The Devil's in the Details Hugh Donnelly, "Shug" to his friends rolled over in bed to be jarred awake when his hand touched strange flesh. Through tired eyes marred by a nasty hangover he struggled to focus on who was beside him. After a few seconds he saw a large woman, perhaps 220 lbs laying on her side, her ruby red hair covering her face. He thought "Shug, not again" He had a bit of a reputation - whilst he was sober he was the most pleasant man you could meet - posh almost, but once the demon drink was uncorked he became somewhat of a sad caricature of himself. It would bring out his promiscuous side tenfold. He once famously said he would "shag a barber’s floor" Now in the throes of self-revulsion and confusion about what had occurred the night before all he could think about was “How do I get rid of this whale?”. He rubbed his prematurely aging face in both hands as he tried to mentally prepare himself to chat to a total stranger who he presumably had sex with the previous night, this is of course if he hadn’t suffered from what had plagued most of his drunken sexual escapes – what the locals refer to as “brewers droop” He took a deep breath and reached out his hand to gently wake the stranger that lay next to him motionless. As his hand touched her shoulder he froze. She was stone cold – as cold as ice almost. He gasped, his heart was pounding hard in his chest, he knew something was wrong, very wrong. He climbed out of the bed and walked around to get a closer look at his mystery partners face, as he did he caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror that hung on his closet door, that’s when he noticed there was dried blood on his t-shirt. Alarmed – he ran around the bed but almost broke his knee cap on the corner of the bed, he tumbled in pain almost unable to speak until he felt the cold numbness of endorphins rushing in. He crawled to the edge of the bed, swept that mop of matted red hair from her face to see one eye staring back at him, the other eye, or where the other eye should be - was nothing more than a gored socket. He tried to scream but nothing came out. He tried to stand forgetting he had almost shattered his knee only a few seconds ago – pain again came flooding back and he collapsed back to the ground now making guttural noises as he wept through pain, fear and confusion. His mind raced, “what the hell happened” the last thing he could remember was downing a triple vodka with red bull, an ill-advised move prompted by his lifelong friend Archie. The 2 of them had met in primary school and had been inseparable ever since. He fumbled in the dimly lit room looking for his jeans which contained his wallet cellphone and cigarettes. He saw the jeans at the foot of the bed and took out the cigarettes. He shook one of the last 3 out and with a trembling hand placed it into his mouth, his lips felt like old leather that had been left in the Saharan desert for 100 years, but he needed the nicotine to calm himself. “A Light” he thought as he realized he had no lighter – he shambled his way to the kitchen to get a light off the gas stove. He clicked on the gas and put his mouth toward the blue flame taking in a long drag from the cigarette before exhaling a cloud that was eliminated through daylight streaming through the window. As the nicotine calmed his frayed nerves he began to cast his mind back to the previous evening - again trying to search the halls of his mind for any clues as to who the mystery woman was in his bed, how she had got there and suddenly a new thought “Did anyone see anything?” Suddenly he though “My phone!” perhaps there would be some clues, text messages, voicemails or photos that could shine a light on the shattered mess of his memories from last night. He went back to the bedroom dragging his left leg behind him and grabbed the phone from his jeans. He put in his passcode and his eyes hurt as a web browser opened with blinding pure white light. In the search box was typed “escorts for hire” Escorts he though? “Why would I even bother – barely have 2 pennies to rub together never mind treating myself to a thing like that!” He clicked the home button twice to reveal all the apps that where currently running – Snapchat, Instagram Facebook and a bunch of other where open. He clicked snapchat. To his horror it was a selfie video of himself from the previous night standing at a bar with the mystery woman. He had an almost glazed look in his eyes while she had her hands all over him, in the background he could see Archie laughing while doing a finger in the hole motion as he cracked up. Next was a video of him arguing with a cab driver over a boundary charge while the mystery woman was hurling insults at some unseen person. The final video was of himself looking in the bathroom mirror laughing hysterically while he could hear voices on the other side of the door. Next, he clicked into his text messages, there was a barrage of them from Archie and a new one from someone called Donna which simply read “Testing this is your real number” Suddenly mystery woman had a name and a phone number – he could only assume it was her. Archie’s messages started off from before they went out with “Where are we meeting tonight” to “Hurry up and get here before I get too wasted” there was a bunch that looked like keyboard mash and a final message that read “Ya lucky bastard!” – what the hell did he mean by that? It’s hardly as if the woman now lying dead across the bed was a prize catch so either the text was tongue in cheek or by Archie’s standards she was a looker. In all honesty once Archive crossed the 5-pint threshold his standards fell lower than a snake’s ass in a wagon wheel track and he was also known for being a bit of a chubby chaser anyway, he once quipped “Well it’s just more woman to love isn’t it?” Suddenly he though, “Donna’s Phone!” he felt weird saying the name as he really didn’t feel comfortable using someone’s name that at least to his mind had never truly met. His memory of last night was still like a black hole, a void. His eyes darted around the floor of the bedroom looking for her clothing or a handbag. He saw a black leather bag slung over the corner of a chair. He opened it, fumbled his way through lots of tissues, makeup and keys and found the phone neatly tucked into an inside pocket. It was one of the newer iPhones, the lock screen prompted for facial recognition. He shuddered and wondered if a missing eye might scupper his chances. He held the phone to her lifeless face and to his surprise he heard a clicking noise as the phone opened to the home screen. He looked through recently opened apps. Instagram showed her with what looked like a new guy in every picture, he pondered how such a person could attract such a slew of men albeit ugly guys that wouldn’t look out of place on Jeremy Kyle or Jerry Springer. “I guess it’s easier for women to get men, it’s like putting out trash, you know eventually some guy in a truck will be coming to pick it up” Suddenly the phone started to vibrate as a ringtone of some pop song he didn’t recognize started to chime out. “James S is calling…” “Shit!” he thought, someone may be looking for her or maybe it’s just another guy from some other wild weekend? It rang an uncomfortable amount of times which made him think whoever was on the other end must be really trying to reach her. Finally, it stopped and quickly he started to check into the text messages, there was at least 8 messages between last night and early this morning from this James. Starting off with “Have a good time with the girls” and “Just checking to see if you’re OK?” and then getting more desperate… “Why haven’t you texted back?” “It’s 2:30am and you’re still not back and then the final one “You’ve got me and the kids worried sick, you didn’t come home last night, what the fuck are you doing?” His heart sank as he read the last message realizing this must be her boyfriend or husband probably completely unaware of her promiscuous lifestyle. And even more sickening “The kids…” His blind panic was returning, and he shook out another cigarette and went through to get a light. All he could think was – what happened between getting home to this morning, why is there a dead body in his bed and now even more urgently, she has a family that are looking for her! Suddenly he thought, “Fuck, phones have tracking in them” he knew this because of the nature of his work in IT. Google tracks your every movement as well as things like Facebook. All he could think of was. “I have a real mess on my hands here and I need to make it go away” He almost surprised himself how easily he was able to start thinking like a criminal without remorse to save his own ass. “The quarry!” he thought. He took a quick shower, took his clothes from last night and placed them in a canvas bag. He went through to the bedroom and found some new clothes to wear before taking the canvas bag outside and placing it in his firepit before dousing it in lighter fluid. “Fuck” he thought as he remembered he had lost his lighter. He went to the kitchen, got some cardboard from the cupboard and lit it off the stove. He limped out to the yard shielding the cardboard with his hands from the light wind before carefully placing it onto the soaked bag” It went up like an old dry Christmas tree burned for several minutes and then was nothing but a pile of ash and glowing embers. His thoughts now turned to how to get rid of the body. He went into the shed and retrieved a box of heavy duty trash bags, the type you use for collecting yard waste like raked leaves and downed tree limbs. He also grabbed some old rope, duct tape and a flashlight. He went inside and rolled out a bunch of bags on the floor next to the bed, they looked just like a body bag. He stood up and placed both his arms around the lifeless lump of flesh and rolled her off the bed which caused a flat thud. This again made his heart sink as he though, “what have I become?” He placed her clothes on top of her body along with her handbag and covered it all in trash bags before securing the whole thing with duct tape and finally wrapping it in rope. Hours passed like days as he sat waiting for night to come, thankfully daylight savings time had happened the week before, so it would be dark by 3:30 or 4pm. As the light dimmed he looked out of the window and felt a sickening tinge of guilt as he thought back to the messages from James and especially “the kids” He rationalized that this was just a big mistake and because he didn’t have memories of what had actually happened that it wasn’t really him that had committed this atrocious act. He also though “No more drinking, it’s time to find a new focus in life… party’s over!” As dusk became night he thought “Let’s do this” He dragged her body through the hall and out the back door to the garage, looking over his shoulder and at neighbors houses to ensure he wasn’t being watched. He opened the trunk of his Nissan and thought, “She weighs a ton and your knee is banged up” He reached down inside himself, trying to summon the strength, he cast his mind back to things that angered him, politics, assholes in the office and knockbacks from failed attempts at chatting up women. With every inch of his being he scooped her deadweight up to the rim of the trunk and with one final push of adrenaline flipped her weight over the rim and into the trunk. He then went back to the house and got some old dumbbells, the type filled with sand. He went back to the garage, threw them in and closed the trunk and looked around once more to make sure nobody was watching, He set out to the quarry which was about 5 miles from his house, he took back roads to up his chances of not being stopped by the police, this added a further 20 minutes to the journey, but he felt it was necessary. Finally, he reached his destination and drove his near to the edge of the drop-off. He didn’t want to get too close, his nerves where shattered now and he didn’t want to chance making the mistake of going over the edge. Again, he had to shift this deadweight but surprisingly this time was able to pull it off with more ease than last time. Her body hit the ground with a sickening crunch, he thought maybe he heard a bone break, this caused him to bend over the side of the car and vomit though not much came up, mostly bile. He wiped his mouth, hands shaking and thought “I will drag you through this, we will get through this” almost talking to himself in the 3rd person – it was the only way he could deal with the horror of what was unfolding – to separate himself from it all. He dragged the body to about 4ft of the edge and then proceeded to roll her the rest of the way. After about 5 seconds there was a massive splash, he shone a flashlight down and seen the black bags disappear under the surface of the black water. A new thought came to mind “The Cellphone!” If the police tracked its movements via social media or any other method the last location would be his house. He knew what to do but was cursing the situation “Will this night ever be fucking over?” He got back to the house and picked up the cellphone which was now running low on battery life. He saw 1 more message from James saying, “You can’t do this, you have to text me back we are worried sick” He put the phone in his pocket and want back to the car. He drove to random locations for the next hour, stopping briefly along the way. His thinking was that if he could create a fake trail of locations it would throw any potential investigation off his scent. Finally, he figured he had made enough of a false digital footprint and at that point rolled his sleeve over his hand and carefully rubbed the entire phone down of fingerprints, after this he proceeded to throw the phone on the ground and stamp on it until it shattered into pieces. When he eventually arrived home, he breathed a sigh of relief. He even felt hungry! How could he be hungry after such a macabre evening but his body’s need for food overrode his pangs of guilt and worry. Just then his phone buzzed. He picked it up and his eyes bulged in horror “Donna” suddenly his hunger had been replaced with pure sickening horror “he opened the message, gasped – on the screen was a photo of what looked like an eyeball with the message “I’m keeping my eye on you...” THE END.


The Irony of Dying (again) on Your Birthday March 23rd, a Saturday Carl Johnson died two days ago. He knew this to be true, but he stood up off the cold slab today anyway. His heart was not beating; in fact is heart was on a refrigerated truck, thanks to his organ donor card, but he was moving, and he was thinking. He tried to remember what happened the two days he was gone, but it was like a drunken sleep, where you don’t dream, or move; you just wake up flat on your back, with your arms crossed over your chest, briefly happy that you still exist, even if your condition has worsened a bit. Carl Johnson walked out the front door of the mortuary, naked, and remembered that the sun felt nice, instead of annoying, for the first time in 22 years. His wife stabbed him when he got home, because she thought he was a ghost, or a zombie, and Carl told her he guessed he was, but he’s still the same old Carl. After she calmed down they made love on the floor for the first time in 22 years. It was cold because Carl was cold. March 25th, a Monday Carl had hoped to use his new lease on life to travel around the world with his wife with the life insurance check, but of course once We Care About You A lot – Mutual (™) found out that Carl was animated again, they took that away, and sued him for insurance fraud, so Carl went back to work as a CPA. His company welcomed him back, after they stabbed him in fear, and set him up with a private cubicle so no one would have to see him (or smell him, now that he was slowly decomposing) except for at lunch and leaving time. They did leave a small window so he could look out at his co-workers and ask them about last night’s game. The flies somehow still found him back there, but other than a small buzzing noise when his co-workers walked by, it was inconsequential. Carl worked harder than ever, sure that his company would recognize his efforts this time. March 29th, a Friday Carl left work at 5 pm, ready to enjoy the weekend with his wife. He walked in, flies trailing behind him, their children squirming inside of him. He went to give his wife a kiss, but she was repulsed by his smell, his coldness, and how round he was getting from the bloat. She smiled at him with love, and said that maybe she could get her nose removed. Carl laughed, and he and his wife went to the beach, on bicycles, and had a pleasant picnic, as long as she stayed up-wind. April 3, a Wednesday Carl’s gut exploded at work today, all over the computers and phones. The company took it out of his paycheck, and got him some new equipment. They put a roof on his cubicle and vacuum sealed all the cracks so that his smell didn’t escape, except for the brief walk to and from the car. They closed up the window on the day his nose fell off, and made him come in early and leave late, so he had no human contact. But he was crunching numbers still, so the company kept him on. July 4th, a holiday Carl continued to decompose, and continued to work. He was still the same old Carl on the inside, and his wife continued to love him, even though she couldn’t be in the same room with him anymore. They set up love-making sessions with him standing in the backyard, and looking into the back window while she pretended he was whole and warm again. They decided to have their annual cook-out, and let Carl man the grill, while the rest of the party stayed inside. Carl’s mother-in-law was pleading with her daughter to move on, to find someone new. Carl’s best friends chimed in more of the same. “It’s just not right, watching him decompose like that, he belongs in a box, out of sight.” No one ate Carl’s burgers, but they did order a pizza. August 1st, a Tuesday Carl didn’t understand why his wife was crying on his birthday until the crowd showed up in the yard. He saw his friends, his co-workers, his boss, his parents, and half the town on the lawn with various weapons. He walked outside and took a shotgun shell to the arm, it blew off the exposed bone, and Carl explained that he couldn’t die again. The crowd grabbed him and pulled him into the street. He expected his wife to try to stop them, but she just shut the shades and closed the door. The crowd took Carl to his cemetery plot. Carl pleaded that he could just go away; he wasn’t hurting anyone. The crowd threw Carl into the hole, and the concrete truck began to pour in around Carl. September 29th, a Thursday Carl’s wife sat beside his grave and touched the gravestone. She turned the volume on her headphones up to muffle the screams, and smiled lightly at the memory of her husband. August 1, 1974-March 21st 2017-August 1, 2017 read his gravestone. She placed a flower in the prearranged vase, and then turned to leave. She walked out of the soundproof barrier placed around his grave, and took her headphones out. “Don’t Fear The Reaper” was playing lightly through earbuds dangling at her chest. *** Feel free to follow my for more.


She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and a stuttered slur of words erupted from her, "I thought I could trust you" she wailed followed by a strong but weary cry, he began to feel her words as they sunk into his mind. A tear flowed down, staining her bright rose face, the disbelief of his dishonesty had turned into a throbbing in her chest that felt as if it would never surrender, "I thought it would help" the boy replied as he attempted to brush a droplet from her bright red face. he thought of what he had done, who he had done it to, and then he truly understood her heartache. It wasn't manufactured like the emotions of the popular girls and it wasn't a cry for attention like many of the ones before it, it was a genuine, honest pain, a pain that could leave a man bed ridden and a pain who could destroy the happiest seeming of people, as it had done here She wanted to leave, she wanted to leave her life behind and disappear as if She had never existed in the first place like she never graced the hearts of so many people, like she never brought a smile to anyone who saw her, her head rang with indistinguishable thoughts.


Have you ever wondered what it would be like to stab a knife into a person? To put all your strength into your hands as they grip the handle, piercing the skin and pushing it into their organs? I imagine it would be as simple as slicing through pork or beef. Flesh is so delicate and soft, so easy to tear apart and expose the organs hiding underneath, drag them into the light so he can see them. I want him to. To watch as I rip his liver from his body and wave it in his face. God, that brings a smile to my face. To imagine the fear in his eyes as I draw the knife back and slice into his hand, cut off his fingers, his toes, especially his cock and balls. I will leave the tongue though, so he can still whimper and moan and beg like the swine he is. I don't even know his face at all. I just picture the most disgusting thing imaginable about this man. I used to imagine this particular day. But I don't have to anymore. I did it. I finally got justice for my mother. I was calmly shopping in the store, getting some Reese's peanut butter cups or some nice hot dogs. I had college work to do but that could wait just a bit longer. Thank God it did, otherwise I would have missed him. I see this big man. He's obese, probably in his forties, with a grey beard, unkempt and wolfish. He's talking and laughing with someone else, maybe his friend, a small balding man in black. I don't pay attention at first until he says something that catches my attention. "Yeah, I went to that college. Got kicked out for bad behaviour. This one time, my girlfriend cheated on me. She kept insisting over and over that she didn't, it was just that her friend's husband had gotten drunk after a party, but I could see it in her eyes. Lying slut. How many other men has she let fuck her? I showed her alright. Hope she's a prostitute in Brazil or something, fucking cunt. Women, you can't trust them..." I freeze. My mind goes blank. My hand curls into a fist from which blood trails down. I turn my entire body to face him. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. My heart beats like the engine of a Hot Rod. I could use my nails to gouge out his eyes, but no. That's too good for him. I walk towards the man, slowly, taking in how he towers over me, how he could easily snap my neck. So I stop, look around and there it is. Resting, waiting for me. It always has been. Knives are beautiful things. So much work is put into crafting them, making sure the edge is just right, the design is perfectly crafted with engravings. This one is a cooking knife. Long, lean, brand new. As I pick it up, I cannot help but stare at my reflection for a few seconds, studying my face. Probably the last time before I go to prison. Will I be raped in there? Made into someone's fuckboy? I honestly don't care by this point. This is my only chance. I had to take it. I hide the knife behind my back as I walk back over to the man. Then I ask him a question. His name. And when he tells me... Do you know why love is the strongest thing in the world? Because love drives a person to lay down their life for others. Humans are instinctively supposed to value self-preservation yet the need to protect their loved ones overrides this. What am I about to do will destroy all chance I have of a future. I will never be able to get married to the girl I love. Nobody will want to be the friend of a murderer. Nobody wants a psycho working for them. I will probably die in a cell, alone and content. My family...what will they do about this? They will be shocked but will they also be happy? Those that know who this man is and what he has done? Will this tear them apart? I don't care. I can only think about one thing right now. His name. The name of the man of the man I have been waiting years to hunt down, brought to me by what can only be an act of God. A college dropout scrapping off the bottom of the social barrel like a leech. As the man stares at me, there's a look in his eyes. I must look familiar to him. I do take after my father. I wonder, does he know about him? The man who married the woman he violated? The one who loves her? Does he hate him? Is he plotting my father's death as part of his twisted idea of revenge on her? Will he ever just leave her alone?! *HASN'T HE DONE ENOUGH TO HER?* I will never know. Because I am screaming as rage consumes me, causing my hand to move unnaturally quick as I sink it into his flesh. He gasps, shocked, unable to respond. I can feel something warm and sticky coat my fingers as our eyes stay locked with one another. My grin takes over my face with wild abandon. The other guy stares blankly. He holds up his hand and takes a step forward. I'm too fast for him. I pull out the knife and drive into deep into his shoulder. He collapses, like the worthless sack of shit he always has been, on his back, feebly holding up his hands, begging for mercy. The other guy backs off when I glare at him, then he runs. Probably going to get security. So what? This asshole is mine. He always has been mine. His fingers come off, his hands are mutilated, I keep swinging the knife into him, piece by piece, inch by inch, I slice apart his stomach and rip the organs out. Some people are screaming. He's crying. I'm laughing. This the greatest moment of my life. Ironic it may be the last. Better get all I can out of it. "How does it feel to be helpless?!" I snarl through clenched teeth after I bite his ear off, spitting it at his face, "How does it feel to have something shoved into you?! Do you feel like a man now?! Like some big, strong fucker who can do as he pleases with whoever the fuck he pleases?! Do you even remember her name?!? Do you dream about it?! Does it turn you on?! *Does it!* ***DOES IT?!?"*** I don't stop until he's gargling blood through his ruin of a neck. He's still staring right at my face. The fear and despair in his eyes as they go blank is bloody intoxicating. Fucking coward. I lick my lips like the manchild I am. I look over his mangled body as I hear the police sirens coming. Security is just watching me, unsure of what to do. They are gonna be fired over this. There's blood on my face, my shirt, my hands, God I am a mess. But all I can do is smile as I wait on top of him. The knife went where his dick should be, making a nice, bloody hole. Perfect. Hope he remembered what he did when that happened. I pull out my phone to take a selfie of me and the finished product. The picture is beautiful. I could stare at it all day. But I have to do this. People have to know. And so they will. Instagram, Facebook, imgur, Reddit, I post it and pass it on, telling the story. Of who I am. Who he is and what he has done. I can feel tears run down my face. They won't stop. I wipe my eyes as everything just settles down and I come down from my high. Quiet sobs escape my mouth. Dear God, what have I done? Will the news pick this up? I already know how they can sell it. "TEENAGER STABS HIS MOTHER'S RAPIST TO DEATH IN SUPERMARKET!" They probably will go with that. Yeah, they will say I should have called the cops, but you know what? Fuck that. He hadn't faced the justice he deserves for twenty goddamn years. I had the chance to give it to him and I took it. I don't care about due process or evidence or innocent until proven guilty. All I care about is that my mother will finally know he didn't get away with it. He paid the price. I made sure of that. She can rest in peace now.


There had been a tale, and old legend. Back in WWII, there was a top secret recon submarine, the *USS Ishmael*, able to dive to depths no enemy could fathom, reching even into the midnight zone. It was on patrol in the western pacific ocean, shortly before the US dropped the A-bombs. Their mission was to make sure the japanese had not set up any fortifications or Anti Aircraft mechanisms along the eastern japanese coast. As they were patrolling the southern section, the sub mysteriously went off the radar several hundred miles south of the japanese coast. The radio control on land were perplexed, as there had been no reports of seamines in the area, and even had there been, the sub would have been too deep for ttraditional sea mines to affect it. There was no way they could search for the sub, as planes would not be able to see that deep, and ships would be in hostile territory. The only thing they could do was attempt to communicate with it. The radio control dispatched a message, asking for a status report. They got a response, but it wasn't anything they would expect. In morse, the submarine relayed one mysterious word: DRES All further communication attempts failed to get a response. Due to the high secrecy of USS Ishmael, it and its disappearance was forgotten about, and the case went cold. But then again, tales are just tales, right? *73 years later* "Moby One to mission control. Moby One has just reached the entrance to the trench. Do you copy?" "Copy Moby One. Setting up backup communications." I knew that backup communications took at least 30 minutes to set up so I had nothing to do but wait. I sat in the small observation sphere. I looked up, and saw the dimly lit sun, like a lone firefly at midnight. I looked down, and saw an abyss staring at me, piercingly. Nobody has been down here before, this deep. At least to our knowledge, that is. Anything I saw down here, I would be the first to see. I waited. The mission was dangerous, and although I was the only one manning this vessel, I was not the only one on this mission. There was another vessel, the *nautilus*, that would be stationed right above the fissure of the trench. The nautilus had a cable attached to my vessel, which would tow me up in case the worst happened. After what seemed like forever in solitude, mission control spoke to me. "Alright Moby, all communications have been established between us. Check your communications with Nautilus, and then you are clear for diving." "Nautilus, this is Moby One. Do you read me?" "Loud and clear, contacting mission control to confirm that all communications have been established" replied morgan, captain of the Nautilus. Despite the fact that we were both miles underwater, our communications were crystal clear. Communications take forever to set up, but only milliseconds to relay a message. Before I could even realised it, mission control contacted me. "Mission Control to Moby One. Moby One, you are clear for diving." = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = == People say the deep ocean is like outer space. Its dark, hard to get to, dangerous, mostly empty, and most imoportantly, we hardly know anything about it. I had no clue what to expect and I drove my sub down past the opening of the trench, and past the midnight zone. I imagine this is how the astronauts felt like when landing on the moon. While in the midnight zone, the only light there was was from the spotlight attached to my sub. Also, there was no radar on my sub to show what may be around me. Apparently, the radio signals that the radars use wouldn't be able to go through the submarine material if the radar apparatus was placed inside the sub, but if the radar apparatus was placed outside the sub, it would be crushed by the pressure. Fortunately for me, the Nautilus, which was at a higher altitude, had a radar that was set to scan the trench, and alert me if I was approaching anything potentially dangerous. As you can probably tell, this mission was incredibly risky, as there was almost no visibility. At these depths, striking anything hard and making even the *smallest* dent could compromise the sub, the mission, and kill me. I hadn't contacted either mission control or the nautilus crew for over an hour, and my blood pressure felt so high that I may as well have been a bomb building pressure, so I was obviously extremely apprehensive. I then heard a loud scratching-like sound, and just about jumped out of my skin. "Nautilus to Moby One, please stop diving for a moment" said Morgan. Thank god, the scratching sound was just momentary static from the radio "Jesus Christ, Morgan, you scared the living hell out of me," I replied. "Sorry. I just wanted to alert you that our radar has picked up something hard a few meters away from you, and the return signal on our radar indicated it may be actually be metal. I just wanted to alert you." "Thank you Morgan. Metal, you say? Should I examine it or steer clear?" "I don't know. Its up to you. If you are unsure, then I recommend you contact mission control." Honestly, I really didn't want to contact mission control, because then it defaults to an endless chain of commanders and takes forever for them to make a decision. My mind was racing. The entire goal of the mission was to explore the unknown. After all, the Mariana trench *is* the deepest part of the ocean, but what if I screw up, and compromise the whole mission before I even get into the *really* low parts of the trench? Then again, it was my relentless curiousity, even since I was a child, that landed me a this job as an "abysstronaut." This mission was commisioned by the government, and I was held at an esteem as high as the astronauts. Before long, my curious nature took its grip, and I was going to examine the object Morgan notified me about. "Morgan, I've made up my mind. I'm going to go check out the thing" "Alright. I have the crew on alert in case somthing happens" "Don't worry, Ill be fine" I assured her Supposedly the thing was metal. I was thinking it was probably an ancient meteorite, or an underwater iron deposit. Once I was close enought to the thing that I could see, it, I noticed it was unnaturally round. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = I started going around the strange object, eyeing it carefully. It was obvious this was not natural, as it was way too round, and I could even see welds and seams. As I got around to the back, I saw something impossible. I couldn't believe my eyes, or, at this depth, any other of my senses. Right there, welded on the back of the object, was the soviet hammer and sickle emblem, and right underneath it, big and bold, the letters U.S.S.R. "Morgan, I'm going to turn on the camera, and you tell me if you see what I'm seeing." I wanted to make sure that I wasn't hallucinating, because lack of oxygen could cause me to hallucinate, and require me to be pulled up. I turned on my camera. "Oh my god. Wait a second...... This is impossible. Impossible." she said, obviously hard of breath. Morgan usually wasn't a type of person to be startled, and she went into this mission expecting anything. She was the type of person that seemed to expect anything, anytime. As a matter of fact, there was a game that some of the crew, including myself, would play while stationed. We would make bets with each other, doing pranks and other such things with her. A person would place a bet that they could do something that managed to get a reaction out of her without hurting her, even managing to make her flinch or jump. If they succeeded, everyone who accepted the bet had to pay them what they betted. If they lost, the "prankster" would have to pay everyone else what the bet was. 9/10 times, the prankster lost money. I contacted her again "Morgan, are you alright?" I asked "Yes" she responded "You seemed to be caught off guard, thats not normal for you" "I know, but this is different. Its a bit of a long story." "Well, I have all the time in the world, tell me" She proceeded to tell me the story of the USS Ishmael, and how her father was actually the man in charge the Ishmael's radio control. He didn't tell her the story until she graduated college, and told her about how it went off radar within 100 miles of the Mariana Trench, and its last transmission: DRES. "It just clicked into my head that DRES is an anagram for REDS, which was a nickname for the soviets." She told me. "Wait, so are you saying that the Ismael may have been..." "Yes, hijacked by the soviets." She cut me off. She continued, "there's no way that we can confirm that its the Ishmael, or that even had anything to do with its disappearance, unless..." I dreaded what she was going to say next,"unless you go inside." = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = In my opinion, it was a miracle that the scientists behind apollo 11 managed to make a working spacesuit that actually could withstand the immense vacuum of space, despite never having tested one before. Well, I had my own suit, a diving suit designed to withstand the immense pressure of the ocean, and it had also never been tested this deep before. Morgan had already contacted mission control, and they approved of the exploration of the strange soviet vessel. I put on my hulking diving suit. It's resemblance to the spacesuits used for the moon mission was uncanny. I went into the airlock, closed the vessel side, prayed, and opened the outside latch. Before I even knew it, I was submerged in water, just meters away from the strange vessel. I swam through the water, thanking god that the suit worked, and that I wasn't crushed like a bug. "Morgan, I'm out of the ship." I told her. "Great. Look for an entrance. You probably find yourself in an airlock, but if the ship really is the Ishmael, everything written should be in English, unless the Russians wrote over it." "Alright. Tell me if anything else shows up on your radar." "Roger that" I swam around the object without any sense of direction. At these depths, I had no idea what way was up or down. Eventually I did find an opening. I twisted on the wheel covering the airlock hatch. I thought it would be rusted shut, so actually didn't expect it to open, but it did. When in the airlock, I could see a large red button with a sign above it that was taped over and had russian text. I peeled off the tape, and the sign read "Drain.


He sat on the couch. Eyes plastered to the TV, but not retaining anything he was seeing. His stomach growled at him, but he didn’t have the energy to move an inch, much less eat something. His eyes were red and swollen from crying. Tears were already pooling in the corners waiting for the next bout of sadness. There was a hole in his chest. A hole that was now pumping out numbness to every corner of his body. What happened? Where did I go wrong? How can I fix this? These thoughts bounced across his damaged mind consuming him. His mind was a hellscape. Where once there was happiness, there was now despair. Only sorrow’s ugly shadows remained where joy’s light once shone. Nightmares sat taunting him on the pieces of his once unbroken dreams. He cried, pleaded to God, the universe, anyone that would listen, to give him another chance to make it right. He was suddenly jolted back to reality, confused by his new surroundings. Wait these surroundings aren’t new. I know this restaurant! He thought, still processing what was happening. He looked across from him in the booth and there she was. His heart sank. There she was. It suddenly hit him. This is our first date! Were his cries answered? Does he have another shot at making this work? “Are you still with me over there?” she said, slightly puzzled. “Oh...uh yeah sorry.” He said followed by an awkward laugh. “So….siblings?” She said getting the conversation back on track. “Um…yeah, one brother.” He quickly quipped. Is this possible? Am I really being given a second chance? Still confused he gleefully went along with the rest of the date. I won’t spoil this chance I’ve been given. The next few months flew by, as if no time was passing at all. Awash in the pure ecstasy of being with her again, he was able to relive the good moments he had already had with her. Fixing any of the mistakes he had made the first time around. Being there for her when he was not before, giving her space when before he smothered her, thoroughly enjoying moments he had once taken for granted. What was once months flying by was now years. He had now long passed the point where this relationship had failed the first time around. He was living the dream. Living from happy moment to happy moment. Every day he thanked…whoever…for allowing him this unbelievable opportunity. For allowing him to make his dreams come true. He looked down at the ring. He couldn’t believe this moment had finally come. He quickly hid it away in his pocket as she returned from the restroom. She sat down across from him in the booth. The same booth where he had once been given a second chance. His body was exploding with emotion, joy, anxiety, bliss, nerves. He motioned behind her, “Is that a new painting over there?” She turned to look as he went to the side and onto one knee. “I don’t think s….Oh my God!” she turned back around and knew what was happening. Tears welled in her eyes as a smile stretched across her face. “You make me the happiest man in the world. Honey, will you marry me?” He felt almost relieved, but couldn’t be fully until he heard the response. He looked at her wide-eyed waiting for her reply. “As if you don’t already know the answer. Ye…” The shrill sound of the alarm clock pierced through his ears. He got up from the couch and looked around confused by his new surroundings. Wait these surrounding aren’t new. The TV was still on playing the show he wasn’t paying attention to. His eyes still swollen from the tears they shed. Still groggy, he instinctually went to his phone to text her about the crazy dream he just had. He went to messages, went to her name.


The scream came from upstairs. Matt snapped from his Netflix stupor and bolted up. The sound had come from his daughters room. Bursting through the door, Matt was confronted with the sight of his young daughter Kelly being dragged out of her bedroom window by a man made of black mist. Matt launched himself towards his daughter but was too slow. He watched on helplessly as she was whisked off into the darkness of night. He screamed out in angst and fear as she faded from his view. Manic, Matt’s mind raced. What happened? What was that thing? He knew immediately what to do. He raced downstairs grabbed up his phone from between the couch cushions and dialed his Mum. “MUM! MUM! KELLY IS GONE!” Matt screamed. “What? Matt, ok. Calm down. What do you mean Kelly is gone? What happened?” Martha replied. “I don’t know. I was on the couch then I heard a scream from her room and I ran to her but there was some thing. Like a man but not a man. He....No it.. It took her.” “I knew this day would come. Ok Matt. I need you to listen to me very closely. Don’t touch anything. Don’t go in the room. Your father and I will be right over.” “What do you mean this day would come? Mum? What is going on?” “Matt it will be ok. We will get Kelly back. Just stay where you are. We will be there soon and we will explain everything.” Twenty minutes pass. Matt lays curled up in the living room crying. The front door swings open. Martha and Albert make there way into the house. “Oh god he’s crying” Albert starts. “Leave him alone he's scared. And you would be too if your child was taken by the dark powers and you didn’t know what they were.” Martha snaps back. “Well he would know if you had let me have the talk with him when he was young. We could have prepared him for something like this.” “I wanted him to have a normal life. One without demons and sorcerers messing everything up all the time. Was that so wrong?” “Ok ok, no need to get upset. Anyway what has happened has happened let’s get on with it.” By now Matt has sat up. With a face wet from tears he asks “What are you two talking about? Mum? Dad? What do you mean demons? Is that what took Kelly? Some sort of demon?” “Either that or some sort of evil sorcerer” Albert tells him matter-of-factly. “A sorcerer?!” Matt wails, beginning to sob all over again. Martha leans down and hugs her son “It’s alright baby, It’s ok. Mummy is here and she is going to fix everything.” She turns to Albert and says “Can’t you be a bit more gentle?” “Oh for Christ’s sake Martha he’s a grown man.” Albert protests. “He’s a grown man who’s daughter has been stolen away. Why don’t you do something useful and grab my crystals from the car.” Martha scolds. Albert simply grunts in reply heading back out to the car. Matt sits at the end of Kelly’s bed with a blanket draped over his shoulders. He sips from the hot chocolate that his Mum made him (Double marshmallow just like when he was a kid). Albert finishes setting up for the ritual. There are an assortment of rare minerals scattered spread across the floor set in a swirl. Martha enters the room donning a set of strange golden robes. In her hand is an ancient rolled up piece of parchment. “It’s ready dear” Albert confirms. With a nod Martha stands above the mineral swirl and unrolls the parchment. She squints at it for a moment then says “Oh I can’t read this. Al have you got my reading glasses?” “Right here dear.” Albert replies handing them across to her. “Thank you darling” Martha places on her glasses and stands herself up straight and tall. She begins to read aloud from the ancient scripture. Matt looks on nervously as his mother begins to speak in what sounds to him like animal noises. The night breeze picks up as the light in the room begins to dim. Martha continues reading, slowly growing louder. She begins to sway left and right as she reads. The sounds coming from her change, becoming bizarre and otherworldly. It begins to rain heavily outside. The sounds of the storm raise the ambient noise in the room. Martha gets louder and louder until she is yelling over the storm. Matt and Albert watch on as Martha picks up off of the ground beginning to levitate. Then as the crescendo of the chant and storm begin to climax a clap like thunder erupts in the centre of the room. Matt drops his drink as he leaps away from the cataclysm, hiding his head deep into his daughters Peppa Pig pillow. “Good evening” begins a deep voice. “Good evening” Martha and Albert reply in unison. Matt turns back to see a red half-goat half-man monster standing upright at the end of his daughters bed. The creature glances at him with it’s satanic eyes before turning towards Martha. “Is this your boy then?” the demon begins. “Yes this is my Matthew.” Martha replies with a proud smile. “He is very handsome, not like his father.” The beast flirts. “Hey I’m right here!” Albert exclaims “Oh, hi Al, sorry I didn’t see you there. I must have been distracted by the foxy lady who summoned me” The beast replied winking at Martha. With a chuckle Martha says “Oh you stop that.” Giving a half chuckle himself the beast gets straight down to business “So why have I been summoned then?” “Well my Matty’s young girl Kelly has been snatched up by one of your lot tonight and he is very upset about it. So I was hoping you might be able to help us work out who has taken her so that we can go and retrieve her.” Martha explains. “Young girl you say? Hmm I don’t remember hearing anything about any young girls lately. If only there was something that could jog my memory.” The beast answers. Martha sighs at the beast then nods to Albert. Albert reaches down into the bag of crystals and pulls out a ten pack of cheap cigars handing them over to the beast. “Oh yes I remember now,” the beast says with a smile “There’s this new bozo, calls himself ‘Basotho’. He’s been out snatching up the blood relatives of all sorts of you witch types. He’s got a place down near the River Styx.” “Up or downstream from Devil’s Gate?” Albert asks. “Downstream, I think” The beast replies “Well, thank you very much then. You have been very useful” Martha says with a smile. “Anything for a babe like you Martha” The beast replies. Before he stands upright, stomps twice and poof! Disappears in a cloud of red smoke. Down in the kitchen Matt and Albert sit around the table talking. Martha busies herself fixing Matt a new hot chocolate. “And well I eventually promised to your mother that I wouldn’t tell you. I mean a man can only go so long living as a candle stick before caving to pressure. I guess that’s about all there is to it.” Albert says finishing up his explanation about the dark side, Martha being a witch and why they kept it from him. “Honestly Matt, I always wanted to tell you” Matt sits jaw to the floor staring at his father stunned by disbelief. His mother is a witch? Demons were real? An evil sorcerer has taken his daughter? His father lived for three months as a candle stick? None of this felt real to him. “I must be dreaming. I need to wake up. I need to wake up!” Matt mutters to himself. Martha comes over and places the new hot chocolate in front of her son. “I wish you were dreaming baby, but this is real and we really need to get Kelly back before thing’s get out of hand.” Martha reassures him. “Well… Well… What do we do?” Matt asks. “We? We do nothing. You stay here and drink your hot chocolate. Your father and I will create a portal to the underworld, find this Basotho guy, sort him out and bring Kelly back to you. Ok?” Martha orders to Matt, in that way mother’s do. Matt nods dumbly and takes a long sip from his drink. A pentagram of goats blood isn’t a hard symbol to create, especially not for Albert whose been at this for years. But stacking the shrunken heads takes a steady hand and real concentration. Which is why Al always leaves it for Martha to do. With the skull-stack complete the duo take up their positions either side of the pentagram. They stare into each others eyes and begin chanting. “Esaelp ,dlrowrednu eht ot latrop a ekil dluow ew.” They recite the phrase in unison thirteen times. As they finish the chant the shrunken skulls float up making the corners of a misty blood red triangle. “We’ll be back before you know it” Martha reassures Matt as her and Albert step through the portal. The pair arrive through the Devil’s Gate. They are greeted by Mordecai, the haunted twelve foot tall set of Armour who manages new arrivals. Seeing they are regulars Mordecai gives Martha and Albert a quick bow and returns to his duties. “He said downstream didn’t he?” Albert asks to Martha. “Yes dear” Martha answers. “I hope it’s not too far, my hips are killing me after going up and down those stairs.” “Oh don’t be such a big baby, now come on. Let’s go save our grand daughter.” After about forty minutes of walking (and Albert complaining), the husband and wife combo arrive at a skull shaped mountain. Hanging near mouth shaped cave entrance is a sign reading ‘Lair of Basotho the Brutal’. “I suppose this is the place then?” Martha says. “I suppose it is, what a wanker! Who lives in a skull lair these days? Jimmity Cricket this guy is trying to hard” Albert begins to rant. “Well let’s get this over with” “After you dear” The two walked up to the large door making up the mouth of the skull. Martha moves to the cheap intercom next to the door and gives a single long buzz. “Hello? Who is this?” A voice from the intercom asks. “This is Martha the Magnificent. I’m here with my husband Albert." Albert waves to the intercom camera from behind Martha. “We are here to retrieve our grand daughter Kelly.” “Martha the who? I don’t know you go away.” “Sir I will happily go away, if you hand over Kelly, we will leave you to your weekend.” “There is no girl here leave me alone.” The intercom voice snaps. Martha turns to Albert shaking her head. “Looks like we’ll have to do this the hard way then.” Albert moves away from the door giving Martha some space to work. Martha moves to the centre of the door placing one hand firmly on either side. She takes in a deep breath and recites a short spell under her breath. The large iron doors slowly swing open revealing a modern but messy apartment inside. “WHAT?! How did you do that?” Screams Basotho. A chubby, middle aged man, he is caught standing in the middle of the lounge room wearing nothing but a towel. “I want my grand daughter.” Demands an irritated Martha. Basotho screws up his face and spits the word “Ildkugle!” A huge fireball shoots from his mouth hurtling toward Martha. Martha quickly rolls left behind a stack of dirty cauldrons. As the flame dissipate, she pops her head up from behind the cauldron. Aiming at Basotho she throws forward her hands and yells “Knogle Spyd!” A long spear made of thick bone shoots from her hands and hurtles towards the dark sorcerer. Basotho drops his towel and leaps down behind his cheap faux-leather couch. As Basotho and Martha began their magic duel Albert decides to sneak in to the apartment. Careful not to get caught up in the fighting he heads downstairs. Over his years Albert had fought through enough dark lairs to know that if Kelly was here; she would be caged up in the basement. Traveling down the dank corridors to the basement Albert begins to shout “Kelly! Kelly! It’s your Poppa! Are you down here?” “Poppa Al! I am here! I am here! Come save me.” Kelly yells in reply. Albert makes his way down to the cellar. Arriving downstairs Al finds Kelly hanging in some sort of bone cage. He finds the release lever and brings the cage to the ground releasing Kelly from her captivity. The poor girl is crying as she comes out of the cage and rushes to give her Poppa a big warm cuddle. Al scoops the girl up in his arms and begins the trek back up to the lounge room. Meanwhile upstairs Basotho and Martha continue to fight. Both taking turns to fire off magic projectiles or dash and roll to avoid incoming shots. Albert, still carrying the terrified Kelly, pops his head up into the lounge room and gives Martha a quick nod. Martha answers with a nod and a smile. Seeing Martha's momentary lapse in concentration, Basotho takes his opportunity. He casts a spell transforming himself into a gigantic Golem. He then begins launching his furniture at Martha. First he throws the couch which Martha zaps into dust. Then he catapults the fridge at her. Martha barely dodges away in time. Seeing this fiend getting the better of his wife, Albert decides to take action. He places Kelly down and tells her to stay back and stay still. He then bravely runs out into the lounge room and faces up at the Goliath. Basotho looks down at the little old man and swings an arm to swat him away. Before Basotho can hit him, Albert uses the only magic he knows, at the top of his lungs he yells; “What do you call a magic owl? HOO-DINI! What do you call a short fortune-teller who escaped from prison? A small medium at large!” Hearing this the Golem stops his arm mid-swing and begins to cringe. The cringe hits him hard and his powers drain away. Basotho transforms back into his usual pudgy self and yells “Oh god stop! Fine, take the girl, but please PLEASE! No more puns” *I was trying to use more dialogue in this story compared to many of my others. Also had a lot of trouble keeping consistent with my tense. Either way, hope you guys enjoy the read.


DIVI There lies this place beyond our grasp, a universe where there are no stars, no nebulas, and no planets except one. A lonely planet all by itself. It shares no sun with neighboring planets, it exists completely by itself in a vast nothingness. A planet much larger than our universes largest star, the planet known as “Infinity”. On this giant planet there is no water, no trees, no hot and no cold. Infinity has the perfect balance in temperature. The sky shines in the most spectacular color of blue. A human would die of pure joy just by staring into the sky. On the surface Infinity holds the greatest desert to ever exist. This desert covers the entire planet. It’s an endless magnificent desert that stretches far beyond anything we can imagine. The desert takes different shapes all across Infinity, it shines brighter than our sun in the region known as the white sands of “Anantprakash”. The “Varen” dunes that reach higher than Mt. Everest and sink lower than the Dead Sea. Far beyond the horizon of these dunes lie the desert flatlands. A place known as “Majeeda” where the flatlands extend endlessly in every direction with only the dunes surrounding them in the distance. It’s in these flatlands where we would find the lone life on this planet. In Majeeda there is a small shack which houses a very special creature. A creature that lives in complete solitude, a creature that shares this planet with no one else but loneliness itself. This creature is named “DIVI”, it has the unique ability to take the form of anything it wants. At times DIVI flies across the Varen dunes as a giant dragon and then sleds down them as a young child. DIVI loves to explore the desert plains of “Gila” as a cheetah, or soar high over the “Kuhld” belt as an eagle in search for a specific grain of sand. You see DIVI has a very unique purpose on this planet. DIVI’s purpose is to perfectly balance and shape each individual grain of sand on Infinity. DIVI has always been on this planet and it enjoys perfecting this eternal desert one grain at a time. On one particular day DIVI leaves its beautiful little shack as a short 80 year old man. He looks wise as his long beard hangs off his chin. He decides for his long trip to find his next grain of sand, that he wants to walk with a bit of a limp. For some reason DIVI thinks having a limp would give him more reason to walk with a cane, and DIVI really loves the idea of having a cane. DIVI limps slowly back into his shack and after a few moments comes back out with his cane. With a huge smile on his face he starts on his slow walk across the flatlands to locate his next grain of sand. DIVI walks for ages, taking small stops along the way to inspect grains of sand throughout the desert. As more time passes the joy on his face never leaves him, even when giant sand storms slam into him, he finds joy. He reaches his hands up into the storm and grasps a hand full of sand, but alas none of these grains are the ones he is looking for. As the storm ends the beautiful blue sky emerges, and DIVI decides to make another small stop. He slams his cane into the cracked dry desert ground and he takes a seat. He crosses his legs in the lotus position, and slowly starts to inspect the particles of sand around him. He slowly wipes his hand across the ground and picks up a hand full of sand, DIVI then starts to pour the sand into his other open palmed hand. He carefully watches each grain of sand as they slowly fall into his palm like a waterfall. DIVI’s eyes light up as he notices something. He starts to push around the grains in his hand as he finds the one grain he was looking for. He tightens his fist with the grain of sand in his hand and stands up. He is so elated he jumps for joy, hopping about in a circle, but then he clumsily drops the grain. With just a slight grunt of annoyance he gets on his knees and starts moving around the sand particles on the ground. He finally finds the grain again and carefully picks it back up. With a sigh of relief he wipes his brow and places the grain in a small pouch on his belt. DIVI grabs his cane and start walking back towards his shack. Much time goes by when he finally returns back to his little home, as he enters his shack he places his cane against the wall near the front entrance. He takes a seat on a creaky old wooden chair by a worn wooden table and takes out his pouch. He turns the pouch upside down and all sorts of little things fall out of it. Sitting on the table now is an old copper penny, a button, a clothespin, some string, a piece of lint, a green gem, and the grain of sand. He picks up the grain of sand and walks over to an empty spot in his shack. DIVI then lays the sand in a wooden bowl and places it on the floor directly in front of his feet. He sits down on the floor behind the bowl crossing his legs as he did earlier. He closes his eyes and places each hand on his knee, pressing his index and thumb fingers together. The entire planet goes still, no storms, no sound of the wind blowing the sands, just silence and DIVI starts to make an “OHM” sound. The sound resonates and echoes onto the entire planet. The wooden bowl in front of him starts to shake and the grain of sand starts to rise from the bowl. The grain is lumpy and oddly shaped. It continues to rise until its floating directly in front of his brow. The grain of sand starts to glow and DIVI can now see into it, the grain of sand is not sand at all. It contains an entire universe within it, a universe as vast and endless as our own. An unbelievably unbalanced universe, and he must balance it. Just like he has done for an eternity with all the other grains of sand across the planet Infinity. Each individual grain on this entire planet holds in it its own universe. Universes that are very similar with only slight differences. Universes where life cannot exist. Universes where heaven and hell battle each other for power. Universes where the god of Thunder rules over his land. Universes where turtles swim through space laying eggs that are planets. Every imaginable possibility has its own universe placed within a single grain of sand and DIVI must balance them all. As DIVI looks deeper into this grain he can see billions of years in an instant. He must enter his consciousness into this grain. This universe will take an eternity to shape but for DIVI it will only be moments. He must reshape every particle, atom, molecule, chemical, life, and soul within this Universal grain in order to make it perfectly balanced. DIVI will experience all there is to experience within this entire universe, and as time passes he will evolve and reshape the universe until it becomes one within itself to create perfect harmony. DIVI will experience pride, faith, envy, hope, gluttony, charity, lust, fortitude, wrath, justice, greed, prudence, sloth, and temperance. He will fall pray to ignorance and feel the isolation of wisdom. He will be the tortured and the torturer. DIVI will feel the pain of betrayal and the healing of forgiveness. Once DIVI aligns every single vibration of this Universal grain over an eternity he will feel an ultimate love which will release him from his trance. DIVI becomes the entire grain, everything that inside of this universe is him. The only way he can fully enter into this universe, he must strip away his divine nature. At the entrance into this universe there is a gate. This gate is called the “EGO” and it will wipe away his memory and his being will be scattered across the entire universe and placed inside everything that exists in it. Who DIVI is will be imprinted upon everything and as time moves on, these pieces will slowly come together like a magnet, aligning everything into perfect harmony. Over billions upon billions of years this cycle ends and DIVI opens his eyes. The grain of sand is now perfectly round. There are no lumps or odd shapes on it anymore. DIVI has just experienced an eternal cycle in a matter of moments. The grain falls back onto the wooden plate. The outside door now opens and as DIVI steps out of the shack, he is no longer the old man he is now a she, a little girl. With the pouch on her side she starts to skip away until she reaches the very place she found the grain of sand. She pulls it out of her pouch and gently places it on the ground. She knows she is never alone, she is happy. She felt ultimate love once more. She knows she can experience and be anything she wants and all she has to do is pick up a grain of sand. The End.


The metal chair was bolted to the floor. A chain wrapped around my chest and lower body, securing me like a package. Strength ebbed away like a slow tide returning to sea. My naked body shivered from cold or fright. I focused on the latter. Left-arm unrestrained provided enough freedom for my hand to find the button that pumped drugs into my bloodstream, courtesy of an IV bag. Light flickering from an old cathode ray tube television set was the only illumination in the room. I recognized the wooden console TV as a model I had when I was eight. A remote control and cable box sat on top of the finished wood relic. Old black and white cartoons with funny characters danced and sang on the screen. The volume was muted, but I could still hear the cartoon melodies in my head. As a poor child with no toys, I recalled drawing the crude animations for show and tell in school. No one liked my drawings. As bad as that day was, I wished myself back to that time, away from this awful day. It dawned on me that I was in my old childhood home. My parents were long gone, but the house was still there. On the bad side of town, the real estate was condemned after a girl was held captive and killed inside. I was in a space with three white or maybe grey walls, a door, but no windows. This was the walk-in closet the teen was murdered in. My best friend used the fear I had as a child and built a horror story around it. All I had to do was create a new story in the book of death when I was asked. Nonsense, I thought, even though my name was in the table of contents as the author of the next chapter. This book seemed meaningless to me as a chain letter, something to dispose of, not to be taken seriously. The instructions were to write a personal horror story about your best friend, using a pen filled with blood in the pages next to your name. That’s all I had to do, then continue with my own life. When I finally believed in the book of death, the chapter that I was supposed to write was already written by my best friend. That was not my script, so I tried to appeal to the gods of its design. My offering of fresh goat blood and the body of my neighbors dog around a basement alter was not enough to make the change. Human blood, and the body parts of the long ago murdered teen were needed to erase the story that was already written. It was too late by the time I decided to defile the young girls final resting place. The three days given to me had passed. Another story had been published, completed in the universe, waiting for a new author upon my demise. It takes a lot of effort to murder a person with your bare hands. Up close, and very personal. I killed my friend in an act of revenge before I realized it was the book that caused me to act out. Just touching the hideous thing brought out murderousness. Filling a drum with cement, I threw the book in and sealed the lid. I rolled the damn thing off my boat, along with the lifeless body of my friend. I hoped they would never be found again. Whenever I died, the author for the next chapter would not know his time was due. The book could not be presented to him by a family member or his best friend. The stories would end with the book at the bottom of the sea. At least, that’s what I thought. I couldn’t continue to ignore the smell of the decomposing body in the room with me. My restraint prevents turning to the side to verify, but peripheral vision was enough to confirm his identity. Also, it became clear that the cable box on top if the old TV was really another copy of the book, opened to my chapter. I had not eaten in a few days, but the furry creatures roaming freely around the room didn’t have that problem. Feasting on my bound feet, I could do nothing but keep one hand on the button that sent me into a painless fog, or use that hand to cover the family jewels. I prayed the red eyed devils would not have them as an appetizer. While dry heaving, and shaking violently, the rats lost their grip on my flesh for just a second. I screamed ‘GET OFF ME!’ in a commanding voice, which trailed off to hapless, as I began to accept my fate. The vermin, smelling fear, continued tearing away flesh with abandon. Too weak to protect my legacy, I held the button down as the strongest of the mighty beasts dined on my testicles, the pain trumping the drug. I was not the author, it was not my script. This was the last story written, penned in human blood. I guess that’s why I woke up here from the boat. The outcome could not be changed, once it was written in the book. That’s how I got the starring role in a horror story I could have written differently. My fingers no longer had the flesh, muscle to hold the button down. It didn’t matter though, as the little bastards ate through the IV line. I guess it’s true, rats will eat anything. I guess I tasted better than my friend. The TV was still on, but I couldn’t see anymore. They started on my eyes, but I don’t feel anything anymore. I was in shock, or just close to death. I chanted in my mind, “I am not the author, this was not my script,” to no avail. I realized I just inherited it, after I tried in vain to change the outcome..


Another. Of course. What was it again? Whiskey. Any particular brand? Couldn’t care less, top shelf, well, all those shelves in between. Just grab whatever’s in reach. As you like. ————\- Excuse me? Another. Of the “whatever’s in reach”, I presume? Hey, you remembered! How about that. Well it’s not my first day on the job. Here you go. Hey! Don’t run off, how long you been working here? A while, at this point. How long is a “while”? Enough time that I probably should have quit a while ago. Well hold on a second now. If you’ve been working here a while now, and you should’ve quit a while ago, by that reasoning you should’ve quit on your first day. Thank you for the correction. I have to get back to work, more customers. Yeah, alright. Just watch your word choice from now on, don’t want to make a mistake like that again or you’ll just end up looking silly. I’ll keep that in mind. —————— Hey! Another. At this rate, you’re going to clear me out of whatever’s in reach. Yeah, and then you’ll have to go slightly out of your way to be able to reach drinks for other customers. I imagine that’ll end up being quite the burden. You should tell me now whether this is going to be a frequent occurrence, cause in that case I’ll make sure to order more of whatever’s in reach. I don’t expect it to be, but you never know. Yeah, you really don’t. You should try it, it’s definitely the best whiskey you have here. Have a glass with me. I’m working. Does that matter? I suppose it does. Come on, the place is hardly full. Most have moved on already. Sure, but there are some I need to serve still. Fine, suit yourself. Go off and work. I will. ———\- Another! Should I just go ahead and leave the whole bottle in your reach then? Seems like it’ll save me some of the hassle. I’m not saying that isn’t a great idea in theory, but I like it better this way. Bartender, bar patron, good service. There’s a certain romance to it that I can’t put my finger on. It’s a classic, it’s simple. No uncertainty, no questions, nothing. It’s just the way the world works. I can’t really explain it. But whatever it is, it would definitely be ruined\* by you just putting the bottle within my reach, blatantly and woefully disrespecting the natural order of things. Funny, I’d never considered bars to be natural at all. I bet there’s plenty of things you’ve yet to consider. Are they all as ridiculous as natural bars? Only the good ones. Right. I’ll tell you about some, if you’d like. There are people waiting for drinks. Well damn, you better take care of that quick! Yeah, I better. ————————— Another, right here! This is a rough place to be drunk alone. This is a perfect place to be drunk alone! Do you have a way to get home later? Oh, I’ll think I’ll manage. Wouldn’t have a drop if I didn’t. Here you go then. Thanks for just giving me whatever was in reach. Real classy of you. Thanks for expecting me to go out of my way, real demanding of you. As punishment for lazy service, you have to do a shot with me. There are other people in this bar. None of whom you’ve wronged like me! There are people waiting for drinks. Then you’d better take it quickly, you have work to do. Fine. Woh wait, hang on! We have to toast to something! What even would we toast to? How about…to right now? To this moment? You want to toast to the moment when we are toasting? Yeah, it seems oddly appropriate. Maybe to you. To right here and now! To right here and now. —————————————— Last call. Another? Do you even have to ask? Apparently not. Make it a double. Double it is. Thanks much! Time to close your tab. Sit down with me, have one drink before you have to close up. I have to… No you don’t. There’s only one table left in here, and they’ve already paid. There’s no use in you being unable to relax just because their drunken conversation is going on too long. You’re persistent. In a good way? In a persistent way. Good, I aim to be tautological whenever possible. Fine, one drink. It was a long shift, I might as well. Wonderful! I highly recommend whatever’s in reach. Somehow I thought you would. I think I’ll take you up on that offer. Somehow I thought you would. So, what’s your story? Just someone who likes a drink and some company. Not much company, you’re here alone. I’m not alone. No I guess you’re not. So what’s your story then? Already told it. I work here. There’s no more than that? How boring. Pretty much. Well since your story is so boring, let’s play a game. What game? What am I thinking of right now? Haven’t a clue. Well guess, otherwise it’s no fun. Whiskey. Nope! Guess I lost. Don’t be annoying, guess again. How you’re going to get home. Not even close! Guess again. This could go on for a while. Especially if you keep sucking. Your boyfriend. Don’t have one. How about a hint? How about a better guess? Your pet poodle. Existentialism. Whatever witty response you’re going to use next. This really isn’t your game. I wasn’t the one who suggested we play it. Oh well, I guess we should just talk about something else then. Well that’s not fair, you have to tell me what you were thinking of. Since when was that part of the rules? I assumed it was a rule from the beginning. You also assumed I was thinking about whiskey and my pet poodle. So you’re not going to tell me? No, probably not. I need more whiskey for this if I’m going to keep losing games. How convenient, losers have to take a shot. And look at that, it’s in reach. Me too please! You’ve done a decent job on this bottle. Why thank you. I might as well close your tab while I’m here. Yeah so I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. What about it? I noticed around 3 drinks in that I sort of forgot my wallet. Of course you did. Hey, to be fair it would never have been a problem if you’d remembered to card me. I would’ve noticed I didn’t have it long before ever ordering my first drink. Looks like it’s actually your fault. I don’t think it works like that. Besides, you looked 21. I’m actually 19. Fuck. 19 plus 4 years. You enjoy fucking with me, don’t you? I hope I will. As forward as that was, unfortunately that isn’t an accepted form of payment here. Don’t worry, that wasn’t how I planned on paying. And how is that? Do you like music? No I hate it. How are you paying? You hate music?! How does that even happen? I love music. I also love getting paid for drinks. Ok good. For a second there, I thought you were beyond hope. For a second there, I thought you were intentionally trying to change the subject. How many drinks was it? Half of whatever was in reach. You had some. Slightly less than half of whatever was in reach. Have a little more and then we can try and work out a deal. If every customer did this, I’d be drunk twenty minutes into my shift. If every customer did this, you’d like your job. Pass whatever’s in reach. My pleasure. Thanks. Fill me up while you’re at it. You can’t even pay for what you’ve already had. I told you we’d work out a deal over another drink. Can’t do that if I have an empty glass, now can we? Pour it yourself then. Terrible service in this place. Yeah well we don’t get paid well. So what kind of music do you like? Weren’t we supposed to be working out a deal? Fine, if you’re going to be all nagging about it. So how are you planning on paying? How about I give you the world? I don’t know what that means. What’s not to get? You gave me drinks, I’ll give you the world. What would I do with the world? Well, that’s up to you now isn’t it? I guess it would be. How do you even have the world to give? Oh I won it off of a guy a while back. I’m not much of a gambler, but he sure was. He bet the world? In a game of poker. Poor guy, never would’ve guessed I had pocket Aces. Gave me an quick three of a kind once the turn came. What’d he have? After the river, you mean? Pair of 4’s. Risky bet for a couple of 4’s. If you bet the world, you’ve gotta be ready to lose it. Was he ready? Fuck if I know, he was quite drunk. Alright, well how he’d get the world in the first place then? He mentioned it at some point. Rambling on the whole game, hand after hand he went on about the whole thing. I would’ve left the table if it weren’t for the cards being completely in my favor that night. I was sweeping the table for hours, sucking everyone dry until he was the last one, not a chip left to call his own. Why didn’t he just walk at that point? Cause he still had something left to bet. A gambling man, through and through, and who was I not to take that bet? You didn’t answer my question. Why he didn’t walk? How did he get the world? According to him, he won it in some sort of contest. I’ve never seen a contest with the world as a prize before. And that’s probably why you’re not the one with the world. Another drink? My turn for a double. So what was the contest? Oh it wasn’t anything grand or daring. Just a small contest amongst friends from the sounds of it. Something about a few bottles of bourbon and the last one still conscious. And the world was up as a prize for the winner? Each person put something into the pot to enter the contest. One guy put in $20, another offered to do a free tattoo on the winner. And someone put the world into the pot? Yup, and she ended up passing out about 4 shots in. Hence why she didn’t win, I assume. According to the gambler, she was never much of a drinker. So why’d she enter the contest? Apparently the contest was her idea to begin with. Seems like a bad idea for her to have. How so? Well, starting a drinking contest when you know you’re a lightweight seems pretty silly, let alone throwing the world into the pot. She must’ve known she couldn’t win. What’s winning got to do with it? Winning the prize, usually. But more importantly in her case, not losing the world. She wasn’t too careful with it. You’re exaggerating. It’s not like losing a contest is the end of the world or anything. Right. Anyhow, the gambling man was still casually sipping his drink while everyone else was out on the floor. If they were all passed out, how could anyone know who had actually won? Easy, he just told them the next morning. They were all terribly hungover, of course. What if he lied? Why would he do that? I would think that’s rather obvious. I disagree, and I wouldn’t know about whether he lied or not. She believed him without question. That’s how he ended up with the world, that is until I beat him with that three of a kind. Of course you did. Wanna pour me another? Wanna pour it yourself? The bottle’s right by you. I told you, that’s just not the way the world works. Who are we to go against it? You seem like the only person that potentially could if you wanted to. Just pour my drink already. As you wish. That was quite the heavy pour. I have more questions. I may have more answers. How did she get the world then? How did who? The one who lost it to the gambler. How am I supposed to know? It sounded like the gambler was quite the talker. Oh he was, but he never mentioned how she came by the world. Was there anything else he told you? Well sure, he brought up all sorts of random things Anything else about the world? He told me the story of the first one who had the world. Do tell. Or we could play another game! You could guess how the first person got the world. I’d rather not. You’re really not much fun. Fine. She made a deal with the devil for it. Hah, wrong! She was born with it. She was special. Couldn’t be more wrong! She bought it. She lied and stole and cheated and killed for it. WRONG! You’re enjoying this too much. Is it wrong to have a good time? Pass me the bottle. Fill mine while you’re at it. Fine. Guess again! I give up. You win the game. Just tell me. You lost! How sad for me. Losers have to take a shot. If I take this shot, will you tell me what the answer was? Probably. There. Now, tell me. The answer is…she found it! She found it. Yup! Where? How would I know? You’re the one telling the story. Well I never asked the gambler. She just came across it one day. How fortunate for her. Yeah, until she sold it years later. Why’d she sell it? In exchange for a good or service, I’d imagine. Helpful. And apparently the man who bought it died not too long after. From what? Someone cut his throat open. Not surprising. How is that not surprising?! He was killed for the world. Why would someone kill for the world? You wouldn’t? I already have it. I suppose you do. Sad thing is, the killer just ended up losing it a few weeks later. How’d he lose it? How anyone loses something. He forget where he left it. Of course he did. Anyway, you want it? Want what? The world, what else? I don’t know, can I pay rent with it? Don’t know, never tried. Well, how do you pay rent then? A check, usually. How silly of me. You’re weird, you know that? I’m not even sure what to say at this point. See? Weird. Alright, tell me this then. Tell you what? You have the world. What the hell are doing here? What do you mean “here”? You come in here, you sit at the bar alone. You ask for whatever is in reach, and you spend all night trying to talk to me. Why are you here? Where else would I be? I don’t have an answer to that. Well, there’s your answer then! Let’s play a game. Oh, now you want to play games! We never finished our older game. I never got a turn. Which game? What am I thinking of right now? I love that game! What’s your answer? How many guesses do I get? Three. You’re thinking of…whiskey! That was my guess, and no. Darn. Two more. Your…boyfriend. Don’t have one. Final guess. Shit. Umm…excuses to get out of this conversation? Wrong. Thank god. Here’s your shot. What? A girl once told me losers have to take a shot. A girl was right. Last shot of the bottle. I knew you’d lose. You trying to get me drunk? I’m trying to get you drunker. It’s working. One more game? We’re out of alcohol. And that was the only thing in reach. We’re fucked! There are other things to bet. What’d you have in mind? If I win, you have to let me walk you home. What a terrible thought. And what if I win? I forgive your tab. You don’t want the world? Is it a bet or not? Alright fine, it’s a bet! You choose the game. You didn’t have a game in mind already? Hadn’t thought that far ahead. Well neither had I! Alright, I’ve thought of one. What is it? A simple game. I’m ready. What do I have to do? On the count of three… Yes? We leave the world behind. Are you crazy? How would we even do that? Simple. You set it down on the bar, and we walk away. Someone will take it. Bar is empty silly. How will we determine a winner? This time, we’re a team. We will win or lose together. A team… Are you ready or not? I’m ready.


Back in 2009, I didn’t have a penny to my name. I shared a two\-bedroom row home with three other people, a couple and another single guy. Let’s call him Drew. We didn’t want to be splitting a two\-bedroom between four people, but every three\-bedroom we’d seen was well out of our price range. So, we decided to start looking at two\-bedrooms with the notion that the couple would get their own room and the remaining room would be claimed by the highest bidder. The only problem was Drew and I were so broke that neither of us could afford to pay extra rent. So, when we found a house that we could all afford we had a tough decision to make – who would be getting the open room? I had an idea. A beer drinking contest. And to the winner, the room would be given as a prize. Everyone agreed. I know. The idea lacked originality, but I was on only 22 at the time, so bear with me. I proposed that on our move\-in date, we would pool our remaining funds together and purchase 3 cases of beer. One case for the couple, one for myself, and one for Drew. Drew and I would start on our cases at 8pm and drink until someone passed out. I’ll spare you the details of that night, but I drank the most beer and won the bet. The room was mine. So, the next day I triumphantly moved my stuff into the empty room. I didn’t own a single piece of furniture back then. Couldn’t afford any. All I had were a few boxes of clothes and a spring\-loaded mattress that I’d flung on the floor, but at least I had my own room. Better than I could saw for Drew. Drew had reluctantly stacked his boxes in the corner of our living room. He’d be sleeping on a cot every night for at least the next year our lease was up. Yuck! We got along like this for a month or two. Everything was just fine. Drew didn’t complain about sleeping in the living room and I never bragged about winning the wager that sealed his fate. I guess you could say that although we were poor, we were happy. One Friday or Saturday night, I don’t recall the exact day, but I know it was a weekend, we decided to head down to our local bar at the end of our street. The place wasn’t fancy. Pitchers of Miller Lite were only $5. And when you barely make enough money to feed yourself, the wisest thing you can do is throw away hard earned cash on pitchers of flat, Miller Lite. We walk in around 8pm and the place is already humming. The floor was sticky with beer. The line for the dartboard was five\-deep. The Women’s toilets were already backed\-up, so girls were busy flirting their way to the front of the line that was snaking out of the Men’s room. It was a good setting for a great time. Around 10pm a group of girls walked in that we’d never seen before, which was weird considering we lived up the street and came to this bar often. I had my eye on one. Or to be more accurate, every guy in the place had their eye on one. The same one. She was stand\-out gorgeous. The type of girl that walks by and is so beautiful that you kind of forget how to breath for a second. Then as she disappears around the corner you find yourself instinctively gasping for air. She was remarkable to say the least. In my younger days, I was quite the confident buck. I had no problem approaching women. So naturally I had intentions of introducing myself. I made mention to Drew that I’d be going over to say hello and asked if he would do me the honor of holding my beer. He obliged me and reached for my half\-empty glass of luke\-warm suds. As I passed him my drink he said to me, “Yea I know that girl. We had a few classes together back in college. I had the hugest crush on her for years, but I never had the guts to say anything.” I tightened my grip on the glass floating between us. “You know her?” I’ll admit, I was shocked. Drew wasn’t exactly a guy that you would call handsome. Or charming. Or tall, or funny, or confident. So, I wondered how this guy could have known a girl as beautiful as this one. I processed my thoughts quickly and managed to shout at him before he could answer me, “Dude. If you know her go talk to her!” “No way man. Girls like that aren’t into guys like me. That’s why I ever said anything to her. She’d never be into it and honestly, I don’t want to deal with the embarrassment of being rejected. Plus, I don’t even have my own bedroom man. I’m nobody to her. You think she wants to date a dude that sleeps on a cot in somebody’s living room?” “Yea but at least she knows you man. This place is super\-crowded and it doesn’t look like her or her friends know anyone here. You’ve never seen her here before, have you? I sure haven’t. Go up to her now. She’ll probably be happy to see a familiar face. If you’re ever going to have a chance with her it’s right now man. Go for it.” I don’t know why he took my advice in that moment, but he did. I held his glass of beer and watched him worm his way through the crowd to the spot where she’d been standing. I could see her eyes scanning back and forth across the smattering of strange faces, trying to identify someone she knew. Then I saw her smile. Her face lit up. She stretched out her arms and hugged Drew like a goddam teddy bear. After five minutes or so, I lost interest in their conversation and to be honest I didn’t want to make it seem like I was staring. So, I occupied myself with something else. Not sure exactly what that something else was, but I surely finished the beer Drew had left in my care. I remember leaving the bar early that night and walking home alone. I was pretty sauced and all I wanted to do was get home and fling myself onto my floor\-mattress and sleep it off. The next morning, I found Drew in the living room, asleep on his cot. I woke him up and asked about his conversation with the pretty girl he’d known from college. “Dude it went fantastic! I couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to her. We’re going to hang out tonight even. She wants me to come to her place for drinks and then go out.” “Man that’s so awesome! I’m proud of you dude. See! I told you it’d work out.” A few weeks later, they were dating. And a few weeks after that I gave him my room. I really didn’t want the guy to have to explain to her that he’d been sleeping on a cot. So, much to my chagrin, I slept on that cot for the next two years! It’s 2018 now and I have my own room. In fact, I live in a 1\-bedroom apartment all by myself, and as a rule I never sleep on cots anymore. My life has certainly changed since that night at the bar. Seems like it was a lifetime ago. Drew and I don’t talk much anymore. We catch up on the phone from time to time and talk about how we wish we’d stayed closer over the years. But I think that’ what adults do isn’t it? We always talk about how we’re going to get together with our friends for a reunion, but somehow never do. When we do find ourselves on the phone though I always ask him, “How’s that pretty girl from the bar?” To which he always replies, “Oh she’s fine. She’s still bitter that I tricked her into marrying me years ago, but other than that she’s right as rain.


She felt like the loneliest girl in the world. She never minded the menagerie of friends, family, and ever adoring stable of suitors around her. At best, they were welcome distractions. At worst, they were stakes in the ground. Even though she felt alone she had grown accustomed to it, and the solitude it brought her. She often wondered if they would be able to identify her in the morgue. In her own mind she thought of herself as a nondescript plain Jane, but how wrong she was. In her run-of-the-mill eyes, her only identifying features was a faint smell of vanilla bean. A scent that gave her away in any room she occupied and would, sooner or later, beg the question of any current baking endeavors. Artificial smells, however, fade over time. Her vanilla bottled fragrance would eventually give way to the natural odors of decay. No, her common self would only be identified by the murals she had carved upon herself. Faded and fresh lines adorned her body the way the Nazca’s lines of Peru were so intricately planned. Her wanton acts of self-mutilation were the journal entries of her life’s diary. Each line and curve representing a passage, or tear stained memory. She could control each stroke and pass; depth and width. Picasso himself could not have conveyed that type of dismay or joy had he tried. With every slice her body made it known it was an unwilling participant. It threw up in its disapproval. She was content with her canvas; she wasn’t proud, nor should she be. Her artwork couldn’t be shown to anyone but herself. Her long sleeves and leggings forebode such an act, and therefore it would stay hidden. That was until she met Kris. Kris smelled of cigarettes, and what at one point could be considered apples. Kris represented everything she wasn’t, but at the same time personified everything she was. Kris’s dark eyes, and jet black hair exemplified her dream persona. Kris’s looks and demeanor screamed, ‘Fuck off!’ A sentiment only her innermost thoughts could convey. With every interaction she thought to herself, ‘why can’t I be like that?’ Their song, through many nights, became ‘Jezebel’ by Iron and Wine. Those simple nights that turned into mornings which would evolve into days that would degrade back into twilight. No one had ever seen her like Kris had, and with that she was content. Throughout each night they would create their own private universe within each others embrace. Both dreaming of broken windows with sunshine reflecting upon each shard, and faint shadows walking past. They’d take turns holding each other through the night switching instinctively while they sailed through each others dreams. That space between Kris’s overlapped arms and chest became more of a home than any house she had grown up in. On their last night she laid next to Kris and said that she had finally found happiness, a sentiment that Kris had reciprocated. During those faint early hours, when the city stopped wailing giving way to the most intimate of sounds she whispered to her beloved. The contents of each breath were irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was that they, in that single moment of infinity, were together. She sorrowfully whispered, “I’ll always be by your side.” A promise she would keep. As the clock struck its given hour she kissed Kris’s forehead goodnight. Delivering it with one last message. A simple, “thank you.” She gently broke away from that loving and warm embrace that had kept her safe through so many nights, and slipped away. She carefully tiptoed to their bathroom where her long forgotten paintbrush had slept. She picked it up once more and felt its familiar weight and texture. During those last moments she applied some blush and lipstick. Content with the shade it would ultimately yield she laid in the tub and turned her head thinking of Kris’s face laying upon a pillow. Her last breathes were meant for Kris’s ears, but were intercepted by the hollowness between them. In that single and final second, her final good night had been heard. ^^! ^^Pretty ^^psyched ^^about ^^that.