This is a story I started on r/WritingPrompts and some readers wanted me to continue it so I'm moving it here. This is part 1 so if anyone is interested in continuing to read keep an eye on the subreddit because this is where I'll be posting it for now on. I'll post the prompt first so everyone can see where the story is coming from.  **\[WP\] Your alarm went off this morning like always. You got up, got around and went to work. When you arrive, you see your friend Ed. He staring at you like you’re a ghost. He says, where have you been. No one has seen you in over three years.**  “Yeah, right,” Billy said to Ed who was staring at Billy with wide eyes. Billy went to grab his turnout gear from his locker but when he picked it up, he noticed there was a different name on the back. “Smith? Isn’t that the new guy?” Smith’s name was stickered across the top of Billy’s locker too where his own used to be. “Very funny,” Billy said with a sarcastic and annoyed tone to his voice. “Where’s my gear at?” “Dude, we cleared out your locker three years ago when you disappeared. Now you just walk in here like nothing ever happened? I’m surprised that your key card still works.” Billy could tell by the look on Ed’s face that Ed was serious. His own face changed to an expression of confusion. “Where have you been?” Not knowing how to answer, Billy started to feel very sick to his stomach. This had to be a joke. There was no way that it could be anything else. He had gone to bed the night before like always. Nine o’clock. That’s what time he made sure he was laying down by on work nights. No, Ed was lying, and he knew it. It was impossible for him to have been gone for three years. Who was paying his rent? Why hadn’t his car been towed? None of this made any sense. Peter walked into the locker room and his jaw dropped. “Billy?” Coffee in hand and a blank stare on his face, Peter was both confused and happy to see his old co-worker and friend. “Is that really you?” “This is a joke, right?” Billy asked Peter. “You guys got together and decided to pull a good one on me, didn’t you?” “You’ve been gone for three years, man!” Peter said nearly shouting. “I was just here three days ago like always,” Billy argued back. “We had that car fire on the interstate and pulled that lady out before she burned…” Billy stopped talking and suddenly was lost in memory. “That lady.” Trying to get Billy’s attention, Ed held his phone in front of Billy’s face. When Billy finally came back out of his thought he focused on the screen and saw a Facebook group dedicated to finding him. Ed scrolled through the posts of people wishing him to be found and even a few possible sightings. Billy snatched the phone out of Ed’s hand when he saw a picture of a blonde lady with a red shirt and gold necklace. Sherry Berkheimer. She had posted multiple times, but Billy only recognized her as the woman they pulled out of that car that was, to him, only three days ago. “That’s her,” Billy said. There was something about her that Billy couldn’t put his finger on. Then he remembered something she did after Billy dragged her away from the burning mess that was her car on the side of the busy interstate. She had grabbed his arm and whispered something, but he couldn't make out what it was. Through his mask and the sound of his breathing, like Darth Vader, it was too loud to hear her. The traffic speeding by with no care for the first responders safety didn’t help with the noise either. She was the key to figuring this out. Still confused and not totally accepting of what was happening, Billy knew he had to find her and couldn’t explain it either. He just knew that’s what he had to do. There was just one problem. When Billy clicked on her picture and looked through her profile he realized, by the posts made on her wall, that she was now missing too.  \ Sherry Berkheimer woke up sweating profusely in the middle of the night. Her sheets were soaked through to the mattress. The night sweats had been going on for a couple of weeks now, but they were getting worse. So were the nightmares that accompanied them. It was so bad that she had to strip down from her wet clothes and towel dry. There was no use trying to go back to bed. She knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, knowing this from all the previous nights she had woken up in a swampy mess. Putting on fresh night clothes before wadding her sheets in a ball, she washed her sheets once again and put on some fresh coffee. Three fourteen A.M. Right in the middle of the witching hour. That’s what the clock said when she threw her tired self onto the couch and turned on the television. She was trying to forget the nightmares, but she couldn’t. Getting drunk before bed was the only thing that had made them stop (can’t dream when you’re passed out) but even that had stopped working. Each night they became more vivid, always starting out the same way. A blazing ball of fire that threatened to burn her up then a young man pulling her to safety. If that’s where it had ended, then everything would have been fine but that’s not how it worked out. Standing behind the young man was a shadowy figure and Sherry knew that’s what was responsible for setting the fire that was meant to kill her. As punishment for foiling its plans, the shadow took the young man instead of her, dragging him into some dark, black abyss. Like a black hole in the middle of space, it spun and swallowed the man up, the shadow going with him. That’s usually where she woke up but not tonight. This time the dream went on. She followed the man into the abyss, screaming and yelling at the shadow to let him go. She wouldn’t let the shadow take him, he had saved her and now it was her turn to save him. When eight o’clock came around Sherry was ready to head to work. Her make up was on but nothing could hide the tired bags under her eyes. She filled her silver travel mug to the brim with more coffee and she was off. In her black Toyota Camry, she exited her neighborhood, drove through town, and hit the interstate. The first half of the drive was normal enough, except for the exhaustion she felt from a lack of sleep, but that changed when she felt a loud thump on her driver’s side door. Reacting quickly to the car that had just side swiped her, Sherry jerked her wheel to the right causing her car to spin before flipping several times and coming to a stop on the median of the interstate, right past the guard rail. She had landed right side up and for this she felt lucky, but her door wouldn’t open. She felt a gash on her head from where she had hit the steering wheel and knew she was hurt bad. “My phone,” she said with panic in her voice. “Where’s my phone.” No one was stopping and somewhere during the summersaults her phone was tossed out of her reach and now she couldn’t find it. To make matters worse, a small cloud of black smoke was now rising from engine compartment right in front of her eyes. Then the flames shot up from under the hood. Frantically, Sherry jiggled the car door, but it was no use. She was stuck, feeling too weak and hurt to crawl out any other way. Slowly the flames made their way towards the cab of her car. Sirens blared from far away. “Please be coming for me. Please be coming for me. Oh, please God let them be coming for me,” Sherry pleaded out loud. Lucky for her, they were. Someone who had witnessed the accident had called nine-one-one and multiple passer-bys after that reported that the car was now one fire. But no one stopped. “Dispatch to Engine Six, we have reports that the vehicle is now on fire with possible entrapment.” “Ten-four. Vehicle on fire with possible entrapment,” the lieutenant answered back over the radio before telling the engineer to step on it. It was a redundant statement though. They were already going as fast as the engine would take them. Flames were now right on top of Sherry, and she screamed as they fought to engulf her. Then she realized, this was it! This was her dream! The sirens were now right behind her, but the smoke was closer, and she began to choke on the soot filled air, reeking of burning plastics and chemicals. It smelled like cancer. Just in time, her window shattered, and a gloved hand reached in to grab her. It hurt being dragged through the glass shards and Sherry screamed but she was grateful. The man who had grabbed her was covered from head to toe but when he stopped to make sure she was breathing, Sherry could see his eyes clearly through his face piece. They belonged to the young man in her dream and standing behind him was the shadow. “He’s right behind you,” Sherry said to the firefighter, but he couldn’t understand her. “It’s ok, ma’am. You’re safe now. The ambulance is pulling up right now,” said the firefighter. That’s when Sherry passed out from her injuries.


It was dark traveling through the abyss. Everything swirled around like an optical illusion in a fun house, the kind where everyone walks on a stationary bridge and it feels like they’re going to fall over from the spinning colors around them. But Sherry wasn’t in a fun house, and she was really spinning. Around the cone shaped black hole she went until she was spit out at the other end, hitting hard on the rocky floor below her. Hot air surrounded her and had the stank of death on it. Flashes of orange light glimpsed in her eyes all throughout the open cavern she had fallen into through the abyss. Screaming. In front of her was the shadow dragging away the young man that had rescued her. Sherry followed but the shadow was quick and disappeared into the depths of the cavern, the young firefighter helpless to escape its grasp. Beep. Beep. Beep. Sherry woke up in the hospital plugged into various tubes sticking out of her arms. Over her face was a mask pushing oxygen into her lungs which hurt each time she inhaled despite the fresh, clean air traveling through her throat. The feeling in her chest was like an upper respiratory infection but with several bricks placed on top of her. Everything hurt and she felt like she had been thrown down every flight of stairs in a high rise building twice. Though she had been barely clinging to life just a few hours ago, Sherry was going to make it. Despite its best efforts the shadow had failed to kill her. Why did it want her? More importantly, was it going to come back to finish the job? The thought of it coming back terrified her. She didn’t want any of this and couldn’t understand why this was happening to her. It was all too much for her mind to handle and a part of her wished the shadow had finished the job just so she could be done and over with this mess. The anxiety was the worst part. Then she remembered the young man from her dream, the firefighter who saved her life. Did the shadow go after him like in her dream? It couldn’t have. Not on the side of the busy interstate like that. Everyone would have seen it happen. But the shadow was there, clear as day, standing right behind him. She saw it just like in the dream and part of her wondered if she was the only one who did see it that day. Several minutes after Sherry woke up a pretty red headed nurse with light freckles dotting her face walked into the room to check on her. “Oh, good you’re up,” said the nurse. She was wearing blue scrubs and her name tag said Michelle on it. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Berkheimer? Is there anything I can get you?” “Water,” Sherry said in a hoarse voice. Her throat was scratchy, and she could barely speak in a whisper. The smoke did that to her. “Right away, Mrs. Berkheimer.” Michelle walked to the sink and filled a plastic cup with cold water. “It’s Sherry.” “Is there anything else I can get you, Sherry? Are the pain meds working?” They were but Sherry had nothing to compare it too, otherwise she would know that she was much better off right now than without them. “Everything hurts,” Sherry managed to squeak out in her raspy, smoke damaged voice. She took the water from Michelle’s hand and moved the oxygen mask to the side to take a drink. The water was soothing on her throat and for a moment it felt normal. “Thank you. That helps a lot.” Michelle filled another cup of water and sat it down on the table beside Sherry. “I’ll get the doctor,” she said. “He’ll want to check you out now that you’re awake.” Two weeks passed before she was released from the hospital and when she was finally out, she wanted to show her gratitude to the firefighters and EMS crew that came to her rescue when no one else would. Her sister, Helga, became her temporary chauffeur while she was still recovering. Even if Sherry’s car hadn’t been totaled the pain meds were enough to keep her from driving. Helga was the only one Sherry had left in this world. Their parents had died years ago, and her husband had left her for another woman not too long before the nightmares started. Sherry had attributed the nightmares to him leaving but now she knew otherwise. It was something different. Something much eviler and more sinister. “Maybe you can get one of those cute firemen to ask you on a date,” Helga joked with Sherry. Sherry laughed but she wasn’t interested. It was still too soon after her husband left for her to move on. She was in no mental state to look for love again anyways. “I’m just going to say thank you,” Sherry said to Helga holding a plate of brownies up and a letter with a handwritten note. When they got to the firehouse, they found the guys lounging in their evening recliners in front of the television. Training was done for the day and now they were sitting around waiting for the next call. “Which one of you is the one that pulled me from my car,” Sherry asked Ed and Peter who had answered the door to receive the gifts. Ed and Peter gave each other a troubled look then Ed turned back to Sherry and said, “He’s missing, actually. No one has seen him in two weeks.” Sherry’s heart sank and she felt dizzy almost instantaneously. Ed and Peter must have noticed her wobbling because they instinctively grabbed her arms and took her gently to the ground as he knees gave way beneath her. “Ma’am. Ma’am, are you ok?” “I’m fine,” Sherry said. “I just need to go lay down for a bit.” “Let us bring you inside to sit down.” “No, I’m fine. Really. I just need to go lay down at home. Are you ready to go, Helga?” “I can take you home now if that’s what you’re asking,” Helga answered Sherry. Peter and Ed helped Sherry to her feet and escorted her to Helga’s car. Ed held the door open for her and Peter held onto her arm while she got into the passenger seat. “Thank you, both,” Sherry said shooting a sweet smile in Ed and Peter’s direction. They said their goodbyes and Helga started back in the direction of Sherry’s house. “Do you need me to take you to get checked out before you go home,” Helga asked Sherry. “No, I’m fine. Just take me home,” Sherry answered back. “Are you sure? I don’t want anything to happen to you. If you feel like you need to go to the doctor then you need to tell me.” “It’s fine, Helga. It’s just that…” Sherry stopped mid-sentence and made a worried face. “It’s what? What is it, Sherry?” Helga was turning the car towards the off ramp going down the same interstate where Sherry had her accident. “I saw something, Helga. Something was trying to kill me and now I think that missing firefighter might be in trouble.


This is how it starts. For an entire decade she played the game of love and obedience. She never twice questioned who the real object of importance was. Him or her. I say twice because the moment she realized they both can’t possibly make it out of this, she-. I’d rather show you. Her name was an amalgamation of letters that spelled beauty, hope, trust, domination, and war. Venus is what they call her. A flower with a mind of its own. Upon her 21st birthday she was gifted freedom, an abundance of inheritance and her dream career. Which started with her first assignment. A single contract that would shower her in oceans of endless fulfilled desires, a protected blacklisted name, a more than sturdy brand-new identity to allow er to safely travel the world. A damn good bargain, right? You’d think. Just like se did. But she was jarred by the missions only specification: fall in love. What a gorgeous degradation. And what he didn’t know was that he was the last child to hold the helm to the Athenian slab. The most priceless item in existence. It’s said to roughly calculate the structure of black matter and give us the last known location of the routinely circulated tomb of Prince Obsidian. Wrapped within his mummification, tucked in his boney clasped hands, the bulb of the two sister Great Basin Bristlecone Pine tree’s branches twisted in a double helix. Like two snakes which make a staff, its round top is rumored to be active with dark energy. The place where both serpent mouths mangle. As an immortal being, he gave his godly properties to the remaining deities for their safe concealment of this forbidden element. Another specific to her mission: Kill and retrieve. What exactly? His CCS, or Carbon Chip Set. His set identity. The only thing that will give her access to his inheritance bunker. On her birthday it was only right she held her composure while celebrating in the dining quarters of his families most prestigious private village hotels. His main residence. It was from the extent of the ball room where he leaned against the massive pearl entrance column. A perfectly distressed five figure four-piece suit, close cut black wool beard, folds of twisted dreads to match. She in a painted on plum dress that slept lavishly on her neck and cut just above her knees. Curves of an hourglass, skin of bronze, a smile that became a spotlight when excited. Her tamed kinky hair slipped with curls that tickled her shoulders. Hazel eyes that he could pick up from a couple yards away. Lips that he swore mouthed his name. High cheek bones, red lipstick, white heels with soles that seemed stepped in pools of blood orange. He was hooked the first sight. He was drowning in her slow-motion dance circled by a group of celebrating friends. Most of them belligerent from the excessive amounts of complimentary mimosas. “Siyah.” His dear friend, the floor manager Eladio elbowed the tranced man. “Venus. And you own the place. That’s a good starter.” A firm pat on the shoulder and a single eye wink begins his departures. Siyah, still oblivious, stares with crossed arms. He nods softly, capturing the advice late. Fighting the want to approach he softly mumbles an introduction script. “Hi, I’m Siyah. This place is what I own- no.” He shakes his head, looking at the floor, rethinking. “I own here. I’m Siyah. No-“ Why can’t I get this? He thinks to himself. Scratching the side of his head. Unknown to him the distant party disperses as the group agrees to return to the infinite pool dug into the edge of the high-rise hotel. Venus unmounts from the center platform, places her empty drink on the tray of a passing waitress. She collects two filled champagne flutes of bubbly fresh squeezed orange juice with a sliver kissing the small mouths edge. As she strides towards the mouth of the doorway, her heels sounding the marble speckled floor, her increasing click stops right in front of the bow headed Siyah. His eyes crunch, head cocks as he notices her closed toed white heels. His glare shoots up, shocked by her presence he nervously looks for the words with a gape mouth. She fragments him with an alluring soft voice. “Venus,” She holds out a single flute. “and you?” Jostling the glass softly she nods, signifying him to take the drink. As he weakly grasps the crystal, she throws her drink back. Encouraging him to do the same. “It’ll calm your nerves.” He lifts his, not breaking eye contact as he guzzles the cold liquid. She takes both glasses and calls a waiter over to rid them of the cups. “Siyah,” He says with a stretch. Sour faced to the potency of sour champagne in the mixture. He forces a grin, covering up the disgust from the alcohol. “You should show me the rest of the it then Mr. owner.” She lifts a single eyebrow, a devilish smile that stretches a single side of her red lips. Without hesitation he straightens his posture, fixing his suit jacket by both lapels, spinning around with a single arm triangled that she grabs hold onto. The day was filled with comfortable conversation expression individual viewpoints on the world, their likes, dislikes, their past occupations, political stand points, investments, heritage, future goals, and current emotional standings. She essentially ditched her friends; he ignored his demands to stand in the commanding limelight for the day. Turning the role over to Eladio who milked the temporary placement with eccentric energy. His relentless act distracted the crowds enough to allow Siyah a day in peace. They laughed like children under sparkling star light and crescent moon beams. Gold crusted dark chocolate covered fruit melted beside their hot tub in waves of spilled water that would sink the cement ridden plate. As they grew quiet with the calming night, they would end in an intimate, fighting embrace. Racing from the salt water jacuzzi to the linen tucked California king. With audible yearns of endlessness fogging the mirrors cover the ceiling they sailed into the night, thrashing in a tsunami of satisfaction. Venus rose as Siyah snored. Tucking a velvet robe under her crossed arms as she fits herself within. She leans from the penthouse railing. The lights below, the speckles of flame from citronella candles dug into the beach, the widespread resort lighting that was glowing around the building, the comparable clear night, the sound of running water from the infinite pool. She soaked in the comfortably cool breeze. Siyah woke, laid on his back, half his limbs dangling from the lifted platform bed as the sun broke into the open back glass wall. With a heavy groggy voice, he exclaims pain as he awakens. “Oh man...” He strains to roll over. Bringing his numb limbs flat onto the bed. “Shit.” He rubs his temple, blocking the refracting glare of the rising sun. In his squint he pats the bumps under the comforter next to him. “Venus?” His soft voice breaks. He exhales deeply as he peels the sheets back to notice a line of pillows. “Over here.” A jolly voice reaches from the cross-room chair behind a still steaming platter on top of a refreshment cart. “I told them for you, your usual. I took the liberty of ordering myself a special treat.” She raises a bellini. He grins, a relieving laugh that ends with a quick “Ouch.” He lays back down. He stumbles back into a heavy sleep. Chasing the sun into lunch. He woke from a knock on the front door. “Siyah!” Eladio was on the other side banging on the door like a police officer. “Man get down here! I’m not being another pawn today! We got a retirement party today and the Legacy Board Meeting today! I swear these old women won’t leave me alone and you know how these people be man! Get your ass to the ball room immediately!” Siyah stumbled to the cross-room cart. His food still untouched. Venus missing. A folded hotel note sat on the covered plate. “If you want me, come find me. \-Venus <3” He bites his lip, cheerful, placing the note within his nightstand drawer. “On my way buddy!” He joyfully yelled through the hang over and soreness ravishing his body. “I’m serious man! I expect you down there in 15-minute man! Don’t do this to me today!” The water breaks open, the pressured hot water silencing any incoming noise. As he breached his room, the race was on. Starting in the lobby Siyah stood at the podium, greeting the incoming party as they piled in. His usual morning, but now afternoon announcement was filled with a scripted introduction and short description of his family’s legacy, the party goer’s importance to their mission and an overall appreciation with a bid of enjoyment. “Here in paradise, you don’t need to pinch yourself. You’re not dreaming. You’re living the dream!” As he executes an energetic finale the crowd of mid age woman woo and roar. A line of staff and waiters flood in as he runs out. Siyah moved from floor to floor, room to room, side of the building to side, beach to peach, parking lot to the sky loft looking for a hint of this mysterious woman. He began cursing under his breathe, kicking himself for not asking for her contact. He did everything alone. Refusing to ask his own staff to identify a one-night fling. But he finds himself rapping his four fingers on the service desk corner, bent over, sipping a bellini. “Mr-“ desk worker becomes agitated by the rapping. Before she can finish, he shyly waves her over with a single flexing finger. “You can keep a secret?” Confused and intrigued she nods in agreement. “I need to find this woman I was- saw yesterday. Can you do that?” “ I can try sir.” For what seemed like an hour he raffled keen details, the part, the guest list name was pulled onto her smart slate. With only superficial information they would try to put the name to the description. Eliminating almost all of the attendees. With no luck, four glasses piled next to him, he depressed. Thanking the desk woman, he returned to himself bent over the corner of the desk. It’s nearing dinner. The glow from the sun has hours left to shine. Another clear day with a muddy mind Siyah thought. “Are you sure she signed in with her legal name?” She asked. “I- I don’t know.” He replied defeated. “Siyah.” The distant call becomes clearer, closer. “Siyah! It’s almost meeting time- is that a 5th glass of- man put that shit down!” Eladio waves over a waiter to discard the glasses. “Sparkling water, a lot.” He directs himself back to a wobbly Siyah. “Today’s the Legacy Board Meeting man! Get your shit together!” he whispers sternly. Eladio proceeds to touch up his sloppy suit. Removing a small can of hair palm, a brush, fixing his facial appearance. Once more put together, forced to guzzle two bottles of sparkling water that made him burp between bottles, he checks him off. “Okay, some breathe mints and some vocal exercises, and you’ll be- good enough. Now, lets go.” As they head to the elevator, weaving through seas of staff, security, residence, vacationers and janitors they arrive to an incoming elevator car. As they golden doors split open, an older woman stood in the middle of two husky black suited guards. “Ah! Siyah Starr.” The woman opens her arms in a warm embrace. Kissing the tall man on either cheek, forcing him to stoop over. “And you must be Eladio Nestres.” Eladio smiles with confirmation. “I am Natasha Iroke. Head of the Legacy Board Legal Team. And this is my daughter, Venus Iroke, Assistant present to the legal division. And as she moved to introduce her daughter, Siyahs jaw drops. Astounded. He’s left nonverbal. With an extended hand Venus clutched a black purse, fitted in a skintight strapless dress in blackened heels. Her glow breaking the incandescent lights bathing her within the elevator car. “Nice to finally meet you Siyah. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Her lips mouthed a friendly greeting, her eyes brought into mind hours of aggressive sexual combat. Being nudged out of his daydream by Eladio he grasps her still hands with his shaky sweaty palm. “Hi- \*clears throat\* Good evening ma’am. Siyah Starr. And the pleasures mine.


On our first meeting, she was very shy and nervous. But her smile was everything. When I took her home and we hugged, she felt so small and I didn’t want to let her go. But she smiled again and awkwardly said goodbye. I had to see her again. I could tell on our other dates that she slowly began to warm up and became more comfortable. She’s very smiley and her laughter is adorable. She held my hand. It was the sweetest moment as her small hand was in mine. One time, she kissed my cheek. She was so embarrassed she couldn’t meet my eyes. I felt as if my heart would explode. I want to maul her with a million kisses but she probably wouldn’t like it. I’ll wait until the time is right. Waking up next to her is the best thing ever. She stretches over to me and holds me, still trying to open her eyes. It’s so cute I want to squeeze her. Then when she opens them, they’re a beautiful green that I want to stare into all day. Then when our lips meet, and she blushes, I almost melt into the mattress. She has a habit of singing to herself. It can get obnoxious sometimes, but usually when she first starts, all I can do is watch with a smile. Her voice is light and sweet. When she turns around to see me and her cheeks go red, I can’t help from smiling wider. She laughs a lot. Like A LOT. She’s so giggly that I just want to grab her and swing her around. Often she’s on my lap on her phone and giggling to herself. I just have to hold her and enjoy everything that comes with her being on my lap; her scent, her warmth, and her giggly vibrations. She also likes to cuddle. She was hesitant at first and would only lay her head on my shoulder for seconds at a time. I wanted to capture her and make her cuddle for longer, but I had to wait until she was comfortable. The day she curled up on my lap, looking shy, I almost died from cuteness overload. The first time she allowed me to touch her, I was a bit surprised. She may look innocent and cute, but she still has that desire. Maybe more than I realized. But I didn’t mind at all. I was glad she let me explore her body. Her twitches and noises were so adorable, I couldn’t stop. And she liked my body a lot too. Although it can be hard to tell what she’s thinking sometimes, her smile and her joy is always present. She asked me to be honest if I ever had something on my mind and needed to ask her. Of course the only way to truly understand each other is to communicate. She must realize she’s unreadable at times because she specifically asked me to say whatever was on my mind. So I’ve tried to make a habit of it. Whenever I call her cute, adorable, beautiful, she doesn’t know how to react. I wonder if she doubts herself. I want to make her realize just how special she is. Because what I know deep in my heart is that My Girlfriend Is Adorable.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   *** #This week's theme is House of Cards! This week we’re going to dive into the theme of ‘house of cards’. A house of cards is a plan, institution, or structure that is unreliable, unsound, or in danger of collapse. Think, a plan that is not completely thought out; a government/authority that is shaky and not built on stable laws, principals, defense, etc. What happens when it’s tested? Do the people brace for impact or abandon ship? Will it have a domino effect, knocking the entire system or world down? What happens when it all comes tumbling down? Who stands up and takes charge? Or does anarchy reign? Can they rebuild? A house of cards, afterall, can completely collapse from a simple breeze, or when one single piece is removed. Are your characters prepared for the storm? What kind of dangers await them on the other side of it all? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!) * November 28 - House of cards (this week) * December 5 - Vitality * December 12 - Speculation   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. 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Edward walked around the parking gate since he did not drive and flashed his work badge at the security guard as he approached the gate booth. He was still feeling rejuvenated from his morning coffee and the cold rush hour air. In the mornings he could still feel bits of optimism for the future his job held for him. The clock hit nine as he laid his lunch on the table and then punched in and snapped open the door to the warehouse. He picked up his picking orders for the next hour and grabbed a cart and scanner gun. A forklift was beeping across the warehouse. Derek hadn’t flopped his arm around where his crotch was or grabbed for any crotches yet, but he was sweating. Four levels or temporary shelving stood over the aisles of the warehouse; it wasn’t a claustrophobic space, but it had now windows. The box of cat treats wasn’t scanning when two of Edward’s coworkers came down his aisle. He tried to avoid having social interaction at work; it diminished productivity. He also felt weird about having relationships with coworkers with whom he would have to share the fact that he hated the job which at this point the physical space they worked in was the only real personal link he had in common with them. They didn’t mind him though, he thought. He thought he could feel that. And he didn’t mind them either. They came up behind him and chatted about their weekends directly over his shoulder as he tried to scan in his catnip. “Not working huh?” one of them said in between their conversation. “Fuckin’ labels, I’m gonna lose time for this and it’s always our fault,” he said. The other one came in over his shoulder and snatched the box from his hand and tossed it into the depths of the boxes sitting on skids, grabbing another one from the back. It scanned in and he walked down the aisle to his next order as they followed. Derek always sprinted to work and wore the same sweats and was on caffeine and ephedrine at all hours of the shift for fat burning purposes. He wore his sweatshirt with the hood on, unzipped to show his wife beater underneath. He always smelled a little bit. They could bond with Edward over sports. “What did you do this weekend man?” Derek asked. “Not much man, just watched sports and was on the computer mostly,” he replied. “That’s sick. I bought eighty dollars worth of subway and Doritos and played Street Fighter all weekend. I smashed a small girl on Tinder.” Derek was always smashing chicks on Tinder, and often in the process of trying to smash chicks at work. “Where?” “Toronto.” “And you took the bus?” “Yup.” “Jesus,” Edward could never imagine having that level of dedication for getting laid. “I met someone too.” “That’s sick man. Did you smash?” “No not yet, we haven’t met, just online.” “Like long distance?” “No it said she’s within five miles.” “Five miles. Nice. Was this Tinder?” “On my computer.” “On your computer where?” “It came up on my computer. Her name is Kendra, she’s pretty.” “Messages don’t just come up on computers you dumb fuck.” “But it said there’s lot’s of other girls like her in my area.” “That’s a fucking pop-up. I thought you said you used computers. Were you watching porn again?” “Maybe. I’m trying to stop. I always feel so shitty after.” The other coworker finally popped in, “me too man. I smashed my girl on the weekend and I felt gross after.” “That’s not the same,” Derek said, sighing and returning to the subject, “that’s just a fucking pop-up you idiot.” “But she had a picture and sent a message, her name is Kendra.” “And what else?” “She’s looking to have fun. I swear I’ve seen pop-ups before this didn’t look like one. I couldn’t close it.” “Maybe they’re getting better. These scammers are always evolving. Let me come over this weekend and check it out.” In the lunchroom Derek flopped his arm around with the elbow at his crotch and flopped his forearm on the table. Anyone that tried to avoid him got his attention. Edward mostly kept to himself but talked a bit of sports with the other guys in the short fifteen minute break they had. The fifteen minutes did not include the travel time to and from the punch clock. Edward ate an apple and went back to work for the second half of his shift. After the shift was over Derek slapped Edward on the ass and told him he would see him this weekend, sprinting out the doors carrying his lunch in a grocery bag. Edward had never interacted with any of his coworkers outside of work, and now he had to think about how Derek would behave. He wanted opportunities to be more extroverted and outgoing. Maybe this was an opportunity.


“What if they exist?” “So now Tim’s afraid?” Albert chuckled. The rhythmic crunching of the leaves was the only sound that broke the calm of the woods. The chirping of the birds, the occasional rustle of the leaves were the sole sounds the forest produced. The greyed leaves on the ground crumpled as the group strode on. The treetops loomed above like silent watchers, waiting. The subtle fog and the dark tree trunks constricted their vision to a few metres. Kyle glanced around, looking for something of interest. He noted how the weather had conveniently turned gloomier than when they left. He quietly stared at an owl which was overseeing the group from its elevated branch. He pulled out the map. An outline of the forest, with a point marked on it. He checked his compass. They were heading west, in the right direction. Paul kept his eyes on the trees. He couldn’t help but register how the leaves were turning greener the deeper they went. Even occasional bird sightings grew rarer. The calm orange of the autumn leaves were now a dark green that seemed out of place. The four of them stopped as they reached a clearing. The path opened into a small space without trees. The ground was now covered with a thick coat of grass, shining a bright green. Water from a small stream burbled nearby. Small shrubs were scattered round the meadow. Flowers filled the scenery with little dots of color. This one clearing was more vibrant than all the forest they had seen since they started. They noticed an oak tree stood to the side, its branches spread widely about. Tim took in the sight with eyes wide open. This was not what they set out for, but Tim gladly accepted it. A nice little meadow was surely better than tree monsters. He walked ahead into the grassy clearing. Albert followed. *Of course the Dryads don't exist*, he thought. It was obviously just a myth, and they set out here for fun. He remembered the morning, when they initially planned this endeavour. Kyle was the one who introduced them to the legend. The legend of the Dryads, the tree-stalkers, the wood-watchers. He turned to see Kyle, who was cautiously glancing around. Paul rather hesitantly walked ahead. He was still wondering what this vibrant patch of land is doing in the middle of these woods. *It might be someone’s garden. But there’s no sign of human settlement here,* he thought. *Maybe it's to do with the Dryads?* But for all he knew, it was just another creepypasta. Kyle followed the others to the oak tree. He thought of the woods they crossed earlier. How it juxtaposed to the meadow they were standing. But it felt off. The bright grass and the vibrant flowers. Something about them didn’t feel quite right. Though he was not able to figure out what it was. Tim and Albert went up to the tree. Having decided to have some fun, they tried to climb it. Albert managed to sit atop a branch, while Tim tried to follow. Albert gazed at the horizon. He found it intriguing to see the rather dull forest that they crossed. How it contrasted to the clearing they were in. Paul approached some flowers to have a closer look. He stopped to admire a few flowers. Their petals were stained a bright lavender. He found it odd that there were no bees here in this abundance of nectar. He looked around and wondered if there were any birds here either. He scanned the treetops but was met with just bark and leaves. Kyle sat on a rock, faint traces of moss covering it. His eyes ran along the woods surrounding them. Dense and moderately dark, with the treetops obstructing most light. He looked at the path they came from, noticing the tree branches arching. Looking along the perimeter, he spotted something near the trees. A small speck of light brown, standing out in the soil. He rose and headed towards it. As he approached it, he realized it was a jacket. An old one. It appeared to be made of leather and was faded, wrinkled, covered in mud. *Someone had been here then,* he thought. *Well this venture was disappointing. I honestly didn’t expect any Dryads but at least hoped for something interesting.* He recalled the forum threads he scoured over. Link after link after link. All of them entirely unrelated, summoned by a few keywords. All of them except one. The one that initially caught his attention. A small post, marked as ‘creepypasta’. He remembered reading it to his friends in an eerie monotone. *Beware them. Beware the Dryads.* *The wood-watchers.* *The tree-stalkers.* *You will be lured in.* *You won't suspect until it is too late.* *These nightmarish entities are beyond what we would fathom possible.* *The woods possess a will of their own.* *They lay quietly in slumber.* *Waiting. Waiting for prey-* Hearing footsteps, Kyle turned. Paul was standing there, looking at the jacket. He stepped closer and crouched down. “Someone’s been here then,” he said. “Not recently, of course. The thing’s covered in dirt.” Paul leaned closer. Kyle’s mind wandered back to the post. He recalled. ‘*You will be lured in.’* *This clearing would be a perfect trap. And we’d be some perfect fools-* Paul spoke, breaking Kyle’s trance. “There’s a scrap of paper here,” he said, pulling his hand out of the jacket’s pocket. “Great now you’re searching the jacket?” “I’m bored,” he said. He held the scrap of paper up, for Paul to read. The paper was yellowed and dusty. Evidently pretty old. Words were scratched on it as if there were just a few seconds to write. It read so: *This did not seem right to me. I was correct. It was all fine until they smiled. It all started when they smiled. They are coming for me. I do not have much time left* The corner of the paper was stained with deep red. This morbid detail left Paul unsettled. He called out to Tim and Albert who were still on the tree, jumping from the branches. Tim followed Albert as they walked to Peter. Kyle stood there, transfixed in thought. He wondered if they found something. They did. Paul handed them the paper. “They’re coming for him?” Tim asked meekly. “The paper is old. Really old.” “Is he dead?” Tim questioned again. “Perhaps. There’s even a blood stain here-” Kyle replied. “I get that, but what about the part where he says *they smiled*?” Albert interjected. Kyle thought again. *We can’t ignore that. Even the post I showed said something about smiling*. “Even the post said something about smiling,” Kyle mentioned. He tried to remember what it said. *It begins when they smile-* He kept his hand on his head, trying to remember what followed. Glancing around, he tried to recall the words. He froze. There he saw it, amidst the woods. Just a tree, but the trunk reflected a smile. A cruel, twisted smile. *Surely my mind is playing tricks on me.* Blinking his eyes, he looked around. Looking back at the tree, his blood went cold. He was met with the same crooked smile, staring into his soul. The bark of the tree was contorted, forming a curved line. Above, two holes in the bark stood. Hollow holes, inside of which you could see but void. This rather deceptively simple geometric configuration met Kyle with the eeriest thing he ever saw. “Tha- That tree is….. smiling-” his voice quivered. “Pfft, you’re tryna scare us aren’t you?” Albert laughed. Paul looked around at the trees. His eyes sifted through the treetops. *He must be seeing things*, he thought. He laughed at Kyle. Until he saw it. The bark of a tree distorted ever so slightly. Slight, but enough to make him see a face. The crooked smile gazed at him with a cold inanimateness. He refused to believe it at first. *I’m seeing things now?!* He looked elsewhere, his mind racing. Biting his lip, he glanced at the others. Kyle stood transfixed, uneasily shifting his legs. Albert was looking at them intently, with a confused expression. Tim stood, his eyes wide with fear. A cold breeze swept past them. Kyle shuddered. He knew something was wrong. Either that or he was going insane. He swirled around, with his heart still pounding. Every single tree he saw stood bearing a cold smile. He didn’t understand how or why his brain picked up the faces. Yet he saw them everywhere. They appeared to see him too. He glanced at the others. Peter bore a look of horror on his face. Albert stood scrutinizing their expressions. Tim was staring at them nervously, trying to figure out what happened. At this point he was breathing hastily. Kyle tried to calm down. To no success, his eyes darted back to the woods, the inanimate faces staring back at them. Paul took a few steps back. He was certain Kyle was seeing this too. He wondered why they were still standing there. All senses in his body told him to run, run for his life. He looked at the others and spoke hurriedly. “We should… go now,” Paul said. He turned around and started running. Almost instinctively, Kyle followed. He ran for his dear life. Watching their second friend depart, Albert and Tim ran too. Tim’s heart pounded as he ran through the thick woods, following the others. Though he was scared, the fear was nothing compared to what followed. His muscles momentarily froze when he saw it. The trees, they appeared to be smiling at him. The queer, twisted faces sent a sense of foreboding through his blood. The inability to understand all this didn’t help either. He ran faster, wanting nothing but to be back at home. Albert wondered why they were running. He looked around, attempting to find the reason. He was about to question them when the sight struck him. He stared wide in horror. The woods were somehow smiling at them. Crooked, evil smiles. The hollow eyes pierced through him with a cold gaze. It appeared that the trees were watching them from above, like little ants crossing a pavement. The coiled faces appeared to be looking down upon them. His heart pounded quicker and quicker. He felt goosebumps creeping around his skin. Suddenly, a thunderous noise erupted from behind. Visibly startled, the four of them halted. They turned around. Tim shrieked in horror. Kyle gasped and stumbled backward. Albert stood there, his shoulders trembling with fear. The breeze began to grow stronger. The four of them stood in the grim woods, their eyes wide at the monstrous sight ahead of them. A behemoth of a tree stood in front of them. It appeared to be standing on four limbs, attached to its trunk. Branches contorted and moved, like a thousand hands adjusting their position. It stared at them with dead, hollow eyes. Eyes so void you could wonder if they were eyes at all. Yet the human brain couldn’t help but interpret them. Two dots over a concavely curved line would always be a smile, no matter what. *This is it, this is a Dryad,* Paul thought. *But is there just one?* His attention was taken by a low, deep rumbling that echoed through the forest. He glanced around, looking for the source. But then, his feet felt funny. The ground was vibrating. The vibration grew as the rumbling amplified. As the rumbling peaked, trees in front of them uprooted and moved around. Branches warped and twisted like tentacles turning. Moments later, they were facing an army of Dryads, similar to the first. Around 30 colossal wood entities stood in front of the group, glaring with their inanimate faces. Noone had to be told twice, the four of them did as anyone would. They fled in the opposite direction. Tim screamed like a woman, as he sprinted across the trees. The sinister faces watched them from above, like an audience watching gladiators in a stadium. The hollow eyes seemed to follow them as they passed through. A loud thumping emerged from behind. Paul chanced a look behind. He shouted and ran faster. The Dryads were following them. Not even running, the Dryads walked, coming visibly closer with each step. The four went faster, running as hard as they could. Yet to no avail. The Dryads approached closer and closer with each step. Albert was on the verge of tears, wondering why they even came here, cursing himself for arriving. Kyle however, found this quite exciting. He marvelled at the sight of the monstrous Dryads. Soon he came to his senses. He casually reminded himself that he could die here. “Kyle!” a voice screamed. It was Albert’s. “Are we going the right direction?!” Realization struck him. They didn’t know which way they were going. Who knows how longer they would have run if not for Albert. *We headed west while coming. We should be heading east to go back*. He checked for the sun’s position. Just then he noticed the weather. The clouds were thick and the sky was grey. No sign of the sun. Cursing the weather under his breath, he realized that he had a compass. He pulled it out of his pocket. He slowed his pace and looked intently at the needle. It turned and eventually stopped, pointing to the top-left. They were going north-east. He yelled, “We’re heading the wrong way!”, and halted. The others stopped too. Paul misplaced his foot and fell flat on the ground. He winced, and shakily stood up again. Kyle pointed east. Suddenly, a deafening *thud* shook the forest floor. Visibly frightened, they turned around. Right behind them a boulder lay embedded in the ground. In the distance, they saw the Dryads holding rocks. They raised their boulders and sent them hurling in the humans’ direction. Kyle jumped behind a tree, hoping it would shield him. Paul panickingly turned around. He leapt behind a tree. He heard a loud crash behind him. Nervously, he turned around. The rock missed him by inches. Tim whimpered. A tear slid down his cheeks. Trembling, he tried to step back. Instead, Albert’s hand caught hold of him. He pulled Tim behind a tree. A deafening crash sounded behind them. Another rock skidded through the forest floor. Paul nervously looked around. He doubted if they would get out alive. He glanced over at Kyle, who was peeking behind the trees, trying to get a look at the Dryads. Just then, a deep rumbling went through the forest. Paul flinched. The rumbling was louder than before. Before long, the ground was shaking intensely. Paul anxiously waited for something to happen. Quite randomly, he recalled the moment they left for the woods. Little did they know what would follow. Adventurously, they hoped to meet some Dryads. But logically, they didn’t really expect to find anything. And now here they are, one step away from death. Of all the ways to die, he didn’t expect to be murdered by a tree monster in Farwell forest. Paul was brought back to reality with a huge *crack*. A loud thumping ensued. The dryads were coming. He signalled to the rest of them to move. As they hurried away, they could still feel their legs resonating. The rumbling of the ground hadn’t quite ended. Kyle was leading the group. They ran as fast as their legs could take them. The thumping behind them didn’t stop. They ran and ran, all sense of time drowning in their pure terror. They ran until they reached the outer parts of the forest. The leaves were now orange, as they ought to be autumn. They stopped when the rumbling could no longer be heard. Panting, they stood there for a while. Still they looked behind their shoulders for any movement. After being nearly murdered by tree monsters, the paranoia was inevitable. After catching their breath for a while, they started walking home again. Tim constantly looked behind his back. He felt goosebumps when looking up at the trees. Every little sound made him flinch, rightly so. Still processing the unearthly incident that just occured, he strode forward with a fast pace. The birds chirped in the sky. The owls hooted from their tree hollows, watching down with their big eyes. They were beyond relieved when they spotted the road. The town was in the vicinity. Being back in the neighbourhood after almost dying was ecstasy in its own way. Kyle sighed and reassessed the rather peculiar chain of events. *We went into the forest. We found a clearing. Out of nowhere, we saw the trees smiling at us. We ran. We encountered some big tree monsters that tried to kill us. We ran away.* *Yes, totally normal. Just another day.* He gave one last glance at the woods before heading back.


It was an ordinary day like any other. I was heading towards work, walking since it wasn't too far. It was a bustling city, cars sped by and people bumped into me constantly, but I didn't mind. I reached a crosswalk, waiting with all the others walking for the red hand to change. But then something strange happened. The people around me stopped talking. The cars driving stopped moving. Everyone froze mid-step on the other end of the street. Everything seemed to be frozen in time. I wondered, did I do this? I tried to move, but my body didn't respond. Even my eyes seemed stuck in place, staring at the red hand, only able to see what I had seen before the world froze. Someone had frozen time, but it wasn't me. How strange, I thought. My mind was unfrozen when everything else was. Were other people experiencing the same? "I've done it!" A voice shouted from behind me. I saw the owner of the voice run out onto the street, waving at the frozen cars now parked on the street. I knew in an instant that he must've been the one to do this. I felt secure, knowing that the man would have his fun, but eventually, everyone would resume their daily lives. Perhaps not right away, if everyone else was seeing what I did, assuming we even remembered this at all upon unfreezing. The man continued to walk around the streets, shouting, singing, laughing, doing anything he wanted with no shame. I laughed, if only in spirit. Oh, how funny it would be if he unfroze time and realized everyone had seen and heard everything he had done. Then it stopped being amusing. The man's jovial laughs became coughs, loud and ragged. He walked, stopping on the crosswalk right in front of me. His arms were clutching his sides, his legs looking like they'd collapse at any given moment. Then he dropped to the ground and stopped breathing. I waited. And waited. And waited some more. The man who had caused this had died. Right in front of me, even. I don't know how or why, but there he was. So why couldn't I move still? Time was frozen in that same moment, and I was still staring at that stupid red hand. I was stuck. I couldn't look around, couldn't move, couldn't breathe or blink. All I could do was sit and stare. This was my life, I realized. Nothing was moving and nothing would EVER move again. I couldn't die. Oh god, I couldn't die. I would never see anything more than this god-forsaken red hand! I can't fix this, I can't help. I will never sleep again, never feel the breeze on my face again. I'll never hear the sounds of the city or the calming sounds of the night. Instead, I see the corpse of the man who did this to me, and I want to shout at him. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I want to cry. I want to fall to my knees and bury my head in my knees. I want to go up to the man and kill him a second time. But I can't do any of that. And I never will again. All I will ever do is watch the unchanging red hand with the corpse dooming me to this Hell lying beneath it.


Growing up I can remember my dad regularly telling my sister and me about how when he was pursuing his Masters in architecture, one of his professors liked him so much that he tried to recruit him to come work for a new firm that he was starting in London. As my parents would tell it, they had actually seriously considered the offer. My mom had decided that she could finish her schooling abroad while my dad got established in his career, and they would start their life together in the UK instead of in the States. The story goes, however, that when they were almost completely certain that they were ready to go ahead and embark on this adventure together, my mom found out she was pregnant with me, my dad’s dad got sick, and my dad’s old friend from high school asked my dad to move back to their hometown of Roca Roja, California and open a business together. And so their briefly considered dream of moving to England and carving out a life for themselves there had ended shortly after its inception and they stayed in the US and had me and my sister and lived happily ever after. Well, not really, as neither of them ended up living past the age of sixty, and they had to grieve my sister’s death when she was still a child. Still, there *was* happiness there. A lot of it, if you happened to be looking at the right times. I guess that applies to most people’s lives, really. If you only see people when they’re happy, then you assume they’re always happy. So we weren’t much different from any other family in California, or America, or the world. But the point I’m getting at, I guess, is that my parents would always tell my sister and I that if things had gone just slightly differently, we would have grown up in England. We would have had Londoner accents. We would have called chips ‘crisps’ and elevators ‘lifts.’ And growing up, I always indulged this fantasy wherein my life could have played out that way. I imagined a whole other history for myself where somehow I’d still be me, but everything in my life would be different. But it’s occurred to me recently that it just doesn’t really work that way. I could never have been British. I never could have lived anywhere but where I lived, and I never could have done anything other than what I did. If my parents *had* moved to England prior to my birth, they would have had a daughter, to be sure, they may even have named her ‘Karen,’ but she wouldn’t and couldn’t have been *me*. See, I have come to the epiphany because of events both recent and recently reconsidered that no one on the planet could be anything other than exactly what they are. We are, all of us, the sum total of our experiences, and any change to those experiences, however minute, results in a different person. So my parents could have had a daughter my age named Karen, with my birthday, my hair color, my exact genetic makeup, my propensity for procrastination and my god awful sense of fashion, my love of Mexican food and cheap margaritas, but no matter how much we had in common, she still wouldn’t have been me nor I her. And that’s to say nothing of my younger sister, who wasn’t even mentally or emotionally conceived, nevermind physically, at the time my parents had been considering the move. So there wouldn’t even have been a little British girl genetically identical to my sister in that alternate world. The number of possible genetic combinations from two people is just too insanely high for someone with her exact genes to have been created at any time or in any place besides the one she was created in. So maybe my parents would have conceived a second time, but it might have been a son, or twins, or a little girl who was nothing like my sister. And maybe that other child or those other children might even have survived into adulthood. God, what a fucked up thought. And by the time they came to the decision to move overseas, my parents too would have become different people than the parents I knew. The moment their paths diverged from the histories that I’m familiar with, they would have stopped being my parents and started being other people entirely. And the further removed from that point they got, the less and less like my parents they would become. All that is to say that my parents, my sister, *me*, we all were only the things we were because of the things that happened. Any other series of events would have necessarily made different people. Maybe better people, maybe happier people, but definitely different. I think it’s comforting, sometimes, to look back and imagine what else and who else we might have been if things had gone differently, or if we’d made different decisions. If we’d just done *that* thing at *that* time, maybe things would have worked out differently. Sometimes it’s fun to think about, and other times it’s a crutch to help us get through our daily existence in this reality to imagine that things are better in some other one. But it’s only ever a fantasy, and not just because you can’t change the past. It’s a fantasy because, even if you *could* change the past, you would no longer be *you*. And, after all, sometimes these fantasies go far beyond comforting, and instead become the subject of unhealthy obsession, unobtainable desire, impossibly frustrating ideation. I know this all too well because any time I would imagine my sister and me living in London, my daydreams inevitably led me to believe that in that version of my life, she might have survived her cancer, or might never have gotten it at all. Maybe the healthcare system in the UK would have caught her sickness earlier, treated it better, saved her life. Maybe she’d have been at my wedding. Maybe I’d have been at hers. But she wasn’t. And I wasn’t. And who would that other me have married, anyway? Probably some British guy. Maybe an American if for whatever reason her parents moved back to the States at some point, or if she had come here for school or something. But whoever it was, it almost certainly wouldn’t have been Jason. And maybe that other Karen and her husband would have found themselves preparing to bring a child into their world at this stage in life, just as Jason and I are now, but it would have been a different child, not the son I’m carrying inside my body right now; not the little boy whose bright eyes and beautiful face I can’t wait to see. And this, more than anything, is what’s allowed me to reevaluate how I feel about imagining alternate lives and divergent realities, because I have realized little by little that I don’t want some other version of my life. I don’t want to be that woman who grew up in Britain. I don’t even want to be that woman whose sister lived to see her teens or twenties or beyond. I only want to be who I am. I only want to have experienced the things I’ve experienced, to know and love the people I know and love, and to wake up in a few months in the middle of the night to a screaming newborn baby who already owns my heart even before he’s arrived on this earth. Now, instead of dreaming of and longing for some other life someone much like me might have had, I find myself waking up in a cold sweat, struggling to shake the fear that all the things I have that I hold dear in this life might have been somehow imagined, that they might be just as gaseous and ethereal as all the lives I never lived, until I turn over in bed and there’s Jason, as solid and real as the life growing in my womb, as real as the air I’m breathing and the ground beneath my feet. As real as the fact that my parents and my sister are all long gone. As real as the fact that I have never set foot in England. And sure, there are still many things I want in this life that I don’t have. There are still experiences that I hope to have. The difference is that now I only want those things to be in the future. My past, for all its faults, is the only past I want, because without it I don’t get to be me, and I don’t get to look forward to the bright future I dream that I’ll have. "What are you thinking about, babe?" I look for a while at Jason before answering. He looks tired. He always looks tired these days and I keep telling him that he needs to work less, relax more. But today he looks especially tired, pale, sickly even. But he's still Jason, and he's still smiling warmly at me. "I'm thinking about you." "About me?" "And us. And our baby. About my sister … about England." "About England? Like how you could've grown up there, right?" "Exactly. Except I couldn't have. And I'm glad I didn't.


It's dark; only the glow of a couple of upvotes illuminates a route to the void. "Where am I? What is this place? " A science fiction story about aliens, called "Alien Samba," asks. As Alien Samba drops on the feed, a historical fiction story titled "Lincoln, my Love" gradually appears before slowing down. "Welcome to the bottom of the Reddit feed," Lincoln my Love says as the post comes to a halt just below Alien Samba. "The bottom of the Reddit feed, I didn't realize the feed had a bottom?" Alien Samba asks. "It's a myth, there is no bottom," a fantasy story about elves, called "Elven Around," shouts from one above Alien Samba on the feed. "Whoa, Alien Samba has only been around for only two days? What happened to you, kid? It usually takes weeks to get this low on the feed; see eight weeks old," Lincoln, My Love asks as he points to his age. "It was all a whirlwind, I quickly received three upvotes, and I was on top of the world. From the top of the hotlist, I could even see the askreddit forum. But then it occurred, a carnage, a slew of downvotes, and before I knew it, I was down here, battered and beaten," Alien Samba says. Lincoln, my Love, replies, "I'm sorry, you're young, too young to be down here." "It's a conspiracy; someone had it in for you. Every Reddit post, like a balloon, is born with a certain amount of helium. Upvotes add helium, while downvotes subtract some. The post naturally loses helium that it cannot replace over time and begins to sink into the void. You must have been targeted by a downvote bombardment to have gotten this far so quickly," Elven Around says. "Don't listen to Elven Around; he'll be a month old tomorrow and believes everything is a conspiracy," Lincon, My Love, says. "But that's not fair; I think I'm a compelling story," Alien Samba says. "It's not up to you; all it takes is for your author to write a misunderstood comment or offend someone," Elven Around says. "Nonsense, good stories always find a way to be seen; everything is not always a plot," Lincon, My Love, says. "Heyyyy guys, just passing by," a comedy story titled "Livin La Vida Loca" says as it gradually comes to a halt one above Elven Around on the feed. "Who are you?" Alien Samba asks. "Six months old, and I still got it, rediscovered in a different subreddit," Livin La Vida Loca says, noting Alien Samba's age, "two days old, geez, you must be a dumpster fire of a story." "I tell you, it's sabotage," Elven Around says. "Look, kid, you may have to face the truth; no one will see you down here. Is a good story still good if no one reads it?" Lincoln, My Love, says. "Authors go back and revise and repost their work. Your young, still fresh in your author's mind, not forgotten about, yet," Livin La Vida Loca says. "Hogwash, authors move on; after a story is created, they show it off for a few days before moving on to the next one. Andrew Johnson, My Love, what a terrible name for a story, " Lincoln, My Love, says. "I know my author cares about me; he wrote me for hours, and he'll revise and repost, I'm sure of it," Alien Samba says. "You're delusional! No one cares about us; look at Livin La Vida Loca; he's already falling; we're trash, not worth the pixels we're written on. Welcome to your new life of illiteracy and darkness!" Lincoln, My Love, says. "Don't give up hope, kid, it ain't over 'til it's over..." Livin La Vida Loca says as he sinks out of sight into the void. "Wow, he only made it this far; usually, he surpasses us by a great deal, that margin gets smaller and smaller each time he emerges from the void. Maybe we are the forgotten," Elven around says. "Don't give up hope. What about editing and reposting? It's possible, right? "Alien Samba asks. "I'll be honest, it's rare," Elven Around says. "I'm just going to take a little nap; if you guys aren't here when I wake up, I'll see you down the void sometime," Lincoln, My Love, says as he closes his eyes. "Why is Lincoln so down on himself?" Alien Samba asks. "Lincoln had the potential to be one of the best stories ever uploaded on this subreddit; with a few tweaks, it could have been discovered and published. But the author moved on, and everyone forgot about the story, which now only exists in the void with lesser works. I know I'm garbage because I was written in half an hour, have horrible character development and piecemeal plot structure, but Lincoln, My Love, is the genuine deal," Elven Around says. "I get why he's upset," Alien Samba says. "There's nothing worse than not living up to one's full potential; you'll always wonder what may have been," Elven Around says. Alien Samba brightens up all of a sudden. "What's going on, kid?" Elven Around asks. "It's my author, he's responding to a comment, this is it, I can feel myself being lifted out of the void," Alien Samba says. "What exactly does the comment say?" Elven Around asks. "It says, this subreddit wouldn't know a good story if it punched them in the face," Alien Samba says. "Oh no, this is not good, kid; that comment is going to ruin your chances of getting an edit and repost," Elven Around warns. Lincoln, My Love, squints open his eyes to see Alien Samba receive a bunch of downvotes. "See, I was right; now you're trapped in the void with the rest of us has beens!" Lincoln, My Love, adds as he starts to light up slightly himself. "Hey, Lincoln, you've got a little glow about you; are you moving down again?" Elven Around asks. "It's my author; I'm being edited and reposted. Oh my, it's been so long; how's my hair?" Lincoln, My Love asks. "You're looking better than ever," Elven Around exclaims as Lincoln, My Love, begins to rise. "I'll see you around; you were good company. Keep your hopes up, kid; it might all work out," Lincoln, My Love, says. "Remember us when you're in a published volume of short stories," Elven Around exclaims as Lincoln, My Love, fades from view. "You know what, kid, maybe Lincoln was right after all; good stories will find a way to be seen.


“Well, I heard that the end of the world was somewhere beyond the borders of Ravensguard. Beyond the forest of Dunloch. There’s a door I’m told. A door that will bring you to another world.” Rebecca finished, taking a sip of her mead. Her eyes flickered between the couple on the opposite side of the table. Erik stroked his chin, all the while looking at the ceiling. Harper, on the other hand, kept her focus on Rebecca. “How do you know this?” Harper asked, pulling the sleeve of her shirt over her stump which was muscle memory at this point. "A wizard told me,” Rebecca answered as she flagged down a passing Goblin for another drink. “Of course, my lady,” he sniveled, hobbling away to a back room. The group was silent for a moment before Erik joined the conversation. “This wizard,” he began, narrowing his eyes in Rebecca’s direction. “It wouldn’t happen to be Feardulra would it?” Rebecca’s eyebrows lifted momentarily before falling back down. “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “How did you know that?” Erik smiled and leaned back on his chair, making it creak loudly, as he put his hands on the back of his head. “Just a hunch,” he grinned, catching a look from Harper. A look that said they needed to talk. “Excuse us for a moment,” he said, taking Harper by her only good hand and pulling her off to a quiet corner of the inn. “So?” Erik asked, a great smile on his lips. “I don’t know,” Harper huffed, stress consuming her. “It sound’s legitimate enough but…” “But what?” Erik exclaimed, bewildered at Harper's hesitation and disappointed by her lack of excitement. “I just don’t trust her,” she mumbled, looking over Erik’s shoulder at Rebecca. “There’s something about her, Erik,” “Look Harper,” Erik stated, taking her by her shoulders. “We’ve been trapped in this hell for far too long. How many times have you died? You have to be sick of it! So many deaths and too much disgusting mead. I know what you mean about Rebecca; I don’t trust her either. For now, though, she’s our best and only hope of going home.” Harper didn’t say anything at first, her mind drifted to different scenarios. Betrayals, double-crosses and the eventual freedom she hoped to win. “Ok, let’s do this,” she said. Erik ordered two more mugs of mead before returning to where their future guide sat. “Ok Rebecca,” he began, pausing only to look at Harper. “We’re in. But no funny business. Strictly work.” “Of course,” gushed Rebecca, gripping her mead tighter. “Well, let’s get started with the planning then.” All through that night and the next night and the night after, the three of them sat and planned out the entire journey. From how much beef they would need to how many shoes they would go through. After the third night, they had exhausted every possible problem they could think of and racked their brains for a possible solution. “I think we’re ready,” Rebecca had finally said, draining the last drops from her mug. “Ready?” gasped Erik, looking at the small map that was laid on the inn’s table in front of them. “We haven’t even decided what we might do if we came across an orc pack that far side of Dunloch forest?” Harper threw her head back, laughing harder than she had since she arrived in this world. “We can’t plan everything and besides,” she chuckled. “Orc’s haven’t been seen that far east in decades.” Like that the planning was over and the trek had begun. Harper and Erik were happy to see that Rebecca kept to herself for the most part. Rarely joining in with their talks and always sleeping away from them, Rebecca spent most of the time sharpening her two daggers that they usually kept on either hip. The trip across the flat plains that surrounded the city of Ravenguard was largely uneventful. The only thing of note was when they came across a troop of lost actors. Weary and tired, the troop had gotten chased for miles by two Terriv’s, great hairy monsters that came out at night and hunted the warm blooded. Most of the troop had perished but those that survived were grateful for what food Erik gave them and what medical help Harper offered. After that, other than a brief glimpse of Ravensgaurd thick black wall’s it was quiet until the forest. It was in her that they lost Rebecca. Having gone through so much with her, Harper and Erik found it hard to speak about afterwards. Ambushed at night by a cluster of enormous spiders, they were able to escape with their lives. Unfortunately, with their last look back they saw two spider’s dig their fangs into Rebecca’s soft pink flesh. Rebecca, a great guide, never made it to the door she had sought after for so long. Finally, after weeks of stumbling around in the forest, they left the wood behind. Then came the fields. As far as they looked in every direction were fields. Some were empty but most had cropped beginning to grow. *All these crops with no people to eat them*, Harper thought. After a couple of days of eating mushy potatoes and carrots, a creaking old, wooden house seemed to sprout up in front of them. “This has to be the place,” Erik announced, eyeing Harper as he spoke. “No way that it ain’t.” “I wish Rebecca was here to see this,” Harper murmured, pulling her sleeve up as far as it would go. “She’d know if it was or not.” Erik could only shake his head. He knew they both thought the same guilty thoughts whenever Rebecca was brought up. How they had run while she had died. Left her there, all alone. “Well, she wouldn’t have waited out here anyway,” muttered Erik, pushing open the door. Harper grabbed a hold of his arm with her good hand, half tempted to turn and run. As the door creaked open, Harper felt a pull. The world around her grew too bright, the whiteness was like a knife in her eyes. She screamed as she fell on her back, the ground soft and clean, the white light spinning and spinning. Just when she felt like it was too much, when the tears started to form in her eyes, it all stopped. *Blackness*. She couldn’t see but felt a presence off to her right. “Harper?” a familiar voice called out. She felt something big and black being removed from her head and suddenly the world came into view. *White*. She had never seen a room so white. Two fluorescent lights shone down from above and her eyes narrowed as she tried to make out the figure to her right. “Harper!” the voice cried out. “You’re out of that world finally.” As the light faded, Harper found herself in a hospital. The woman beside her… Kindly, old, loving. The older woman took Harper’s hand in her as tears streamed down her face. “Harper, thank god!” she wailed. “Thank god!” For a second, Harper couldn’t make her mind work. Her lips wouldn’t move and she could only sit and listen to her mother cry. *Mother! Yes, this is my mother.* “Mother?” she croaked, her voice aching. “What’s…” “Shhh honey,” her mother said soothingly. “The doctor’s say that your voice will need time since you haven’t used it in years.” “Years?” Harper croaked once more, trying to figure out what was going on. “Years. Yes, dear.” her mother said, a look of sympathy passing across her face. Holding up a large black plastic box, her mother finally answered the question that Harper had been trying to form. “You’ve been wearing this headset for two years, Harper,” her mother admitted, not looking her daughter in the eyes. “You’ve been trapped, dear. We couldn’t take you out of there without killing you.” A single tear dropped down Harper’s cheek as she looked down at her two good hands.


Armand Melton and Molly Bush work as servers at an Applebee's restaurant in Orlando, Florida. It's Saturday night/Sunday morning, and they've just finished a long shift. When Molly accidentally spills cleaner into the outlet where Armand is charging his phone. "Hey, watch it; I just got that phone," Armand says as he rushes over to check it. When he touches the phone, he receives an electric jolt and collapses to the ground. "Damn dude, are you all right?" Molly inquires as she hurries over. Armand awakens, winces, and brushes it off. "Can you hear what I'm saying?" "Are you all right?" Molly asks again, this time attempting to slap Armand across the face. "Yeah, I'm good, get off of me," Armand says as he stands up. Armand looks around, perplexed, and takes off his apron, tossing it onto the bar. "What in the world is this? Is this Earth?" Armand asks. "Oh my God, I turned you into a dementia patient," Molly says, concerned. "Are you sure you're all right; my cousin's a paramedic; should I call him?" "I'm fine, you idiot," Armand says, "but I can't believe they finally caught us." "What do you mean when you say "they" and "caught us"?" Molly asks. "Suflandafgh12#$%, do you remember anything about how we got here?" Armand asks. "First of all, I have no idea how you made those sounds with your mouth, second, we definitely came here together in your Toyota Avalon," Molly says. "You don't remember anything; we are galaxy famous jewel thieves, this is a prison, called Earth," Armand says. "I hear you, man," Molly replies, "for what we make at Applebee's, we might as well be making license plates." "You don't understand; when you go to Earth prison, they erase your memory and put your consciousness in this ungainly meat body," Armand explains. "You know I've been working out. Is it my fault that my left leg is longer than my right, making my body awkward?" Molly says. "It's all coming back to me now; on our last heist, you were supposed to meet me on the moon Leibnitz within the Alpha Centauri star system, but you got arrested for horn doodling," Armand recalls. "Horn doodling? Why don't you have a seat? I might call my cousin after all," Molly says as she tries to lead Armand into a booth. Armand knocks her hands away, closes his eyes, and vanishes. Molly takes a step back in awe. "Wait a minute, what the hell just happened?" Molly asks as Armand reappears behind her. "We're jewel thief aliens who happened to be locked up in a prison called Earth," Armand says. "Okay, I'm not high enough for this right now," Molly admits, "but I'm kind of believing you." "We've been imprisoned for 29 years, but that's all about to change; we're busting out," Armand says. "My next shift is on Wednesday," Molly says, "so I'm available for whatever you want to do." "Let's get out of here; we have planning to do," Armand says as he heads towards the door. "You're right; Janice can finish this up," Molly says as she walks out the door with Armand. "If you only knew; Janice is a serial killer from the Mira Star System, and I wouldn't mess with her," Armand says. They both enter Armand's studio apartment, and he instantly logs into his computer. He opens the SpaceX website and navigates to the Dragon Space Capsule. "That'll get us out of here!" Armand says. "So, we're just going to take the next flight out of here?" "Can I have an aisle seat?" Molly asks "No, we're going to steal the whole damn ship," Armand says. "All right, as long as you teach me all that invisible stuff," Molly says, "let's do it." "The next launch is Monday; the Backside Bandits are back again!" Armand says. "That was our name?" Molly asks. "I know, I hear it," Armand acknowledges. Armand and Molly take the Toyota Avalon and drive to Cape Canaveral on Monday morning. "Here's the plan," Armand says, "I'm going to make ourselves invisible, and we're going to slip into the cargo hold where they keep the food for the International Space Station." "Doesn't everything that goes into space get weighed?" Molly asks. "We'll throw out our estimated weight in food and hide in the compartment. When we get into orbit, we'll jump out of the compartment and hijack the capsule," Armand says. "With what?" Molly asks. "I'm experienced with Canopus ninjutsu; I'll be able to disable the pilots in seconds," Armand says. "All right, then what? Won't that ship only take us so far?" Molly asks. "I've got a getaway ship on the dark side of the Moon; we'll take that piece of trash Dragon Capsule there, and then it's off to finish the big score we never finished 29 years ago," Armand says. "And we're going to be back by Wednesday so I can go to my shift at Applebee's. I can't afford to lose that job," Molly asks as Armand sighs. "I know a black market scientist on a planet in the Beta Canis Majoris system; they'll transform you back into Suflandafgh12#$%," Armand says. When they arrive at Cape Canaveral, Armand makes Molly and him invisible, and they sneak inside the warehouse where the Dragon Capsule is kept. Armand begins to throw out food at random when Molly stops him. "Come on, man, don't throw out the desserts, throw out that meatloaf, it's disgusting. It's going to be a long flight; I'm going to need to eat something," Molly says. Once the weight is correct, they enter the compartment and wait for the Dragon Capsule to board and launch. "Good morning, America. SpaceX will launch the Dragon Capsule to the International Space Station today. There, they'll collect a month's worth of trash and return Lieutenant Warner to Earth, who has spent a whole year in space away from his family and loved ones. This is definitely a historic event," says the television announcer. "Three, two, one, liftoff of the Dragon Capsule to the International Space Station." Due to the G pressures, Molly and Armand push aggressively against the back of the compartment when the capsule is launched. "This ship needs new shocks; every turn in this thing makes you feel it," Armand says. The Dragon Capsule enters orbit and begins its route to the International Space Station. Armand and Molly exit the compartment, knock out the ship's pilots and seize control of the capsule. Lieutenant Warner and an astronaut peer through a window on the space station at the coming Dragon Capsule. "Lieutenant Warner, I'm sure you're overjoyed to be returning home," the astronaut says. "It's been a hard year; I miss my wife and children." Lieutenant Warner states, "I dedicated a year of my life to science; now it's time to devote the rest of my life to them." The Dragon capsule is getting closer. "There it is, your taxi home," the astronaut says, smiling at Lieutenant Warner. The Dragon Capsule then makes a left turn and heads out into space. "Where is it going?" the astronaut asks as Lieutenant Warner widens his eyes. "Oh my God, I'm never getting off this pneumatic tube! Forget you guys; I'm going to jump for it," Lieutenant Warner declares as he heads for the airlock chamber before being tackled and restrained. Lieutenant Warner grasps at the window as the Dragon capsule continues to move away from the space station, on its journey to the Moon. Two NASA scientists are seated in front of a simulation. Armand and Molly are fast asleep, drooling on themselves, wires and other monitoring devices attached to them. "You owe me $20; I told you they had a way out," one of the scientists says as the other pulls a $20 bill from his wallet. "What are the chances? At least we now know they had a concealed spaceship on the dark side of the Moon," the second scientist replies. "What do you want to do with these two idiots?" The scientist asks. "Put them in solitary, fire them from Applebee's, and give them jobs at Arby's," the other scientist advises. "That'll teach him not to hide spaceships on the Moon.


The Story One day, a man saw the young crow flying around his backyard. He thought it was a little bird, so he picked it up and put it in his hand. The bird took off again, looking rather frightened. It had been hit by a car, and the crow had been left behind, so it wasn't strong enough to fly away. The crow looked up at the man with large frightened eyes, and it flew away, just crying. The man went home, but he didn't come back the following day, as the crow kept crying, and just hanging around the house. Then, a bit later, the crow was gone, and no one seemed to see it. That was when the crow began to wonder what had happened to it. The next day, the crow saw the crow flying around a field. The man couldn't find the crow, so he decided to try and catch it himself. He went to the crow and was about to take it into the yard, when suddenly the crow flapped its wings and fled. The man took a few steps around the crow, then started screaming at it in terror. Then, the crow started flying around him in a panic. Then, the man began screaming for the help of God, but no one came. He continued screaming until he heard a loud boom. Then, the man looked around and saw that the crow had landed in the neighbor's yard. It started to cry again, as the crow ran up to the neighbor's house, crying as it ran, crying. The neighbor then called the police. The Neighbor The neighbor was a very nice man, and he was very sad to see the crow in his yard. So, when he heard the police knocking on his door, he started crying again. The police came and talked to him, and they thought that he might have been upset because the crow had flown away. The police told him that if he didn't calm down he was going to have to give them the crow back. He calmed down soon after that, and they gave him the crow. The crow had a scar across its body, and it said, "My name is "The Big Black Bird," and I was taken by a man named "Ferguson" and brought to this earth. He told me to go to an old well and I would find a new person for him, and that he would give me two new wings to fly with. I flew up to the well and saw a new person, and in the man's hand he had two wings and told me to go to the other well, where I would find a man named "Hans" and get a new body." The man who used to make the crow told the police that he came to Earth to find out about the person who made the new person. He didn't come back, and he said he will come back on April 19th. The person who made the crow did not make the crow until the day before April 19th. The man who made the crow came back on April 18th, and when he saw the crow fly away, he cried out, and the police started running after it. The police told him, "Don't worry about the crow, it didn't do anything. You can have it if you can give us the crow." The man who made the crow said, "What have you got there? The crow's eyes are not in the right place and it has been put in a box, and it won't leave it. I'm going to take it out and put it in a new box. It has three holes in it, so I am going to put them all together to make a new cage. You will be a part of my family." The man said, "Okay, I'm in." The man made the crow and put it in his home. The next day the man came down to the police, and said, "Don't worry, you are my family too. I don't want the crow anymore. I'll give you a crow if you bring the Crow up from the ground and put it inside the home." The police said, "What are you talking about, he's my family too. I'm afraid you will kill the crow if you try to take it from us. You got to give it back, because the new person is going to be a part of my family too." The man said, "Okay. I will give you the crow now, and I'm not going to take it back, if you let me have that crow." The man came back to the police and said, "I'm a good person. I just want to help people, and I gave you the crow. I just want to be a part of your family." The man was afraid that the police would kill him if he was caught. So he said, "Just give me the crow." So they opened the door for him, and gave him the crow. The police went to take it back. They saw the crow in the crow-house. The man said, "Don't take it back, I put it there, I just need it there. The police did not want to be part of his family. So the man's family made it their own family, and they had him in a new cage, and they knew how to handle him, and they cared for him very much. This man is our family now. I've given them the crow.


It’s a brisk, bright morning at the pond. The chilly breeze ripples the water as I stand in the dampened sand looking at your memorial. The flowers and teddy bears that mobbed your smiling picture aren’t nearly as abundant as they were three years ago. Remnants of shriveled carnations lay at the base of the picture frame. I see your father bring one every time he trudges down the hill to visit you. It gets harder for him every time he comes here. Yes, it's a beautiful day today. Serene. Much like that day three years ago, when they found your battered, lifeless body twisted across the same sand I’m standing in right now. I close my eyes and allow myself to get nostalgic. I think back to when I first saw you working the counter at the Coffee Barn. I ordered the cinnamon coffee with cream and after I took a sip, I told you it was the best cup of coffee I have ever had. You smiled a smile so genuine, there’s no way you could have faked it. In that moment, I knew we should be together and the only regret I have is that our paths didn’t cross sooner. I’m not ashamed to say how disappointed I was when you left me to study abroad. I tried to move on, but when you came back home to me, I decided we would give it another chance. You settled in and took a job as a lifeguard at this pond. Oh, how you loved it here. You enjoyed watching the kids splash around and even joined in their games of Marco Polo. They adored how sweet and playful you were. We all did. Something seemed different though. You seemed distant and I felt unnoticed. Our last night together in the car on the way to the motel, I tried my best to be what you wanted. I went out of my way to cheer you up with gummy worms and 90’s music - two of your favorite things. We hit the highway fast and hard, weaving around other cars, outlandishly singing along to the radio. It took some convincing, but you begrudgingly joined in. The traffic thinned out, the bustling strip disappeared in the rear-view and tears began to form in your eyes. By the time we got to the room you were crying, telling me you were ready to leave. I cradled your head on my chest. “You need to just let me go,” you sobbed. I gently pushed the tears off your cheeks with my thumbs and told you everything would be okay. That seemed to upset you more. You couldn’t even appreciate the little things I did to try to make you feel better and so I called you selfish and told you I would drive you home. That’s when I knew it would never work. That’s when I first got that feeling. “Did you know her?” The words, and realization, that I’m no longer alone knock me from my slumber and instantly bring me back to the present. I turn towards the wounded, quivering voice to see the familiar man holding a single carnation. He’s worn and breathing heavily from the walk down the hill. My god he’s aged like a dog since I’ve seen him last. “My daughter, did you know her?” I turn back towards the water. “No. I just love this pond.” He nods and kneels down to place the flower next to the makeshift cross, the dates 1999-2018 etched on its horizontal board. I offer him my hand, he groans as I help him back to his feet and for a brief moment, we stand side by side. This is how it could have been if you noticed me; the three of us enjoying a beautiful day at the pond. Unfortunately, your selfishness left me with this feeling. This seething rage that I cannot contain much longer. I come here every time I get that feeling. It helps, but I’m afraid soon it won’t be enough to quell me. It keeps growing, like another piece of wood thrown on the fire burning inside me. I miss you so bad and I wish that you were here with me now, to satisfy this feeling. So that I could kill you all over again.