He reached into the jar of seeds, slowly moving his hand through to feel them on every part of his hand. The feeling relaxed him, as did the sound of the seeds moving around the open spaces, softly colliding with each other. When he lifted his hand out it was covered in the particles and dust residing throughout the jar. Reaching back in he stopped just short of submerging his fingertips beneath the top seeds and grabbed a pinch of the seeds, rolling them between his fingers together until there was only one left. He placed it into his coat pocket, then reached in two more times. Three seeds today. It had been over a month since he needed more than one. He grabbed his trowel and a watering can, pushed open the doors from his shed and started making his way to the street. Cars were at a standstill in the middle of the street all honking in concert with each other. Some people even had their windows rolled down, fists out and shaking at the cars in front of them as if their sheer yelling power would free up the traffic jam. He considered grabbing a fourth seed, but instead chose to put his head down and continue walking. The sun warmed his back as he passed a couple holding hands, an old woman walking a dog seemingly twice her weight, and some children kicking a can down the sidewalk, laughing as they nearly barreled into him. Once he reached the park he filled the watering can and went to the corner of the park that he always did. As he approached, the smell of blooming flowers reached him in a gust of wind. He put the watering can down briefly, closed his eyes, and deeply breathed in and out. A smile crept onto his face as he reveled in his hard work from previous days, weeks, years. A swath of the park nearly half an acre was covered in flowers of different colors and sizes. The striking purple from the Provence lavenders competed with the dark blue of the Anchusas, and both vied for attention from the pink of the primroses. All swayed in the wind together as one. He moved to the section he left a few days ago at the end of the spiral, the seeds not yet budding whereas the ones next to it were just starting to poke through the surface. The man shoved the trowel into the ground, pulled it out and repeated the motion in a cone shape before pulling out the whole section of dirt. Worms and beetles crawled as quickly as they could to escape the sudden removal of their homes. The man wondered how long beetles lived and whether or not his father ever saw the same ones he did. Maybe the same beetles kept having their homes ripped out from above them from the same general area. Maybe it’s time to move farther away little buddies, he laughed, placing the chunk of dirt softly down next to him. “Are you crazy?” a young girl’s voice startled him, making him nearly throw his trowel in defense. He looked up to see a little girl, likely around five or six years old, wearing pink overalls with a massive Hello Kitty printed on the front. Her hair was done in ponytails with a red ribbon on top nearly falling off in her loose hair. She brushed her hair aside, moving the bow farther from the center. “Excuse me?” “My brother says crazy people laugh when no one says anything. Are you crazy?” The man laughed at the absurdity, thinking about all of the times he laughed at his own thoughts. “I sure hope not. It’s good to laugh, even when you’re by yourself. Especially when you’re by yourself.” The girl laughed and jumped, knocking the bow free from her hair to fall gently to the ground. She bent over, stumbling a bit as she grabbed the bow and tried placing it back into her hair. About twenty yards behind the girl stood a man wearing khaki slacks and a white button down shirt. He uncrossed his arms and waved when the man made eye contact with him. He reflexively waved back. “Your father?” he said, nodding toward the man in the khakis. “Yes,” she said, “he brings me here once a week. I like the flowers. The pink ones are my favorite.” She bent her knees then jumped as far as she could toward the flowers, missing by quite a long distance, and stumbled again, the bow falling once more onto the ground in front of her. She giggled and placed it back into her hair as if it would finally stick for good that time. The man filled the hole with a little bit of soil. “I like them too,” the man said. He looked at the pink flowers near the little girl, planted nearly two years ago after his sister blamed him for his father’s death. “I think they’re all my favorite, though.” “They can’t all be your favorite,” the girl laughed. She walked closer to him and sat down by the newest flowers. “We see you here sometimes. How big are you going to make these?” “How big?” “Yeah!” the girl exclaimed. “Will you cover the whole park?” The man laughed and waved his hand, imagining the park covered in flowers with no room to walk around. “No, not the whole park. That would take too long since I only plant a few at a time.” He looked around himself imagining how far the flowers would go - he never thought about when he would stop, or even if he would stop. No one at the park told him he couldn’t plant, and most people knew to leave him alone by this point. They liked the flowers there, and so did he. “Why only a few?” the girl asked, confused by the inefficiency. “I’m not planting for the park,” the man answered. “My father used to always come out here once I was grown up. He would plant a seed every now and then back when there were no flowers.” The man looked toward the center of the spiral of flowers and remembered when his father started planting them. The man dove head first into alcoholism a decade prior when his girlfriend at the time, whom he believed to be the love of his life, broke up with him. His father, as a coping mechanism, would take seeds out to this spot to plant them, one seed any time the man’s alcoholism negatively affected others. A seed for yelling obscenities during minuscule arguments. A seed for vomiting on the carpet once again. The man detested the flowers back when his father was alive, a constant reminder of his failures as a human and a son. In a drunken tirade he once ran to the flowers and ripped them all from the ground. His father, saying nothing, took a single seed the next day and planted it in the center of the ruined flowerbed. “Why are you doing this to me?” the man asked his father through tears. “I’m not doing anything to you,” his father replied. “I do it *for* you. Those seeds represent something beautiful. This world can be wholly awful at times, but I can take those awful things and literally turn them into beauty that others can enjoy.” “That’s stupid,” the man said, already drunk. His father frowned. “I don’t think so.” “I do.” His father stood quiet for a moment, then said “I hope you find beauty in those flowers someday.” And someday he did find those flowers beautiful. After his father died the flowers became a sort of memorial to him. They helped him overcome his alcoholism when he forced himself to come to the flowers anytime he wanted a drink. Over time he realized what his father was trying to do for him, so he continued planting seeds in the spirit of turning bad things into something beautiful. A seed for strangers being rude. A seed for a hurtful comment from a loved one. “I plant a seed when I see something bad in this world,” the man said to the girl, “as a way to turn it into beauty instead.” The girl looked back at him, confused. “You plant them when bad things happen? That’s silly.” He cocked his head at the girl, thinking he didn’t appropriately convey the emotion behind his planting. “Silly?” “Yeah,” the girl replied. “When you look at the flowers you remember the bad things. I want to remember good things when I see flowers!” The man looked back at the spiral of flowers. All these years of planting these seeds to turn bad to good and no one asked him about it. She was right - there was always a tiny sense of dread hiding in the corners of his mind when he came here. The weight of his father’s tradition and the obligation of adding beauty to the world kept him going, but he was always reminded of the reasons for coming out here in the first place, the shadow constantly following him that he only planted because something bad happened. The girl jumped up and, without noticing that her bow flew off again, ran to her father. After a moment, the man in the khakis reached into his shirt pocket and took something out, placing it into the girls hand. She ran back to the man, arms flailing and a smile stretching across her face. She went to the hole that the man dug for his first seed and dropped to her knees. The girl opened her hand, and in the center of her tiny palm was a seed. “This is for meeting you,” she said, turning her hand and dropping the seed into the hole. The man watched the seed fall into the hole in slow motion, a seed that so opposed the whole meaning of this garden but what he so desperately knew needed to be done. “I’m Catriona,” the girl said. “My friends call me Cat.” “Hi Cat,” the man said. “I’m Chris. My friends call me Chris,” he joked. Cat giggled and waved her tiny hand at him. “Hi Chris.” She turned and ran once more to her father, then the both of them held hands and walked away. Chris watched as the two of them turned a corner around a building out of sight. He looked back at the flowers and realized the girl’s bow was still on the ground. With no chance of catching up to them he picked it up and looked at it. He put the bow in his pocket knowing he would keep it for the girl until she came back. He would show her all of the new flowers he planted that reminded him of the beauty that was already present in the world. He filled the rest of the hole with soil and watered it, then reached into his pocket to pull out the three seeds he brought with him. Each one represented something he planned to turn into beauty that day, but he couldn’t in good conscience plant them knowing what they represented. He put them back in his pocket, then picked up the trowel and watering can and walked home. He came back the next day with two new seeds. A seed for a girl that brought light to his life. A seed for the man he had become. He looked once more at the spiral of flowers, knowing his father would be proud of him.


I work in pest control. It’s only been a few days but I’m enjoying it so far. Mechanical things come easy to me and I find joy in how much they distract me from my brain. I’m too smart to be stupid and too stupid to be smart so manual problem solving seems to be the perfect fit for me. I work with a guy named Andrew, he reminds me a lot of me but if I was 50 and Hawaiian and had worked in pest control for 30 years. He talks in really quick short bursts, sometimes it feels like he’s dying for someone to listen to him. He speaks as if he’s never talked before. I want to talk too but I don’t always know how to do that. I like his company though. I appreciated the work today, my head was spinning from an argument with my girlfriend last night. We fight a lot and it’s usually stupid. When it’s not my fault I end up feeling like it is my fault. I look back on my life often in these moments, my head feels like a projector trying to play 8 films at once. They keep spinning in and out with thousands of images and sounds and suddenly it explodes snapping me out of it only now I am a man standing in a room surrounded by fire with nothing but a cup of water. Eventually, the fire burns me up and I’m left staring at the ceiling begging God to stop my heart. Then I wake up, and it’s the next day, and I go to work. She was having a bad day yesterday. I think I cause a lot of those but she never says so. I’ve been trying hard to be good to her. I love her so much, it consumes every cell and thought of my body and soul. She had been off work for a couple of minutes and started crying. I held her and tried to comfort her but I don’t know how to do that very well. But I try. After she came out of it we watched TV for a bit and then I had to go to bed, I work early. She started looking sad and when I pried she told me she thinks I don’t like her and I was being short all night. I said I was sorry and I didn’t mean to and went to bed. While in bed I felt like a broken human as I usually do. Even when trying my best I just can’t seem to make people feel good or loved or something, I’m not even sure anymore. I put on the song “Aviator” by Michael Chapman, my favorite song, and started sobbing. I feel so alone sometimes. She came in later and held me from behind, I didn’t say anything but she told me she was getting up to turn off the lights. I was still crying so I think I was just offended. Then I heard her take a bong rip, talk to her cat, and go to the bathroom to brush her teeth. I knew she would come back and we could continue cuddling but for some reason, I just got mad. I wanted her to just say there. I should’ve just said that. Today we did a lot of work in shelters. The majority we go to are come and go style, anyone can show up, and as long as there’s a room they can come in and stay. Andrew told me the official name but I forgot because I can’t hear sometimes. We worked from the fourth floor down checking the rooms and cleaning out fruit flies. He was frustrated because the building doesn’t do anything to help. When I saw the first room I understood what he meant. Most of the rooms were the same. Piles of trash, piles of clothes, burned tinfoil squares from smoking heroin, needles (we yell needle when we find one), and a variety of shit, piss, blood, and vomit. One guy was making moonshine in his bathtub, turns out that’s a good place for fruit flies to grow. We did the best we could, we sprayed, and slapped, and wiped out as much as we could, but the building won’t remove the rotten trash so they’ll always be there. Some rooms were empty and some were full. We walked in on a couple shooting up, another lady was dripping with sweat from being sick and needing another hit. One lady yelled “get out” as soon as we entered and we did. One man couldn’t even open the door because he had too much stuff in his room, he just talked to us through the crack of the door and apologized, that made me sad again. I wondered if he were to die how long it’d take for someone to check? I think about that scenario with my own corpse too. We finished out the day and I felt a little better. The conversation and busyness of the day had finally burned me out so I wasn’t thinking so much. I also didn’t eat so I could focus on being hungry instead. On my drive home, the thoughts came back. I put Queen is Dead by the Smiths on but the deluxe version. I like the demo versions of the songs better. The Smiths are really good, I think Morrisey is full of shit but I like his lyrics a lot. Maybe I’m just full of shit too. As the music played I stopped paying attention because my mind kicked into overdrive again. I thought a lot about Pao and our fight and what I’d do when I saw her. We had texted a bit throughout the day but there was no punctuation so I assumed the worst. I imagined apologizing, maybe I should, or get flowers, or do something, but I just don’t think it’ll matter. I’ll fuck it up again. I started thinking about Brandon, Alex, my mom, my dad, my dog, and all the people and things and places who have left me and hurt me. Maybe I’m the problem. If you’re surrounded by people who have left you maybe it’s time to look inward. Then I figured I’d write this story instead, if it’s a story I can pretend it didn’t happen. I originally wanted to write about how I was poisoned, then I thought about how I didn’t ask for this life and I could use being “burned alive” as a metaphor for being raped and how I didn’t ask for “these scars” but that sounded so pretentious and blah blah blah so I wrote this instead. I texted my sponsor this morning though, I’m not sober anymore and have been blowing him off for a month. I felt bad, and I felt worse today, so I tried to fix it. He was happy to hear from me and we have plans for Saturday. I’ll probably cancel though - piece of shit. After the fight last night I laid awake staring at the popcorn ceiling and praying for my heart to stop. I use to do that as a kid. I’d be lying in pee and hearing my parents fight, or I’d be lying in pee and hearing no one because the house was empty. I think I just want to be dead, not because I’m miserable (my ex said I love being miserable) but because I want to spare the world from dealing with me. I hanged myself once. I think it was the only serious suicide attempt I’ve made. I got home from a day much like today and hung myself with a belt. I chickened out at the end but it was nice to know that I could do it and more importantly that it didn’t hurt. I think that’s my safety net now, I don’t have any friends or family or anything to fall back on, but I do have the option to tap out when I finally fuck my life up beyond repair. I don’t have that belt anymore though so I’d have to get a new one and that’d be a hassle. The one I have now is cheap leather and will probably just break under the weight, oh well, maybe another time then. I pulled into the parking lot and waited for Pao to let me in, I was convinced she would open the door and throw my shit at me and tell me to leave. I started crying at the thought. She came outside and softly said “hi.” We kissed and I made her hug me. We stood in silence holding each other and I tried not to cry again. We didn’t say anything and rode the elevator up. We went into her apartment and she went back to work and I took a piss, I always have to piss. I sat on the couch and started this shitty story. I hope I don’t fuck up tonight. I just want to be good. I do. I want to be happy, help people, build people up, and not lose my shit every time someone doesn’t give me what I need. I don’t want to die and I have hope that I’ll be happy and normal someday. Worst case scenario I hold onto that hope and die someday anyway. We all gotta go and as long as Hell doesn’t turn out to be real I can finally get some sleep.


The house creaked with age and emptiness. Every good natured protest from the home amplified a singular expression. \*Loss.\* It was the loss of all manner of sayings, spells, and words of wisdom, and most of all, of the woman who spoke them. It was the loss that Evie Price knew keenly as she stood among furniture hidden under sheets of white linen, unable to feel anything else. That loneliness threatened to consume her, forcing a pressure behind her eyes and an ache in her heart. First Mother, then Grandmama, who’d been so old it seemed she would never retire, in mind or body. But then she did. All at once, Evie’s life… hell, the world, felt unbearably empty. Before Mother’s passing, Evie’s life had been so ordered. So predetermined. University courses, closing shift at the bakery, dinner, homework, rinse, repeat. Even the hint of skipping a short class, or leaving Mother to close the bakery on her own and Evie would earn the sternest of glares. What now, that her university classes were done, the bakery sold, and Grandmama was gone, too? Resentment welled up. Out of habit earned from one too many stern glares, she pushed it down. She could almost hear her mother’s voice scold her. *No sense in crying over it*. But Mother wasn’t here, and neither was Grandmama. Hopelessness dropped from her throat to her belly, and echoed back up like from a great depth. It whispered a lonely refrain. Alice would be along soon, to help her attend to the home Evie’d not visited since she was a girl. Putting the house in order was a task she didn’t want to think about– when Alice volunteered to help, Evie nearly cried. She still didn’t know what she wanted to do with the house. There was no one else to take care of it. The thought of renting it out felt like a cruel joke. Moving in though felt just as cruel. Staying here, without Grandmama? She didn’t even know how half the potions or pots in the kitchen worked. Symbols and words of power laced the rim of every implement. It would take a lifetime to learn what her grandmother had not been permitted to teach her. But Grandmama’s home could never be too silent or somber for long. Somewhere deep in the beams, *something* started*.* At first it was a whisper, and it grew to a hum. It was a sound she never thought she’d hear again. “*What is that noise, Grandmama?” She tilted her head up, swaying with the quiet music.* *The graying witch smiled, and handed a batter spoon to Evie. It tasted of cardamom and honey, with another flavor she’d never been allowed to know, but it was the taste that filled her dreams. In Dreamland, laughing fae that smelled of Grandmama’s fresh muffins danced to the hum of the cottage, but not even dreams could match the love that steeped her time at Grandmama’s in the waking world.* *“It’s the song of home, child. Wherever you are in the world, if you hear this song, it is because you belong there.”* It was the humming that drew her to the attic. A warm, nameless tune pulled almost imperceptibly up the loft stairs. It wove up the worn railing, and grew stronger when her feet rounded the last step. She found herself in the attic, staring at a cedar chest. On the chest sat a book that should not have existed, upon a doily of spider-spun gold thread, wrapped in a music that could only be of Grandmama’s making. Evie blinked and bit her lip, fighting tears that sprang of their own accord. Tendrils of warmth coiled in an almost familiar embrace wound around her as she reached out to the book. So interested was she, she did not hear the gentle footpads that followed after her, even as the floorboards have their croaky report. “What is it?” came a soft, curious voice behind her. She shook her head. “I haven’t seen this since I was little. I thought Mother burned it.” “What *is* it?”, the voice came again. “It’s a…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it at first, picking it up with a ginger touch. A layer of dust came away with her fingertips. “You’re gonna laugh.” “Pffft. Show me!” A gentle hand tugged at her elbow insistently. Evie stood paused for a long moment. The leatherbound cover was just as she remembered, with raised gold snakes and vines intertwining up pale pillars. At the center was a thinly etched circle surrounded by symbols of which she’d never known the meaning. There was a time she’d been promised that one day that knowledge and much more would be hers. That was before Mother whisked them away from Grandmama, 5000 kilometers and lifetimes apart, so it seemed. But she would’ve known that book anywhere. “It’s a spell book. My grandmother’s spellbook.” Alice’s chin popped over Evie’s shoulder. “For real?” “Mhm.” Rough paper edges whispered under her fingers as Evie flipped through the pages. Amidst the stiff parchment and flowing penmanship the faintest smell of dust and cinnamon tea came to her, bringing a smile to her lips. “This book is the reason Mother made us move away.” Her friend’s voice took on a cautious hush. “Is it possessed?” “No no, nothing like that.” She snuck a sly smile to Alice. “That I *know* of.” A slim arm hooked through hers, Alice’s gooseflesh brushing over Evie’s own. “That’s comforting.” The house creaked with a chilly draft in answer. Her companion’s shiver grated like sandpaper against Evie’s skin. The book hummed and emanated warmth. It did not apparently extend to other people. “Come on, we’ll put a kettle on, we’ll use Grandmama’s special tea.” The tea, on second thought, was a task Evie wasn’t sure she could complete. There were words, and an ingredient that danced on the tip of her tongue but that she could not find in Grandmama’s innumerable little vials. They settled on a tea Alice had thought to pack with them, and the two sat with the book on a settee of the deepest blue. They scoured each page, sounding out words they’d never heard before, cautiously forming half-spoken spells on untaught tongues. What it all meant, or could mean, was of little consequence to Evie. It was enough to not be alone. Soon they had mispronounced all of the potions and principles of the first chapters when they reached the incantations. Both curled up, half entangled, tea forgotten, Evie’s heart leapt at the next chapter’s title. “*The Art of Intention, Incantations, and Spellcasting,”* Alice read aloud. “Ooooh, like real, *real* witch stuff? Like wish spells and love spells, and…” “We could practice,” Evie said, eyes wide. “I always wondered if *love* spells really worked!” Then the ridiculousness and absurdity of speaking the possibility struck her, and she fell back in a burst of giggles. Alice joined her, collapsing on the pillows with a flounce and cascade of curls. “Oh, there’s no need for that,” she said softly. The two giggled again, nervous and giddy as they pored over the book. Evie wished it was true. Then she could stop looking away so fast when their eyes met. She could sink into a comfortable cuddle when Alice sat close. She didn’t have to feel embarrassed when their hands touched, like when she made tea for two. She wouldn’t have to pretend to be apologetic when she stole fries from Alice’s plate at restaurants. *She doesn’t like me. Not like that.* The whisper in her brain came with a little pang of loneliness. But at least Alice was here, when she had no one else. ‘*Friendship is a special magic. Never doubt the power of love that is given freely and intentionally*’, Grandmama would always say. *I should be more grateful.* She swallowed back the lump that threatened to break her composure in two and instead said airily, more sing-songy than she could ever possibly feel, “Well, I guess we’ll never know”. The book above their heads, Evie stared at the next chapter, *Incantations with Intention.* Unbidden, the image of Grandmama in her kitchen came to mind. There was always some lesson to be had while the octogenarian prepared some potion or another. ‘*All the intention in the world can be for naught if you never give it life, child.’* “Can you imagine it, just… casting a spell and having your wishes come true?” Alice reached up, taking one side of the book in her hand and pulled it closer. “Your Grandmama thought you could.” “She’d be the only one.” Evie released the other side of the book, letting the back cover hang against the pages, the paper fanning out from the binding. Her friend lowered it, laying the tome down, and slung her arm over Evie as they both settled further into the cushions. “I believe you can.” The sweet earnestness in her voice and lazy finger tracing swirls and nonsense in her palm melted Evie. For a heart as lonely as hers, once a devoid chasm deeper than the Marianas Trench, a spark flared. Grateful, she laced her fingers through Alice’s. “Thank you.” Encouraged by the sweet tones of a familiar humming, Evie rolled onto her elbow and curled into Alice’s embrace. She brushed errant curls from her friend’s eyes. Then she closed her own, and pressed her lips to Alice’s. A nigh-imperceptible exhale swept warmth across Evie’s cheek. It was followed by a smile, a cupid’s bow curved into her own and the kiss was returned. The cottage’s hum swelled gently around them both. Evie could have sworn it took on a voice, tender and joyful, as it whispered, “welcome home, my dears.


Hello friends, I wanted to share with you my first short story written in English. The story takes place in the Warhammer 40k universe, a dystopian sci-fi setting in which the dream of a good life has long since been buried under the rubble of religious delusion, hopelessness and narrow-mindedness. This story is about the minions of the Inquisition, an occult secret service whose self-imposed mission is to protect the soul of humanity and its God-Emperor. Even if they have to break every rule to do so. It tells the story of Idomenea Casryn, an inquisitor and pursuer of the Horusian ideal, and the price one must be willing to pay to save the Emperor's soul. A scene only, a brief moment born of the melancholy and loss that the holy Ordo of the Inquisition impose on their most faithful servants. Have mercy on me that english is not my mother tongue. I hope you enjoy the words as much as I enjoy the writing process. Just trying not to write a story in German was exciting and exhausting at the same time - and in 1-2 moments I also had to ask Google Translate for help. But enough of that! Best regards from Germany!  # The Dream of Trinity >*"The final nights in the dreamers barony,* > >*In fair Caracalla, where we lay our scene,* > >*From ancient hopes break to new heresy,* > >*Where honest thoughts make honest souls unclean."* > >\- Elegies of the Double Sun, Thoughts and Reflections  **"…Before the swollen gaze of the Dark Eye, do I stand. I hold for He who long ago sacrificed for man. I will yield no ground, I shall take no step back. In His name and for His will, I will never surrender…"** The otherworldly hiss of the shapelessness lurked like a snare of thorns over the cramped chamber of the Teleportarium. The center of the arcane facility was animated by approximately forty men and women, all clad in exquisite armor and rifles, invocations of the Golden Throne silent on their lips - a contrast to the cacophonous shrieks and labors of the Machine God's adepts performing the ritual procedure of the Run-ups performed like the Mass of St. Drusus on the core worlds of Lycandos. If the pious warriors were ready to carry out their cruel orders at the behest of their mistress, the scratching of the presence could be heard, felt, felt at the edges of their perception. They were soldiers of the XVI. Iodura Charbytei, an elite cohort of the Tempestus Scions and officially declared *"perdidit in inundationes"*, lost in the tides with their vessel, the "*Lion of the Last Kingdom*", a Sword-class frigate. As much as this may often be true, it is not always the case: instead of the tides of the Empyrean, She took into her service according to her power as the Emperor's representative. The proud soldiers of Tempestus erased their colors as did their coats of arms, only to swap them for the black and crimson of the Inquisition. The noble symbols of Charybtei victories on their cuirasses have been replaced with esoteric hypersigils and pentagram sketches painted with blessed-cursed dust from the shrine world of Sebastea. Since then, they have served the Veiled Lady as loyal warriors to fulfill her dream of the Trinity. And yet they could only defend themselves exhausted, panting and silently wailing against the snare of thorns. **"Pierce my flesh, break my bones, take my life. These matter not in my sacrifice, ye of the Despair shall know defeat. For even in Death shall we be triumphant in His name…"** Each of the soldiers had gone through the hells of depravity as well as of their own conscience for the veiled lady. Some died, others committed atrocities for the fulfillment of the Trinity. The cases of those who showed the taint of the Otherworld on body and soul were ended with holy earnest within the warriors. But no one gave way, no one despaired. And yet the noose of thorns tightened around their souls, leaving scratches and bleeding. Tempestor Salim averted his gaze from the crimson shape that undulated gently across the floor of the sacred teleportarium like the sea breeze of sunrise on Kardesh Secundus. Her blades, each blessed by devoted preachers of Sebasteia to the glory of Terra, floated in tight, intricate patterns around her body, forming in their slowness a complex yet hypnotic pattern that seemed like the indecisive invocation of a figure half holy and half ugly. The teleporatium's arcs of energy were still charging, the frantic screeching of the Machine God's Adept muffled in the background. But Salim had eyes only for his neighbor's cuirass, knowing full well that the same spectacle was taking place on his armor: the hypersigils, occult symbols of protection against the corruption of the Otherworld, blistered and peeled off like old paint on the walls of a manufactory. And the voice in his head grew louder, the rasping of the loop of thorns in his mind more oppressive. **"…My Lord! I have fallen in battle for He and his flock. Prepare my place, O Lord! I shall stand by thee side until the End Times. Until Thy will be done…"** They were verses of pious prayer, catechisms of holiness, recited in the distant, weary, yet unbroken voice of a Pious Servant of the Golden Throne. Little more than the icing of the frost, which turns the presence of the floating entity into a moment in every life that one tries desperately to shake off and yet is unable to. The purple glow in the empty eyes of the veiled skull gave an idea of the powers that the veiled lady subjugated to create her personal Erinys. And yet it's the details that let Tempestor Salim recognize suffering in the thick brew of fear. Weathered adherents to the cult of the double-faced sun, rusting prayer brooches of solid gold, crests like long-smeared gleams of the man they had been. The declaration of eternal friendship. Pious praises of the Golden Throne´s benediction. The insignia of an interrogator. The melted wards on the Tempestus Scion's cuirass ran in contrasting clarity down the midnight-black breastplates like a distant mother's tears succumbing to madness. The first groans could be heard from the pious warriors, as the thorns pressed themselves unintentionally and unprotected into the tender flesh of their hardened souls and mutilated the fine fiber of their salvation with their barbs of corruption. But they did not falter, none of Salim's soldiers. He was proud, ignoring the taste of brass on his tongue. **"…Take heed, ye who have surrendered to the Darkness. I shall be unbowed and unbroken. For where there is darkness, His light shall shine and the darkness shall retreat… IDOMENEA?"** The dissonant ending of the litany roused each of the warriors in the teleportarium from their stoically endured agony. The Psalms of Endurance floated like distant echoes through time and space, echoing through the eternity of the souls of the Tempestus Scions. Relieved for a moment, the swollen eyes of the soldiers, hidden under their helmets and visors, glided to the entrance of the teleportarium, now seeing what the Erinys already saw coming, felt, prophesied: Realizing the paradox of elegant power armor, a woman entered, clad like the soldiers in midnight black and inlaid with pure gold, her crimson cloak billowing behind her like the faithful retinue of its lord. A dead blade at her side, it was her face that caught the attention of her soldiers: suggested contours of a beautiful, yes, innocent face, hidden as if beneath a veil whose fibers seemed so unreal as to be tearful. It was no salute, not even a hinted nod of her veiled head, that was meant for her followers, her souls that would in a few moments lead themselves into the hellfire of pandemonium, in order not to let the dream of the trinity die. It just wasn't necessary. Not a word, not a declaration of appreciation for their loyalty to the Inquisitor. Tempestor Salim and each of his subordinates knew it. And yet she spoke. The voice of Idomenea Casryn, commonly known as the Veiled Lady, found its way into the teleportarium. Sounding far away, echoing like the last, sighing note in an orchestra hall on Esseles, who combined beauty and melancholy with too few syllables: “Prosperina?” The word, more question than utterance, found its way through the veil, and for a moment it seemed as if even the shrieking Techadepts were brought together by the word of the Inquisitor - as a follower of the Horusian ideal reviled by many of her peers and hunted by some - to one moment of dignified silence. ***"...Idomenea..."*** The swords, circling in intricate patterns around the Erinys, paused in the air. Hidden beneath the veil, the skull of the crimson-tinted monster bent toward the Inquisitor. Her otherworldly voice, uttering the litany of endurance in a tortured, pained manner, driving the Tempestus Scions like rusty nails into their souls the moment the hypersigils failed, seemed changed. She sounded younger, female, yes, human. And exhausted and distant in a way that no listener could have imagined. "Not for long, my heart. The dream of the Trinity is about to be fulfilled. We're almost there." The Inquisitor's words took the stage with measured strides, where only she and her Erinys reigned supreme, the elite soldiers relegated to supporting roles and the screeching tech-adepts to a silenced orchestra. They were neither beseeching nor benevolent, but their intention was evident even to the bleeding souls of the Tempestus Scions waiting in agony deep in their hearts. She was neither an order nor a flattery. Rather a pleading. ***"...I can hardly do any more. It hurts so bad. He wants me, my beloved... he just wants me for himself..."*** As if in reply, the sounds of a gusting death wind came alive around Proserpina, the Veiled Lady's triple-bound Demonhost. The rusty chains around the ankles of the hovering monster lashed the floor of the teleportarium, as if angry entities wanted to replace the silent orchestra and want to end the scene, the conversation between two sisters who were in love and who were both wounded in their own way. A tiny sparkle only, nothing else was visible under the veil of Idomenea Casryn. "Hold on, my strong, my noble heart." The soldiers' visors could scarcely recognize it in their coarseness. And even if technology allowed them to do so, believing that the Inquisitor would shed a tear would be impossible and unbearable at the same time. A tear for a human being who, being stronger-willed, more mature, wiser, chose to accept the necessary yoke of damning one's own soul in order to enable her younger companion to fulfill the dream of the Trinity. To free the Emperor's soul from the agony of the Golden Throne. "Hold on... Proserpina." **"...We who have bled shall be redeemed. We who have fallen shall be exulted. We who have died shall be avenged. We who have sacrificed shall be rewarded..."** No more words of sorrow. No more words of affection, of missing her loved one. Only the catechism of endurance, intoned in invisible pain from otherworldly lips, knowing full well that the self-chosen damnation could call no salvation its epilogue, only the horror of the heralds of the Empyrean, challenged and bound by human courage and occult instruments that only the most radical of the Ordo Malleus knew, could know, were allowed to know. The last hope that Properina Dellacosa, once a brilliant interrogator of the Holy Ordos, could cling to was that the moment, when she could no longer resist the corruption and its insinuations, was not in vain. That the Trinity would come, she herself might be dressed in never-ending darkness.


*1. What did the groom first notice about the bride?* It was probably my skirt. I'd been running, and it had caught on a metal fence, and ripped right up to my waist. I was running because I was late, for my job in a cafe across town, but I ran into Cicero's by mistake. It's pretty different to the cafe I used to work in, bright marble and leafy green plants in black velvet pots, instead of greasy linoleum and pictures of the food above the counter. I still can't figure out how I managed to confuse them. But the manager gave me a glass of water and I ended up convincing him to give me a job there and then. He gave me some safety pins to hold my skirt together with until he could find me a uniform in the back, and Isaac's was the first order that I took. He was so handsome - bushy eyebrows, those cute little red glasses and his weird crocodile sweater that he never takes off. I caught him staring at my ass through the safety pins - he's only human, right girlies? - and after he'd left his black Amex card with the cheque I scribbled my phone number on the back of a scrap of paper and handed it back to him. Don't ask don't get, right? *2. What was the bride and groom's first date?* It was magical. Of course, right? All first dates with your soul mate are. I was super early, it was so embarrassing. He'd asked me to meet him in a park at six, when the sun was supposed to be setting. I got there around three - I had a family funeral, earlier that day, actually, and the church wasn't too far from the park. The rest of my family wanted to go back to my uncle's house for a few drinks but I headed straight to meet Isaac. True love can't wait, am I right? He laughed when he first saw me. My hands were gross, all scraped and bleeding. I'm clumsy, and I'd fallen down a fire escape after I'd taken a short cut through my best friend's apartment. I also had a pretty big bag with me, full of everything I might need. I like to be prepared, you know? I take it everywhere with me. *3. Where was the bride and groom's first kiss?* It was in that park! Isaac arrived at exactly six, of course. He's very punctual. He wouldn't have been so successful if he wasn't very punctual. I mean, the fact that his father's the CEO might have had something to do with it, but my Isaac works very hard. That's why Roger is planning on handing everything over to him when he retires. Not that any of that matters to me, of course. Anyway, there were tiny little tea lights and fairy lights strung up everywhere. All over the trees. He'd brought a picnic too, and a huge bottle of champagne. I only had a glass or two - I wanted to keep a clear head. I wanted to remember every second, didn't I? Oh right, the kiss. Well, we settled onto the blanket and started talking. I'm usually pretty extroverted but I mainly asked him questions about his life. I wanted to know everything - where he went to school, where he lived now, how crowded it was there, whether he travelled a lot, whether he was willing to maybe move abroad one day. Isaac seemed a little nervous. He is pretty shy, and maybe he wasn't used to being the one leading the conversation. Maybe he won't end up CEO one day. That's probably a good thing. I don't think too much limelight would be good for us. Anyway. The kiss. So Isaac was telling me about his mom, and the yoga classes she runs for local senior citizens. Then he starts asking me about my family. Where I grew up, what my parents were like, did I have any siblings, any cousins. Well, I told him that my parents ran a local business, I have one sister, and I've got hundreds of cousins, probably. But everyone has cousins, and it's not a big deal. It's not like you and your cousins have this deep, impenetrable bond because you're cousins, right? I mean so what, your parents are brothers. Big deal. Isaac looked at me pretty weirdly then and asked me more about my cousins. He's only got one, you see. Tommy. And Tommy is his best man, as you ladies know, so I guess the whole cousin thing is pretty important to him. Whatever. We're not talking about cousins, and how close or not close you should be. We're talking about mine and Isaac's first, magical kiss. So he asks me more questions about my family, and I basically just threw myself at him. I kissed him like, super hard. Like, porn star hard. I wasn't even embarrassed that we were in public. I just couldn't wait another minute to kiss him. I kissed the words right out of his mouth. I kissed him so hard that when we finally broke away from each other, he forgot what we were talking about entirely and so I had to start up a new conversation about our favourite movies. He's so cute. *4. Who said "I love you" first?* It was me! I'm pretty bold, aren't I? It wasn't too long after our first date in the park, either. We went straight back to his place over on the west side of the city, and it was beautiful. We've got the house right out in the country, of course, which is perfect, so quiet and serene and isolated, but wow, the apartment was something else. I'd never seen anything like it before. The locks on the door were huge, and the building had its own security guard. So we went up to his apartment, on the twelfth floor it is. I was spooked at first - the windows were floor to ceiling and you could see the whole city. Isaac noticed that I went a bit pale, and I said that it must feel like the whole city was watching you eat breakfast. He laughed at that, and said that they were tinted. We could see out, but no one else could see in. Isaac got a bit weird at that point. He took my hand, and sat me down on the couch. He told me that he felt like that sometimes, like he could see everyone but no one could see him. I laughed at how dumb that sounded, but I shut up straight away when I could see that he was tearing up. He went on to say that I was the first girl he'd ever gone on a date with, because I seemed to be the first girl who was interested in him. That didn't surprise me. I mean, of course, I think Isaac's wonderful. Sure, he looks like a goofy science teacher and can get a little bit too intense about the Roman Empire. Also, he's super weird whenever we do anything physical. He thanks me afterwards. And he cries. Like, a lot. What was I saying? Oh yeah. He's awesome. He's safe, he's gentle, he's secure. He looks after me. Anyway. He held my hands and sat me down on the couch and told me that he had no experience with women, whatsoever. He was worried that I'd be weirded out. He also said that he was more than happy to take things casually, if I liked. I was free to see other people. That's when I told him that I loved him. It seemed like the obvious thing to say. I mean, when you know, you know. I had to break away for a moment then and use the bathroom. I was completely overwhelmed, you know, emotionally. I splashed my face, and checked my phone. I had to turn it off at that point, I had about twenty five missed calls and I could tell that even Isaac was getting annoyed at it constantly vibrating mid-conversation. So I flushed it down the toilet. I didn't want to run the risk of it turning on by itself. It was a cheap phone anyway, not like Isaac's phone, with all of the latest technology. Full GPS system too, someone can trace you from anywhere in the world. It actually went missing last week, which is a shame, but he has a new one now, so it doesn't matter. It's not like he can't afford it. What? Oh. Yeah. "I love you." Awesome. So I go back into the room and sit next to Isaac. He's still frozen in the same position, and he looks pretty surprised. I'm obviously feeling a little bit upset at this point. I mean, I've just said that I love him, and he's just staring at me. "Don't you love me too?" I asked him. He said that he didn't know. He wasn't sure. As he'd said, he didn't have any experience with women, not even with high school girlfriends, and so he wasn't even sure what being in love with someone felt like. I dropped the subject at that point, but he said it eventually. Of course. We're getting married, aren't we? I'm his princess. Not like, look at me, huge spread in a celebrity magazine, princess, but like, Iet's hole up in a castle in the middle of the mountains kind of princess. It's beautiful. And my feelings haven't changed. I can honestly say that my feelings for Isaac have not changed since the day we met. And that is a promise. Seriously. It's in my vows. *5. Who proposed? How and why did it happen?* I know what you're thinking. Crazy old me must have proposed, right? Wrong! And even though we got off to a pretty speedy start, what with me moving the evening of our first date, our engagement wasn't until about six months later. Moving in wasn't a big deal though. I had my big bag with me, of course, and I had coincidentally received a text from my landlord that my contract had ran out that evening. It must have slipped her mind. Isaac was pretty angry on my behalf. He said that I should get her involved with small claims court and everything, and that he'd be happy to let me use his lawyer. But my lease was on a pretty freelance basis, so I told him it was all chill. I said that I'd find a hotel and maybe sleep on a friend's floor. Was I ever surprised when he asked me to sleep in the spare bedroom! I was completely blown away. I hadn't expected that for a second. Anyway, the big proposal. Okay ladies, as it's a bridal shower, I'm sure you won't mind me going into a few dirty details for this one. Come on, we're all girls here! So. It may come as a surprise to all of you that I am strictly against pre-marital sex. I wasn't always like this. I used to be pretty up for anything - if you're cute and you have nice arms and you are willing to buy me a bottle of Patreon then I am more than happy to hop on board. However, everything changed when I had sort of a spiritual revelation. And coincidentally, it happened a few hours after mine and Isaac's second date. So, we went to a fancy restaurant. We went in a town car and everything, it was incredible. Waiters in waistcoats, antique chandeliers, the works. I was a little jumpy, I have to say. It was coincidentally in the same neighbourhood that my family lived in, but it had nothing to do with that. It was probably the alcohol. There was a lot of it. All free, all unlimited. I only had a glass of champagne - again, I wanted to keep a clear head, just in case. Isaac wasn't as careful, though. And I never thought the boy had it in him, but he was handsy. Under the table, on the way to the taxi cab, I had to keep slapping him away. I'm an emotional women, as you might know, and I still felt pretty hurt that he hadn't reciprocated my "I love you" yet. It wasn't making me feel secure. For all I know, he could have up and left at any point, and invited another girl to sleep in his spare bedroom. Anyway. We get back to the apartment, and we're getting down to business. I'm obviously aware that this is Isaac's first time doing anything physical with everyone, and this isn't my first time at the ball game, to put it mildly. But I can't help thinking about how he hadn't told me that he loved me. He could turn me out at any minute and have some other floozy sleeping in his spare bedroom. I'd be out on the street, at the mercy of whoever lived in the neighbourhood I grew up in. Not that it had anything to do with accommodation, of course. It was all about Isaac. I loved him and I knew that he loved me. I just had to make him realise it. As I said, I was pretty distracted. Isaac was completely focused. He was almost dribbling at this point. My dress was pretty short and strapless, and all you needed to do was undo one zip at the front and then it would be all over. Isaac's hand, shaking, reached for the zip, but I grabbed his wrist before he could get any further. I started crying then. I said that sex had suddenly, in this very moment, become very sacred and special to me. I loved him, and I only wanted to have sex with him for the rest of my life. But how was I to be sure that he felt the same way. Isaac just gaped at me. I could almost hear his brain working at a million miles a minute. I sighed mournfully, my breasts heaving in the hazy moonlight, and I got up to wrap myself back in my sweater. I heard Isaac groan, and I looked him in the eyes and stroked his leg, very very gently with one fingernail. I've never quite heard a man squeak like it, but I will never forget that sound. The words "will you marry me" seemed to fall out of his mouth before he could stop them, and I said "yes" as quickly as I could. It took a few weeks to sign some specially drawn up documents that our engagement was binding, of course, but after that was all down on paper, we got straight into a bit of getting-to-know-each-other, if you ladies catch my drift. And he's fine. More than fine. Magical. Inexperienced, and a little intense. Fond of eye contact, and very specific dirty talk. But magical. Of course. He's my one true love. And nothing's ever going to change that. *6. What is the first dinner that the bride and groom shared together?* Steak. Medium rare. (Taken from the 25/3/19 issue of the Riverton Times newspaper) *TOBACCONIST MURDERER STILL NOT FOUND* *The murder of Tony Puccini, a twenty six year old tobacco salesman from downtown Riverton, was reported four months ago. Despite frantic claims from the Puccini family that it was the victim's aunt's daughter, Maria Nunez, sufficient evidence has yet to be confirmed, despite the accused prints having been found in several locations over Puccini's apartment, where he was found dead in a pool of his own blood, following blunt force to the head. The Pucinni and the Nunez family have been linked to organised criminal activity in the downtown Riverton area for several decades, but no formal accusations to this have ever been made.* *Maria Nunez has claimed to have been missing for several months now, despite the help of neighbourhood watch groups and local police. Mr and Mrs Nunez, and Mrs Nunez's brother Carlo Puccini, have released an emotional statement to the local media that Maria "should come home when she reads this. She is not in trouble, and we just want to talk.


My dad said this to me as soon as I woke up. I'd once again fallen asleep to the TV screen flashing colours- waiting for my meds to dull them out. I suddenly felt worried; how long until I see the screen start to fade?  I sat up and ignored him. I grabbed my laptop, unwillingly ready to work. I wouldn’t brush until late afternoon- a norm in my passage of days. I’d sometimes look at my sister sitting opposite my bed with her table, laptop stand, and cup of coffee and get lost thinking about how we’d look to an outsider. One, barely in a normal position typing away at her laptop- and the other, as ready as she would be to go into the office.The day would pass by in a blink. Every second excruciating. 60,000 hours. 2,500 days. A little less than 7 years. The years seem to pass faster as you grow older- the end of those 60,000 hours seemed too close. Comfortably close.  It was night now, and everyone had gone to bed. I took my daily medication and lay down on the sofa and waited for the meds to kick in. The colours looked so lovely. So lovely… Soon they faded into darkness. It was just my eyes closing but it felt wonderful. I couldn’t feel a thing when asleep- perhaps the greatest feeling in the world. It expanded beyond my understanding of bliss and all things surrounding it. To not feel was to feel the most. It was finally time for the next 24 hours. I opened my eyes to a colourful television screen, mocking me in all its vibrancy. I turned it off before my dad saw. “60,000 hours only. Do you know how little that is?” It sounded like an eternity. It was an eternity- almost 7 years sounds tediously long. 7 years ago I was 14… I can barely remember it. The last 3 years seemed shorter than the 3 prior to it. Did I say this already? I think I did. What would I fall asleep to once the TV stopped flashing its colours at me? There would be nothing that would drift into darkness from radiance. I’d simply feel the same and sleep would come and I would wake up no longer looking forward to wasting those 60,000 hours. I was worried I wouldn’t have my beloved TV, my rainbow that would turn to grey clouds- in reverse but oddly comfortable. I wasn't actually worried about that though. But you probably caught onto that. My TV would never fade away in front of my eyes. Its bright colours would always be there to put me to sleep. I wasn’t worried my TV screen would fade away, dad. I was worried I wouldn't last another 60,000 hours to see it die with me.


An overwhelming sense of beauty and awe befell the young J, so cooped and restricted in the oppression of the empty Tower for so long, that to be standing here at its peak looking out at the gray skies, it felt as though he would float away Tears had streamed his face before, hot, unwelcoming tears, but this was new, for once he was crying not out of despair or greif like he had so many times, instead he was crying tears of joy, laughing as he did so, giggling and wailing like a child at the world, his skin exposed to the clarity of the world, amazingly beautiful, unbearably free. The two had led J and his dear friend here, young Wade and Mae, their liberators, it was now that he seeked answers, to know the nature of this tower at the edge of nowhere, if J had a life before, if he might have one after, what to expect if he did. However, most importantly of all, he wanted to know where the pair had come from, and where they fit in with the wide open vaccant landscape that rolled before his very eyes, curling away in the setting sun. As if reading his mind, Wade spoke, "We have been searching this tower for a little over two days now. It was originally a brief sight of it in the distance that drew us in." He paused for a moment, sighing through his nose. "This place is huge, deep too, we started at the base and tried going down, but there was no end to our delve and we were forced to turn back. The next day, we climbed the stairs, finding a room full of keys, each labeled to each sector, the one we found you in was H." J slightly recoiled, thinking hard but remaining silent, urging Wade to continue. "We searched everywhere, but in each room we looked, we only found the frozen bodies of men and women who seemed to freeze to death in their freezers" "Suicide..." Mae added. "It was an awful sight," Wade went on, "But finding sector H, we heard a cry, yourself, and released you from captivity, we never thought we'd find another person in this place, never mind two." J tried to smile, he knew he should, it felt right, but there was a lingering discomfort, even anger, though he didn't know at what. "What is this place?" J asked, holding his scarred hands to his chest. "We are unsure, clearly a prison of some sort, what do you remember?" Simon spoke bitterly, "Nothing." "Nothing?" Mae said, astonished. "Not a thing," J remarked, "Our names, if that's what these words are, but quite literally nothing else." Wade and Mae frowned at one another and seemed to agree upon something in secret. "We have a station set up at the base of the tower, we have another person there, he's running scans of the architecture of this place, trying to place its origin and possible creator, but he's come back with nothing so far. We have warm food, a place to sleep, clothes, you should come with us, we can help you get out of here." "Sounds great." Simon said in an instant, but J looked down at his marked hands, long wide scars decorating his pale skin. He spoke. "I want to help you. I want to know why I'm here." Wade smiled, and said, at once, "Then come and get a shirt on, it's much too cold to be here like that.


The man walked down the street, having just clocked out from another 10 hour shift. He never thought he would be using his mathematics degree to calculate the total of someone's shopping, and yet that's exactly what he's spent the last four years doing. He tried to network best he could, but if nobody is hiring, nobody is hiring. So the big clothing store brought him in. It wasn't great, but it almost pays the bills. He hung his head low, the exhaustion from the day seeped into his muscles. Staring up at the brilliant afternoon sky is a luxury he just can't afford right now. The birds chirping were drowned out by the rush hour traffic racing by his side. It congested the air with thick, noxious fumes and horns so loud they echoed off of the looming buildings framing the street. Only twelve more blocks before his apartment. Out of the corner of his eye, the light from the setting sun bounced wildly off of a nearby limo. The paint job was pristine, as if it had just been polished. In the back seat, he could just barely make out the passengers behind tinted glass. The couple was happy, smiling, crashing a pair of champagne glasses together before downing the cool liquid within. Air conditioning flung their hair wildly as the hot sun beat down on the car roof. Not a care in the world, not when they can afford a car like that and someone to drive it. At least a chauffeur can sit all day. Looking back down, he let out a sigh - no point dwelling on what he can't change. Those who have a bright future are those who can afford it. The rest of us just make their lives easier.  The rest of the trek home was uneventful. He was grateful the winter storms had subsided, he was sick of worrying about hypothermia scares. He'd probably just be kicked out of a hospital with his credit, and an at-home amputation would be a choice he wasn't looking forward to. The kitchen was a mess - his two roommates saw to that. He wasn't much better, but there's only so much mess you can make off of a diet of microwaved burritos and leftover pizza. The apartment would have been cramped normally, with tight corners and thin hallways. With a curtain hanging up, blocking off the "living" area, the place was downright claustrophobic. That's what you get for squeezing three guys into a one-bedroom apartment. At least he wasn't the one shoved into the bathroom this time. He pulled the curtain back and slumped on his futon. The clothes he desperately needed to wash surrounded him, sending a slight funk through the air. A couple of cardboard boxes were shoved in a corner, containing the rest of his possessions. It was only a matter of time before another one of his checks bounced - no point getting too cozy. The man let the aches of the day wash over him. The aches of standing all day bookended by his commute sent throbbing spikes of pain through his legs. He should get that checked out, there's probably a hairline fracture somewhere. The angry customers drained his mind of any critical thought. He was beaten, battered, and bruised. Mostly he was just tired. He picked up his guitar and began to strum, but he just couldn't find the strength to lift his arm again. His brain numbed up and he collapsed back into a mess onto his bed. He couldn't fall asleep too early - the nearby trains would wake him up well into the night, leaving him a zombie the next morning. Patting his pockets, he remembered his one splurge of the day - a lottery ticket. He extracted it from his pocket and compared the numbers there with what was on his phone.  They matched. Holy crap. he won. 4.7 million dollars.  He went to the bank and paid off his insurmountable credit card debt. The student loans brewing interest were next. The "zeroes" next to his accounts sent waves of ecstasy through his body. Quitting his job was next - his boss tried to bargain him staying with a one dollar boost to his hourly pay. Almost laughable - if he was worth that much, why weren't they paying him that earlier? It took all of his willpower not to knock a display over on his way out. His days were free now, no mountain of debt, no ball and chain dragging his thoughts down. A hotel far away from the train tracks became his new base of operations. The place was nice and clean - no roommates barging in and making a fuss. He just about broke the thermostat upon arrival, taking advantage of the working heating and cooling. He pulled out his guitar and sang 'til his throat was sore. The smile on his face grew with each minute. Room service was next - it was time he ate right for once. He picked up the phone to order and... *BRAAAAAAAAAAA* A...train horn? But he was too far from... Oh. Right.  He opened his eyes, staring at the familiar crusty ceiling. The train horn blared again, shaking the windows. He checked the numbers on his ticket - not even close. Balling it up, he threw it into a pile with the rest. Time to microwave a burrito.


Hi all, I am new to this. I am not sure at how well I did at this so please bear with me. This will probably be in 3rd person or basically not 1st person so if that makes it hard to read please let me know and I can easily make changes, any and all feedback is helpful. I am not trying to make anything of this other than it just seems interesting to me and I felt like I had to write it down. Intro After centuries of being divided and at a constant state of war with each other, the nations of Earth finally decided to unite themselves. This came following several world war scares that would have resulted in the destruction of the entire planet. In the year 2046, the United States, Russia, China, UK and France all send members from their countries to begin the colonization of Mars, this comes after almost a decade of preparing the planet for colonization. After several decades of unforeseen advancements in technology, no doubt due to the never before seen world wide cooperation, Earth makes its first space craft capable of battle in space. Dreadnoughts, cruisers, battleships, all each with their unique purpose begin being developed, as if Earth knew there was a foe out there that would threaten them at some point. The year is 2112, after almost 60 years of colonization, the planet of Mars is being terraformed. The native colonists of Mars declare their independence from Earth and establish themselves as the first independent human nation not from Earth. 2118 - After over 100 years of sending signals into deep space in hopes of hearing a response from an alien species, the people of Earth hear back from a group of alien specie's who call themselves the Agel Empire. They briefly share some information about each other and their history, before the Agel write them off as too weak to join them, claiming the human race is too weak and not advanced enough to serve our cause. Fueled by blunt comments the people of Earth and Mars go into another state of extreme technological advancement. Their advancement, as well as the booming population of the human race on Earth, causes Earth to seek out other countries for resources. One of the best candidates is a planet called Thesulia, a baren planet, but rich in resources. After many years of testing, Earth sends research drones to investigate the planet. Their suspicions about the planet being rich in resources they need are confirmed, but they find out that the planet is actually suitable for life. Although not an ideal place for colonization, Earth determines that the planet is more suitable than Mars was during the early stages of its colonization phase. 2134 - The planet of Thesulia has been successfully colonized and has been flourishing. The capital of Thesulia, Minona, flourishes as the mining industry brings in millions upon millions of revenue to the city. A few decades go by, the year is now 2152, A distress beacon gets activated from Minona, the capital of Thesulia. The military of earth dispatches a cruiser and two battleships as a response team to respond to the distress beacon. They do not think much of the distress beacon, Afterall there wasn't much information relayed to them back on Earth. Earth sends the small fleet, under the command of a young up and coming captain, Audie Lancaster. Captain Audie Lancaster is one of the youngest and brightest Captains in Earth's Navy. Having just been promoted to the position of Captain, this mission will serve as his first true test of his abilities as a leader, his first mission as captain.  If you guys like this I will make this a regular thing, please keep in mind this is the Intro I haven't really done much with this yet, I am just seeing how this will do and will go from there. I will make another post soon, hope you guys enjoyed.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! **Important Notes: To make nominations, we will now be using a form! You can find it listed under ‘Reminders’ as well as on our Discord. Also please note this feature has feedback requirements! Please read the entire post before submitting.** 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 Gossip! This week, we’re going to explore the theme of ‘gossip’. We all talk to people: to a friend, a family member, the mail man, that kid on the bus last week, the cashier at the market, etc. We often talk about mutual friends or acquaintances, and the things we’ve heard about them. But these little “truths” are often not confirmed, and may be untrue altogether. A good portion of the scuttlebutt we pass back and forth is harmless. But what about when it isn’t? Gossip can be harmful, dangerous even. What happens when someone’s reputation is tarnished—or even ruined—based on hearsay? Say, someone important in the community or a person with a lot to lose. What happens when the townspeople react to this news without first checking its validity? This week, I want you to think about the reasons why we gossip, why we so easily believe what we’re told, and the domino effect it can have on a community. 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!) * March 6 - Gossip (this week) * March 13 - Boundaries * March 20 - Hesitation   *** **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. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 1pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire in our Discord’s Main Voice Lounge.** Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **Nominations will now be submitted . After the submission deadline each week, the form will be updated with that week’s authors, as well as the next theme options. The form will close at 1pm EST each week. You do not have to participate to make nominations!** * **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, will be allowed to read their edited serials in their entirety aloud in the discord’s “Main Voice Lounge”.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and hopefully provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules) Visit us on the Discord for more information. * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system! Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above.Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** #Rankings - - by u/Zetakh   - - by u/nobodysgeese   - - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - by u/katherine_c   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


“Corn, corn, fucking corn. Is that all this place is?” Darrell said, taking a long draw off of his cigarette.  John looked up from under the hood of the truck at Darrell with a dissatisfied grimace.  “Dude, It was your idea to take a road trip through here” John said, working on something in the engine.  Darrell took the last draw off of his cigarette and tossed the butt out into the field, then began walking back towards John  “First of all, We’re going to Canada not North Dakota, besides how was I supposed to know our truck would break down in the middle of buttfuck nowhere?” He said, almost sarcastically  Darrell walked up besides John and stood next to him, looking at the engine.  “Any clue what's wrong with it?” Darrell asked.  “Not a fucking clue.” John replied.  John slammed the hood shut before angrily shouting a barrage of expletives out into the fields, but was stopped by the honking of another truck coming down the road.  John and Darrell watched as the truck slowed down and parked in front of them and as the driver got out to greet them.  The driver was a relatively average looking fellow, standing at about average height, albeit slightly overweight.  He was obviously a farmer judging by his attire, that being a dirt stained and heavily worn orange t-shirt with the slogan “Williams County Corn Fest 1993” emblazoned across the chest in bright white lettering, paired with a pair of old, beaten up blue jeans.  “Yall in need of any help ere’?” The stranger called out as he approached the brothers.  “I mean, It’s awful late for y'all to be sitting out here in t’ middle of t’ fields.” He continued on.  “I suppose” Darrell responded, lighting up another cigarette.  John turned around to face the man.  “What seems to be t’ problem ere’?” The stranger said, popping the hood of the truck as he put on a pair of wire-framed reading glasses.  “We were just coming down the road here when we heard a loud rattling, a few seconds later the car just kinda died” John clambered in a frustrated tone.  The stranger examined the engine for a moment before gently shutting the lid and putting his glasses back into his pocket.  “Well, t’ problem ye have ere’ ain’t somethin’ we can fix on the spot ere’” He said.  “I’ll have to run down to t’ hardware store later t’morrow to get ye’ the parts ye’ need” He continued.  “In the mean time, I got some empty rooms back at my place yall can stay in fer’ the night, Consider it a favor” He said in a reassuring tone.  The brother’s eyes lit up.  “You’d really help us out like that?!” John exclaimed.  The stranger gave him a calming smile.  “O’ Course I would!” He chuckled.  “After all, T’ Good Book does tell us t’ treat people t’ way ye’ want t’ be treated” The stranger said.  He began leading the brothers back to his truck, gesturing for them to hop into the back, seeing as the only passenger seat was taken by backpack full of tools.  “T’ name’s Tim by t’ way” The stranger said as he started his truck.  The Brother’s both introduced themselves while climbing over the tailgate.  The three rode in the truck for a few moments in complete silence.  After a while, Darrell decided to try to strike a conversation.  “So, do you work here?” He asked, looking around at the seemingly infinite fields.  “Yep!” Tim exclaimed.  “As a matter O’ fact, I own all these ere’ fields! All 234 Acres!” He continued.  “234 Acres!” Darrell asked, clearly shocked.  “Mhm. Me great great granpa bought around 90 acres when he was around 30 or so, Then me great granpa bought another 40. So on and so on I suppose.” Tim said.  “That’s pretty cool!” John said  “So all you grow is corn?” Darrell asked.  “Yep, but not just any corn! Our corn ere’ is t’ pride of Dakota! Because t’ kernels of our corn aren’t yellow, they grow blood red. And they have a sweet, but somewhat tangy flavor compared to yellow corn” Tim explained.  John looked confused  “Your corn is red? But, how?” John asked.  “No clue, Something my great great granpappy figured out, took t’ secret to t’ grave though, all t’ corn you see around ere’ is t’ same strain from all those years back” Tim said.  The brothers looked at each other for a moment before falling back into silence.  After a few moments, they pulled up to a small farmhouse sitting in the middle of the fields.  “We’re here!” Tim said, getting out of the truck.  The brothers followed Tim into the house.  Tim led them into the living room of the house and gestured them towards a sofa in the middle of the room.  “Yall fellas hungry at all?” Tim asked.  “I could go for a bite.” Darrell said, making himself comfortable on the sofa.  Tim walked into the kitchen and came back a moment later, and gave each Brother a plate of a sandwich, potato chips, and an ear of the blood red corn, still on the cob. Along with a can of Coke for John and a Light Beer for Darrell.  “No offense kid, but I don’t think yer of age fer a can o’ spuds” Tim said, handing John the soda.  John looked over at Darrell as Darrell let out a small chuckle.  “How’d you know?” John asked.  Tim sat in a recliner on the other side of the room from the boys and opened his own can of beer.  “Yer wearing yer Letterman jacket.” Tim said.  “As fer yer brother, I could tell he was of age from his smoking.” Tim continued.  “Fair enough” John said, before beginning to eat.  John was the first to bite into the corn, the second he did, his eyes lit up in surprise.  “This is… a unique flavor.” He said.  “Like, It’s not bad… it's pretty good, but it kinda tastes like… meat?” He said.  Darrell, after seeing his brother’s reaction, quickly bit into his cob and his eyes too, lit up the same way.  “Holy shit” Darrell said.  Tim looked over at the two with a wide grin before letting out a hearty chuckle.  “Yall ain’t from ere’ ain’t ya?” Tim asked.  “We’re actually on a road trip, We came from Nebraska.” Darrell said, swallowing the mouthful of corn.  “That’ll explain it” Tim said.  “Yep, this is my pride and joy ere’, this is t’ only place in t’ whole wide world ye’ can get our corn” Tim said proudly.  The three continued on talking for a while, well into the evening, before eventually Tim got up out of his seat.  “Well, I’m gonna hit t’ hay for t’ night, yall make yourselves comfortable, there’s a guest room with enough beds for yall upstairs. Help yourselves t’ whatever is in t’ kitchen and feel free t’ go pick some fresh ears o’ corn” Tim said.  “Just one thing, Stay out of t’ shed” Tim said, in an unusually stern voice than his usual jolly nature, before walking down the hall to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.  Darrell immediately got up and walked out to the porch to go smoke. He was followed closely behind by John, who sat on the rocking chair next to Darrell.  “This corn is fucking weird man” John said, looking out into the fields.  “If you ask me, it's just a weird gimmick, I’m sure it's just normal red corn thats specially seasoned or something.” Darrell said, lighting his cigarette.  “I don’t think so.” John said, getting out of the chair.  John walked down the stairs leading off of the porch and across the road to the fields. A few minutes later he came back with a few ears of corn, straight off of the stalk.  “Better yet, let’s test your theory.” John said, laying the corn down on the chair.  Darrell put out his cigarette and began to walk back inside.  “You do that, I’m going to bed” Darrell said shutting the door behind him.  John scoffed and sat on the patio and grabbed an ear of corn.  Slowly he started peeling off the layers of husk surrounding the fruit of the ear.  Layer after layer, he peeled back the husk. Before eventually reaching the cob.  “Wait a second” John said  “Why is it white? I thought it was supposed to be red?” John murmured, clearly confused.  He peeled away the rest of the husk to leave just the cob without anything covering it, but he still couldn’t see it well due to the lack of light.  Curiously he pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned on it’s flashlight and was shocked by what he saw.  “Are those fucking teeth?” He said, running his finger along the kernels.  He grabbed the cob and smacked it against the floor of the patio.  Instead of it sounding like a vegetable like he expected, the cob sounded almost like he was smacking the ground with a bone.  “It can’t be.” John said  “This has got to be some fucked up prank” He continued on.  Curiously, he grabbed his pocket knife and placed the blade between the kernels and cut the cob in half.  The moment he did, a gush of liquid burst out of where he cut the cob.  He held up his light to see what it was only to see that the liquid was a deep color of crimson that could only come from the spilling of fresh blood.  John help up one half of the cob and looked at the core of the ear.  Instead of a white, stringy center, it was red and fleshy, almost as if it was more animal than a crop.  John let out a shriek and threw the cob back out into the field, before running back into the house and straight up the stairs to the room where his brother was supposed to be, only to find he wasn’t there.  John frantically ran around the room, trying to find out where Darrell went, only to come out empty handed.  John tried to run out the door, only to be stopped by Tim, who was standing in the doorway.  “Why t’ long face?” Tim asked  John turned white as he looked up at Tim.  “Where is he?!” John demanded.  “Oh Darrell? Well, I asked him t’ run outside and grab something for me, out of t’ shed.” Tim replied.  “I thought you said to stay out of there?” John asked, confused and frightened.  “I trust him much more than 20 something year old kid.” Tim said.  “Sorry fer not tellin’ ya’ I didn’t want t’ hurt yer feelins’” He continued  Tim looked around and then back at John.  “What do ye’ say we go down t’ the livin’ room and see if anythin’ good is on TV” Tim asked, trying to calm John down.  “No!” John shouted, shoving his way past Tim and bolting down the hallway.  “Fuck this and fuck you! I’m gonna go find him!” He screamed.  John quickly ran down the stairs and out the door, without missing a step he looped around the back of the house to the shed in the backyard.  “FERTILIZER PROCESSING” Was painted in white paint above the door.  John quickly flung open the door and ran in.  “Darrell! Where are you?!” He shouted, falling to his knees.  He looked around the shed before he noticed a hatch on the ground under a table.  Frantically, he unhitched the latch holding the door shut and flung it open.  He quickly climbed down the ladder and landed in a room that smelled foul.  It was the worst smell John had ever experienced, a smell that cried out that death was near. Albeit, a futile warning.  “What the actual fuck is going on right now?” John said, looking around trying to find a lightswitch to no avail.  As a last resort, he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight.  It was horrendous.  The floors, which were a gray industrial concrete were stained with the same shade of crimson John had seen come out of the corn earlier.  There were long chains hanging from the ceiling, each with meat hooks on the end of them.  “Who the hell builds a top secret meat locker?” John said to himself.  John took a second to look around the room before finding a small freezer in the very back.  Slowly he opened it and saw the face of Darrell staring back at him with lifeless eyes. Along with the rest of his body, neatly filleted into pieces small enough to fit in the freezer.  John was speechless as he began to panic, but his fear was shortlived.  The last thing John heard was Tim’s voice behind him as the blade of the hatchet chopped into the back of his skull.  “All ye had t’ do was come and watch TV wit’ me boy.


There is a box in my attic. It’s left alone for the most part. Tucked behind everything else. Still, sometimes I need to remind myself. On those days I go to the attic, take that box from its hiding place, and sit down in a chair across from an old mirror. It’s frame of brass and ivy. For the next few hours, I stare at what’s inside. It came from the first apartment I ever lived in. It was cheap and somehow still furnished. Everything being from the previous tenant, who clearly had a fascination with mirrors. Each room had one, caked in dust older than time itself. There were many shapes and sizes, the largest was in the living room and placed in front of the couch. The smallest a pocket mirror left in the bathroom drawer. All were decorated in brass and carved into intricate patterns of curling ivy. I first noticed the feeling there in that pocket mirror. Staring into its glass I swore I saw myself, but different. Something about it wasn’t right. I couldn't place it then. I started to notice that feeling in each of the mirrors framed with ivy. The one above the dining table killed my appetite, the one in the bathroom watched me as I showered, and the one in the bedroom gave me nightmares. The worst was the one in the living room. It was the most ornate of the mirrors. The frame was enthralling, vines twisting around every inch of it, some leaves twisted in front of the glass, frozen. Whenever I looked into it, that was when that feeling was at its worst. It was so deeply unnerving seeing every inch of me, and not being able to find out why it felt so wrong. After staring into that mirror and soaking in that feeling, I found what wasn’t right. It was the eyes. Not the shape or the color. No. It was the lack of life. Looking into the eyes of another you can tell they are alive, that they in turn can see the life inside you. These eyes were empty. Staring into them felt like staring into the depths of the darkest water. Anything could be hiding just beyond that veil of shadow, and you wouldn’t know until it was too late. I couldn’t stand to look at my reflection after that. I covered every mirror in a thick white sheet, even avoiding any I ran into outside. In those my eyes were normal, yet it only reminded me of the empty ones. I tried to get comfortable living like this, trying to forget why I covered them in the first place. The sheet only did so much. *Tap Tap Tap* The sound called to me on a sleepless night. Harsh light from my phone told me it was three in the morning. I tried to will myself to sleep. Closed my eyes. All I could see was that other pair staring back. I found myself in the kitchen with a glass of water. *Tap Tap Tap* Nothing dripped from the faucet in front of me. Each knob tightly closed. I pushed them further. They creaked and groaned under my hand. I looked up at the mirror, the one in the living room. I could see its sharp edges threatening to rip the sheet. All it would take is the slightest bit of dust and… *Tap Tap Tap* I couldn’t deny it any more. The mirrors, the sound, those eyes. Standing in front of the mirror, I grabbed the sheet gently. I took a breath in, and let it out. Took another in, and let it out. It only made the wait more unbearable. Gently, and slowly, so very slowly, I lifted the sheet. It got caught on one of the leaves as I pulled, making me lose my grip, but it was still enough for me to see. I stared into one eye, empty and cold. That thing stared back half hidden behind the dangling sheet. It had a single finger pressed up against the glass. I watched those eyes look back at me, into me. We stared like that for a long time. Waiting for one of us to do something, anything. It made the first move. Taking that finger off the glass, it reached for the sheet on its side. As it gripped onto the fabric, I could see the shape of its hand press into the sheet on my side. As the sheet fell, I saw the other eye. White, until it rolled back into its proper place. The thing was smiling now, it felt just as hollow as its eyes. The next few moments still aren’t fully clear to me. All I remember were hands pressed to my head, extreme pain, and a shattering sound. The next thing I remembered was being in a hospital bed, police sitting next to me. They had questions about the broken mirrors, the excess amount of blood, and the severed hand. They told me the blood and the hand matched me. Looking down I saw both hands, still securely attached. There is a box in my attic. It’s left alone for the most part. Tucked behind everything else. Still, sometimes I need to remind myself. On those days I go to the attic, take that box from its hiding place, and sit down in a chair across from an old mirror. It’s frame of brass and ivy. For the next few hours, I stare at what’s inside. It still bleeds.