She lay there in front of him, shock evidently seen in her eyes. Life had left her body, but the shock and dread did not leave her eyes. He had always heard there was peace in the eyes of people who leave us, but this was not peace! She was there in a pool of blood with *Maa Kali*’s photo in one hand and it felt like someone had offered a sacrifice to the goddess and bathed her in the blood of his wife. A cross had been nailed in her other palm, an offering to *Jesus* as well. A final nail in the coffin? A void filled his eyes. A void like never before. He could not see anything; his bloodshot eyes were wide open but nothing was visible anymore. Slowly the voices around started to sound like noise and then it faded away. This could not be the same woman he had seen that morning before leaving to work. His heart was about to give up on him and suddenly, he felt a blow at the side of his head as fell down next to her and fainted. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — The sun had just begun to retire for the day, shining its last bit of glory for those eyes of mankind who would witness the beauty of it. Shresht sat by the shore and looked at the sky as it changed its colours. It was golden yellow at first, which slowly turned into crimson red and finally hues of green entered the picturesque display. It was magnificent in every possible way. As time passed, the beautiful full moon was out. Its light made the waves look like series of diamonds, rising up and descending with the waves only to finally kiss his feet softly. “*Devi maa* and her beautiful creations”, he thought as he got up to return home and that is when he first saw her. Short hair that shuffled swiftly with the cool night breeze, wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt and a blue denim. With flip-flops in her hands, she was walking along the shore, smiling and looking at one of nature’s most inconceivable beauties. It was almost love at first sight for him. Almost! It was when she got a little closer that he had observed the cross pendent in her neck. He smirked, touched the *rudraksh* around his neck and walked away from the scene. But even as he walked away, he could not forget her perfectly peaceful face and the radiant smile. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — “Shresht! Shresht! Wake up! You cannot fall weak now. Raunak will need you. Pull yourself together”. It was his friend Nakul. Shivering and still dizzy he manged to slowly sit up a little and found a wall to support himself. He felt weak in his legs with absolutely no strength to move anymore or look anywhere else. Him fainting and falling on the floor next to her had smeared a share of her blood on his face and hair. The blood, mixed with his sweat, was now dripping drop by drop from his chin. It was as though it was her holding on to him for a little bit longer not ready to let go so soon, not sure whether to drip and fall on the floor or to push ahead this journey just a little longer. Raunak! Their 5-year-old son was still at school. He mustered as much strength as possible and asked Nakul to pick up Raunak and take him to a hotel and stay with him in a room. He would contact Nakul and let him know where to get Raunak. He knew he could not sit there forever. She had left him and he would have to make arrangements for her final rites. Looking at her body again made him nauseous. The peaceful and radiant face he had seen for the first time was nowhere now to be seen. He felt a throbbing pain in his head and a hollow cavity in his chest. It was too much to take in and Shresht broke down and started to cry loudly, screaming at intervals until his throat dried up and just a screeching voice was left. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — - “Hey there! Someone loves watching the sunset a lot”, Shresht looked up to see whose voice it was. There she was, the beautiful angel like face. Shresht’s voice gave up on him at the wrong time. His mind went blank, but squeaked out ‘Say something you idiot!’. At last he just smiled and looked away, not wanting to stare anymore. She sat down next to him and the wind playing its devious role carried her lavender like fragrance straight to him. He pulled down the sleeves of his pullover to make sure his Goosebumps were not seen. “Anika Sebastian”, she introduced herself. “Hi. Shresht Kashyap” “Ah, Kashyap huh” “Ah, Sebastian huh” Both smiled and continued to look at the beautiful sunset. There was something serene about the moment. It felt like everything had paused for the time being. The vendors selling various snacks and toys could not be heard anymore, the noise from vehicles nearby fainted away, people and their cheerful laughter muted, and his gaze was fixed at the sunset. There were just the waves, the sunset, her fragrance and also the desire to turn around and look at her once. Life was going on, but their moment had paused. The colours of the sky were seen to be more elegant than ever. The gods seemed to be extremely happy and all their cupids were released to make hearts meet. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — - “We need to take revenge! They have killed our people. Let’s wait till Sunday and during the mass we will burn down their churches”, people were speaking. Shresht looked around and there were just people he did not recognize. But, revenge? Whom will he kill? His own family? Make others go through what he is going through? All for what? A set of Gods he can’t even see! God was the reason that people used, to do this to his Anika. It felt all meaningless. Why were they all here? Shresht looked at Anika again, slowly pushed himself towards her and pulled her up and hugged her. It did not matter that she was in a pool of blood, it did not matter that there were people around. He just closed his eyes and embraced her. The moment paused again. The voices and screams of people muted and everything faded. He could just feel her body, it was cold, warm blood dripping around. “All of you get out of here!! Out now!!!”, he shouted. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — - Their love had bloomed for over a year, life had now become quite dependent on each other. Going against everyone and their wishes they first said “I Do” to each other and then in a small temple event with *mantras* echoing everywhere, Shresht tied the knot. It was happiness everywhere. Irrespective of the weather, be it hot sunny days or gloomy rainy days, both of them knew how to make each other smile and love. Love like they never did before. They were warned of the consequences every now and then, from both sides of family. However, it did not bother them. They had created a small beautiful world for themselves. Celebrating life and festivals from both religions. They attended the Friday *Devi pooja* and also attended the Sunday mass together. People would gaze at them like a hunter at his prey. But all this never daunted them or their love. Soon Raunak was born and they instilled the same values in him. Love and respect are all the 3 of them knew. Every evening, the 3 of them would sit by the shore, watch the sunset, laugh, embrace each other’s warmth and retire for the day with the Sun. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — - With the few friends they had, he completed her final rites. In ways followed by both the cultures. He had looked at her face for as long as he could, held her hands in the hope that she would wake up again with the angelic smile and kiss him, may be if he had delayed enough he could hear her voice just once more, sit down by the shore one last time. He had left a bouquet of lavenders at her grave and kissed the grave. As the bus moved away from his village his feeling of emptiness just continued until finally Raunak held his hand and looked up at him with teary eyes. Shresht hugged him and kissed his head. There it was, the same warmth and the beautiful lavender fragrance. “*Baba*, where is *ma*?” “In a better place dear. Where there is no God or religion and where happiness prevails. One day you will grow up to understand why you are not associated with any religion”.


The Days After There were days of death and starvation and all variations of dramatic peril that one could imagine and many that one could not. It quickly became apparent just how flimsy our house of cards had become. One card placed upon the other year after year by fingers that reeked of greed and a lust for power – though some were motivated by the natural human belief in progress, expression, and the belief in a brighter morning. However, no one had bothered to look down for a very long time and when that whisper came, there was none who could not hear it or at least was not affected by its devastation – the whisper that brought down the castle that had been built over thousands of years and left it for what it was: stone, earth, and ash. Economies dissolved like paper swans in water as a dollar bill couldn’t stop the plagues or keep you warm in the grey of the cold, stone nights. Marionette governments disbanded and heads of politicians were mounted on plaques and displayed in line with the orders of elk, moose, and bears at truck-stop diners. The police stayed huddled in their homes with their blinds closed and burned their uniforms. The numbers “9-1-1” were graffitied under bridges and on churches – a mystic relic of a past where safety and security were something more than words to keep off your lips, lest you fall into the madness that only starvation, isolation, and the smell of death can bring. Disease, loss, and violence had numbed us until the desperate cries of children were as poignant as the sound of a leaking faucet. Life had become a cage with no freedom outside and no captive inside – just bars. There was no corruption, no anger, no opinions. Nothing can be wrong or right if there is nothing to begin with. Irony and humor were incomprehensible. There were no points of view, no ways of looking at things, no perspectives. No dreams and no nightmares. There were blank stares and an empty world. There was nothing. But these are the days after. For reasons unclear, mandated by a force we knew not of, one morning, the Sun shone brighter than it had the day before. And the next day, again. After the idea of a smile had all but evaporated from our minds, we at once decided everything was alright. No one believed in governments or monarchs or structures of society or even cultural ideals. After the firemen you had always believed could save you didn’t come and the senator who claimed to looked out for you ran into hiding at the first glimpse of danger, you turned to what you could see with your own eyes. Neighbors taught each other how to grow food, how to defend themselves. Others, how to make moonshine and play the guitar. No one worried about what they could not see as now, they could no longer believe in those things. They knew only what was here and what was now. What lay directly in front of their eyes. No one worried about this or lost sleep over that. No one thought about the future or ruminated on the past. We learned each other’s names and talked about our favorite books. We walked in the woods and over the remnants of a concrete age long past, overrun by sunflowers and daisies growing through the cracks of the pavement and tall oak trees that opened up the sky by pushing through the ceilings of dull, square buildings that used to give men dull, square thoughts. We took our place in the natural order of the world with the deer and the squirrels. We constructed no systems or structures larger than that which we could see and touch and which served only for peace and prosperity. We turned in the direction of the compass of our hearts and walked without looking back and without falter. We would at some times get lost in the curve of a trail and keep along with it, turning and spinning until we were dizzy simply for the sake of getting lost in a feeling. We moved with the rhythm of the winds and danced in and beneath the trees. We wrote songs and we fell in love as humans ought and thanked the stars that they shined, be it for us or for some other purpose that we were not meant to understand.


I had the same dream every night, of looking at myself in bed, from the corner of the room. The dream would end when I tried to touch my sleeping body. The first time it happened, I was 15. I hadn't thought much of it the first night, but when it had repeated itself a few times, I started doing some research about what was happening to me. I came across tons of articles on "dreamwalking" and "astral projection". Most of it sounded made up, but after my dreams, I was way more open to entertaining those ideas. The concept I kept coming across was that a non-physical version of you could theoretically separate from your physical self, and would then be free to roam the cosmos, unbound by your physical limitations. Once I'd read about it, in my next dream, I turned away from my sleeping body and tried to leave the room. I couldn't. It was like there was an elastic band tying me to my body, and if I moved too far away, something would pull me back. Disappointed, I went to tap myself on the shoulder, to wake up. And so the dreams went for months. It got boring pretty soon. Try as I could, I was unable to travel far from my body, let alone fly around the world like some articles online had suggested. I started waking myself up earlier and earlier, cause atleast awake, I could move around the house, rather than spend hours stuck in one room, unable to interact with anything. Pretty soon, I was heavily sleep deprived and depressed. To prove to myself it wasn't just completely imagined, I'd left a book open at a random page before I went to sleep one night. In the dream, I found the book lying open on a table, and memorised a sentence. When I woke up, I checked the open pages for the sentence, and confirmed that whatever was happening to me wasn't just simple dreaming. With the novelty of my "astral" dreams wearing off, and the depression starting to affect my performance in school, and my social life, I turned to my mom. She'd been a single mom since Dad died many years back. She worked incredibly hard to provide a life for me, but we'd never had the kind of relationship where you share deep stuff about yourself. But with nothing concrete on the internet, and no close friends anymore to reach out to, I figured it was worth a shot. She'd noticed something had been wrong for a while, but just chalked it up to a teenage phase. While we were sat at the dinner table one night, I started, "Mom, do you ever have weird dreams?". She looked up from her plate. "What kind of weird are we talking here?" "Like, seeing yourself sleeping, like you're outside your own body" I'd expected her to just chuckle or be dismissive or something, but she dropped her fork and looked me dead in the eye, her tone dropping to a much more serious one. "How long have you been having these dreams?" I explained how they'd been going for a few months now, how I came to learn how the ability worked, how I'd touch my body to wake up, and how boring it had started getting. She listened carefully to every word I said, and when I was done talking, she asked, "And do you ever see anyone else there, when you're having these dreams?" I tried to think back through the past few months, confessing that I'd never had. She looked relieved. Confused, I asked "What's been happening to me Mom? Who else did you think I would see?" "Don't worry about all that. The only thing I need you to do is this. Every night, before you go to sleep, I need you to trace your index finger down from the centre of your forehead to the centre of your chest, all the while humming, like this". She demonstrated. "You should feel the vibration from your humming in your finger at the end, when you're touching your chest. Do that, and you should be able to sleep without dreaming. Can you remember that? Promise me you'll do it every night" "Yeah, I'll remember, and I promise" That night, before I went to sleep, I did as Mom instructed. As I finished up, I felt all the tiredness I'd accumulated over the past few months wash over me, and I passed out. The next thing I remember was waking up to a ray of sunlight breaking through the closed curtain, falling directly on my face. The moment I woke up, I realised that for the first time in months, I'd had a real night's sleep. I got out of bed and ran straight downstairs to find my Mom making breakfast. I told her how much better I felt and asked her why that weird humming thing had worked. She told me not to worry about it, but repeated that I should never forget to do it. I promised again that I never would, and I really meant it at the time. Over the next few months, I consistently did the little ritual every night, and woke up fresh every morning. I picked up new hobbies, reconnected with my friends and life in general seemed to be a lot brighter. It was a few weeks after my 16th birthday, for which I'd had a small party at home with friends and family, when my dumbest, but most fun friend called me. He told me that he wanted to throw me a real party, which left me confused. He then sent me a picture of him holding two six packs of beer that he'd obviously stolen from his dad, and told me to meet him at our local park in the evening. Rolling my eyes, I texted back that I'd be there and sent an invite to another one our buddies that lived nearby. The park was usually empty after 7pm, and today was no exception. We messed around on the slides and the monkey bars, like we'd done before we'd gotten too old for it, before settling down to open our first cans. It was a fun evening. We repeated all the stories we'd told each other a thousand times and laughed just as hard as when they actually happened. A few drinks in, we started messing around on the swings, pushing each other and seeing who would throw up. Funnily enough, it was the friend who'd brought the beers in the first place who lost that little game. Not wanting to be caught for throwing up in the local park, and realizing that the sun was setting and we'd run out of drinks, we all hugged and headed back home. It wasn't a long walk, and I'd only had 3 beers, so I made it back in one piece. It was almost 10pm. I tried to get in without making much noise, but I shut the door a little too hard. My Mom called out from upstairs "Where were you?". "Just with some friends", I responded. "I'm gonna sleep soon. Long day. There's some food in the fridge if you want. And don't forget to do the thing before you go to sleep" "Yeah, yeah, thanks" I stumbled up the stairs, suddenly aware of how tired I was. Or maybe it was the booze. I made it into my room, took off my shirt and my jeans, and fell onto the mattress. My eyes were starting drift shut, when I remember the ritual. I raised my hand and touched my forehead, slowly tracing a line down to my heart. With that taken care of, I drifted off to sleep. I realised I was standing in the corner of my room, looking at my bed. I could see my body lying on it, my chest swelling and rising, my mouth slightly open. "The humming!" I thought to myself. I forgot the damn humming. "Do you ever see anyone else there, when you're having these dreams?". My Mom's question from months ago, the night she taught me the ritual, echoed in my head. I didn't want to wait to find out what she thought I might have seen, and so I began to move towards my body, reaching out my hand. That was when I felt a violent pull back, similar to the pull I experienced when I tried to move away from my body in these dreams, only this time, the same force threw me back into the wall. I tried to fight away from the wall, towards my body, but it felt like I was trying to walk through water. I looked to the opposite corner of the room, on the other side of the bed, when I saw it. A dark figure a few inches taller than me moved towards my body. As my eyes adjusted, I saw, what it was. Or rather, who it was. I'd only ever seen him in pictures, or if I'd seen him in person, I'd been too young to remember. But now, seeing that cruel smile on his face, there was no doubt in my mind. I was looking at my dad. I'd asked Mom about him for years as a kid, and always heard the same kind of answer. "He passed away when you were young. It was just his time, don't worry about it. You have me, and I'll look after you". If I bothered her enough, she'd show me a picture or two, and one time, she broke down crying, and I'd hesitated to ask ever since. But now was staring right at him, as he moved towards my sleeping body. I tried to scream out, but the sound was caught in my mouth. He reached out towards my shoulder, as I struggled against the forced pulling my back. He looked up, directly at me, and just said "Thanks kid", before tapping my shoulder and fading away. I watched it horror, as my own body began to stir without my control. The eyes opened, and the body shuffled to the side, climbing down off the bed. The force holding me back began to ease up, and I rushed as fast as I could towards the body. I tried to tackle it, hoping to somehow regain control, but I simply fell through my own body. The body, still just in my underwear, opened the door and walked out into the corridor. I was lying on the floor, after my failed tackle, when I felt a familiar pull, drawing me back towards my hijacked physical form. Fighting the indifferent pulling force, I managed to stand and walk a few steps behind my own body. I followed it as it walked downstairs, and towards the kitchen. It opened up the fridge and grabbed a handful of sliced ham and shoved it into it's face. It turned as it chewed, opening up a few drawers and rifling through. I was panicking already, unsure of what to do, when it drew out the largest knife in the kitchen and looked back towards the stairs. I felt myself being pulled again as I saw myself walking back up the stairs. I kept trying to touch my shoulder or grab my leg, but my hands simply passed through. I started crying, screaming "Dad! Please! Don't do this!". I wasn't sure he could even hear me, but it was all I could do. I watched in horror as the door to my mom's room slowly creaked open, and my body stepped inside. It crept slowly towards the bed, and lowered the knife over my sleeping mother's face. I screamed "Nooo!", as I watched myself drive the point of the blade into her forehead. She woke up immediately, and tried to fight back, but I was stronger, managing to hold her down as the knife traced a line down towards her heart. I saw my face contort into the twisted smile I had seen on my father's face, as I wept at the sound of my mother screaming. I kept trying to grab my arm, despite knowing it was futile, clawing more desperately each time my hands passed through. As the blade touched the centre of her chest, I watched in horror as my arms tightened their grip and drove the blade deep into my mother's heart. Her screaming stopped, as the blood poured from her, soaking the white sheets she was lying on. I broke down weeping, when I noticed her turning her head towards me, gasping for her final breaths. I wasn't sure how, but it felt like she was looking directly at me. She whispered, "I'm sorry", and her eyes glazed over with death. I was so occupied with my mother that I hadn't even realized that my own body was now sitting on the ground, on the other side of the room. I noticed a deep red line running down from my forehead, down to where I held the knife pointed at the middle of my chest. I heard a crunch, as the blade dug its way into my heart. I watched my own body collapse forward, as I bled out into the rug. I was so shocked at this point that I wasn't any more taken aba when I saw my father appear again, standing beside my body, looking down. He then tilted his head up to look at me, and with a wild cackle, he simply said "Good luck kid", and walked past where I stood frozen, out of the room. I stood there for hours, alternating between frozen shock and weeping. A few hours later, I tried to leave the room, but still found myself unable to move away from my own body. ……………………….. It took a few days, until the smell alerted the neighbors, and the authorities came by. The officers took one look and all seemed to agree it was some sort of psychotic breakdown leading to a murder-suicide. I watched my body being transported to the morgue, and the coroner determining that I'd been drinking the night before. I hoped my friends wouldn't get in trouble, or feel too guilty for drinking with me, but there wasn't really anything I could do for them anymore. Before long, I was packed away and given a silent burial as befits a murderer. It's been months now, and I just sit around in the graveyard all day, watching the trees, the grass and the occasional mourner, still unable to move more than a few feet from my own headstone. All I want to do is sleep, or even better, die.


She had been a regular at Tony’s Salon for 5 years. As a woman of some means this meant maintenance cut every 6-8 months, and the occasional stop in for a color or chop-off. However, there was something markedly different during her last visit. Her scalp itched. When she asked Tony if he was using a new product, he assured her it was business as usual. Perhaps she was developing an allergy, or maybe there was pollen in the air. Whatever the cause, this itch was new. By the time she was home, the itch on her scalp became warm and unrelenting. When she examined herself, the mirror showed no redness, no bumps. She did notice, though, the itch had moved to behind her ears and to the nape of her neck. By days end the itch had migrated to her shoulders and was so unrelenting she took a sleep aide to rest. After a morning of trying desperately to keep her hands of her tingling skin, she went back to Tony’s to try and remedy the itch. Tony ushered her into his chair, and there was a sudden, hot shiver across her body. Sitting became an unbearable task as she felt her entire body quietly rattle with the itch. When Tony’s answers were no relief, she wouldn’t allow him to put any products on her as she feared it would only exacerbate the burning itch. Her entire body trembled in the chair, and Tony suggested she may just be sick and should rest. She resolved to take the rest of the day to sleep in hopes of dulling the itch and what felt like a sweltering skin fever. Once again she took sleeping medication, and in getting ready for bed, the itch had become all-encompassing to her extremities. She couldn’t bear to put on pajamas as her skin throbbed under a sickening heat. How was she not sweating? How were there no blisters, no cracks? When she ran a brush through her hair before putting it up for sleep her scalp stung as though all the heat of her brain matter was pushing outward. She sent the brush across the room, ran a cold shower. Sat down, wept, and fell asleep. By morning she managed to move her body to her bed, where she eschewed all covers and clothing. Her bones vibrated inside of her skin as the itch grew. Within her skull there was a vibration that would not cease, no matter what remedy she applied. No medicine, no salve, no amount of scratching. The only thing she knew was that this began in her scalp. She recalled the searing pain of trying to brush her hair, and when she inadvertently ran her hand through her hair at the thought, the stinging began again. In the following two days she could not sleep. Her body could not touch any surface without the creeping itch growing into a full-body sear. Her shoulders slumped under the weight of her sleeplessness. Her speech slurred and her hands seem to move slower than her manic brain’s stream of consciousness would allow her. When she tried to silence her thought and stop her shaking body, the only thing that remained was the itch. Her lack of sleep and the overwhelming desire to pull every inch of her scalp and skin off overrode her conscious behaviour-she expended the lingering energy she had calling a cab to take her back to Tony’s. When she approached him her hand was trembling- but she couldn’t tell if it was the itch, the insomnia, or the mania she took on as the former two grew. “Please take it all off. I need it gone. It’s the only way.” Tony, shocked, obliged. It took only but 4 minutes to run the clipper through her hair to take it down to the scalp. As Tony left to get the broom, she let her head slump into her hands, and she wept. The itch remained. Her sobbing became uncontrollable until she heard it- the hard slap of Tony’s soft body hitting the ground. He had slipped on her fallen hair- and as his head hit the ground let out a hard, wet, thud. Her body itched as it paralyzed in shock. She sat, staring down as his twitching body became slow and lifeless, her skin throbbing. Until, the blood began to pool under him and his fluttering last movements had stopped- so did the itch.


The whole kitchen smelled like caramel. Eleonora wiped her hands on her apron and muttered. "Please let it be right this time." Her hair was messy, clothes were wrinkled, and flour and sugar were everywhere. Several pieces of waffle were scattered on the counter. Some pieces were burned, others still raw. Would she ever master it? She lifted the damp towel and examined the new batch of dough balls. This looked better. Carefully, she picked up a scoop and placed it next to the waffle iron. She looked at her recipe again, crossed out some old notes and reheated the caramel. "Heat caramel and bake the dough ball on both sides in the waffle iron." The smell of the caramel was overwhelming, but she shouldn't be distracted now. "Carefully cut the waffle in half while it is still warm. Spread over half with the caramel and then press them together." Patiently, or impatiently, Eleonora was waiting next to the waffle iron. She glanced at her watch. Was it already half past one at night?!  An hour and a half later, six new balls of dough and two new caramel loads, Eleonora waited wearily beside her waffle iron. She yawned and didn't even dare to check the time on her watch. She quickly put on a jacket against the cold and walked back to her waffle iron. The caramel scent hung all over the house. She carefully lifted the waffle iron. Would it have worked? The waffles were well cooked! The color was perfectly light brown. Relieved, she clapped her hands and jumped for joy. Now she had to fill it with caramel. Eleonora took a sharp knife and with a towel to protect her from the heat in her left hand she took the first warm waffle. Concentrated, she carefully cut it open, quickly picked up the caramel and smeared one side of the waffle. Then she pressed the other waffle back on it and placed it on a plate. Immediately she took the second waffle from the waffle iron and carefully cut it open. She spread the caramel well over it before pressing it. "It worked!"  She ran upstairs with her plate. Her husband was sleeping. "Vincenzo! I did it!" Eleonora dashed into the room, Vincenzo woke with a start and sat up straight on the bed. "What is it?" Startled, he looked around. "It is still dark, what are you doing?" "It worked! Can't you smell it?" Eleonora proudly pointed to her plate. There were two warm fresh stroopwafel. Not perfectly round, but still perfect. "Do you know what time it is?" Vincenzo puts on his glasses and looks at the clock. "It is late, I know. But taste it! They are still warm now." Eleonora moved the plate in front of Vincenzo.  Vincenzo took a bite out of the warm stroopwafel. He knew the baking skills of Eleonora and he knew the fantastic stroopwafels they had in the Netherlands. He couldn't imagine she could copy it in Italy. The stroopwafel broke easily, the bite seemed perfect and the still hot syrup warmed his mouth. Slowly he started chewing, but soon noticed that he was wide awake. "This is fantastic!" he exclaimed with his mouth full. "You did it!" Eleonora proudly took a bite of the other warm stroopwafel. Her eyes shone with enthusiasm, and after the first bite, her fatigue was gone.  A few weeks later, Vincenzo fills the third basket with stroopwafels. He packs them in a stack, so that they stay warm as long as possible. He quickly walks down the stairs of their apartment complex. The famous bridge, just in front of the market, is three blocks away. Eleonora was already there with her stroopwafels waiting for Vincenzo to bring the new load. Eleonora could have secured a spot next to a coffee shop, forcing the Italians who had breakfast there to walk past the delicious caramel scent. And that had worked! In only a few hours, the stroopwafel was famous in their Italian village.  The moment Vincenzo walks around the corner, he sees Eleonora next to the bridge. He quickly takes his camera to take a picture of the situation: A line full of Italian coffee-drinking men is waiting in front of the stall for a warm fresh stroopwafel. Eleonora laughs. She succeeded. Her dream had come true.


's prompt: I closed my eyes, opened them, and closed them again. Then I felt her presence. “Death,” I said, sounding like I was greeting an old friend. I suppose in a way she was an old friend. While we were never personally close, she was always in my shadow. Couldn’t have War without Death after all. After every battle, conquest, loss, and victory, she was there, collecting from both sides. “War,” she said, using my old name, “so it really is you. I heard the rumors, but I wasn’t sure until now. You really did it, you gave up godhood.” I nodded, too weak to even verbally respond anymore. It seems that Disease was doing a good job at killing me. He always was good at that. He had a lot of experience killing regular mortals, but today was a special occasion. Today was the first time a god would die. A former god, but still, I imagine it caused a stir among the immortals. Death pulled up a chair- which was never in the room before she needed a seat- and sat in it. She stared at me, searching for something in my face. What was she searching for? Traces of my godhood? Or something else? After a couple minutes of silence and her intense stare, she finally asked it, what they all eventually ask. “Why did you do it?” I didn’t know how to respond. It’s not as if I didn’t have a response ready, I did. I just wasn’t sure if it would be good enough for her. How does anyone explain Death to herself? Even Disease- who was no stranger to Death- seemed at a loss when he found me. Since he knew me, he told me what was going to happen and how long I had left. And despite being so familiar with the process, he had a strange look on his face. Humans seem to think that we’re supposed to know a lot about what happens after, but how should we? We never die, the closest we get to dying is fading away. But even then that never lasts long, we always come back. After thinking about it, I decided that the truth was the best I could offer her. “I was curious,” I said honestly. “Curious?” she asked, not sure whether she should take that as a joke. “Yes, curious. Do you know how many people I’ve seen- what am saying, of course you know. Anyway, I’ve seen countless people die. Men shot by arrows, women crushed by tanks, children blown up by bombs. And as they died, I couldn’t help but feel pity for the mortals. Yes, their battles were my reason for existing, but I still didn’t enjoy their pain and suffering.” I coughed and worried that I would die before I could finish what I had to say. But then I remembered who I was talking to. Why did I keep forgetting her? What she was? Maybe mortals weren’t made to understand us, not truly. I continued. “But then one day it hit me. Why did I feel sorry for them?” Death gave it some thought. “Because they fear it?” she suggested. “But why? What is there to fear? Plenty of them aren’t sure what comes after they die, and neither are we. So why were they so afraid and why did I feel sorry for them?” Death didn’t have anything to say to that. “Well, one day I decided to find out myself,” I said. “I decided that I was going to find out what came after… well, you. So I found someone else to take my place, and here I am.” “A replacement, that does explain it,” she said while nodding. “I kept seeing you even though you supposedly gave up your godhood. Who is that man in your place?” “A coward. I hoped that having a coward become the next War would make it more difficult for the humans to kill each other. Apparently, I was wrong.” We both chuckled at that. It hurt to laugh, but pain wasn’t going to be a problem soon enough. Death looked me in the eyes, and I could tell that she was going to ask the other question they all ask. “Do you regret it?” “Regret it?” I repeated. “I don’t know, I guess I won’t know until it happens.” I closed my eyes, opened them, and closed them again. Then her presence was the only thing I could feel. \*\*\* Hundreds of years later, I was on the beach, lying on the sand and listening to the ocean. Then I felt a familiar presence, and saw her walking towards me. She wore a black sundress. She smiled. “I decided to take your advice.” I smiled back at her.


There is a room. There is a scream. I can hear it on the other side of the door, a big wail of a scream that can only come from someone who would rather put each of their limbs through a meat grinder, attached, than endure that kind of pain. I know what is coming; I have seen it before. People would be rescued from the Square and come here to be mentally evaluated and physically examined before being released back to society; or so they thought. I know this because I have been here so long I have named the specks of dirt on the wall - Becky is my favourite because she has nice hair. The scream doesn’t dissipate but instead grows more intense. *Damn, she’s really getting the full treatment.* Most people that are returned from the Square don’t have many limbs to speak of because they are torn off by the Reapers. You’d think that if they wanted to keep the entertainment going they would try to keep the remaining Nephilim fodder alive. I'm jealous of the source of the screams though - not many Nephilim still have mouths because they are deemed “vestigial”. All my room has is an IV drip; inhuman beings don’t need human niceties and besides, who misses cheeseburgers anyway? Totally not me, of course. As soon as I start up my usual conversation about cheeseburgers with Becky I can hear the click clack of heels. *She’s baaack*, I trill in my mind. I think today I’ll be a tiger. As she nears my cell I crouch and stalk towards the door. When the clicks stop I launch myself at the window as I feel my well worn muscles spring and she collapses to the floor; best part of the day. Stiff and sentry-like, the guards enter and chain me to the spot on the wall covered in claw marks - sometimes I get too much into my cat act. I nod a hello to them as per usual but of course no mouth equals no response. I still think I’m going to get a nod back. The heeled woman follows them in through the small doorway and now comes the worst part of my day. “Good morning, Seraphina. I hope you’re well because, as you know, we have the eight-hour marathon starting at 10 and I cannot have my champion going off to Heaven now can we?” She laughs an I-own-you-but-you-should-laugh-anyway kind of laugh - she says the same derogatory joke daily. I’d rather die than listen to her dribble but the fact that she’s talking means I’m closer to my opportunity. This marathon will guarantee my death - my ticket to release. I hate that joke but today it becomes ironic - I will finally be rid of her. She’s still talking but I've tuned out her shrill voice as I’m being dragged down the hall by the guards - why would I want to make it easier for them? I float down the river lazily, hearing the gushes of water crashing into the rocks and the glacial water permeating my back until I shiver in pain and pleasure. The river twists and turns and now I hear the buzz of bees as they bounce from lily to lily - gathering sweet nectar for the honey I ache to taste on my tongue. Buzz, buzz, buzz. There’s a voice that tells me to shut up and suddenly there’s a much louder buzz as I float gently away. My river dries up momentarily and now I stand in the launch room, shuffling my feet and bouncing on them; anxious to kill and anxious to die. I can see the remains of my fallen Nephilim brethren and all I can be is envious. I’m too strong for my own good. The screen above the loading bay displays the last of the commercials for the Alliance and a timer with only five minutes remaining. As I feel the familiar grip and weight of my signature double bladed staff I cannot help that my eyes light up with a fury. I will kill all the Reapers today; I will not hold back anymore. My grip tightens on the staff until my claws break my skin. “Remember Seraphina, you will not die. I do not care if I have to hybridize you like a mutt.” Heel Lady sneers at me and I am placed behind the gate too soon - the tiger in me roars with disgust and I have to agree.


EDIT: I just wanted to say this is the first story I've written in 5 years and all your upvotes are making me so incredibly happy right now! I'll definitely write more now, so enjoy! I can’t believe I ended up here. I always said this would be a last resort; I guess I finally reached my wit’s end. As I walk up the steep steps to the Centre, I can feel each one weighing on my conscience. *Oh well, we’re here now.* As I reach the top of the steps, the enormous archway entrance laughs at me and my choices up to this point. Inside, I catch a glimpse of what exactly I’m dealing with; female Androids, all blonde and blue-eyed I bet, busying themselves with their customers. Me, with my brown hair and hazel eyes, have another reason I don’t fit in. Before I can let that sink in, one of the Androids blurs into my field of vision, “Welcome to the Centre, where the opportunities are endless. How may I help you reach your dreams?”. I resist the urge to grimace and walk with her, trying to divulge as little as possible about how I got to this point; nobody’s business but mine. I’m led into a smaller room stemming off from the entrance, no less lavish though. The room is a stark white, adorned with colourful abstract paintings, plants in every corner with tendrils reaching for the ceiling - perhaps they’ve mistaken its brightness for what the Sun used to be. I get the impression of both a prison and a therapist’s office, how perfectly fitting. As I marvel at the furnishings, *nothing like home,* I feel the only occupants eyes focused on me, contemplating my reasoning for being here. “Hello, June I presume? Please take a seat and we can begin the initiation process. My name is Vanessa and I’ll be helping you choose your room today.” I do as asked and gingerly take a seat in one of the available chairs in front of Vanessa, choosing the one that puts me further away from her gaze. My eyes flit up as I try to relax and I see she is still watching me. *How… unnerving.* “Perfect! Now let’s get started. I already have your personal information on file thanks to your chip so let’s jump right into the questions, starting with the most important. Why are you here today?” As I speak, Vanessa types away on her display, her eyes never leaving mine for long. Mine is a typical sob story; mother passed while giving birth to my younger brother, father disappeared in the Rebellion with nothing to trace, and now, my brother has run out of life support funds. I only had enough funds remaining for a year, or enough for the Centre. I guess looking back it wasn’t really a choice after all. Vanessa smiles, “You’re a perfect candidate! It will take a week to process your results, we look forward to seeing you this time next week.” As I leave the Centre, I can feel eyes watching my departure. Am I that interesting to stare at? // The archway is still laughing at me, this time it feels more like a goodbye, though. I’m guided to Vanessa’s office again, just as lavish and sterile as before. I’m fitted into one of the compression suits to monitor vitals; the material is soft and silky yet very tense and unforgiving. As the Androids rush around me, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before I leave. Eyebrows drawn down over my steeled gaze, hair done up in a severe bun at the crown of my head and the suit, black with outlines of blue tracing the electromagnetic lines running from the chip in my neck to all my extremities; everything I experience recorded for them. And finally, I am brought to the door. Again, I feel Vanessa’s eyes on me but I ignore them and enter, closing the door behind myself as I am greeted by; more doors? Doors on either side of me, stretching out further than I can see. All different colours and shapes; is this right? Perplexed only for a moment, I open the first door on my left. Lush greenery expands out of view, trees almost lumbering around me with branches extending upward and vines expanding downward. Soft underbrush littered with shrubbery and mosses, growing every which way almost in spite of the large tree trunks obstructing their progress. And the sweet, sickly smell of flowers and citrus permeates my nostrils coming from a clearing I see nearby overrun with grasses that look like they’d be so much softer than my bed at home. I slam the door. That’s not what I want. I open another door then another. A valley, a beach, a mountaintop, a mall, a warzone; it’s endless. This is not what I thought the Centre was supposed to be. I don’t want to see anything. I don’t want to be anything anymore. I open and slam doors so furiously I almost miss it, an empty room. Pitch black. So black that, for all I know, this could be the corner of the expanse. No smell, no sound; just what I want. I step inside and as my heel crosses the doorframe, it slams shut behind me, enveloping me in darkness. Nothing. That’s what this is. I can’t tell where I end and the room begins. I feel myself sit down where I can finally be alone, in my room, the centre of my universe. The blood pumping in my ears is the only signal to the passage of time. No responsibilities, questions, or stares. Is that light? Is that my shadow in front of me? I turn around to catch a glimpse of a door and a figure within it. “They might make it,” I hear someone laugh as the door slams shut again and I’m alone with only the echo of a voice.


Princess Patricia took the casserole out of the oven and placed it on the counter. “Bucky call your brother; it’s time for dinner.” Without looking up from his homework, Bucky shouted, “Dizzy! Mom says it’s time to eat!” “You know I could have done that too,” Bucky’s mom walked past and patted his oversized head. Bucky tapped his enormous front teeth and laughed. “So why didn’t you?” “Good question. Is that the garage?” Bucky hopped out of his chair and ran to the widened side door to greet his father. The doorknob turned, and there was father in all his glory, the Green Maniac. His father dropped to one knee Bucky ran into his father’s arms, one slightly greener than the other. “Bucky! What’s the word on the street?” “I checked the rankings — you’re still #1!” “No surprise there! And how’s your Mum?” “She’s making dinner.” “Well, let’s go say hello then.” The Green Maniac and Bucky Buckaroo funny walked into the kitchen. “Hello, Mum.” The Green Maniac kissed his wife. “Hello, yourself. Just in time for dinner. Jeez, where’s Dizzy?” “I’ll get him, Mum.” “If you’re going to scream — “ “No, I’ll go up and get him.” Bucky bounced up the steps and down the hall until he reached the bedroom to the left of his parents. There was a large red KEEP OUT sign hanging by a thread, but Bucky never paid attention to that. “Bucky c’mon Mum said — “his mouth felt like someone turned off the faucet. “GETOUTOFHERE!” Dizzy jumped up and pushed his younger brother by almost four years back into the hallway. Bucky was too in shock to put up a struggle against his larger sibling. The door slammed shut, and Bucky ran downstairs. “Mum, Mum, Mum!” “What is it? Did you get your brother?” “He — he was…he…” His father was in the living room, sitting in his chair. He was performing his nightly post-work ritual, drinking his ginger and rye, and reading the paper. Without looking up, he said, “Well, spit it out, Bucky.” “He was talking to a girl!” The word caused The Green Maniac to spit half his drink onto the paper. “What did you say?” Bucky ran into the room and repeated the words, still in shock. “He was talking to a girl!” “We will see about that!” The Green Maniac stood up, causing his newspaper to explode in the air like a cheap firework. Princess Patricia shouted from the kitchen, “Now Green don’t you — “ “Stay out of this, Patricia!” The Green Maniac charged up the stairs without a funny bounce in sight. He paced down the hallway and reached for the handle, only to find it was locked. He banged on the door with severe intent. “Dizzy! Dizzy the Whirling Tornado, you open this door up right now!” Dizzy was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He knew his father could flatten the door if he wanted to — hell that already happened three years prior. He knew not to test the old man. Dizzy opened the door and refused to make eye contact. “Yeah?” “Your brother told me…” “My brother should mind his own business!” The Green Maniac’s eyes widened, and Dizzy backed down. “Sorry.” “Sit.” Dizzy listened to his father and sat on the edge of the bed; the Green Maniac sat down next to him. “Your brother told me he saw you speaking with…a girl?” “So?” “So? Dizzy, you’re a mascot. I’m a mascot. Your mom and your brother, we’re all mascots. And what do we do?” Dizzy knew this speech; he had heard it a million times and answered without enthusiasm. “We entertain.” “And who do we entertain?” “The masses.” “And what are the masses?” “People.” “And what’s the first rule of people?” “We don’t get to know them.” “AND WE CERTAINLY DON’T FALL IN LOVE WITH THEM!” Dizzy couldn’t help himself and blurted out, “Marjorie and I aren’t in love!” “Ohh, so her name is Marjorie. And I suppose her father is a dentist and her mother sells Mary Kay?” “You think you know so much about her, but you don’t.” The Green Maniac opened his mouth and paused. He needed his son to understand, and he knew what had to be said. “Listen to me. I know…I know what you’re going through.” “How? You don’t know what it’s like.” “Oh, son, but I do…I do.” His father’s eyes looked out the window, and the silence hung between them. Dizzy dared not breaking the spell. “Once, when I was a young Maniac, there was a girl…” “What? Really? Does Mum — “ “Quiet. And no, your Mum doesn’t know, so let’s keep this between us. Or we can try another route which won’t be as pleasant.” Dizzy knew it involved the Green Maniac’s massive oven mitts for hands and decided to shut up. “Good. When I was about your age, I was mascoting for the local minor league team where I was born. One day I was strolling through the crowd, minding my own business when I locked eyes with the prettiest human I ever saw. Even better, she thought I was the funniest damn thing she ever saw. The rest of the game, I hung out in her section, making her laugh, getting drunk off that laughter. It was intoxicating.” “What happened?” “What happened was the game ended, and she left with her dad. But before she did, she wrote her number on a piece of paper and shoved it under my belly for me to find later.” “Did you call her?” “You bet I did. I didn’t even wait for the next day, I called her that night, and we spoke until sunrise. It was the best night of my life…up till I met your Mum obviously.” “Yeah. So how did it end?” “You know how it ended. It ended with her father finding out about us and chopping off my left arm with a machete.” The Green Maniac held up his left arm for his son to look at, a different shade of green. “You told us you lost your arm on a USO tour in Vietnam!” “I know what I told you, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll remember that story too. But I’m telling you this now because you’re nearly a man, and you deserve to know the truth.” “Does Mum know?” “I think she has her suspicions, and she keeps it at that.” “But Dad, it’s different now. It’s not like it was back then. “ “I know that’s what you think, but Man doesn’t instantly forget its anti-Mascotian roots. They’ll be nice to your face, they’ll even invite you to dinner now, but they’ll never make you forget that you’re just a mascot. You exist to entertain, nothing more.” “I can’t just stop talking to her.” “No, unfortunately, I know how this is going to play out, and I know it’s useless for me to try and stop you from talking. You need to make this mistake now to prevent worse ones when you’re older. Just promise me one thing.” “What is it?” “You’ll never take off your suit.” Dizzy’s tongue rolled out of his mouth and hit the floor. “I would never!” “You say that now, son, but you don’t know what women are like. How persuasive they are. Just promise me you’ll honor your ancestors, who came from a different land. Promise me you’ll respect our traditions and not disgrace those who came before you.” “I promise you.” “Okay, I think if we don’t go downstairs and eat your Mum will blow her crown clear off her head.” The Green Maniac and Dizzy, the Whirling Tornado, stood up and shook hands. His dad turned to leave when Dizzy blurted out, “Hey, Dad?” “Yeah, son?” “What if she’s pregnant?” “The prophecy! It has come — ” The Green Maniac turned and clutched at his heart. He was dead before he hit the floor. That night the moon turned a shade of red only talked about in ancient forgotten texts. At its apex, a baby was born “en caul.” “My baby! Let me see my baby!” Marjorie stretched out her arms, alone, exhausted, and desperate to hold the most precious thing in the world. The older man stood in the afterbirth and leaned over, ritually disemboweling her. He dipped his fingers and sprinkled the blood on the baby’s forehead.


I woke up screaming, underwater, borne along at high speeds by a current of tightly-packed, bloody, smelly bodies just like mine. We filled the red river we were in from top to bottom like a massive migration of sardines. Stale, sweat-filled water rushed into my mouth, but I didn’t care. I was gonna scream for a while. Once I was done screaming I listened, and heard several other people in the current of bodies screaming too. For a little while I started up again and joined them, harmonizing on some wails and moans with the strangers next to me, packed together like the pipes of a wind chime. We sounded pretty nice. It hit me that I hadn’t breathed in a while, and that all the underwater screaming hadn’t forced me to surface for air, which I found strange--I had by *far* the smallest lungs of all my brothers and sisters. I rolled this around in my brain for a minute, and realized that I didn’t know why I was in a roiling torrent of 10% bloody water, 90% live human bodies, either. I didn’t know much of *anything,* come to think of it. I decided to surface and see what was what. I kicked off the guy below me and paddled upwards through the stacked, floating bodies, most of them wounded and bleeding in one way or another, turning the river a deep crimson. The amount of light around me made me think that I was close to the surface--but as I swam upwards, pushing arms and legs aside, my fingers occasionally brushing faces, noses, mouths--I realized this river was *deep.* The light level stayed consistent as I ascended through the floating, bleeding crowds of thousands of people, as if light itself was flowing through the river too, illuminating the faces and bodies of every shape and size of person. The light was an orange-red. I had the thought that this must be what it’s like to be inside a vein. Finally, after something like twenty minutes of ascending, I pushed aside a big, sticky man, kicked off a smaller woman below me with both feet, and felt my fingertips enter something that was unmistakably not liquid, although it was still heavy and thick with fumes. One more push, my head broke the surface, and I grabbed on to the guy I had pushed aside like a piece of driftwood, throwing my elbows up onto his belly and dragging myself aboard. He didn’t seem to notice. I took some deep breaths of the foul air although by this point I knew I didn’t need to breathe, and had a look at the landscape surrounding the fast-moving river of bodies. The first thing I noticed was that wherever I was seemed to be completely flat, free of the limiting curvature of the earth. As such, I could see for countless miles in every direction, the only obscurant the hazy stink and fumes emitting from the people around me. The sky was deep blood red, hanging with heavy black clouds. They seemed to routinely fall onto the steel-grey plains all in one piece like anvils and explode on the ground below, blossoming out into flowers of jet-black liquid that flowed into the tributaries and lakes linked to the massive river I was in. I wondered if every single waterway in my view was filled with bodies too. The river we all flowed through seemed to stretch on forever, every inch coursing with human bodies. I wondered just how deep it was--and more importantly, how I got here. After a few more seconds of unproductive musing, I decided to ask the man whose belly I clung to like a life raft. “Hey!” Nothing. “Hey--big man!! Big fella! Wake up!” He slowly lifted his head out of the water and looked at me. He was not a pretty sight, eyes sunken deep into his head, deep cuts slashing the sallow skin that clung to his cheeks, jowls that hung low and rested against his neck--but his voice was warm and kind. “Yeah?” “I was wondering if you knew where we are.” The big fella looked around as if he were just sort of taking things in for the first time, and he looked back at me with horror in his eyes. He spoke in a low whisper. “I don’t know.” “Any guesses?” I watched a little tear form in his eye as he realized his answer. “I think we’re dead, kid. I think I think this is hell.” I looked around and thought about this. Where we were did *certainly* correlate with depictions of hell that I’d seen. I did have no memory of how I got here, and the screams that surrounded us and bubbled out of the depths of the river sounded a lot like the screams of the damned. The red sky, the gunmetal plains, the river of living corpses--all of it had a distinctly hell-esque flavor that I couldn’t deny. One of the damned below grabbed my leg. I jumped like a spooked cat and pulled myself fully onto the big fella, legs and all, and sort of balanced on him on all fours like he was a surfboard. The water and his mass were buoyant enough to keep us afloat, and he seemed so disturbed by his own revelation that he didn’t mind me riding on his stomach. I’m a pretty small guy, anyway. While he processed his emotions, I tried to see where the river was flowing towards. It meandered and coiled like a snake towards the faraway horizon, cutting the empty grey plains in twain-- but I could see no end. I turned back to Big Fella, who had started to cry and quake with sobs, threatening to send me back into the drink. “Hey now--cut that out! We’re gonna be okay, man! We’re in a dream--we can’t be dead! I don’t remember dying!” He sniffled and wiped his tears away. “I do.” I looked at him and knew he was telling the truth. My heart sank. “Are you sure?” “Yeah. Dead sure.” I sighed deeply and prayed that this was a nightmare. “How’d it happen, man?” “Some guy broke into my house late at night--my wife heard, and she woke me up. I grabbed the gun that I kept under the bed--” “Holy shit. That’s nuts. I’ve always wanted a gun under my bed.” “Yeah--so--so I went down the stairs, only I’m so *big*, you know--I can’t stop the stairs from creaking, and he heard me, the burglar, and he--he was faster than me, and dressed in all black, and he shot at me--” “He had a gun too?” “Yeah. He had some pistol.” “Did he hit you?” “No--that time he missed. I dodged him.” “You *dodged a bullet?”* “You tell me. I ducked and it didn’t hit me.” “Damn. Then what?” “I raised the gun to try to shoot, but he was so quick--and he shot me for real that time, in the chest, and I went head over heels down the stairs--and, and--we always had this big fucking picture window at the bottom of the stairs and I always told my wife, honey, we shouldn’t have a window there, someone’s gonna trip down these slippery old wooden stairs and go right out the window--” “So you fell through the window.” “Yeah. Landed right on my head and I woke up here.” “Geez.” I sat with that for a little bit. The current of bodies behind us raised up in a giant wave and crashed on us, and I held tight to Big Fella as we were buffeted by limbs and bloody water. Slowly we evened back out and continued moving with the current at the clip we were before. “You think he got your wife too? The burglar?” “I hope not. I don’t wanna see her--it’d be too embarrassing. I hope she knows I was trying to protect her before I tumbled out of the window like one of the three stooges, though.” I laughed a little bit and thought. Big Fella seemed to be warming up to me, his little passenger. I looked around at all the people around us. They all bore the wounds of their deaths, but no one was dead--most of them were just sleeping, breathing quietly, undisturbed by the screams from below. Some were clothed in soaking garments, some nude--me and Big Fella were thankfully both clothed. He interrupted my thoughts. “How did you kick the bucket?” “I don’t remember.” “Think about it. It’ll come back to you. It did for me.” I thought as hard as I possibly could and saw a few images--an axe, one of my brothers, a can of green paint. The images seemed--severed. Disconnected. Suddenly, some skinny guy with a bullet hole in his forehead poked his head out from the mass of bodies right next to us. He didn’t look like anyone else in the river--he looked strong, healthy--fully awake. His eyes were shining a little bit. I called out to him. “Hey! Do you know where we are?” The guy treaded blood and looked over to us. His face lit up. “You guys are awake?” “Isn’t everyone else?” He glanced out at the endless deluge of bodies. “Not really. Most people wake up and freak out for a while, and then go back to sleep. It’s rare you get people who are really moving around.” Big Fella piped up. “Are we in hell?” “I don’t think so. I think everybody comes here after they pass on--I think this river’s all there is.” “How do you know that?” “I swim around a lot. If you get strong enough you can move around as you like and see a lot of people. I’ve met a lot of great people, world leaders, pastors, missionaries, all that. Everyone who would be supposed to go to heaven is here, I think.” I jumped in, even though I knew I was gonna derail the conversation. “My brother cut my head off.” Big Fella and the swimmer stared at me. “What the hell did he do that for?” “I don’t remember. I just remember him cutting my head off. That’s how I died.” “I guess that makes sense. I was gonna ask you about the big cut on your neck.” “...I think it was something about paint.” The two of them were silent for a while after I said that. I didn’t blame them--I didn’t really know what to say either. Finally I broke the silence. “Is there an end to the river?” The swimmer looked at me with sort of a sheepish smile on his face. “I’ve been here a couple hundred years--I swam once for a few decades, straight forward. Swam through the 80’s, the 70’s, through the 1500s, the Roman Empire, all the way back to cavemen-- every single person’s arranged in time order of when they died unless people break rank and swim around--and ahead of the cavemen was just empty, dark red water, going on for as far as I could see. Same thing if you go backwards far enough. Sometimes it’s fun to hang out in the back and watch all the new people pop in and start freaking out. But not that fun.” “You ever try to get out of the river and walk across the plains?” “It’s boiling hot. I tried for a little and it was just too much--jumped right back in.” I came down from all fours and laid on top of Big Fella like a lizard sunning itself on a boulder. He didn’t mind. “So it’s just the river, forever.” “I think so, yeah.” “You ever look for your family or anything like that?” “Too many people. The river’s a couple miles deep, at least, and there’s people occupying every single inch for miles. Couldn’t find ‘em. Billions of people here.” We all thought about that for a while. “Why’s everyone sleeping?” The swimmer smiled the same sort of sorry-to-deliver-the-news type smile. “It’s just how it goes. People wake up, they figure out where they are, someone lets them know the river goes on forever, they thrash around for a while, then they go to sleep as often as they can. Some people prefer up top, some like it way down below. There’s a couple swimmers like me who go around meeting people. It all gets old after a while. It’s mostly just boring once you get past the initial horror of it.” Me and Big Fella stared at him, and he tried to not look too sad. Big fella spoke, quietly. “Is God anywhere?” The swimmer looked even sadder, and gave a tiny shake of his head. “Well--I should go. Maybe I’ll see you guys around, huh?” “Yeah.” “Yeah. See ya around.” With that, the swimmer ducked his head back under the waves of people and was gone. Me and Big Fella were all alone, surrounded by every single person who had ever died, screaming or sleeping or letting themselves be carried by the current. “You gonna go look for your wife?” “Maybe later. I don’t know if she’s dead, anyway. I’ll wait a few years--maybe she’ll forget how stupidly I went out. You gonna go find your brother and get revenge?” “He *definitely* won’t be dead for a few more years.” We looked at each other, me and Big Fella, and we sort of had a moment together, and both of our eyes filled with tears as we thought about where we were. I don’t know why, but I put my head down on his chest and hugged him tight, and he hugged me back. His chest was warm and when he spoke I could feel his diaphragm rumble. “What’s your name?” “Tommy.” “That was my son’s name.” “What’s yours?” “Jim.” “D’you mind if I call you big fella?” “That’s alright with me.” “Cool.” Jim yawned real big, and I did too. I took a look around at the fast-flowing current, at the people’s wounds, at the stench and fumes rising from their bodies. I imagined all the people, slumbering miles below, filling the river with their never-ending blood, wrapped up in a blanket of silence and dark. I thought of my brothers and sisters and tried to think of why they would decapitate me over paint, and then decided I’d rather not remember. I hugged Big Fella tighter, and he did the same to me. Before we knew it we were both asleep in each others’ arms, borne along by the endless, boring river of blood to a destination we would never reach.


What follows is a short story I wrote for a school assignment. My family said this was extremely good, so I'm posting it here to see if all of you like it. I hope you enjoy. Also, I apologize if I'm using the wrong tag, as I wasn't sure which was more fitting. Please let me know if one works better. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ It was a rather pleasant day at the mountain. Sure, the sky was filled with clouds, but what could've been rain was instead a light drizzle. A calm breeze was blowing throughout the range, and golden beams of light peeked from the plentiful masses of water vapor, creating a beautiful, serene atmosphere that was completely ignored by a robed woman scaling the towering mountain. The person's name was Malice, an agent and co-conspirator for an empire as mysterious as it is deadly. Malice's glorious, 100%-perfect boss had personally assigned her to take care of the matters regarding a certain scientist known for her unorthodox, yet extremely effective machines, specifically of the robot kind. Malice had the task of working with the scientist on a special project, one that would solve her empire's very agile problem. After about an hour, the woman had finally arrived near the top of the mountain, where a giant metal door awaited her. Upon stepping near the door, the sound of microphone feedback rung throughout the area, just as ear-piercing as you would expect. Some speakers, though not visible, began broadcasting a voice. A child-like voice filled with an aggravating amount of sass played. "Step closer to the door, you forgetful fool. How many times do I have to tell you this?" the voice said. Malice simply sighed. She stepped so close to the door that if the door were a window, there'd be quite the foggy spot. Grids of synced lasers popped from unknown areas, scanning Malice's person. "Ok, you don't have anything on you, you're good", the voice said, right before the metal doors screeched open, revealing a rather dimly lit lab area....one where a girl who was rather short and child-shaped stood. "Greetings, Malice", the little girl said, squinting. "Hello, Agatha", Malice returned. Agatha motioned for Malice to enter, but started walking before she even knew Malice accepted. "I assume you're here to check on Project Copy?", she said lowly. Malice scowled. "Mistress is getting very impatient. It's been a month already, and the thorn in our side grows more powerful the longer you hesitate." Agatha didn't like that statement very much. She spun around **anomalously** quickly, and snapped at Malice. "You think genius just happens? You think it's easy to program something complicated like this? You think it's fun having all of you breathing down my neck, rushing the only thing saving you from that nuisance?! Just....just.....," the girl caught herself, and calmed down. "Just, follow me and observe my progress." As they walked through the halls, surrounded by metallic clangs and the beep-booping of countless computers, Agatha went on her usual rant filled with technological jargon. Malice never understood anything in those, but didn't care about missing anything either. What is a "superhydraulic lythium exportion redactor" anyways? Eventually, they arrived at a huge computer console, large enough to make a jumbo-tron feel jealous. "As you can see, Project Copy is coming along swimmingly. I'm at 80% completion. Would y-," Agatha was cut off by Malice, who seemed to get instantly angry. "You were at 75% last week. What could you possibly be doing?!" she said, speaking slightly above inside-voice. Agatha crossed her arms, turning and giving, "I had to go off the grid for a bit. \*She\* was on the loose, and where would we both be if she had invaded my lab?" Malice glared at the scientist with the intensity of a divorced mother who's been told the buffet ran out of double-chocolate pie. Agatha knew that glare all too well, and didn't even wait two seconds before replying with enough sass to make your hair pull itself out. "If you're done ogling someone a third of your size, would you like to see the model?" Malice begrudgingly accepted. Agatha pressed a button on the keyboard, and with a hiss and a sizzle, a large, red tube emerged from behind the console. Inside it was a rather human-looking android, fixated with wires, pipes, and a big black dress, for decency's sake. The body was obviously incomplete, with an arm and both legs missing, and a big hole in its chest. "'80%' is relative. The code is almost complete. It's just the model that needs work." Malice stared at the creation. She started trembling, clenching her fist with enough grip to crush a small rodent with just her hand. It wasn't long before she snapped, letting out an absolute anger-filled assault of hatred. "What in the world is this? We asked you to build a machine that could level the entirety of Nepturiine..." Agatha tried to get a few words in. "I know what it looks like, but this ca-" "ENOUGH EXCUSES! The mistress wants a DEATH weapon, not a cosplay prop!" Agatha gained an equally loud expression. "Well you never told me any of that! How was I supposed to know?! Your 'boss' is just some clueless, selfish moron that couldn't give competent instructions if she had the creator of the universe on her side!" Agatha clenched her fist, and somehow got even louder. "If you're seriously threatened by a pre-teen, and you felt the need to rush ME for your idiocy, perhaps bathing in fire ants would be a better use of your time! Now leave me ALONE!" the child said as she stomped her feet so hard it caused enough vibration to knock over a nearby vase. Malice looked at Agatha. She gave the child such a hateful, spiteful glare that it would send a military general to tears. She gritted her teeth with such force that they visibly cracked. However, instead of absolutely letting loose on the girl, she turned her back, started walking, and said, "You're fired". Agatha's expression didn't drop. She had enough as well. She wasn't angry. In fact, she was ecstatic. As soon as Malice lept back into the golden mountain range, Agatha gave a wicked smile that would put a kitten on edge. "Finally," she said, " now I can actually get things done." She turned to her left, snapped her fingers, and yelled "METAL!", causing a pair of neon yellow eyes to flash open in the darkness. "How do you feel about stretching your wires for a bit? You know what to do." The eyes did a nodding motion. A blazing jet fire lit up behind and below the eyes, causing the sleek, gray-black body of this 'Metal' to become just barely visible. The figure dashed past the scientist and out the door with such speed that it was merely a blur. Agatha turned to the console and began pressing buttons. "What an opportunity you just threw away, my dear Malice....your world view, just like your world itself, is primitive and unrefined." Agatha brought up a mysterious window on the console screen. "You know what they say..." Agatha flipped a lever. "Out with the old..." A small pillar rose out of a hole on the console. On it held a small diamond-cut gem, cracked and radiating an ominous, black glow. Agatha grinned at the crystal. "...and in with the new.


The soft clicking of computer keys blends in with the sound of rain pattering against the window. My glasses are perched precariously on the end of my nose, and a cup of lukewarm chocolate rests atop some papers on my desk. I am content. A knock at the door distracts me from my writing. I smile. “Come in.” Within seconds Tobias is by my side, hands clutching the edge of my desk as he lifts himself up to peer at the book I’m writing. “Ah-ah-ah, no spoilers,” I tease, covering Tobias’s eyes with one hand. “But Mama, it’s after school!” he whines. “You said I could see it after school!” “Did I?” Looking up at the ceiling, I pretend to be deep in thought. I shake my head and smirk. “Nope, can’t remember saying that.” In a blur of defiance, Tobias jumps up and licks my hand, still blocking his view. I pull back with an exaggerated gasp of horror. “No! You’ve poisoned me! How could you do that?” Tobias bursts into a fit of giggles. “I didn’t poison you!” I strike a dramatic pose in my chair, one hand pressed to my stomach while the other rests on my forehead. “Everything…going…dark…” And with that, I close my eyes and let my tongue loll out of my mouth. Tobias cheers to himself. It’s good to know he cares so much about his mama’s well-being. After a prolonged period of silence, I crack one eye open, only to find Tobias absorbed in the story I’ve begun to write on my computer. “What do you think?” I ask him. He replies without moving his eyes from the screen. “I think there’s supposed to be a comma right here.” Tobias points to a sentence. He’s right. I quickly correct my mistake, puffing up with pride for my smart little boy. “Thanks, buddy.” I pause. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I press a kiss to the top of his head. Tobias turns and gestures for me to lean down, giving me a kiss on the cheek in return before becoming refocused on the story. For some odd reason, I feel like crying. And then I realize. Instantly, the world around me freezes. I stare at my computer screen, noticing my story has become a blank sheet of virtual paper. I decide to take a risk. “This isn’t real, is it?” I blink, and words have appeared on the screen. **It’s real in a way.** Anger burns in my chest as my suspicions are confirmed. “No, it’s not real. This is just a fantasy.” Another blink, more words. **I’m sorry. This is the best I can do for you — for us — right now.** “I know,” I whisper. The eerie silence around me is suffocating, and my eyes fill with tears. **Please don’t cry. You mean everything to me.** I laugh bitterly. “As much as a character can mean, anyway.” **You’re not just a character.** “Then what am I?” My author hesitates. This time, I catch the cursor moving, and I read her confession just before she closes the document. **You’re my epilogue.


Cosmic Static  There lies a sole, lonely universe. Comprised only of dirt, metal, stone, and darkness. However, far into the deepest expanses of the cosmos, in the furthest corner of the universe is a light. A light that would shine for so short a time that, within the infinite existence of the cosmos, was so short lived that it may as well have never have shined at all. This light named “life.” If this planet could see out into the infiniteness of the night sky, it would learn of its folly; it would see a desolate, inert universe and realize that life was not inevitable. Life had erupted on this one rock and no other. Placed there by nothing, observed by no one. An isolated anomaly – unprotected, destined to fall back into darkness at some point, never to be light again. The unknown jewel of the universe, slowly wilting like a single tree in an endless desert. The mysteries of the fundamental forces of the universe are never discovered; no higher meaning is ever found. Humanity does not get the opportunity to reach the edge of knowledge or the highest forms of art and expression. It is stopped in its journey before it can look over the edge of the fabric of existence and know for sure just what it all is and exactly what it all means. A story that ends mid-sentence with blank pages afterwards that extend outwards into the infinite. Nothing is left to ponder the beginnings of all that is, nothing is left to imagine what will come to happen next. This light was not one of many in a great chain of life and death with some higher meaning behind it all. There was no light before, and no light afterwards. After the last vestiges of life blink from existence, there is silence. One life, one death. I am struck with a fear of being implicit in the mass ignorance of the majesty of our anomalous existence. No thing and no one is here to be delighted or profoundly awestruck by this light in the darkness except for me. How, then, can I be content to live unamazed by the fact that I have not only eyes but things which to see? How can I, in good conscious, wallow in apathy and boredom when I was cast by some accident in this theatrical performance with one stage, one showing, no audience, no falling curtain, and no casting call? The day will come when our theater has decayed and rotted and the actors slow down and shrivel onto the ground, mid-act, just as some semblance of a plot seemed to be brewing. There will be no audience to clap at the artistic brilliance of a story that ends without explanation. The music and beauty and love of the Earth will never reach far away ears. It will simply cease to be. The cosmic radio with one channel had for so long played nothing but cosmic static. But then, for the briefest of moments, played some kind of music unheard of and unimaginable by the senseless universe that had accidentally given birth to eyes. Fantastic, fascinating music from this world that wreaked of personality, of history, or interconnectedness and love and a thousand other things that never had been and never would be again. That music slowed down and stopped, falling back into static. “zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.” Nothing listened to this radio and nothing would ever wonder what that song was or what it meant. There was nothing, there was something, there was nothing. No one to happen across the remnants of our world that, at one point, had teemed with life and wonder what it was like it its glory days. No one to imagine the things that were said or question the things that were done. No one to wonder at the stories it must have told. The quirks and secrets of life will fall below the pages and fade into dust and ash. There then is presented a choice within each of us; within each of the beings that has the spark of life within them. The choice between succumbing to the ideals of dirt, metal and stone, or the ideals of the light. The decision to give into the light. To succumb to its ways. To sing a song that will never be heard and that will never hold any whisper of meaning simply because something in the deepest, most central part of this thing we call existing tells us that we must sing – if only for the sake of having sung. What is there to do besides make this light the most brilliant, most fearsome light to have ever shined before it wanes and falls back into the dark, unremembered. This light switch turned on and off again. Flipped by no one, illuminating nothing. This one blip on the cosmic radar. Unexplained, unquestioned, bordered on both sides by endless, empty time. What are we to do with our role in this play that no one will ever see? With this one chance to make whatever we hold in our hands into the brightest version of whatever it has the potential to be. The day comes when there is no more passion, no more dreaming, and no love. No philosophy or friendship or desire or art. No more stories of good overpowering evil forces or the formations of love and family. Before the end of all things, in this strange and wonderful time that we have called life that has never happened and never will again, how are we to live? Will we close our eyes, hold our breath, and dive headfirst into what it means to be alive? To seek out every feeling and every sight – laying our eyes only upon honor, desire, friendship and color. To love all of our cosmic brothers and sisters with whom we have the privilege of sharing this first and last hurrah of life and love. How could we not be inspired? Inspired by our species’ brilliant stabs into the dark unknown. Our stabs into the stars that brought us to our moon, so far from the rest of the immortal universe but so profound to us. Our stabs into math and science to find the foundation of what we know and to understand the fabric of this physical existence, for no reason other than the fact that something within our mortal hearts tells us to dig deeper and to fly higher. As we fall, each of us, into the dark abyss of death one by one, will we smile for having gotten to take part in this silly little accident that shined a light upon a world and opened eyes to, if for a moment, behold the glory of all that is? Will we be able to rest easy knowing that we loved as much as we were able, took every opportunity into adventure and grandeur, stayed kind to our fellow accidents and remained uniquely and genuinely ourselves, all throughout the morning, day, and evening, and could now lay our heads and gratefully fall back, forgotten, face first into the night.


Rob, the Squirrel, was on the couch watching Maury when the phone rang. Rob, the Squirrel, was not expecting anyone to call, and the sound made him fall off the couch. Shaking himself off, he grabbed the cordless and answered. “Hello, this is Rob the Squirrel.” “Hey Rob, the Squirrel, it’s Earl the Bear, who is also your landlord. Just a reminder that your rent was due five days ago.” “Hey, Earl the Bear, who is also my landlord. Yeah, sorry about that. I had that stomach bug that’s been going around — “ Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, attempted to interject with a story about his wife, but Rob the Squirrel kept talking. “so I didn’t get a chance to mail it out. Is it okay if I come by your cave later today and drop off the check?” “Thanks, Rob, the Squirrel. I’ll be going out with the missus, so if I’m not around, just put it under the rock that I also use as a pillow.” “Sounds good. See you soon, Earl the Bear, who is also my landlord.” Rob, the Squirrel, hung up the phone and went back to watching a marathon of Maury. Ten hours later, he went to bed and had a blissful night of rest. The next morning his phone rang. Rob, the Squirrel, was not expecting a phone call and was so startled he fell out of bed. Dusting himself off, he grabbed the cordless and answered. “Hello, this is Rob the Squirrel.” “Hey, Rob the Squirrel, it’s Earl the Bear, who is also your landlord. I didn’t see you come by, and I don’t see a check under the rock that I also use as a pillow.” “Oh yeah, sorry about that. I went to drop it off, but my Aunt Barbra needed me to help move her baby grand piano — “ Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord attempted to interject with a story about his Aunt Barbara, who spells her name with an extra “A” and how funny that is but Rob the Squirrel kept talking. “and you know how my Aunt Barb is — can’t say no to that one!” Rob, the Squirrel, let out a fake laugh. Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, made a sound that resembled a chuckle. “Yeah, no problem. How about this? In an hour or so, I’ll be at Phil the Hippo’s to fix his toilet. After I get done with that, I’ll swing by and grab your check.” Rob, the Squirrel, was so thrown by the request that he fell off his couch. He licked his paws to smooth out his fur. “You okay, Rob the Squirrel? I thought I heard a crash.” “I’m fine, Earl the Bear, who is also my landlord. Sure come over whenever you like.” “See you soon.” Rob, the Squirrel, immediately threw up last night’s dinner. Then he ate the puke. After he finished eating the residue, he threw up again. After the second puke, he raced to and fro throughout his 800 square foot apartment. His bushy tail stood erect like a Mediterranean penis, and he chittered like a squirrel possessed. \*CHITTER CHITTER CHITTER\* \*CHITTER CHITTER CHITTER\* What was he going to do? He didn’t have the rent, and he didn’t want to piss off Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord. Faced with no other option, Rob, the Squirrel, turned on the Netflix and spent two hours searching for something to watch. He was still scrolling when the doorbell rang. The chimes interrupted his trance, causing Rob the Squirrel to fall off the couch. Who the hell was ringing his doorbell? Then he remembered the conversation with Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord. This wasn’t good. He ran to and fro around the apartment like a mad squirrel, chittering like an enthusiastic waiter at a chain restaurant. \*CHITTER CHITTER CHITTER\* \*CHITTER CHITTER CHITTER\* Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, stood there patiently, listening to the racket happening on the other side of the door. “Rob the Squirrel you home? It’s Earl the Bear, who is also your landlord.” “Yeah yeah, one second.” He was in the kitchen for the fourth time when he opened the trash and found a paper towel soaked in marinara sauce. Feeling confident about his decision, he grabbed the paper towel soaked in marinara sauce and a pen. Rob, the Squirrel, raced to the door and opened it up. “Sorry about that. I was in the shitter. Here’s the check.” Rob the Squirrel handed over the paper towel soaked in marinara sauce that now contained some scribbling in between the stains to Earl the Bear, who also was his landlord. Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord took the paper towel soaked in marinara sauce that now contained some scribbling in between the stains and without looking down said, “No worries. Thanks. See you next month.” Three days later, there was a knock on his door. Rob the Squirrel had been in the backyard burying and reburying the same piece of Styrofoam he had found in a bush outside for the past six hours and didn’t hear the knocking. He was semi-scampering into the house when he heard yet another knock, causing him to tumble down the stairs. Who the hell was knocking on his door? He shook himself off, raced to the front door, and opened it. “Hey, Earl the Bear, who is also my landlord. A little early for the rent, right?” Rob, the Squirrel, laughed and laughed at his witty remark. Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, stood there, staring. This time the sound that could have been a chuckle was fainter. “Hey, Rob, the Squirrel. A funny thing just happened to me. I went to deposit your check at the bank, and the teller, a jerk of an ostrich, laughed at me. When I asked why he was laughing, he threatened to call the Panda police. When I asked why he would do such a thing, he responded by asking me if he was stupid? Then he pointed to the paper towel soaked in marinara sauce that contained some scribbling in between the stains I had handed him. I looked down at the paper towel soaked in marinara sauce that contained some scribbling in between the stains and asked him what that was? He said it’s a paper towel soaked in marinara sauce that contained some scribbling in between the stains. I said, why are you showing me this? He said that’s what I had handed him two seconds earlier. A half-hour later, I left the bank red in the face. “WHAAAAAAT??? That’s crazy! He was lying to you, Earl the Bear, who is also my landlord. That was a certified U.S. check. He’s trying to rip you off!” The fur on the back of Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, stood on end. He took the paper towel soaked in marinara sauce with some scribbling in between the stains out of his pocket and held it in front of Rob the Squirrel’s face. “So you’re telling me this paper towel soaked in marinara sauce with some scribbling in between the stains is a certified U.S. check?” “Of course Earl the Bear, who is also my landlord. What else would it be?” “And you’re saying if I go back down there that they will cash this?” “They better, or else! The God damn Socialists are taking over the country!” Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, stood there, not saying a word. He was a Bernie bro but didn’t like discussing his politics. Rob, the Squirrel, wrinkled his nose in thought and held up his right paw. “You know what? Hold on one second.” Rob, the Squirrel, ran to the kitchen, opened up the fridge, and stuck his paw in a jar of mayonnaise. Then he grabbed a dish towel and wiped his paw. Feeling satisfied with his decision, Rob, the Squirrel, went back to his front door holding the dishtowel. “This here is a notarized letter stating that what you have in your possession is a check that can be cashed and used as currency. That should solve everything.” Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, let out a sigh of relief and took the dishtowel with some mayonnaise on it. “Thanks, Rob, the Squirrel. I appreciate your help.” “No problem, Earl the Bear, who is also my landlord.” Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, left, but he stopped on the last step. He turned just as Rob the Squirrel was closing the door. “Are you sure this is going to work?” Rob, the Squirrel, wrinkled his nose in confusion. “Of course, it will. Why wouldn’t it?” “Okay. Thanks, Rob, the Squirrel.” Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord left. Two hours later, Rob, the Squirrel, was once again on his couch, looking for something to watch when the doorbell rang, causing him to plummet to the ground. Who the hell was ringing his doorbell? Rob, the Squirrel, used his bushy tail to clean himself off and ran to the front door. “Hey, Earl the Bear, who — “ Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, stormed into his foyer, sending Rob the Squirrel flying into the kitchen. He ricocheted off a cabinet built in the late 80s and slowly stood up, trying to shake out the cobwebs. Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, stood over him. He was not happy. “Do you think I’m some kind of jerk-off?” Rob the Squirrel wrinkled his nose, this time out of fear, but he had no clue what Earl the Bear, who was also his landlord, was talking about. “Pardon?” “RAAAAAAAR!” Earl the Bear, who used to be his landlord, opened wide and ate Rob the Squirrel in less than three bites. Feeling satisfied with the outcome, Earl the Bear, who used to be his landlord, went back home and placed an ad in the local newspaper for an eight hundred square foot apartment. Anyone interested would need the first and last month’s rent, along with a security deposit.