The traitor stood over his broken father with victory within his grasp. There was no God Emperor to be worshiped, just a man. “I never wanted this. I never wanted to unleash my legions. Together we banished the ignorance of old night, but you betrayed me. You betrayed us all. You stole power from the gods and lied to your sons. Mankind has only one chance to prosper, if you will not seize it, then I wil-” and with a press of a button the tv switches off. “Alright, to bed with you.” I order my apprentice, Vanessa. “B-but what about the ending? Is the Emperor gonna die?! Did Horus just win?!?! How can I sleep knowing there’s a possibility of the Imperium falling to Chaos?!?!?!” Her questions grow frantic as she grows pale in the face, either from anxiety, or loss of breath from speaking so fast, and loud. “That’s just a tough shit you gotta take kid, cause if your eyes aren’t shut in the next thirty minutes, you’ll be guessing the ending for the next week.” The eyes to my mask dim from shriveling patience and she takes the hint, removing herself from a brown wool couch that suffers multiple tears and stains from lord knows what. My mundanely milk white walls suffer the same as the couch. Most of everything in this apartment suffers in some way shape or form. I hate this damned place-just the walls alone give me a feeling of great dissatisfaction. I feel trapped in this place. Trapped with a brat who I must leave a legacy to. The brat in question has just emerged from the cramped little bathroom that stays snug in the corner of the apartment. “Can you…eeeeuuuaaahhh…maybe tell me a story before I go to sleep?” She questions through a hefty yawn. I suppose it’s normal for children to enjoy stories. I was like that as a child-demanding my mother to tell me stories of heroes and their great battle against villains. Of course then I learned the difficult truth of good, and evil in society. There was barely a difference. “Fine.” I mutter. “Get to your room and get changed, I’ll be in to tell you something in a minute.” While I'm not too pleased with it, I find this option much more appealing than her losing sleep because she didn’t know the ending of a damn movie. The girl smiled from cheek to cheek, running to her room with breakneck speed, accidentally hitting the door to her room before she could open it. Dumb kid. With a swift motion, I pick up a pack of cigarettes and my lighter from the coffee table beside the couch. I'm gonna need these if I’m to make through for Vanessa’s storytime. I enter the girls room, seeing the kid already in prayer position, so I join my little disciple. My knees fall to the floor about a foot away from her, my hands follow in this action, laying palm up on the floor beside, my eyes shut, and with everything ready, we pray in unison. “All mighty King of Corpses, hear us. We tire of the long day and wish to find solace in an even longer night. Allow us rest, so that we may awaken strong to fight for you come daybreak. Grant us the bravery to endure the dark so that we may not fear the might. Give us a moment of peaceful mundanity tonight, so that we may prepare for the great wars of tomorrow. Allow us rest All Mighty King of Corpses. Cloak us in the quiet black and the warm red. By your name we pray. By your name we live. By your name we kill…Amen” The words barely escape our lips before Vanessa almost throws herself into her bed, covering herself with a large purple cotton blanket. As I rise from prayer, I remove the circular piece from my mask, leaving open a small hole that's usually used for smoking and pill popping more than eating or drinking. With Vanessa in bed and waiting, I sit on the chair that rests not five feet from her, lighting my cigarette, and taking a hefty drag as I do so. “Have I ever told you the history of our people, V?” I ask with wearily lit eyes, hoping I hadn’t recounted the tales of Grimald and his knights during one of my drugged up tirades. Bright eyed, and smiling, she nods with the typical enthusiasm of a child. Good. Out of all the war stories and monologues my own mentor ever gave, it was the origin of our people that I’d always crave to hear. It was unlike the stories of Greek or Norse myths and legends. There were no grandiose victories over the course of Grimalds crusade. No statues to be erected for the heroes of the Mortemus. No good ending with a some stupid ass moral lesson for children to learn from. This was a story that whole species could learn from. No good vanquishing evil to give the listener a feeling of ease when it’s all through. This was With the corpse of a smile on my face, and a cigarette loosely dangling from my mask, I begin. “Back in the 11th century-before we started calling ourselves the Mortemus, we were known as the Knights of Mortem- Knights of the Dead. When the Christian Churches Second Crusade was underway, the pope at the time had decided to invest in soldiers of a more superstitious nature. They had just won their first victory against the Muslim threat, so now they had wiggle room to worry of a more sinsister danger-working behind the scenes to topple their holy empire. I speak of course of demo-” “Demons really exist?!” She blaringly questions with wide eyes that looked around every dark corner her room had. “Don’t be a pussy kid. We’re only just starting and you’re about to shit your pantaloons.” I half heartedly joke, getting a giggle out of the girl. “Yes, demons exist, and I’m not talking about the demons that lay within humans. I talk of true demons, child. Demons that lay within the shadows of this world, waiting patiently to strike us down when the days of the God of Gore and his deliverance are upon us.” Vanessa raises the blanket up just past her nose, shaking from an extreme feeling of fear, but still staring at me, awaiting more. “Now, the church didn’t want too many valuable soldiers wasted on a witch hunt so they had decided to experiment with this new army of crusaders. It would be an Order of the least qualified of soldiers to be led by the most capable of warriors and leaders. The cardinals would call upon delinquent priests and failed holy men to act as soldiers- or at least dress them up as such. To lead this investigation army, the pope had appointed High Chaplain Daegal Grimald. His second in command would be Sergeant Garin Burchard- Two of the greatest knights in the First Crusades. The High Chaplain was more like a miniature giant than a man, over seven feet tall, built with enough muscle and power that he was said to wrestle with a bloodlusted bear for fun. Grimald wasn’t just dumb muscle though, he was articulate and stoic. Wise and cunning. A good man. His body was built for battle, but he learned to lead with a sharp, diplomatic mind if he could. That wasn’t to say he was shy about the ways of war-not at all. With strength comparable to that of Hercules of Greek myth combined with the tactical genius that even the best generals today would strive for, the mighty Chaplain and his crusaders would lay waste to their enemies in almost every battle they found themselves in. Grimald was often compared to the prophet Moses-always trying to solve conflicts peacefully, but if pushed too far, capable of bringing down none other than God's own wrath upon his enemies and those who would challenge his people. If Daegal was seen as a prophet in shining armor, Garin was seen as a demon bearing a cross. Burchard the Berserker, or Burchard the Butcher-depended on which side of the crusade was talking about him. He was infamously known throughout the holy war for his beastly rage. The way soldiers would tell it, he’d get the devil to possess him, and force the devil to fight for him. Guy was known for raiding villages and cities at night, and by time he, and his small force of raiders had left in the wee hours of morning, there were no lives left to be conquered, just a hollowed city, newly decorated with the flesh and blood of its previous inhabitants. Though he was effective in the battlefield, the church found Garin too feral to be allowed in the limelight of the war, so he was removed from the frontlines of battle, and forced to take a secondary leadership position in the experimental crusade. No more glory, no more battles to be had. There wasn’t even a real enemy to be working towards. The berserker was a fucking ghost hunter now, and he had never felt more humiliated. To the Chaplain who believed in the darker forces at work, this was the greatest of honors. He was chosen to lead a hunt most holy against the direct enemies of God. No longer would he suffer mere humans who would fight for a belief than him. Now, the real evil would suffer him. He would dub this new order of demon hunting crusaders the Knights of Mortem, and their mission, the Brimstone Crusades.” Before I can continue, the kid emerges from the covers a bit more, like a turtle growing brave. “Why would the church put these guys together, though? It doesn’t make much sense to me-making a wise and stoic leader work together with a hot head who doesn't even seem to belong in this crusade to begin with, all to lead a buncha investigators to find demons and monsters. It just doesn’t really make much sense, sir.” The only answer I can conjure for a quite reasonable question is “How the fuck should I know what a bunch’ve old wrinkly dicks were thinking way back when?” I probably asked my mentor questions like these all the time, trying to make sense of the plot holes and dilemmas that ultimately had the potential of muddling the story if one were to think too far into it. I’d always get the same answer that I offer my own disciple, though, trying to be a better teacher than my mentor was to me, I continue on, saying “There is no way of comprehending the logic back then, but it was due to the idocrity of said logic during this time that we have been rebirthed. I rebirthed from human to Thanatron, and you, human to Mechaness. While it’s little better than the answer provided before, my words result in a look of pride at the mention of our ranks. As Thanatron, I serve as my peoples Death Machine. Only the greatest of Mortemus warriors are allowed judgment by the King of Corpses, and if the King finds us worthy, then we take vows to seal away our face, ergo, our humanity, and lead our people, in both progress and battle. In combat, the Thanatron must bear the brunt of enemy forces, leading the conflict from the front rather than in some tent or conference room. Vanessa’s rank commands that she serve as my shadow, just as all Mechaness, and Mechanors have shadowed their Thanatron since the days of Grimald. Normally this honor would be given to the children of Thanatron, though since I lack a breeding partner, I grant my adopted child the honor of her rank. As Mechaness, she is my support, laying down cover fire, picking off the scraps that I’ve left in my wake, ensuring I’m not overwhe-honestly, she’s really around to make my life as convenient as possible-both in, and out of battle. In turn for this I am grooming her to take my place as Thanatron once the days of the God of Gore are upon us. Together we make two of three of our mighty race, the third being my mentor who now acts as our Witchetarum, a shaman that guides us in religion, and warfare. “For the first few months the Men of Mortem were fruitless in their endeavors.” I carry on with the story, afraid of getting sidetracked again in ranks and positions. “Their dark crusades often lead them to dead ends. While the High Chaplain stood vigilante and his will remained unwavered by his Order's lack of findings, the rest of his men-even his second in command, had already given up on any hope of finding anything. The failed holymen and priests were completely fine with this sort’ve work; relieved of their religious responsibility without having to fear damnation, traveling across both familiar, and foreign lands with no worries of war. It was paradise for them. Garin on the other hand was fuming. It was said that the Chaplain and his Sergeant often argued frequently for those first few months of inactivity. Daegal saw only a savage in his second in command. A man only fit to fight, and nothing else. There was no place in this crusade, or even the holy war for a beast like Garin On the other side though, Burchard felt disgusted with his commander. Here was a giant of a man forged for war, and he wanted to waste his time with diplomacy and politics. Even in the ridiculous demon crusade they took part in, the Sergeant was practically dumbfounded by Grimalds way of tracking cases, wasting too much time talking with locals and reading in his little Christian bestiary to determine what sort’ve “demon” they were chasing. Garin had no problems expressing in rather livid fashion how this was all some sick joke of the church, keeping them away from the Second Crusade, where they needed. He had found out the hard way that there was little to no respect given given to demon hunters in reality. Sure, they were worshiped by zealots and peasant, but were nothing but a jest to those who mattered. Even the other Orders of the Second Crusade were known to laugh and mock the Knights of Mortem, seeing the demon hunters as useless wannabes to be excluded from the brotherhood. Daegal saw it much differently. They were exactly where they needed to be, hunting the direct evils of the world as loyal hounds would hunt soon to be prey.” “Hounds?” Another interruption from my disciple halts my progress. Jesus christ, who knew telling a child a fucking bedtime story could be so difficult? “Yes. Hounds.” I respond coldly, my patience diminishing even further. “These men were simply dogs of the church. Their withered old masters would point, and they’d charge ahead, eager to claim whatever their masters so desired. Wealth, land, people- no matter what it was, any and all would pursue it without question, and for what? Not for bloodlust. Not for true power. Not for the pursuit of greatness and glory-No! It was for “salvation”. They followed their old masters commands to the letter in order to appease a god who wouldn’t even shoot a glance their way. Pathetic.” The red shine of my eyes begins to grow as a result of my anger. “Wouldn’t you do the same though?” Vanessa questions with ever so ignorant eyes. I do not respond, allowing her the opportunity to further explain herself, and she does. “If you never became Mortemus, and someone told you that you could either follow their command in exchange for unending bliss after you died, or you could go to a place full of pain and torture if you didn’t, you wouldn’t at least want to hear what they have to sa-” I don’t even let her finish before I begin pointing out the fallacies of her thinking. “No I wouldn’t. Any scumbag who offers salvation in exchange for servitude is nothing but a self righteous prick who’s better off getting the electric chair. Besides, none of that’s even real V. We find our salvation in slaughter. We worship one deity and he demands no shrines, no buildings, or statues, not even a symbol for the masses to look to. Our Corpse King only asks for the sacrifices of our enemies. He demands we stand steadfast against those who would do us harm. In a perfect world he would have us as artists rather than warriors, expressing ourselves in all the things we’ve slain.” I can see Vanessa getting excited again, her morbid interests taking control. “Mhm! The King will protect us from the God of Gore, a-and will help revive our dying people if we endure the End Times…” She preaches to me for a change, and I feel pride for being the one to teach her all of this in the first place. “Sir? Can you continue the story now?” My student asks with eager eyes. I oblige her. “So one day when the Order was trekking through thick woods on yet another chase for wild goose, they began to hear the collective screaming of men, women, and children from deeper in the woods, so deeper they went. For the first time in this entire crusade, all men knew fear. Ignorant fear of the unknown that they would forever cherish after they had reached the source of the screaming. What they saw would forever change them. The air had been filled with screams all morning, a collective of men, women and children. Horrendous screams that threatened the well being of any who had the misfortune of hearing it. Screaming that High Chaplain Daegal Grimald had known all too well at this point in his career. Abominations barely comprehensible, ripping fellow humans apart like a child would an insect. Tall, slender creatures, with skin that was either ashen or nearly pitch black, each tearing or crushing a human until nothing was left but bits and pieces, only to throw the remains into an already disturbingly large pile. The pile itself laid upon a vile circular symbol drawn in each of the victims' own blood. At what must have been the front of this symbol was one of their “priests.” A nude man with skin tattered, and torn. The pupils to his eyes had been cut out with nearly perfect surgical precision and the skin to his jaw had been completely ripped from his face. Demons…the Knights of Mortem had found demons. Most of the men could hardly handle it. Those who weren’t frozen in place ran as far as they could. Even Burchard the Berserker himself had felt fear that day. How could he not? This was well beyond any human's capacity for comprehension. But while his knights and Sergeant stood in fear or ran, Daegal Grimald stood firm…and he marched forward. A slow march, each step leaving a tremendous thud that could be heard by all as he walked on. He had no crisis from the scene that played out before his eyes, for he understood perfectly what was occurring. He felt no fear as marched for his foes, for there was only rage to be felt. He would suffer no evil, for evil would suffer him! His march shifted to an earth quaking charge, and he struck the wicked priest with a six foot long mace that was said to weigh over a hundred pounds. The way our people have always told it, upon impact, the entirety of the priests head had blown into pieces, splattering skull and brain across the tainted grounds. This beautiful display of violence was enough to shake Sergeant Burchard out of his little existential crisis. With two war axes in his hands and fear ever present in himself, the Berserker charged forward, hacking and slashing at the creatures with such speed that his plan of attack was inconceivable to the eyes of both human and demon. With their commanders plunged into the hellish skirmish, the remainder of the men who hadn’t ran away, ran forward, motivated by the bloodshed. A force of two hundred knights were put to the test of steel and flesh against a little over twenty demons, this would be a slaughter, and they knew it.” “So our people won the battle?!” She explodes from her blanket, sitting up in anticipation. This was always the best part of telling this story. No purely good endings to leave the listener with an equally purely good feeling. “Just barely, by time the demons had been put down, the Knights of Mortem had been reduced two soldiers. Two of the bravest. Two of the fiercest. Two of the luckiest. As for those they meant to save from vile clutches of the demons, only one survived. A woman who would go on to be our first Withitarum. With broken bones and ripped flesh, Daegal, and Garin survived the onslaught, but their Order was lost. How could they fight this evil when it took everything they had to kill less than a platoons worth of foe? The commanders would have to rebuild. Start from scratch. Those who know of this tale and are not Mortemus would tell you that the two men's minds had broken, but we know the truth. They had been granted clarity of vision, seeing with their own eyes what many had feared in the quiet of their homes. How long had this been going on? How many had been taken by this abominable threat? Who was leading it all? Questions that could only be answered through more bloodshed…much more bloodshed. With nothing left to do other than ponder everything, the three survivors of the massacre left the wicked woods for their church to report their findings. It was a quiet walk back. Neither men nor woman could even allow a sound to break from them, but they all knew there was no return. No normal to return to. We see this as a walk that would forge the future of the Mortemus. A slaughter of this magnitude would never happen to the Knights of Mortem ever again. They would come prepared next time. They would be wrath incarnate to the next batch of demons they found. They would hold no tolerance for the weak willed and meek minded. No feelings but hate for the heretic and the masses of corruption that infected the earth. Grimald would change the name of his crusade when he was back in the sanctum of his church. No longer would the Knights of Mortem endeavor in the Brimstone Crusades. The knights would now take part in the most significant and important scouring known to man. This would be the Oblivion Crusades. The End. There is only shock to be expressed through Vanessa, eyes wide and mouth agape. A smile resurrects beneath my mask before I reattach the mouth piece to my mask, finding I’d gone through half the pack of cigarettes throughout my telling of this story. I’m impressed with myself. Getting up from the chair I pat my apprentice on the head a few times, and shut her lamp off. “Try and get some sleep V.” I suggest, knowing there's quite a startling chance of her staying up all night in order to pick apart and dissect all that I have told her. I was the same way, so even if she does wake up with bags under her eyes tomorrow and yawns every ten minutes, I suppose I can deal with it. Just as I’m about to shut her door and leave, I am stopped in my tracks. “W-wait! I-is all of that really true?!” Vanessa looks at me as if my answer will determine the rest of her life. She’s anxious beyond reasoning for some reason. I pause for a second, letting tension build as I do so. “Yes…it’s all true.” and with that, I wish my disciple a goodnight, and shut the door behind me. As I sit back on that same tattered and torn couch from the start, guilt enters my mind. I lied to Vanessa. Not a complete lie, most of the story is indeed true, but it’s the ending that I twisted. There was more than one survivor from the sacrifice, and more knights endured the brutality than just Daegal and Garin. Yet only three left those woods alive. I know if I told Vanessa this true ending, she’d grow too suspicious to entrust her life to me, and I’ve no use for suspicious brats in my dying legion. I need a warrior who I can leave a legacy to once my time as the God of Gore is upon us. She will be Thanatron someday, and I only hope she’s grown to hate the human as I have. When I finally have the means to wipe the vermin race off of this earth, I hope she will understand why. That I won’t be doing it for some bloated god or deities, but for our people. So that we may replace the human and prosper where they have failed.


The dim lighting and the cold that's the first thing I remember as I woke from the cold sleep pod. Dragging myself up from the cold spongy bed. Looking down at me is a face, a face I don't know, I should know. "Welcome back to the world, why don't we warm you up" the face talks. Well that's what faces do I suppose. Sitting up takes great effort but changes how I see the room, the face has a body, a slim feminin figure wearing a tight one peice suit of some type of foamy material, it is a ocean green colour. It clings to the body attached to the face in a way my brain tells me should make me feel something, but I just feel cold. "Mr Wood ? Tell me what do you remember" the face attached to the body is talking again. Why is it talking, I should talk too,"Cold" I hear my own voice it sounds like I just ate a glass bottle. "Why don't you sit a bit and I'll get something to warm you up" the face says and the body turns and walks out. I try to follow but my body has other ideas. "Mr Wood how do you feel" I hear a feminin voice say. Opening my eyes I see the room has changed the woman's face or I should call her a girl is over me again." We should stop meeting like this, people will get ideas" She laughs it's a sweet musical sound,it's one of those laughs that reach all the way to her eyes and it's beautiful. "Well I can see you are feeling better, your vitals are all normal for a man your age why don't you try sleep and we can see how you do tomorrow" She reaches over and I hear a soft beep, it reminds me of the sounds in a hospital. I try to ask her what she ment by my age but the black closes in again. Tessa looks down and the sleeping man, he is bare but for a sheet covering him from the waste down. His arm and chest are well built but covered with the faint remains of old wounds. She wondered what he had done to get them all , she would ask him tomorrow. "Good morning Mr Wood, how are we feeling today" she asked he opened his eyes and sat up slowly,"much better thanks" he rasped. She could see the questions brewing behind those deep green eyes. "My name is Tessa you can call me Tess, let's get you up and about and we can talk as we walk okay?" She helped him get into a hospital gown and then the wheelchair. "Would you like me to just talk or do you have specific questions?" "What year is it and what happened?" He asked in a deep gravelly voice, Tess decided she liked that voice it was very unlike any of the other voices here. " It is 2550 the 1st of July Mr Wood you have been asleep in the cold pod for over 500 years, as to what happened that is a long and difficult story. Let's just say that the people of the old world had poor leaders that made worse decisions, there was a huge war just after you went to sleep and not much of the surface world survived." Tessa could tell by the way he sat in the chair that he was having difficulty with this information, she pushed him over to a window in the corridor. Outside the floodlights lit up the abyssal plain. "Our ancestors from your time were safe down here and forgotten by the world as the surface destroyed itself they worked to survive here, and over time managed to thrive. We have been living in safety down here for over 500 years but now things are changing." "So why did you wake me ?" He rasped "Well Mr Wood you see we have not had conflict or war or crime here for over 400 years to be honest we have forgotten, we left you and that South African gentleman to sleep because in the early years your skills were not needed and until now you have not been needed." The man in the wheelchair began to laugh, a deep booming laugh, Tessa looked at him, confused.


“Father! Father! Come upstairs!” “I’m not falling for another one of your little jokes, Lila!” “It isn’t a joke! Come upstairs now!” The middle-aged man reluctantly dragged himself up the stairs expecting to see a trail of painful, knifelike legoes on the stairs. He carefully went with uncanny precision, wondering when he’d meet the plastic toy that would jab him first. Instead, he found his precious daughters, the lights of his life, staring out their window with pink frilly curtains. “Look! There’s a family of puppies in our backyard!” Yelled Lila. “Oh, those aren’t puppies, they’re foxes.” At this point the father, whose name is James, and Rina, Lila’s younger sister, were laughing hysterically. Lila crossed her arms and snapped, “foxes are part of the dog family anyways!” At this point Rina and James were on the floor. They always laughed at how adorable Lila was when she crossed her arms in an attempt to look intimidating. A few minutes later, Rina and Lila raced down the stairs to see the foxes up close. Meanwhile, James decided to bring out the barbecue in the closet to make some hot dogs. “Girls come get dinner! I made hotdogs!” “Can I give the foxes some? Pretty please?” Begged little Lila with puppy dog eyes. Without even waiting for James’ response, which would have been something annoying and along the lines of “what’s with the puppy eyes? Did your dog-foxes teach you,” Lila grabbed two hotdogs and threw them at the foxes. The foxes viciously tore into the flesh of the meat like lions. “Look! They’re so adorable,” exclaimed Rina. “You call THAT adorable?!” James and Lila were staring at Rina like she was insane. That’s when they heard a loud shattering sound that Lila thought even the other side of the Earth could hear. They saw a pitch black line in the sky that looked like a cracked snow globe. “What is that!? Father, I'm scared!” Lila cried. She clung onto James as hard as she could. “I don’t know sweetheart. I don't know…” The foxes were gone, and it became dreadfully silent. That’s when a random shard fell from the sky. Rina ran and picked it up. The shard was glowing softly a white as pure as untouched snow, and was cold to the touch. More shards started to lightly fall from the sky, making small thumps and cracks as they touched the ground. The family was speechless. They felt confused, anxious, shocked, amazed, and utterly terrified at the same time. They stared in frozen shock as more shards fell from the shattered, crystal sky. That’s when suddenly an odd ash fell on Rina. It ran through her hair, hands, and fingers like warm sand. Rina stood still for several seconds, pondering and trying to organize her overloaded train of thought. Her brain was as twisted and turbulent as a tight knot on a shoelace. She was then interrupted by a shard that crashed with her head. “Rina! Are you ok?” Lila screamed. “Yeah… I’m fine.” Inexplicably, Rina barely even felt the shard when it collided with her head. She almost didn’t notice it. That’s when the family heard an odd sound in the direction of the forest. It sounded like a porcelain teacup being placed on a table. They ran in its direction and saw a girl. She also glowed like the shards, and glittered bright ethereal hues of bright blue and silver around her. The porcelain cup sound was coming from her footsteps. The girl was picking up the shards one by one. “Hey, you! Do you want help?” Asked Rina. The girl did not answer. She just smiled at Rina and continued picking up the shards. “What is your name?” Asked Lila. A light, mechanical sound came from the girl’s mouth. She slowly sounded out “Esther.” “Hey Esther, where is your family?” Asked James. Esther stared at him confused. She then softly answered, “in my hands.


TW: death and suicide near the end, though they aren't a focus of the story Lee spent all afternoon every day charting the woods behind her school. She practically had a map of the entire twelve square miles in her head at all times, and when she wasn’t physically there, she was mentally retracing her steps. So you can understand why she was surprised by the sudden appearance of a large pond in the woods. She went over the area at least a dozen times before fully committing to the idea that this pond was not there yesterday. Where did it come from? Either way, its clean, transparent water was very alluring. She would’ve already jumped in, had it not been for the fact that she couldn’t see the bottom. A pond of this size and transparency should not be that deep, yet it was. It’s not like it got deeper towards the center, either. No; it became infinitely deep all the way up to its borders. Lee grabbed a rock and tossed it as close to the center as she could. She watched pockets of air slip away from its underside as it sank. It became darker and darker until, finally, it was gone. Then, more bubbles rose from the same spot. And more, and more, until finally, a stream of water was shooting from the pond like a fountain. Lee stared, unsure whether to be frightened or intrigued. The glistening beads of water began to change color. It was slow at first; hints of deep blues transitioning into soft greens and turquoise. Then purples, and pinks, and eventually a glittering golden stream was on full display right before her. It beckoned to Lee. There was no more school, no more home, no more woods around her. It was just her, and the fountain. She stepped forward onto the surface of the water. She didn’t sink, though that did not concern her. Her footsteps sent rhythmic ripples to the edges of her now small world. She reached toward the stream and let the golden beads pass between her fingers. Lee felt herself become heavier, and the once impenetrable surface began to give way. Blinking quickly in an attempt to wake herself from this dream-like state, she realized where exactly she was. Though, it was too late. As if she had suddenly been attached to an anchor, she sank deep and quick. What felt like several soft blades of grass tickled Lee awake. She thrashed around, scaring away what were actually hundreds of jelly bean sized creatures. Their tiny feet plopped along the ground as they scurried frantically. Her laughter attracted the attention of a large, bug-eyed fellow. His body was made up of colorful, round segments. She couldn’t imagine how he kept himself from falling apart. Still, despite his alien appearance, he did not give off an ounce of ill-intent. Lee was more curious than scared. “Oi’ las, what’re ya doing so close to da water? There’s no swimming ‘ere.” She looked around, realizing that the pond was the only thing that looked at all familiar. She was no longer in the middle of the woods, but rather some kind of industrial zone. Pink plumes of smoke rose from the top of giant spiraling structures. Everything looked as if it were made out of candy; much too bright for her taste. “Olright girl,” the creature seemed annoyed now, “if yer stayin silent, at least come back to the post wit meh.” A small, wooden shack stuck out of the ground just a few meters behind him. His segments began to topple over each other as they moved toward the shack. Somehow, his head glided along them, so as to always stay on top. It was pretty enjoyable to watch, Lee thought. She brushed the dirt and any bugs that remained off of her vest. “What’s your name?” “Ah, she does speak. I’m Mush, and wer goin tah meet One. You?” “Lee.” She smiled at Mush. The shack was only about a quarter the size of the pond, and barely taller than Mush, yet it was massive on the inside. Pulleys were dragging other odd-shaped beings between several stories, and each story had a team of workers; the clacking of old mechanical keyboards echoed from every direction. Mush stopped by one of the dozens of desks, leaving Lee to awkwardly stand behind him. “Yo, one-thousand-four-hundred-eighty-seven. You know wer boss man’s at?” His metallic arms stopped flailing on the keyboard. “Yea.” He peered over his glassless glasses to glance at Lee. She shivered. “Floor forty-seven,” he sighed, before continuing his sporadic flailing. “Uh, thanks,” he leaned over to Lee, “Odd fellow, that one-thousand-four-hundred-eighty-seven is.” Lee struggled to squeeze into the lift beside Mush. It didn’t help that its thin frame was loosely dangling above the ground. “So, is everyone here named after a number besides you?” She asked. “Pretty much. Oim a hired contracta, s’posed to pick up da trash and what-not ‘round teh post. Guess that makes you da trash. Or maybe teh what-not.” Lee took it as a joke, though Mush’s expression left it a mystery. “Anyweh,” he looked up and yelled, “Eighteenth!” A strange beast on the very top level nodded at the pair. As his nodding shook the lift, Lee realized that the rope holding the lift was inside of its mouth. It began slurping the rope, slowly at first, but it soon picked up the pace. By the time the lift had reached the forty-seventh floor, Lee was on the ground holding back her lunch; Mush was fine. “Right tis weh, little one.” There were no other desks on this floor. Instead, the beings here were all wearing what appeared to be hardhats. They all mumbled variations of “oh,” “uh huh,” and, “wow,” while staring at a specific wall on the other side of the room. “Oiii, One. Look what I found!” A strange tube with a pointed head slithered over to mush. When it reached them, the head popped open like a dandelion in bloom, revealing a face within. Its grin was unbearable. “Ahh, Mush. You’ve brought me a human! Thanks so much!” it hissed. “Ahh, so tis is wut dey look like. Didn’chu say you already have one? Why don’t we just throw ‘er back in da pond, save teh trouble?” Mush rolled just slightly between Lee and One. It was clear to Lee that he wanted to protect her, though her trust in this world was beginning to diminish. For a second, One’s grin flashed with malice. He quickly composed himself. “Well, yes, Mush. BUT, these humans are exotic creatures. You see, from what I’ve read, it takes two to make more of them. Besides, this one seems much more… aware than mine. It might actually be able to hold a conversation.” The tube extruding behind One’s head writhed and popped, revealing six nimble legs. “Anyway, I’ll be taking her.” Mush inched even further between the two. “‘Scuse me sir, but tis isn’t trash, n since I found ‘er, I-” One grabbed his round head and lifted his heavy body into the air. Squeezing, he popped Mush’s head like a balloon, sending his other segments rolling across the floor in random directions. Lee didn’t have time to scream before her body instinctually bolted toward the lift, narrowly dodging One’s grip. “First!” She yelled at the lift beast. The lift began to drop, but it only made it a few floors before One grabbed the rope. With nowhere else to go, Lee jumped onto the nearest floor and sprinted to the back door. Instead of being greeted by the pond, she was hundreds of feet above the ground. It was one of the structures she noticed earlier. With nowhere else to go, and One fast approaching, she jumped. Her body made a hard thud. “Shame,” One poked his head through the door. “Well, there are others,” he sighed, “I have to find a new trash collector now too.


The stranger, the man with eyes far older than he, stepped out of the caravan. He stared down the group of soldiers they had sent for us. As if one man could stand against Imperium soldiers. If we had double their numbers it wouldn’t make any difference, yet he stood there as if understanding something we don’t. My people hid behind our wagons, watching, not fully understanding the stranger, or his intentions. I was hiding in the mud underneath the same caravan the stranger had just stepped from. I was close enough that I could see him trembling, apparently, whatever he planned on doing, he was just as terrified as the rest of us. I don’t blame him. The Imperium were infamous for their cruelty. They’d been known to kill men for far less than his current actions. Yet, when the stranger spoke, his voice was a contradiction to his trembling body, and it came out resounding and sure. “You tyrants need to leave now. Tell your lord you were not able to find what you were seeking” A tall, ugly solider with a cruel face spoke in a demeaning tone. “Well well, look here boys! it seems we have ourselves a hero. Try to use *creativity* when you kill this one. Hero’s love the idea of dying as a martyr.” That same soldier glanced down and noticed me watching from underneath the wagon. “Hello little girl…” He almost whispered, with an evil grin. “It appears our hero here has a couple rats he is trying to protect! How noble of him! Look closely boys, you can see one of the smaller rats hiding in the mud, just under that wagon.” He stepped closer to me, bending slightly to get a closer look. “I guess our little hero here doesn’t know the dangers vermin like these can pose! Rats, like the one under your wagon can carry nasty diseases. Just killing them doesn’t quite do the trick though. You see that just allows their corpse to rot, spreading more filth and disease. No, the trick is you need to use fire!” With that the soldier pointed at me, then, suddenly, a thin line of bright flame shot from his finger tips directly at me. I attempted to move out of the way but the flame hit me on the hip and immediately caught my clothes on fire. I screamed as the burns lanced my torso. Frantically, I patted the burns with my bare hands causing burns to my palms as well. Eventually the flames stopped and I laid there and wept from the terror and pain of what had just happened. As I composed myself I looked back up at the Soldiers to find that they were *laughing* at what had just transpired. I glanced up at the stranger and found him staring at me, and for the first time I could see his eyes. The strangers trembling had become more intense now and suddenly I realized, from the fury within his eyes, he had never been trembling from fear ..but from rage.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things ! 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 There is no greater inspiration for fiction than life itself. It’s crazy and messy and often unpredictable. Whether you’re in the local coffeehouse, backpacking around the world, or playing board games in your living room on family night, ideas are everywhere. So I’m wondering.. - **How much do you pull from your own life when writing? Do you use events you’ve been through, or add traits of your own to your characters?** - **Have you ever based a character on a real person?** - **If not, where do you turn for inspiration/ideas?** - New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? **Introduce yourself in the comments!** What do you like to write? *** #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.


“Mystery object is six thousand clicks out and closing.” “If long range scanners hadn’t picked this one up, it could have passed right through our solar system without us ever knowing.” “We don’t know if it’s anything yet, it could just be a rogue comet. An asteroid.” “Chemical analysis picked up organic compounds.” “We’ll know more soon.” “Whatever it is, the trajectory shows it came from deep, deep space. Nothing out there for millions of light years. It could have been floating out there longer than human beings have existed. Longer than earth has existed.” Starr floated at the front of the situation room, chewing her lower lip. Their ship, Mieville I, had been mapping and taking samples in the Kuiper Belt with an aim toward future mining when they’d been redirected to intercept the mystery object. Starr didn’t look excited to be in command for this potentially historic moment, she looked nervous as hell. Feldman and Gideon drifted around the outskirts of the room with the rest of the crew, chattering excitedly and grabbing for handholds so they didn’t float into one another in the zero gravity. Holograms and screen readouts at the head of the room gave updates on their progress and showed perceived images of the object itself. Around 2.2 kilometres in length, their target was roughly oblong in shape. Frozen, it reflected light like a comet but something other than dirt and rock lay beneath the surface. If the organic readings were correct then this could be humanity’s first proof of alien life, real alien life, larger than bacteria. Much, much larger. “Once we arrive, we’ll be taking much more detailed scans and measurements. If possible, a team will be going down to the object itself to take samples,” Starr continued. “Same as with any other asteroid, we need absolute professionalism on this job. Then we’ll be awaiting further company orders.” As they approached the object and matched trajectories, the crew crowded the observation deck. A dozen of them jostled elbow to elbow in defiance of company regulations. Even Starr, usually as by-the-book as they came, wasn’t going to deny anyone this monumental opportunity. Across the outside of the window, itself several inches of glassteel, an armoured curtain protected the interior from solar radiation and micrometeoroids. They manoeuvred into position and the shield peeled back. Feldman and Gideon bobbed next to one another. “Mother of God,” Gideon murmured. Religious awe seemed like an appropriate reaction. An astonished hush settled over the deck. Beyond the mystery object was nothing was a distant starfield, nothing to give it scale. Feldman struggled to make sense of the size of the object, disorientated. If they hadn’t been floating in zero gravity he would have had to sit down. What they were looking at was clearly a lifeform, or the corpse of one, but over two kilometres in length. Its basic body type was fishlike. Or like a squid, with a cylindrical body and tentacles on one end but with a number of other appendages as well. The cluster of tentacles to the trailing end of the creature made up only about a third of its total length, frozen in a series of coils and snarls. A series of other appendages, flippers and crablike legs, appeared to be tucked against what Feldman thought of as the alien’s underbelly. Its flesh was reddish-brown beneath a coating of ice, and they could see scales and ripples and all the imperfections of a once-living thing. Some other bits of matter, they almost looked like vegetable growth, were stuck in that ice. A haze of ice crystals and other chunks of darker matter travelled in a cloud surrounding the dead creature during its journey through space. “Look at that eye,” Feldman said. “Look at that mouth, those teeth,” Gideon said. At the other end of the creature’s body from its mass of tentacles was obviously a head. Feldman immediately felt drawn to its staring eye. There was only one eye on the side facing them. Feldman was astonished how, not human, but how earthlike it looked. Like a normal, earth-based fish’s eye, bright gold and with a perfectly round, black pupil. But if Feldman had the scale right, said eye was as wide as a city block. Somewhere in the region of 250 to 300 metres across. Just below it was a canyon of a mouth, revealing teeth that must have been at least as ten stories long. “This is incredible,” one of the other crew said. “Impossible.” “It’s real, it’s really, really real, this is the first proof of actual alien life.” “We don’t know that, yet,” Starr said. “Come on, now, commander! That’s an alien, a living creature! Or it was.” “We’ll need to take samples,” Starr said. “Are those some kind of wounds in its side?” Feldman said, pointing. The creature and ice surrounding it were pitted by dozens of craters, big and small. No doubt souvenirs of collisions with other random bodies during its unimaginably long journey through space. Roughly around the middle of the creature’s body were four roughly square holes, arranged diagonally in a strangely even row. They appeared to be under the ice, as if they’d been afflicted on the beast before it was frozen, maybe when it was still alive. “They could be some kind of missile strikes, or harpoon marks,” one of the science techs, Simpson, said. “Although they’re curiously straight.” “What could do that, to that?” Gideon said. xXx Once the crew were over their initial awe, they got to work according to the orders they’d been given. Mieville I observed the creature from all angles. Lasers mapped every inch of its gargantuan surface. Sonics probed beneath the ice and deep as they could into the creature’s flesh. Chemical analysis was made remotely and samples taken from the cloud surrounding it. “The company needs you to go down to the surface, to collect samples,” Starr said. “Really?” Feldman felt a mix of exhilaration and terror. “What if it isn’t really dead? What if it’s sleeping, in hibernation this whole time, and we wake it up?” Gideon asked. “Our dating methods put the object at something like four billion years old,” Starr said. “It’s shown no reaction to our presence and our scans have shown no signs of life.” “No sign of life as we know it,” Gideon said. “But maybe these things live in space. Maybe this is how they survive, by going into some kind of deathlike state until they come across something to eat, and then they wake up!” “If you’re refusing to follow orders that’s fine, I can find somebody else who’ll do it. I was giving you first crack because you’re our primary spacewalk team.” “Oh no, no no, no way!” Gideon shook his head vehemently. “I wouldn’t miss this for a year’s pay!” Spacesuits had come a long way from the early days of space travel. Feldman and Gideon clipped into theirs easily while in the launch bay. The baggy legs and sleeves around their limbs, and loose folds around their torsos, sealed themselves tighter. Both fit helmets over their heads and attached them to their collars. As was regulation though, Feldman and Gideon double and triple-checked all of one another’s seals and joins. They clipped jetpacks over their shoulders. “If you’re ready, we’ll open the hatch,” Starr’s voice came clear through their helmet comms. “Ready to go, Mieville,” Feldman said. “Hatch opening in three, two, one.” The launch bay’s hatch yawned open to the void. Several kilometres off the side of the Mieville drifted the enormous creature. The frozen alien was actually travelling at an extraordinary speed through the great nothingness. But given the Mieville I was matching its speed and trajectory, and given the lack of surroundings to give it context, it almost appeared to be standing still. Feldman and Gideon detached from the Mieville and used their jetpacks to guide them across the gap. Foaming trails of white propellant dissipated behind them. Between the two, they carried a sled loaded with equipment they needed for the mission. Apart from the Mieville and the creature, and its surrounding cloud, all around them was an unimaginable nothing. A nothing the human mind could not contain. Even after dozens of spacewalks, Feldman had to concentrate on the task at hand to avoid being overwhelmed by it. But then, the task at hand was itself overwhelming. As they got closer, the creature loomed, and loomed. Again, too big for the mind to contain. Not as a once-living thing. With nothing between them, it was astonishing. If it had been alive, moving, Feldman wasn’t sure his mind could have handled it. He could only take it in piece by piece as it was, the frozen tentacles, the appendages, the ripples of its flesh and scales the size of buildings. That tremendous eye. They were less than ants against it as they closed in. “Report in, away team,” Starr said. “Away team, everything in the green out here, Mieville,” Feldman said. “This is a historic moment, you think about what you’re going to say?” Gideon said over the comms. “What? What I’m going to say?” Feldman said. “It’s like the first men on the moon. The first man to set foot on proof of an alien lifeform.” “Why me, why have I got to say it?” “You’re the ranking officer.” They negotiated their way through the creature’s surrounding ice cloud, avoiding any larger chunks of ice or other matter. Tiny ice crystals clung to their suits. They couldn’t feel them of course. Outside the suit was the absolute zero of the void, the suits were shielded and heated. The surface of the creature rushed toward them. They used propellant to slow their approach. Feldman felt his boots hit the surface with a noiseless crunch. His knees accepted the landing. Behind him, Gideon slowed to a landing as well. “There are certain occasions,” Feldman started. “When a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, the wit of which he only dimly discerns. And he more than suspects the joke is at nobody’s expense but his own.” “Pats rule!” Gideon said. “Wait, what was yours?” “It’s from Moby Dick,” Feldman said, and when he sensed Gideon’s cluelessness he jerked his helmet back at their ship. “The Mieville? It seemed appropriate. I’m pretty sure I butchered it though.” The ice covering the creature formed a relatively thin skin only a few metres thick. While the creature technically had its own gravity, like any mass in space, it wasn’t enough to be noticeable to Feldman or Gideon. Their boots clung to the ice instead as they set up to take a sample. The equipment on their sled looked similar to the equipment used to take ice core samples on earth. A towering cylinder attached to a large tripod, winches, and boxy motor, which they all quickly and easily assembled. In the vacuum of space, Feldman of course couldn’t hear the drill as it did its work but if he placed his gloved hand on the cylinder he could feel the vibrations. The drill sank easily through the ice coating. As it met the creature’s flesh, and bit into it, Feldman and Gideon waited with nervous anticipation. In spite of assurances and Feldman’s own conviction that the space beast was long dead, if anything was going to happen then he felt strongly it would happen now. The creature’s vast flesh, rippling reddish-brown scales, spread all around them like an island in space. The drill would be less than a pinprick, less than a mosquito bite, but both of them still held their breath. Nothing happened. The fantastic corpse remained as unresponsive as ever. Eventually, the equipment returned with a cylinder of tightly compacted and ancient flesh, frozen solid aeons ago. Feldman handled it for a moment with appropriate reverence then loaded it onto the sled. Orders were to take samples from several regions if possible. Collecting the equipment, they set off across the creature. Unwieldy as the equipment looked, It was easy to move in zero gravity and Feldman and Gideon had done this same routine many times under more difficult circumstances. Their boots gripped the ice with each step. “Advancing toward the head, Mieville.” They took two more samples, each time without incident. The creature’s antediluvian flesh was extremely dense and frozen to rock but their drill was equipped with both lasers and diamond teeth. They continued until they could see the creature’s blunt nose, its monstrous maw with teeth like skyscrapers, up ahead against the backdrop of space. Looking down, Feldman realised he and Gideon were trekking across the creature’s massive eye. Gold, with a pupil like a bottomless pit, staring eternally through the ice. Feldman had settled into the job like it was a normal task but almost became overcome with an emotion he couldn’t name, a mixture of terror and awe. Not terror of some physical threat but an almost religious terror. Like being in the presence of God, and realising just how tiny and unworthy one single human being was. He’d earlier remembered a video he’d seen once of a diver coming across a whale in one of earth’s oceans, before they went extinct. This enormous mouth suddenly rushing out of the stygian depths as if to consume the diver. Looking big enough to consume the whole world, the diver miniscule in comparison. Said whale would have been a thousandth the size of the creature they stood on. It would have gotten lost in the yawning black of the creature’s pupil. Feldman couldn’t help but think what he would do if the eye, staring up through the ice field, was to suddenly blink. And whatever he told himself, the answer was probably that he would go insane. “Feldman, are you alright? We’re getting increased readings from your suit, heart rate and respiration,” Starr’s voice came through Feldman’s comm. “Yeah, yes, alright thank you, Mieville.” Feldman felt very aware that every word he said might be recorded for historical posterity. “Just struck again, for a moment, by the immensity of it all.” Braver now, Feldman and Gideon set the core sampler over the creature’s enormous eye. They drilled down into the golden iris. If anything was likely to get a reaction it would have been that. But of course, nothing happened and the jelly of the tremendous eye was frozen just as solid as the rest of the creature’s flesh. Feldman and Gideon retrieved their sample and then disassembled the equipment, packing it back onto the sled. Firing streams of propellant, the two astronauts left the surface of the frozen creature and returned to the Mieville I. xXx Feldman and Gideon met with Starr and the head science tech, Simpson, in the situation room. A glowing hologram of the space creature revolved above the central console. Everything was captured in perfect detail, the long oval of a body, tangle of limbs, and its staring eyes. Even the sparkling cloud of ice and debris that hung around it. Starr had to deliver a report back to the company heads. Feldman and Gideon didn’t need to be there for Simpson’s update but Starr figured they had earned it. “What have we got?” Starr said. “The samples confirm that the object is organic. Carbon based, like you or I, or any life from earth, but there are chemical structures like we’re never seen. Of course it’s alien,” Simpson said. “Besides the samples from the animal itself we’ve studied the bits of darker matter floating around the creature. They appear to be vegetable in structure.” “What do we know about the creature?” “You’ve got to remember, my expertise is in chemistry and geology, not xenobiology. People are going to be studying this thing for years, decades-,” “Yeah, yeah, this is just to go in my initial report, doc. You’re not being graded.” “Well, based on the scans we have no reason to believe the creature naturally evolved to live in space. It appears to be some kind of aquatic creature, launched into space somehow. The limbs and body are designed for moving through water. There’s nothing that suggests adaptation for space travel.” “Any theories as to how it ended up floating in deep space then?” “Based on our analysis of the samples, its flesh was exposed to some kind of high heat that basically cooked its entire structure, sometime before it was frozen solid. Maybe some kind of explosion or contact with an atmosphere?” “What about those holes in its side?” Feldman pointed at the hologram. “Four, deep, squarish holes arranged in an almost perfect row? Any idea what could have caused that?” Simpson shrugged. “We analysed them, there’s no blast scorching and no signs of cauterisation that would suggest missiles or lasers. Maybe wherever the animal comes from they’re hunted by some kind of giant harpoons.” “What could do that?” “I have no idea, wherever this thing comes from it could be just as big and threatening to any intelligent race there as it is to us, they just developed the weapons necessary to deal with them.” “What are we going to do now?” Gideon asked. “Orders are to attach ourselves to it and move the object ourselves. We’ll establish it in orbit around Earth, where more scientists can study it,” Starr said. “We’ll be studying it for decades trying to figure out its mysteries,” Simpson said. “It's solved at least one great mystery though, we are not alone in the universe.” “But, how? If it’s from a planet like ours or whatever, how did it get into deep space in the first place?” Feldman said. “How did it find its way to us?” “That mystery we might never know.” xXx *Four billion years earlier…* Another spacecraft, shaped like a box saucer, spun slowly through the endless void. A long range research vessel, home to four Zorblaxion scientists and their families. While in some ways the ship would have perfectly matched human expectations of what an alien spacecraft should look like it was built to a scale almost inconceivable to human imagination. Astronomically more colossal than anything human hands could or would ever create. “Finish your dinner, please.” A Zorblaxion child sat at a table in the craft’s residential wing. With a fork wrapped in the finger-tentacles of their primary manipulator, they poked listlessly at the food left on their plate. “I don’t want any more,” the child whined. “Just two more bites,” the child’s primary parent said. Stabbing at the last sllavgov on his plate with his fork’s four prongs, the Zorblaxion child steered it around the plate. The fishlike creature, with its tangle of tentacles, gold eyes, and pin-like teeth, would be less than a mouthful to the child. It picked up flecks of leftover vegetables stewing on the plate. Several of the Zorblaxion parent’s eyestalks swivelled toward the child. Its primary and secondary manipulators remained occupied at the sink with their dishes. “Don’t play with it, eat it!” “I don’t want it! I’m full!” “Then there’ll be no dessert if you’re so full. Just finish your vegetables, and you’re done.” Half a dozen nostrils flaring, the Zorblaxion child finished the last of the vegetables. Their parent took the plate and utensils and turned back to the sink. They noticed the single remaining sllagov on the plate, four tiny holes stabbed across its midsection, but ignored it. Pick your battles. Instead the Zorblaxion parent fed it into the garbage disposal, washing it down with the scraps of vegetable matter. The spacecraft’s disposal system filtered the water from solid waste. The water syphoned away for recycling. Solid biological waste was ejected into space. As the craft travelled the void, a tiny hatch opened in its side. The waste from the child’s dinner fired into space. Freezing instantly, a coating of ice formed over its surface. Its tentacles and appendages solidified into twisting patterns. Already forgotten, the frozen creature began its journey into the emptiness of deep, deep space. ======  For 2022, I’ve been wanting to write more ‘creature features’ and generally improve my short story writing. My partner got me a Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual for my birthday so I came up with the idea of writing a story every week based on a different creature from that. This week’s inspiration was 'Kraken'. More in this series is on my website, accessible through my profile if you're interested.


It started as a gimmick, a quick fix for a depressed generation hooked on television, social media, low vitamin d levels and zero socialising skills. The gimmick was hopium, the viagra of a lost generation feeling blue. A drug that lifted you up and balanced your moods released the right amount of chemicals into the brain to alleviate the darkness. We had seen others before it, like Xanax. Still, hopium was marketed, it was FDA approved instantly, and it appeared at a time in life when despair, depression and the darkness were second nature in civilisation. A black swan of the drug world or a white swan, depending on how you look at it. Pop up ads with rainbows, bright colours and sunlight backdrops would appear on the news feeds if you scrolled social media, and everybody did back then; you would see oddly hypnotic, almost childlike ads of the so-called harmless pill that took away the fear, the lack of purpose you might be experiencing "don't worry hopiums got you". Overweight and binge eating, "don't worry, hopiums got you". Home alone with no job can't get laid. "Don't worry, hopiums got you!'" It was like a blink in time before it was everywhere and in everyone; none of us knew how malleable we were and how easy we had become. Sheep following the herd without question. Like dominoes confirming our bias with hit after hit continuing to take the elixir of fake happiness. We bent over; we never questioned who was behind it or what the hell it was? We just wanted out; we wanted something to believe in. There were rumours, of course, threads quickly being taken down, and authors demonised being called non-believers. Anyone anti hopium was considered ill or deranged to speak up against happiness itself. Hopium came into the world like a storm that you saw on the horizon, and before you knew it, you were swept up in a torrential downpour of hysteria. At first, the hysteria of happiness. The energy around those first few years was like a trance state of delusional psychosis. People were so happy, or were they hurtling toward complexity itself? I still felt despair; I still felt pain. I cried. I was sad at times; I never told anyone I couldn't, or I would be locked up and taken to hopium centres for the non-believers. I believe the gift I had was that the drug didn't get through to me; I was still human, and I wanted answers. Am I alone in this? Are there others like me? It's been years now, alone, the inner workings of my mind trying to concoct a plan to wake everyone up secretly. I had done some digging and found out the corporation behind the project was funded by a mysterious billionaire who shied away from the public eye. What was the end game here? It all sounds, so cliche to think that one bored billionaire could be behind a world changing event a once in a lifetime switch in human thought patterns in an entire civilisation's mood change.


...Any who found this. I know not why you are here. Perhaps it is chance, or perhaps you followed the same signal we did. If you are reading this... ***Illegible*** ...Our response was the same. When the signal reached us from across the stars, we went. This was not the first such message we had received, protocols were in place and we followed them. It was the year 4,257, by our standard, when this particular signal was detected. Like always it wasn't a communication to the cosmos. It was the species' first attempts at communicating among themselves. Even so it was an indication of intelligent life; our ships were launched. Each time we detected a civilization, we were hopeful. Optimistic that we were not alone in the void of space. Unfortunately, we have always been disappointed. The signals, electromagnetic waves, travel slowly through space. When such signals reach our sensors they are millions of years old, if not older. Still, we have respond to every signal thus far. The first ones we couldn't hunt down. Our receptor technology advanced faster than our spacefaring. History has told us we tried to respond, but received no answer. It wasn't until the year 2,874 that we had reliable space travel and not until 3,752 that we had faster than... ***Illegible. Tablet broken, proceeding to next section.*** ...We made no neighbors. All we found were broken worlds devoid of life. Some wracked by war, others famine, many pestilence. Desolate world after desolate world filled with the bones or carapaces of its former inhabitants. Only fading signs left of the once glorious civilizations that were built there. This led the signals we received to take on a rather morbid epithet. We called them Wails. Which leads to me. Who I am is not important. I am the captain of the ship that followed the Wail here. To a small world in a small galaxy. It is my responsibility to leave this memoriam. As we have left them on so many other worlds. A sign that life once flourished here, and that it still does in another part of the cosmos. Our scientists say this world was once green and blue. That life, carbon based, thrived here. The dominant species was a group of bipedal primates. They called themselves Humans. Their world, wracked by pollution, eventually gave out. It had almost happened to us. We were too late to save them. They were a noble species. Studies indicate strong familial bonds as well as robust communities. They were just beginning to leave their planet... ***Illegible*** ...So we leave this marker. Carved into element number 22, atomic weight 47.867, on this world it is called titanium. The most robust material we could mine from its geography. This record, written in our language, and as many of theirs as we can translate is left for others who might come here; as we have. You are not alone. This universe holds more than death. You are not alone. Coordinates to our... ***Illegible. Tablet broken.*** *Note: This tablet was recovered on an uninhabitable world orbiting a small yellow star in a spiral galaxy on the edge of Sector 215-648-329. The tablet was recovered in pieces. This was recreated with the pieces found. No other portions or whole tablets located. Location of the tablets creator not found. No other signs of life or civilization were found on this world. This remains the only sign of interstellar life outside of our own species.


I have been assigned to; Earth. This news has still not completely sunk in. Earth. The most chaotic and frustrating of our observation planets. I was so sure I was going to receive one of my top three choices. Earth, by the way, was not on my list. It is never on anyone’s list, aside from the most divergent and eccentric of our number, and those, purely by our superior nature, are few and far between. It was one of their kind that found Earth in the first place, I mean really! Who thought sticking their nose into quadrant Tempo Gala 0.4 was a good idea? So new, so volatile, so underdeveloped. I have spent my training dedicated to the songs of the Haphstations, the light shows of the Nexlar, the stealthy games of Velith, all eons of journeys old, all established, all fascinating in their patterns, and steady rhythms in harmony with the universe, with order. Hundreds of journeys spent in the temples of our worlds, studying, seeking the patterns, seeking the comfort of repetition and harmony. “Steady and well-paced.” That is what I am known for, that is the epitome of our order. We watch, we catalog, we seek order and stability. Sure we vie with each other from time to time, especially those of us hoping to join the highest ranks of our temples and become an “Observation Curator”, overseeing worlds, highlighting the best of those simple beings striving to see the patterns. The most powerful Curators oversee the most magnificent planets, heralded for their careful deductions of the patterns within those civilizations. Seeing what will be, carefully aiding those who seek uniformity and harmony, to further raise their knowledge of the gift of clarity and knowing, for all on their world. It is our greatest honor. One that I will ascend to. Maybe that is why I have been relegated to Earth. Pah! I can barely even write the word without feeling anger! An emotion thought purged in my lower journeys. A chaotic emotion, out of step with the patterns and harmonies, an unbound emotion. I will not succumb to it. My fellow junior watchers, they are the reason I am here. All because I reported a divergent chaotic unbound learner, in our midst. Allarik, hmph. They did not deserve to move forward and become a Junior Watcher, not yet. Perhaps because of my faithful intervention, Allarik will one day ascend into the Watcher ranks, having learned to better control that chaos that appears to follow them everywhere they go. No, I was recognized for my actions in dealing with that one. The rest of my peers commended my actions as a necessary step. Too many Observers of Knowledge at the Temples ignored Allarik’s behavior. “Simply immature, not enough journeys, but a keen mind for observing the harmonies.” That was their defense. Ha! And yet, here I am, Earth. This chaotic, unbound, unbridled, violent, overpopulated planet. Of all the trillions of worlds we have chosen to observe, there are few so stuffed full of species, so much; variety, so little space. Why this speck was ever added to our chosen is beyond me. It must have something to do with the one who found it. *Reminder;* check the melodies for who found Earth and which Curators thought it wise to add it to our chosen. Though, when I’ll get back to even check for that information is beyond me. I am to “remain at my post until called back. Observe; reflect; seek the harmonies; seek the knowledge.” Here! The harmonies are not present on such a volatile speck. Well, complaining never did anyone any good. It is a waste of harmony. I am here, and here I am. All first postings last many journeys and I knew that when I chose this path. I will make the best of this; situation. It is still the same cycle, or day, they call it here, day, quaint. So this shall continue Log #1. I have visited the Observation Park, the Lower Curators have provided me with my first observation specimen. I have yet to review; the bracket sits before me, the pale gold fire of the dominant species on this planet, humans. Violent, small, things. My assigned Lower Curator thought my arrival here was amusing, in fact, my interaction with all the Notations on the Observation Deck was concerning. A certain level of disorder, individuality, flair even, was detectable. Most concerning. *Reminder;* send observations from Lower Deck arrival back to Observation Temple with report #1, when complete. Such deviance cannot be permitted. These Lower Curators are our mentors, our guides during our first steps into Observation, they cannot be allowed to wander from The Harmonies. Order above all things must be maintained. Perhaps, that is why I am here. To bring order, my Temple Teachers were most impressed with my steady intellect and adherence to the Passages of One Song. Yes, that must be it. Why else would I be wasted on such a noisy speck of a planet? Already the cacophony of noise gives me a constant headache. So many creatures. I do not know how they bare it. Well then, my specimen: Immediate notes: Name: 84 Journeys: 38 Mated No outputs Notable oddities; has what is called a dog. Seems to be the couple's main focus instead of creating any outputs of their own. Lives in a particularly northern part of this speck. Great. No major dwellings for miles. So, I have been shunted into chaos, to watch a specimen of a brutal stunted race, and I am not even near a large populated area. Wonderful. I must perform my meditations, this whole situation has caused me to lose my harmony, I am feeling very perplexed.


You may have heard by now that there’s an ocean under the earth’s crust. It’s not just an ocean, but an amount of water comparable to every ocean on Earth combined. Cool, right? Kind of like one thousand leagues under the sea of Journey to the center of the earth, right? It’s so much more than that. The last seven years I’ve been trying to come to terms with my reality. I’ve filled notebooks writing the same thing hundreds of times, trying to get it right, trying to make sure you understand. In 2014, a brown diamond rose to the surface of the earth from what was estimated to be 320 miles deep in the Earth. It contained ringwoodite, which itself had a 1.3 percent water content. It may seem like nothing, but it indicated something amazing - water under the earth’s crust! That same year, a group of hand-picked scientists including myself were tasked to dig as deep as possible into the earth by the government. We began slowly, making sure the latest technology could support a dig that would reach blazing temperatures. With our state of the art drill and a spot on the Earth’s sea floor cool enough to drill into, we hoped to reach into at least ten percent of the Earth’s crust. We were eager to begin what would surely be an incredible discovery! How young and naïve we were. What we found, it is beyond comprehension. They wanted to make sure nothing got out, so that in the event something went wrong they could protect the citizens of the world from mass panic, and protect the valuable resource we found from greedy corporations. I signed endless forms, pacts punishable by prison, swore my mind to secrecy, but this is something the world deserves to know. After all, we live on the same Earth, and what lies beneath me lies beneath you too. You were lied to. I’m so sorry. We found evidence of water, and proudly presented it to our superiors. They paraded it to the highest-ups, shared it with everyone they could, and immediately closed the project down despite our insistence that we should continue and see if there was anything else down there. We told the world that we found water underground, lots of it. We were expecting perhaps microscopic, dead bacteria from eons ago. The superiors ordered us to stop, but greedy as we were we pushed farther in the name of science. I wish every day that we had left it alone. Instead, we pooled our money and appealed to whoever we could, and eventually found an eager sponsor. Have you ever wished you’d never learned the truth about something? That your hunch that your husband having an affair was false? That Santa was actually real? On day forty seven our seismographs went off the wire. The readings were something akin to a deep sea creature’s call from the bottom of the ocean. Except, as we came to find out, it was the movement of the things making our scans go crazy. We assumed it was crust movement from a tectonic plate, like a natural disaster close to us. The readings were erratic and lasted for hours. Our sponsor helped us get our hands on a new model of a machine that could show shapes based on the readings, technology unheard of at the time. We were hoping for tectonic movement, and how I wish that was what it was. We expected a breakthrough, just not the kind we got. We realized one day the erratic readings were actually patterns that lasted for Hours or days at a time. We checked in about any natural disasters close to us, and only heard of a small earthquake in California. We called in two more people, experts in tectonic plate movement and deep sea readings respectively. They were as baffled as we were. It was something solid. And then another solid thing. And then another. Huge, and moving as if they were alive. That night after a few drinks we laughed at the sarcastic suggestion that they were sea monsters. In the following days, we held multiple meetings that lasted anywhere from sixteen to twenty hours with little. breaks, trying to find out what kind of rock or mineral could move like that and after scanning hundreds of research papers and both classified and de-classified documents, nothing came about. There was a promising lead in boiling water and debris creating the movement, but it hit a dead end. Theory by theory, the possibilities slowly fell away until we had to face the idea that what moved in the water was indeed, in some ways alive. Horrifyingly, the size of the underwater ocean stayed the same, but the volume of water was diminished to accommodate what we are still trying to classify. Sharks? Snakes? Eels? Megoladons? Nothing sticks. They have no oxygen, no food source, no reason to even exist. What is their purpose? I am beginning to truly believe they are titans, something more than any tiny stupid human brain can understand. I’ve sat with this secret for so long that some days I wonder if I’m still the same man, still a sane man. I swear I can feel them now, moving, swirling under my feet, and if they moved too much surely the crust would crumble and I would fall into the gaping, slithering darkness. One of the scientists couldn’t handle what we found and hanged herself the year of our discovery. Two died in mysterious freak accidents in as many years after coming close to sharing the truth. Another disappeared from the face of the Earth just weeks ago. Now seven years from our discovery date, I don’t know how many are left - I don’t dare try and find out. I’m afraid that I might be the only one. I went into hiding when I realized what they were doing to us, but running away from reality has only diminished my psyche. I live a hermit’s life - my desk covered with books I don’t read in an attempt to cover the obsessive drawings and possible answers. The titans appear in my nightmare black as night, slippery and beastly. Long and thick like snakes, but beyond anything we have in our oceans. Every time I fall asleep, I wake up floating in the horrible underground ocean. Through the inky blackness I can see them - they surround me; I feel them sliding by my skin as they close around me and smother me with their horrible bodies. I live near a pond to which I’ve rigged a lighting system. Every day I go out and compulsively check to make sure I can see the bottom. I can’t get close to it without my knees giving out and panic taking hold of me, but I still need to check. Life lost meaning with no one to hear or believe me. I am afraid of the dark, but perhaps death is not darkness. I tried to take my life. It didn’t work, and bitter as I was at the time that my attempt to escape my constant and all-encompassing depression failed, I believe it may have been a sign to finally do something. The moment you see this, I’m a dead man, but knowing someone will see this has lifted an immense weight off my chest. I may have lost parts of myself, even parts of my mind, but finally alleviating years of guilt and obsession may make the last of my days more peaceful. When they come for me, I won’t fight, and I won’t die afraid. I have done what I can, and I can rest peacefully knowing I finished what my colleagues set out to do. Unlike my little pond there is no air in that magnificent cave below us, no light, no green. There is only the huge creatures that haunt the dark water. How they have survived for millions of years I am sure we will never know. But still they live, two hundred times larger than a blue whale. I am losing my mind. I hope that if I go to hell it is truly at the center of the Earth so I don’t have to be near what dwells just beneath our feet. Nothing I do can distract me from them. Every time I lay down, every time I wake up, they will always be there. They exist beyond this delicate crust we call home, beyond your science, your cities, your gods.


I was jerked from my thoughts as a rocks glass slid into view with ice jostling in a double-shot of bourbon, sloshing dangerously close to the rim... Had the damn bartender spilled a drop of my Maker’s Mark, I would have demanded a complementary shot, which he wouldn’t deny me once I batted my eyelashes. I would have given him a piece of my mind if he refused, and he would have to continue to serve me with a smile. Under that dim light, I surveyed the bar as my eyes were drawn to the distressed wooden door, which was ushering in a circle of girlfriends, strutting in their high heels. There were five flaunting women, all laughing obnoxiously as if they had already had a few rounds of drinks. They were dressed in an array of colors, patterns, and styles, yet a sense of uniformity hung among them. Different hair-do’s, lipstick, and accessories were on parade; yet, as a checkered black and white pattern dims to grey with distance, so did this display of womanhood blend to a dull gray. Maybe I was just seeking some interior moral high ground—criticizing in order to deny the envy that choked in my throat at the sight of females enjoying each other’s company as I sat alone. Before I could further investigate my motives, I realized I had inadvertently stared a little too long, or perhaps too intensely, because the redhead glanced my way while the hostess attended to her brood. As our eyes met, my eyes burned with embers of embarrassment as if she had heard my unflattering thoughts. Grimacing, I looked to the left, pretending I was never examining the women in the first place. My eyes unwittingly took hold of a clean-shaven, well-dressed young man alone at the bar, about five empty stools down from my lonely ass. My seat may as well have been empty. It took a moment for me to realize we were indeed making eye contact, but my mind still lingering on the redhead. I then hurried into full retreat and looked ahead at the TV, only to realize I would have to feign interest in Nascar... This is just great, what woman watches Nascar at a bar on a weekday? After a moment, I realized the man at the bar had already been gazing at me when I caught his eye. Was he watching me the whole time I was analyzing those women? I shifted in my seat uncomfortably and my hand slid into the wet trail my glass had blazed . . . Oh right, my drink. I haven’t even touched it, and it’s already dripping with condensation. My bourbon is probably all watered down now. I wonder if it would be a bother to ask for a new one . . . No, I can’t. Too embarrassing. I’ll just have to remember to ask for it neat next time. I always forget that’s how I like it . . . Why did I even bother coming here for a drink in the first place, when it’s so much cheaper to buy the bottle next door? After all, Mom always taught me the virtue of “buying in bulk,” but I guess she wouldn’t look kindly on my hoarding of vices. I suppose I know the reason I find myself here instead… that bottle of bourbon wouldn’t last the night. This is my way of attempting to temper the never-satiated thirst of the bottle-burdened breast. I finally take my first sip, wondering at how the chilled bourbon’s warmth floods my chest like flames in an empty furnace. With my heart momentarily warmed, I keep at bay the loneliness that always crowds my mind in these crowded places. As a second wave of bourbon washes over my parched tongue, I notice out of the corner of my eye that the redhead was walking into the ladies room. Perhaps it’s the bourbon playing with my imagination, but I swear I sensed something ineffable in that fleeting gaze we shared earlier. I don’t know what, but her eyes betrayed some lingering pain that lie beneath her glamorous attire. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel a sort of deja vu. At first, I rationalize thinking I am only desperate to make some real connection with another human being, tiring from the males smothering me with the sexual glint in their eyes. Then, it occurs to me: amidst her carefully crafted outfit, there was one element she forgot to coordinate with the rest of her ensemble—her emerald eyes. Hers were the gems that stood out in that sea of gray. I gulp the rest of my bourbon and quickly make my way to the bathroom, hoping I might somehow piece together this perplexing puzzle. Playing detective on a reconnaissance mission is far less frightening an undertaking than actually confronting another adult female in an attempt to befriend her. Walking to the restroom, I am praying it is furnished with stalls so I have a chance at interaction, or at least eaves-dropping. I pause just before entering. Noticing it was unlocked, I slowly begin pushing the door open until doubt wells up in my gut... This is so obvious! No one enters a bathroom creeping like this! So, I change course and hurriedly trot through to a stall. No one else is in the bathroom, but one stall is occupied. It doesn’t take master detective skills to figure out it’s the redhead. I sit on the pot and hope to get a few tinkles out to really sell my story, all the while using my brainwaves to communicate to the redhead... come on redhead, what’s your story? Give me something here... I just want something to make this night worthwhile, some real-life intrigue. It doesn’t take long for me to realize how ridiculously I am acting. I figure I manufactured everything within my imagination. Then, I hear it... sniffles... She is crying! I gleefully applaud my own intuition. However, my glee quickly fades into sympathy. Now I feel really idiotic. I am making this poor woman’s inexplicable sadness a part of my little game. Guilt ensues, emptying any warmth garnered by the bourbon and the intrigue. I leave the stall and wash my hands, debating whether I should leave her alone or try and offer a shoulder. She doesn’t need my sympathy. After all, she is here with her exuberant friend group. Then again, how good of friends could they be if they don’t realize she’s in here bawling her eyes out. Well, if I were crying in a stall, I would definitely want to be left alone. It’s far too embarrassing to be found out. Although, there was that one time in that empty church when I let loose my wailful, ugly tears. The elderly woman who discovered me there just hugged me without saying a word. It was powerful. I even considered for a moment that she may have been an angel. This is different though… she was an old lady, and that was a church. This is a bar. . . in a bathroom, and... well... me. Plus, I’m just not a “go-hug-a-stranger” type of gal. Although, maybe I could be . . . right now, this moment could be a new beginning for me. I can cast off this heavy cloak of social anxiety and throw open my arms to the true Christian Charity I’ve always longed to be capable of! What if all Redhead needs is some demonstration of Christ’s love to lift her up? What if she doesn't know Christ? What if God put me in this very bathroom at this very moment with this very woman for some cosmic purpose in His grand scheme?! I finish washing my hands, and Redhead seems to be waiting for me to leave so she can exit the stall, having gained her composure. I begin to worry whether I am now being an asshole because of my selfish desire to make some grandiose, self-aggrandizing, charitable gesture. At this point, I am pretty much holding her hostage in a bathroom stall. I figure I’ll give it just one more minute and powder my nose while I consider my next move. First, I picture myself hugging her like the old woman did me, not saying a word, only speaking if spoken to. That seems a bit much for a bathroom encounter, so I ponder gently placing my hand on the small of her back and asking if she needs anything. I know human touch is powerful. Jesus worked a miracle just by a woman pushing through a crowd to touch His cloak! God could surely work through a small gesture on my part. Still, this is far outside my comfort zone. My brain waves once again begin to plead with Redhead... Come on, let’s not end this night in a stalemate. Don’t you realize, God placed me here because of you! I wasn’t even going to come out tonight, but then my ex felt like reminding me again of why we are no longer together. What are you hiding? Her heels sharply click on the tile floor as she exits the stall with her head down, seemingly unaware of my existence as I stare with anticipation at her reflection. She looks up when she reaches the counter, and she begins touching up her eye makeup to hide that she had been crying. She doesn’t even look over at me, but I can’t have this night end like this. Not again. Every other time I’d been faced with some kind of ordained moment from above to make a connection with another woman, I cowered in fear and let the moment pass me by. Not this time, no, my begging hand reaches over and finds the small of her back, and I look at her as if she were the one who needs reassurance. She smiles, and at last she casts her eyes in my direction. I am lured into her enchanting, tear-stained eyes, whose color is as deep as the evergreen forests I played in as a child. Was that the deja vu I felt? I search that deep wood for what seems like an eternity as their branches wrap around me to share their secrets. Then, I realize it wasn’t branches pulling me in, but her milky hands, which she has tenderly placed on my face. I find myself racing into that dark wood as she brings her plum lips and presses against mine with strange vigor. I don’t understand, but for once, I don’t feel I have to. I do more than accept her lips’ embrace as I respond with equal vigor. I am shaken from my imagination’s grip when I hear a cough and a sniffle from the stall. She has a cold, and I suppose that’s how my story ends for tonight, unrealized promise.


Boiled peanuts are the best. The best way to get good quality boiled peanuts is to go and drive down the highway in the armpit of Alabama and find a place that looks like it sells meth and has a plywood sign with the words "\[southern name (Buck, Rog, etc)\]'s Boiled Peanut". The sort of place that reeks with a cacophony of the harsh scent of pine trees, goat dung(and just dung in general), sulphur, chickens, gunpowder, and maybe just a smidge of meth and weed. The sort of place that is about 50 miles from nowhere and is just a barn with three walls, a rusty, beaten up 1950's camper with about half a coat of paint, yellow-brown curtians with flowers on them, and a small oak tree growing through the hood, A shopping cart with a lawnmower engine lashed onto the side with bungee cords for some godforsaken reason, and a old man about of about 50-60 years with a beard wearing stained overalls and no shirt sitting next to a potbellied rusty stove in the three-walled barn. That, my friend is where you will find some of the best boiled peanuts in the whole wide world and if the police show up with a K9 units and non-stanard bullet-proof vests, that is when you no you really got the good stuff. (Yes this happened to me and it was pretty funny). Me and my church youth group were heading to Florida (we are from Georgia so it was quite a bit of a ride) and after we had been on the road for about half an hour we hear a pop followed by a rythmic thud. we pulled over and found that a piece of a chain-link fence had cut through the rear tire of Fr. Roberts car. The Father didn't have a jack so we walked up the road trying to wave someone down. After about 15 minutes a white camper pulled over and the driver offered his assistance. After getting the tire off and putting on the donut tire we were back on the road. After about an hour of driving I had begun to think that you weren't supposed to drive on a donut tire for more than a few minutes, but I decided that I was just an 18 year old knuckle-head and Fr. Robert surely knew how they worked better than me and it was probably a higher quality donut or something. At this point, the donut managed to work itself halfway off the rim and go flat. At the time, we were driving through Alabama when we got the second flat tire. Fr. Tony pulled over at Buck-Peanut Roasted or Boil. (It wasn't an upclass establisment). After being stuck for about half an hour we learned that the tow truck wouldn't arrive for 2 hours. There were just three of us Me, Fred, and Liz in the car plus Fr. Robert. (Names changed of course) So we started calling churches in the area and the second church we called said that they were sending one of their deacons over right now. We were all very happy at the good news and once he arrived we took the wheel off of Fr. Robert's car and drove into town, got lunch and then came back. We pulled in right behind a police SUV with the words "K9 Unit" written on it and one of the police officers was holding what looked like a warrant. Father Robert explained that our car broke down and we were just about to leave. Father Robert was wearing his collar so they knew he was a minister (I am an Anglican) They said that they were just here to talk to Buck and waited for us to leave until they approached him. That is the tale of how I met my church crush (The girl named Liz). She seems pretty cool, and I plan to ask her out in about a month when we go on the same youth group trip again this summer.