was the sunshine in her life. He probably didn't wish for it to happen on her birthday. He probably felt so sad and angry at himself too. She felt so useless for not being able to comfort him at that moment of time. She felt worthless for not being able to see it or even sense it. Her nails dug into the wooden floors as she felt the pain coursing through her. One of her hands came up to clutch at her chest. She could feel the heaviness in her heart. It brought her down. She remembered the times he told her to not lose hope but now that he was gone, she had no hope left. He took it with him. Her smile, her laughter, her joy, her happiness, her entire life was gone with him. He was gone. She was not prepared for this farewell.


#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. Welcome to our new weekly feature. This is 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 - **What do you like about writing? And why do you write?** I’ll start us off. My day job involves writing in business-speak, which I find both boring and limiting, as you want to be as succinct as possible without any descriptions or emotions. Writing fiction is an entirely different world from that. You can write about anything you want, be anything you want, and just explore. I find it incredibly freeing. Beyond the escape part, I’ve found that I enjoy the whole process, from imagining to research to creation. I write because it makes me happy, silly as it may sound. *** #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.