"Please flash your EZ-Link", the school gate had buzzed when Kurt approached it. He held his card up to the oval-shaped scanner which responded by flashing out a horizontal ray of green light, scanning the card upwards and downwards. "Name: Kurt Atwood. Gender: Male. Ethnicity: Chinese. Hair Colour: Black. Eye Colour: Black. Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual. Tongue: Rollable. Religion: Christianity. Minority Level: 29%. Student confirmed. Access Approved." The gate slowly opened and the line of students queued up behind Kurt clapped with cheshire cat grins. "Good for you!", they had exclaimed. The process had repeated as the next student walked up to the gate. Buzz. Buzz. On the elevator ride that lifted Kurt and his classmate Lily to the hall for their weekly assembly talk, their earbuds vibrated constantly in their ears: "I am Male and I am Proud. I am Chinese and I am Proud. I have Black hair and I am Proud." Eventually, everyone had adapted such that they could hear the outside world simultaneously. Lily's Minority Level was at zero percent. The more the amount of minority group features you have, the higher your Minority Level is, and the more minority privileges you get. People like Lily and Kurt with a Minority Level less than 50 percent, frequently named Majorities, did not have the basic minority privileges to go through the express lanes in attractions, get ten percent discounts on all shop items, and be allowed to sit on the reserved seats in buses and trains. But they had privileges too, such as free joy pills with free repair of earbuds, both administrated by the Ministry of Joy. On the day Kurt was born, his mother had cried tears, not of joy, but disappointment, to find out that her newborn son's Minority Level was only at 29 percent. The doctors comforted her, telling her that the tides can change and one day, maybe there would be more Malays than Chinese in Singapore. She had popped a whole bottle of pills and went into a deep slumber that day, but after that... everything was normal. "Too Much Pain? Take Two Pills!", the buses had proclaimed repeatedly down the streets. The speaker appeared as a giant head on the television screen in the hall, an uproar of applause came from all the students and teachers. "Good morning everybody! My name is George Vox from the Ministry of Equality and I have been assigned by your dearest principal to answer any questions you may have." "What is your Minority Level?" one of the students had shouted. Soft chuckling came from the audience. "Well, it is 86 percent but-" "Good for you!", the audience shouted simultaneously. "-but the Minority Level does not matter at all of course, because we are all equal no matter what. Everyone is human after all!" everyone clapped and nodded. "When will the ministry solve my neighbourhood's economy problems?". A wave of goosebumps sweeped the hall, everyone turned to look at the Eurasian student who had openly criticised the system. "...I'm sure everyone has learnt from your history books that around a hundred years ago, Singapore was in complete disarray. People would murder each other due to their differences and get away with it because our Warrior Units did not exist back then. So let's not worry so much about teeny tiny problems and celebrate how we have finally achieved equality and happiness! Long are the days of discrimination!" Everyone stood up and cheered, many had jumped in joy and screamed. Vox's job had been done. After he switched off the camera recorder, he made a call to the principal, "Hello, excuse me, I require you to give that student counselling... yes, the Eurasian one". It was 11 o'clock and the pills had been flushed out of Kurt's system. Everyone in class routinely took two more pills. Meanwhile, Kurt was still clawing into his pill bottle, he started to get increasingly irritated. His fingers could not feel any presence of the sweet powdery goodness. He used one finger and wiggled it around the pill bottle, only to find it completely empty. He grew concerned, did I forget to refill it last night? "Hey, Kurt, are you okay?", his tablemate Vinny had asked, seeing how Kurt was pale and shaking violently, with snot running out his nose. "N-no no, my pills...", clumsily knocking over his calculator and stationeries. Again, Vinny asked, this time with a look of disgust at the river of snot flowing out, "Uhm... Hey, you alright? You don't look too good... Are you oka-" "No, Christ, what do you think?!" ... ... "BEEP BEEP BEEP!", the classroom speakers blared while spinning red lights popped out from the ceilings and covered everyone's shocked face. Vinny had pressed his EZ-link's trigger, which had sounded the alarm and alerted the authorities. The Warriors in black gear dragged the screaming Kurt away. He was thrown into a van with the white letters 'MINISTRY OF EQUALITY' imprinted on its smooth black surface before getting slowly driven further and further away from his school. Books displayed at the front of bookshops flashed through his eyes as he looked out the small slits of the van: "The Talent" by Joseph Whitman. An empowering story of Jodie Yu, the citizen who braved through a society where people who could roll their tongue are discriminated daily. "This classic frightening dystopia warns us of the dangers of political extremism" ~Katherine Wang Kurt was brought out of the van stumbling and led into a tall glass building. His heartbeat in the elevator was heavy and he felt the urge to barf. Twenty-two... Twenty-three... Twenty-four... Door Opening. His heartbeat rapidly increased as he walked through the corridor. At the end of it, there was an austere-looking man sitting behind a desk. He looked up from his computer as the door behind Kurt had shut tight. "Good Afternoon Mr. Atwood. Now, did you know you shouted at a student with seventy-one percent Minority Level, which is a discrimination?", the man had asked sternly as Kurt stood awkwardly in the middle of the white room. Kurt looked up weakly, and stuttered, "Y-yes..." "Did you know you said the name of a deity in vain, which is religious prejudice?" "Uhm... Yes..." "Now please, please sit down" "I'm... I'm sorry..." Kurt had started to tear up, he tried as much as possible not to let the man see, making a sudden quick turn to wipe the tears off his cheeks. "Sing our national anthem" "W-What?" "Sing our national anthem", the man had said in an exaggeratedly long manner. Kurt and the man met eyes for a whole ten seconds, before Kurt started to whisper out the lyrics of the country's anthem. "Louder!" the man shouted. The melody started to hit its crescendo. The lyrics of its verses switching between countless different languages. Kurt was suddenly in another world. He was riding a happy singing cloud carried by the many fine lines of a composition, soaring with the flapping crotchet and minim notes high up in the sky. He could see his friends smiling together down there in a world looking much like heaven, before the song started to slow down. The sky had darkened and suddenly, lightning bolts struck down alongside bloodthirsty tornadoes. The infrastructure had morphed from tall glass towers into one of concrete buildings. There were no friends down there, only enemies. Fires and flipped cars and gunshots and death. He could hear the man's voice echo loudly in the distance, "Destruction and chaos caused by discrimination. They didn't have Warriors back then to discipline them into equality and neither did they have the minority level system to fulfill everyone's desires! Is this what you want? Hell was a place on Earth! Luckily we saved the Nation in time, unlike the others, they crumbled!" "No!", tears had already started to jet out of Kurt's eyes, all he wanted was to gouge them out to block out all of it. The bloodshed slowly faded, he found himself back in the enclosed room. "You are only fifteen, yes? Kindly read these lines in front of the screen". Slightly confused but tremendously relieved, he took the slip of newly printed paper and read out the lines towards the black screen. "I will not disclose anything that happened here. I am content with what I was born with. I have many friends..." The list went on and on. The man looked up from the computer, his complexion suddenly bright. "Thank you, you can leave now! But remember, this will be your last warning." With a sigh of relief, Kurt went home with a refilled bottle of pills. All was in the past. All is well.


The operation was finally complete. As the anesthesia gradually started to wear off, I opened my eyes. My body was tired. My mind was slow. I did not much care for the surroundings. It didn't even cross my mind that I’d just spent all the money I’d saved since my fifteenth birthday and that people in long and white coats had just implanted a tiny neurotransmitter inside my brain. There was only one thing that I thought about and longed for at that moment. To fade back into the oblivion of sleep one last time. That night, I sat alone and tired in the library. Even though the library was open 24/7, I was the only student who seemed to take advantage of this. The night before every exam, I preferred to come here and study. I simply had no other choice. It was the only way I could pull an all-nighter for the tests. Back at my room, with the queen size bed next to my study table, I barely ever made it past 2 without dozing off. I would try hard to think and study but no matter what, all my mind would hear was the bed calling out to me. Inviting me to lie in her comfortable and motherly embrace, there was no way I could refuse. In the library, there was no bed to tempt me. I was still haunted by a raging desire to lie down and sleep but there were still times where I could resist. Even with heavy eyes and a fatigued brain, I’d somehow manage to make it through the night without sleeping. I hated being a slave to my biological urge to sleep. There was so much I wanted to achieve in life. But there never seemed to be enough time. The fact that humans spend a third of their life doing nothing but sleep always irked me. It was such an inefficient use of time. And in my case, more than ten hours a day were spent sleeping. Every night, I would hope to get up early in the morning and work towards my grades and hobbies. But every single time, I was an entirely different person in the morning, prioritizing an hour’s worth of sleep over my future. And don’t even get me started on that damn snooze button. People laugh when I say this but I truly believe it is the worst invention mankind ever created. A few extra minutes of sleep almost always turn into an hour which inevitably turns into multiple hours. Remove that stupid button from every alarm clock in the world, and you’ll have doubled the world’s productivity overnight. I sat looking at my watch. As always, my brain was soaked dry and could no longer maintain focus. It wandered off to explore memories and thoughts and when it finally returned, it was well past midnight. I was failing to keep my eyes open. The chemical equations I’d been trying to shove inside my head were unable to get in. The effects of the day’s operation had still not kicked in and before I could realize, sleep found me and I dropped dead onto my books. An hour or so later, I was abruptly pulled back from the dark void. I looked around. The library seemed much brighter. My lips curled into a smile as I realized that the effects of the procedure had finally kicked in. My senses felt razor sharp. My brain was racing, my heart was pumping blood fast to every corner of my body and I felt ecstatic. I opened the app I’d been told to install after my operation. The app was linked to the neurotransmitter inside my head. It let me have full control of my sleep. I tweaked around the settings ensuring that I would not fall asleep for another six hours. By seven in the morning, I’d memorized every chemical equation, gone through the chapter multiple times and solved every possible numerical I could find. When I sat for the test, I easily knocked it out of the park. There honestly was no way I would have screwed it up. When I returned to my room, I was as awake as I’d been the previous six hours. The app dashboard showed me that I’d been awake for sixteen hours and twenty minutes. I lay down on my bed and decided it was finally time to rest even though I wasn't sleepy. I pressed the “Fall asleep” icon in the app. A prompt asked me the number of hours I wanted to sleep for. I adjusted it to nine hours. It was the amount the app recommended after scanning my brain activity. The neurotransmitter inside my head facilitated the release of chemicals which had me fall asleep within moments. I woke up exactly nine hours later, without any of the usual fatigue and tiredness. My father had once told me that Ambition was the true measure of a man and ambition was something I certainly did not lack. Now that I could ensure that no more than six hours of a day were wasted sleeping, my productivity soared. I aced every test the college threw at me that year and even started to pursue hobbies that I’d always leaned towards. Within a semester, I was part of the university orchestra and some of my paintings were even displayed at local art exhibitions. Along with this, I finally had time to have a social life without hurting my grades. I would party for hours and study while everybody else slept. As my ambitions grew, I slowly decreased my amount of sleep to four hours per day. I tried to distribute my sleeping hours across the day, often utilizing ideal time on the bus and train. Sometimes, when I felt that class was getting boring, I would go at the back of the class and go to sleep. I would set the timer to make my sleep last for the duration of the class. The app occasionally sent me warning prompts about the duration of my sleep and eventually, I had to turn off the warnings. In the last semester of college, our professors encouraged us to publish research papers. I saw it as the perfect platform to get the recognization I deserved. Time was less and for the last week, I decided that I could push my sleep to just three hours a day. I’d balance it out later once my paper was complete. As the week progressed, I worked harder than I ever had. Two days before my estimated submission date, as I lay on the bed thinking about certain hiccups in my paper, a major breakthrough dawned on me. As I began to get up, my vision suddenly went blank and I collapsed onto the bed. After many attempts, I finally got up. I heard the voice assistant on the app speak, “User condition critical, deactivating device and contacting nearest hospital” Consumed by my work, I had failed to notice all the signs my body had been screaming towards me. Without understanding, I’d hugely overworked myself and my body could not take it any longer. It had been going on and on for months without catching a break. The moment the neurotransmitter in mind had turned off, all the piled up exhaustion and fatigue came bouncing back to knock me down. A vaguely familiar feeling of tiredness engulfed my body. I couldn't move and every fiber hurt.


"I died in 2021. I lived a decent life. At least, I think I did. I was born February 19th, 1995. I lived in Georgia. We had a small house in an old town in the middle of nowhere. My parents ran a small convenience store that brought in just enough money to pay the bills. I had a brother and a sister. "In school, I didn't make many friends. I was awkward and quiet. Some of teachers recognized my last name, since my brother was in their classes before I was. I was always teased, so I ended up taking it out on my little sister. I made fun of her, and a couple times she even cried. "I loved my parents but sometimes I was a brat to them. Times like when other kids were getting cars and licenses, but my parents didn't have the money. I remember saying that they weren't doing it because they didn't care about me. And I made snide comments for a couple weeks after that. "I never went to college. Instead, I got a job as a grocery store assistant manager. My parents were pretty upset that I didn't go to college, but even more upset that I didn't carry on their business. "My brother was in a car accident when I was 17 and my sister and I grew apart. I stayed in Georgia with my comfortable job, while she moved away, got a degree, and became some kind of designer. Interior Decoration, mom said. "I did meet a girl when I was 22. She was pretty. And she was nice, I guess. But mainly pretty. She and I were together for a while. Then I found out that she was pregnant. The kid was mine, but I wasn't ready to be a parent. I stopped seeing her, but I did send her child support every month. "My parents passed away and their shop was torn down. They built some fast food place on the lot to replace it. My sister didn't come to the funeral and only a few people showed to grieve. "I developed a bad cough shortly after the funeral. My breathing started to get short and strained. My chest was constantly stinging. They found out that the chemicals in my vape were damaging my lungs. Eventually, I died. And now, I'm here." "Do you know where you are?" "I'm assuming this is heaven? Or purgatory... I'm being judged, right?" "You are being judged, yes. But this isn't Purgatory. This is real. Most of the time our patients forget, so I'll explain. You've been in a simulation for 48 hours. You are 18 years old. The year is 2036. Due to overpopulation, we have decided to test individuals through a simulation of life. We observe your actions and take note of your skills and accomplishments. When it is over, we decide if you are worthy." "Worthy of what?" "A space in this world. We've decided that you are not." "You... Wait, you what?" "Based on what you've shown us, you do not have anything to add to our world. No social skills, no drive, no pride... You did not even parent your own child. We've decided that you don't deserve a life in our world.


The soldier walked quietly up the empty street carefully stepping to avoid tripping on the broken pavement and the crumbling debris on the ground. All around him were tall gloomy buildings that towered above him so high they seemed to disappear into the clouds above. The clouds. The clouds had been there so long he had forgotten what the stars looked like shining bright in the sky like little lanterns. He couldn’t recall what the sun looked like when it climbed through the sky on its journey around the world bringing light and hope to those everywhere. He missed waking up early and watching as the sun traveled over the horizon lighting up the sky as if it were a giant glass dome. He longed to see the dazzling bright red and yellow light of the sun woven with the blue of the sky as it climbed higher and higher pushing away the overwhelming dark of night. He was wrenched back into the dark depression of reality when It started to rain. The soldier pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. He continued to walk down the empty street. The wind blew hard in his face. He heard the rumble of thunder and saw a flash as lightning streaked across the sky. A shiver went down his spine and he felt his heart start to beat faster as he got that sick feeling in his stomach. He knew this feeling all too well by now. It was fear. Something felt wrong. The buildings suddenly felt like they might just fall over and crush him. Every shadow looked like a gaping hole that would consume him in darkness and drag him into the depths of hell. Then a pungent aroma burned through his lungs. It was the stench of death. He knew what this meant and dreaded what would come next. He stepped into the darkness of an alleyway and put his back against the side of the brick building. The smell had gotten stronger, so He put his hand on the knife holstered on his hip. He prayed that nothing would happen, and the creature would move along. With his back still against the brick building he looked out into the street. He heard a deep moan. The rain continued to pour he saw another flash of lightning followed by a boom of thunder and then he saw them. A group of mangled creatures shuffled down the street towards him. It was the Reapers. Torn clothing and flesh dangled off their bodies revealing the white bone underneath. Their bodies were twisted and mangled like that of a twisted tree that had grown broken and tangled. The creatures looked slow and weak, but he knew from experience they could move very quickly once they saw a person and were much stronger than even the healthiest man. He tried to remain quiet. He heard the Reapers shuffle closer and closer as their stench got stronger. Another deep moan echoed through the street. Suddenly he heard a scream. The soldier looked into the street once more and saw a mother and child. He’d seen this situation unfold so many times he knew exactly what would happen. He looked towards the Reapers. They had seen the mother and child and the Reapers had started to move toward them alarmingly fast. The child started to cry. The soldier looked into the mother’s eyes and saw pure fear. The Reapers moved with incredible speed for their bodies condition. The soldier had seen this too many times he couldn’t watch this happen again. As a soldier it was his job to serve and protect, and he didn’t care if the world was in ruin and crumbling, he was going to continue to execute his mission no matter what happened. He knew what he had to do. He stepped out from the safety of the alleyway and the comfort of hiding from the fear he faced. Knowing that the reapers could see he knew they depended much more on hearing. The soldier took in a deep breath and yelled. He yelled as loud as he could projecting his voice through the street toward the reapers. The reapers froze. They slowly turned towards the soldier and away from the mother and child. The entire Reaper group lurched toward him. The soldier ran. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the mother quietly sneak away with her child into the darkness of the streets behind him. He knew the Reapers were much faster than him, but he refused to give up and continued to run. He cut left into another street pumping his legs as fast as he physically could fear powered his adrenaline as he ran for his life. He knew he had to get the Reapers as far away from the mother and child as he could to guarantee their safety. He cut through an alley way to the next street. one of the Reapers had gotten close enough to almost touch him. He saw out of the corner of his eye the Reaper bend its legs about to jump. As fast as lightning the soldier unholstered his knife twisted his body and swung at the Reaper. He felt the blade hit the Reaper and it screeched in pain stumbling back into the group. He continued to run. He cut through another street and into another alley way into the streets again. He cut into an alley way and looked back another Reaper was about to reach him he swung his knife and hit the creature it stumbled back like the last Reaper. He looked forward again. His pounding heart skipped a beat. Infront of him blocking the alley way was a large brick wall much taller than him. The Reapers had begun to slow they knew there was no where for him to go. The soldier stopped and turned around to face the creatures. For the first time he looked to see how many there were. He counted almost twenty and that was just the ones he could see. The creatures bright yellow eyes all watched him hungry for his new flesh and meat. Is this how he would die? he thought. He always imagined he would die of old age surrounded by his family and abundant grandchildren. He remembered his family he hadn’t seen in years. He thought about his beautiful wife and the first time they had met. He thought about the amazing times they had together. God he missed her. He thought about his daughter and what a sassy little girl she was. How she used to wrap her arms around him and say, “I love you daddy.” He remembered her first day of school and how he felt like she was growing up too fast and he felt like she would be all grown up and gone before he could even blink. The soldier remembered his brother and growing up together. He remembered the laughs and the fights they had together even back then he knew he would give his life for him if it came to it. He remembered his parents and how they always annoyed him with all their pestering about chores but they were always so supportive of everything he did. He remembered how his dad would always be there for him when he needed someone and how he held the soldier accountable for everything he did and told him how grandma always used to say you can do anything you put your mind too and how his dad never let him quit without making sure he knew that’s exactly what he was doing, quitting. Of course, the soldier had his moments but he never quit. Whenever the soldier got down and forgot who he was when he was young his dad always managed to be able to remind him. The soldier remembered his sister. He remembered how she always annoyed him but he would kick someone’s ass for her and would fight for her and die for her. He remembered his friends and the fun times they had together yeah, they did some stupid things sometimes, but he would never forget those times together. He snapped back into reality as one of the creatures launched itself at him. He swung his knife and slashed it. Another jumped forward and another and another. He swung his knife again and again. One of the creatures caught his arm in their mouth and bit down. He cried out in pain and the knife fell from his hand. Another creature slammed into his chest and knocked him to the ground. All the creatures rushed towards him. The soldier looked up into the sky above. the clouds had parted for a moment and he could see the stars for the first time in a long time. He saw his family in the stars smiling down at him. He saw his wife and her beautiful eyes watching as their little daughter skipped around her. He saw his sister, brother, mom, and dad standing with their arms across each other’s backs as if they were about to take a family picture. He saw his friends laughing and remembering the good times. The soldier thought about what an amazing life he had and all the good times. He knew this was his fate this outcome was his destiny he closed his eyes and embraced it. I wrote this story I hope you like it, I would love feedback.


The crowds cheered as I climbed onto the stage to accept my Noble Prize. My hard work of the past twenty years had finally paid off. Had my mother and father been alive, they’d have been extremely proud of their son who’d won not one, but two Nobel prizes. I’d won my first prize about six years ago. One of my better books had just come out, and I’d been awarded the Nobel prize in literature for “for my beautiful depiction of the human condition and the ability to weave magical realism with our race’s rich history”. When I’d first started to write, I did not believe anyone would ever be interested in reading my work. But when I’d read out my stuff to my wife and daughters, they loved it. That encouraged me to get my work published and the next thing I know, I had developed a huge cult of fans. The day I’d won my Nobel prize in literature was the best day of my life. Until today, that is. I beamed with pride as the king of Sweden presented me with the Nobel Prize in Physics. In my speech, I dedicated the prize to my parents, both scientists who’d died a few years ago. That night, as I kissed my beautiful wife, she gave me some wonderful news. The best day of my life somehow became even more memorable. My darling soul-mate was pregnant with our third child. Life was good. **50 years earlier**. Olivia stood outside her house waiting impatiently for her husband, Hugo. He'd left early in the morning to meet with his friend Jake, an ex-employee of the state’s science department. She looked around at all the empty houses on the street and thought of her friends and neighbors, whom she missed dearly. The plague had taken away most of them. Only a dozen citizens on the street were still alive, including herself and Hugo. Their radiation monitor estimated that the two of them had about three weeks left to live. By that point, almost all of humanity would be dead. After twenty minutes of restlessness, she saw Hugo arrive in a battered down solar-powered car. The smile on his face told her everything she needed to know. They rushed towards each other. After a long and heartfelt embrace, Hugo spoke, “He agreed right away. Says he’s got less than a week left to live and he doesn't care what happens to the machines.” “Did you tell him what we needed them for?” questioned Olivia. “I did. He said he was happy for us and would not inform the authorities.”. Hugo spoke with a tear in his eye. Jake had been his oldest friend. Olivia comforted him and the two made their inside the house. Their newborn lay sleeping in the crib. Unlike its parents, the baby’s skin glowed and his breathing was steady. Using their lifetime of knowledge, his parents had synthesized a special compound, which gave his body the immunity to survive both the virus and the radiation. Sadly, the substance only worked as a vaccine and not as a cure. The baby was the only living being on the Earth capable of living for more than a year. Hugo and Olivia had kept his immunity a secret, afraid that some of the remaining political groups might try to harvest the child’s cells for a cure. The next day, they traveled halfway across the city to the old government research facility. Using Jake’s card, they entered and made their way to the top floor. As the large door opened, they saw hundreds of humanoid robots. To a layman, these robots were indistinguishable from a human. Although they had no soul, they looked, spoke and acted otherwise. They came in all shapes and sizes and were even capable of giving an illusion of growing old. Before the outbreak, the government had spent billions to create the robots and planned to use them as spies. Now, they just lay abandoned and deactivated. Like they’d planned, the two sat down and began to program the machines. They were determined. Unlike them, their child would not be denied the opportunity to live a happy and complete life. By the time he’d grow up, humanity would be long dead. Without anybody else on the planet, there was little chance of him living a life, much less a happy one. So his parents decided to give him the next best thing. The robots would create an illusion. They would be his family, his teachers, his friends, his colleagues. He would live the most wonderful life without ever realizing that he was surrounded by machines, not real humans. Olivia programmed the machines to forever maintain the illusion and Hugo made sure that they do all they could to ensure that their child lived the best life possible. After growing up, the child could grow up to be whatever he wanted to be and do whatever he wanted. He could become an actor, a chef or heck, even a noble prize recipient.


She could feel her skin prickle with goosebumps as she rose out of the warm water of the tub, the sunlight had finally hit the ideal angle through the bathroom window to start taking photos. She called in Joe to begin taking the shots. Pose this way, now that way he said. Often times she felt like the poses weren't so much for the benefit of the camera as they were for Joe himself. This wasn't the first time she had regretted signing that contract, but the money was required and even if Joe was creepy, at least he wasn't like her last client. That guy had some deep seated issues to work out. She kept shifting around for the poses, oftentimes dipping her body back into the warmth of the bath. Joe was an artiste, and he would often forget the simple things like making sure his models were actually comfortable during the longer photo shoots. Finally, she pulled the plug, the bathwater draining down, she was on her knees still from the last position which had felt like it was about a pull a muscle in her back. Stretching with her arms crossed above her shoulders, she arched back, the gentle curve of her back had the dual effect of releasing some stress as well as pushing her breasts up into what some would call a perky position. After a second of this stretch she heard the click of a camera. Thinking that Joe was done she lowered her arms and saw surprise in his eyes. He was looking at the camera, at the photo he had just taken. The strange thing was the look on his face, she was used to that look that many had when attempting to hide their own arousal, but this, this was new. He looked at the camera with a tinge of awe. Unfortunately she couldn't find out why. Joe was always secretive with his photos, it was part of her contract that all pictures taken by him belonged to him and he would never release them unless he wanted to, and so far he hadn't. The next morning as she was packing her bags to move on to the next client, Joe came up to her and handed her an envelope. It was one of those larger ones designed to keep letters flat, that off yellow in colour with a USB taped to the outside. Hesitantly, Joe spoke, "This one is yours" he said. "I know that you have reached a point in this career where you think nobody sees you, I mean truly sees you, and I get it. If i had to deal with people like me all the time i'd be pretty jaded too. I just wanted you to see this photo, and to hang on to it. The USB has the original raw image file, but i stayed up late last night and processed this for you. I want you to put it up somewhere, somewhere that you can see it often, so that you can be reminded of just how beautiful you truly are." He walked back out to the hallway and turned towards his studio, feet shuffling on the floor like always. She grabbed her bags and left, payment had been made and there was another client waiting. Some time later she heard through a friend of a friend that Joe's apartment had burned down, with him inside. She wasn't sure what to feel about that. She never did put that photo up, hell, after the initial glance at it, she'd never even looked at it again. More time went by and she was walking home from the corner store, a loaf of bread under one arm and a bottle of whiskey under the other, it was the fifth bottle that week. Her phone beeped with a message, setting down the bottle she pulled it out of her pocket and looked. It had a few messages from a blocked number, she opened them up and saw Joe's smiling face in a selfie taken at a stunning beach. The message underneath said: "That photo changed my life, I was in a bad place and needed a change, it was the perfect catalyst, so i faked my death and moved to Mexico and haven't regretted a day since, I hope it's done you good as well." It wasn't until she shivered from cold that she realised she had been standing there long enough for the sun to have gone down. The top of her blouse was damp from tears. Using her sleeve she wiped her face and broke out in a smile at the image of Joe with such a happy grin. After a moment she started walking again, not even realising she had never picked the whiskey bottle back up. But she knew, she knew that change was coming. She doubted she'd need to fake her death like Joe did, she didn't owe any money and wasn't under anyone's control. For the first time in years, she was looking forward to the next day.


“It’s not inflammatory rhetoric or exaggeration to state that the overwhelming majority of problems with humanity come down to our obsession with lust and mating. Sexual assaults, overcrowding, famine, disease, war, pollution, and the exhaustion of natural resources are all related to primal, emotional behavior. Those significant issues are directly linked to our inborn need to reproduce. Just think how much more progress our society could achieve without these base urges, dragging us down.” The audience remained silent. It’s not that they didn’t agree with the speaker, as a matter on principle. It was widely accepted as fact but recognizing the negative impact of human desire was a far cry from actually doing something about it. To take that beloved feeling away was to remove a large portion of what we are as human beings. It was perhaps a bridge too far for many. Just the thought of a loveless existence filled them with dismay but this natural reaction was short lived. Over time, the heretical message was repeated often enough that it started to take hold with a certain segment of the population. The idea resonated with a world tired of the negative aspects of human desire. Too many people. Rape. Unwanted children. Hunger, disease, famine. Once emotion was removed from the equation, it all seemed very clear. The carnal passion for mating and competing for the most desirable partner was largely responsible for all those maladies and countless others. The public was slowly being convinced to curb their intimate activities and deliberate efforts to reproduce. The concept of love was dying. As always, science produced ‘the answer’. Technically it had existed for years but humanity had been too addicted to the opiate or passion to consider it beforehand. Only with time to acclimate to the idea of a desire-less world did the ‘no love’ movement gain momentum. In a stunning example of universal cooperation, every country on Earth made taking the newly synthesized ‘anti-desire pills’, mandatory. With unanimous peer pressure from the initiated and a constant barrage of ugly reminders of the results of passion ruling the heart, it wasn’t even necessary to force the people to accept it. They took their pills and slowly morphed into an emotionless society. The idea of resistance to this radical shift in thinking was over before it even began. For many years, reproduction was highly regulated and controlled by the same organization that pitched the idea of celibacy and emotional restraint. Suggestive music and adult themed movies were banned. Relationships and intimacy were strongly discouraged. Murder rates went down as a result of ‘the pill’. Wars were few and far between. Rape and unplanned pregnancy were virtually nonexistent. By the numbers, the anti-desire initiative was wildly effective. Early adopters helped bring the reluctant in line by a combination of shame and social intimidation. Humanity had finally found a blueprint for peace; and all it had to do was stifle and suppress its most primal, natural instinct. Along the way to this emotionless utopia, an underground resistance movement started to coalesce. They were a direct result of the rebellion to our natural instincts being so suppressed. The members of this secret cabal hid their identities from a very disapproving public and stopped taking their mandatory ‘medicine’. They congregated in the shadows and discussed possible ways of stimulating healthy debate on the loss of our human sexuality. They sought a means to shake the drugged masses out of their sterile, loveless utopia. Naturally, the status quo reacted with a fierce level of venom once they found out about the mounting opposition to their global authority. The anarchist, ‘pro-sex’ rebellion forming in the fringes of society threatened to destroy their hard-won, neutered peace. The more people listened, the more their seditious message spread. Fewer people took their pills. As before, the pregnancy rate spiked. Wars broke out while violence and assaults spiraled. Proponents of maintaining the current system pointed to those troubling statistics as proof of the chaos that human desire caused. On paper, there was unanimous validation for taking the anti-desire hormone regimen. Proof of the destructiveness of emotion was ironclad and indisputable but the cold, hard facts failed to take into consideration the deeper, emotional context. It was part of our DNA to seek love and pair-bonding. Just as it had begin, the worldwide anti-desire movement collapsed on itself. To seek an intimate alliance with another human being is built into who we are. Humanity craved the tantalizing chaos of love and lust. With that behavior comes a whole host of troubling issues but to suppress our nature is to throw the baby out with the bath water. The majority realized that peace wasn’t worth the emotionless sterility the anti-desire pill caused. Once society witnessed the complex balance of joy and pain which comes from regular human relationships, more and more ‘opted out’. They accepted the possibility of experiencing lows, for the reward of potential highs. Predictably, there was considerable resistance to ‘the resistance’. World authorities sought peace and order, not potential happiness, because it often came with pain and rejection. It was much easier to maintain a loveless societal flatline than the risk of feeling greater things. The highs were too high and the lows were disappointing and intolerable. Having unprecedented law and order for a long period seemed like it was the mark of great progress. Others felt it was infinitely better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Eventually, colonies formed across the world of those who wanted to keep the bland security which the anti-desire pill afforded. Theirs was a peaceful, loveless existence that suited their personal preferences. They were happy with the benefits of emotional regulation and desire suppression. For them, the positives outweighed the negatives. It boiled down to a fundamental difference in how some people think. For the gamblers and risk takers on the other hand, they cast aside the security of a loveless, peaceful utopia, in favor of greater potential rewards and deeper consequences. It was a philosophical trade off. Both schools of thought felt that theirs was the superior ecosystem and way of life (and for each of them, they were right). The divided arrangement was the best type of freedom and liberty for all involved. Desire and potential love for those who sought it. Peace and security for those who preferred it. As it became clear, they realized they couldn’t have their cake, and eat it too.


I looked out over the auditorium. The Silence was deafening. There were only four people in the audience and one of them was my stooge. The three other people only came to the show because they were given free tickets as they passed the venue and I'm sure they were bribed with a free drink too. I spent the next forty minutes doing a few parlor tricks. I pulled a rabbit from a hat. I did the trick with the rings. I made a Dove appear from a burning dish. I didn't even get so much as a raised eyebrow. Even my stooge was looking bored. I decided to pull out my new show stopper. It was a disappearing act involving a member of the audience. You put the stooge into one box and make them reappear in another box. To do this you needed twin stooges. Which was very hard to come by considering my reputation for not paying my assistants. It was at the very last minute I was fortunate enough to find a pair that were new-to-the game and hadn't heard of me. The only problem being we had no time to rehearse. Picking a member of the audience can be an exciting moment. But when there are only four people to choose from it can be pretty anti-climatic. Usually, you have a stampede of people raising their hands wanting to be picked. In this instance, the only person putting up their hand was the stooge. The rest of the audience were trying their best to not make eye contact with me in the hope I wouldn't pick them. I picked my stooge and did the whole pretending not to know her bit. I walked her into the box and closed the door. I said the magic words that would teleport her from the box to the other box. I swung open the door to reveal she had indeed disappeared, but Instead of rapturous applause from the three people in the audience, they began laughing and pointing at the box. I looked down to see my assistance head protruding from the trap door. She had got her head stuck and was struggling for air. Panicked, I quickly called for the curtain to be lowered. I frantically tried to free her as the scared young woman fought for breath. Eventually, I freed her, relativity unharmed. Then I remembered her twin was still in the other box. I knew something was wrong because she hadn't tried to free herself from the hidden compartment yet. I pulled open the trap door to find the girl unconscious but still breeding. Her lips were blue, her twin was in hysterics. I shook her and slapped her till she gasped for air. Relief washed over me. The two young women embraced each other. I tried to apologize but one of them slapped me in the face, before walking off the stage. There was a time I could fill a room. People came from all over to see my shows. The great Mancini wasn't so great anymore. It was hard to compete with the young magicians of today. People weren't interested in the old school magic anymore. I was old and tired anyway, much like my act. I woke up the following morning to find a package had been delivered to me. It was a book sent by an old magician friend. We had talked before about my shows. A note came with the book with the words "I hope this helps," written on it The book was old and on the worn cover was a faded picture of what appeared to be a Demon. I my knew my friend was into the occult. Most magicians are. Every magician dreams of performing real magic The book was titled "The Grimoire of Faust," how to control Demons to do your will. As I was leafing through the book a couple of pages fell out. The pages didn't appear to be apart of the book. They seemed a lot older, ancient more like. One of the pages had the words, "Daemones autem vis ad eos," written on it and below that was the only word I could translate "Monitum, " or warning in English. On the other pages, there seemed to be a diagram for a ritual of some sort. The pages told of a ritual that would allow me to summon a demon. The demon's name was Abraxas. He was a trickster demon who would torment people into giving up their souls by playing tricks on them. I couldn't just summon him. I also had to befriend him so he didn't play tricks on me and try and take my soul. The ritual seemed fairly simple. All I had to do was place two tall mirrors in front of each other and place a candle in between the two. Then draw a circle around the mirrors with salt and just let it do its thing. I sat for hours watching the mirrors but nothing appeared to be happening. I started to feel really stupid. I laughed at the thought of believing this was actually going to work. So I went to bed. I awoke to the noise of something shuffling around my room. The room was dark but I could make out something moving in the shadows. "Who's there?" I called out in a whispered voice. A low growl came out of the shadows. "I am the many. I am the many who preside over the damned. Why have you summoned me?" I couldn't think of anything to say. What do you say to a demon? I scanned the room looking for some kind of answer to give him. Then I spotted my chess board that I always kept set-up. "I summoned you to play a game of chess with me. I'm old, most of my friends are dead," I quipped. The demon laughed. I turned on my lamp beside my bed and moved over to the chess board. I moved my king's pawn two spaces. The demon appeared in the form of a shadow, not fully revealing his true form. The shadow moved over to the board. An almost invisible hand moved the king's pawn two spaces. After a bit of back and forth, I soon had the demon in a checkmate. This infuriated the demon, sending him into a rage. He flipped the board and flew off into the shadows. The next night I awoke to the demon moving around my room. I turned on my light and saw that the chess board was neatly set back up. "Are you sure you want to play me again? You got pretty angry the last time." The demon grunted and decided he was going first by moving his queen's pawn 2 spaces. After a bit of back and forth and a few intentional mistakes, I let him win. This really pleased the demon. So much so that he wanted to play more games. I thought him to play checkers and showed him a few tricks. He didn't seem impressed. So he showed me a few tricks of his own. He turned my water into blood. He made snakes appear in my bed. All to the amusement of the demon. The owner of Club Maximo was an old friend of mine from my club days. It was a small venue, but it was a venue where all the big names started out, old and new. When I look back on it now doing those small venues were the best times of my career. There is a level of intimacy you get with the small shows that you never got with the big sell-out tours. I had persuaded my friend Barry to give me one of the canceled slots. I promised to do it for free as long as he promised me that the house would be full. I did away with my old act. I decided if I was going to do this I would get with the times, and now that I had a new assistant the possibilities were endless. Smoke descended from above, a crack of lightning hit the ground as I appeared on stage seemingly from thin air. I clicked my fingers and levitated into the air. "What you are all about to witness tonight is magic's equivalent to the second coming of Christ. Everything you see tonight will be nothing short of a miracle. And I must warn you, try not to blink you just might miss a trick." I decided to bring the act out to the crowd for some close up magic. I borrowed someone's watch and made it reappear on the hand of one of the bar staff across the room. I borrowed another guests phone and rang there dead relative. They cried with sheer delight when they heard their voice. One member of the audience had a big abscess on his back that he had for years. I made it vanish for it to reappear again on the back of a different member of the audience. They screamed in horror until I told them to look again and it was gone. I wowed the crowd for a solid two hours. I walked back on to the stage to reveal the big finisher. I was going to make a member of the audience disappear. But this time I wasn't using a stooge. I was going to make an actual member of the audience disappear and reappear again in a different box, But with no trap-doors, no screen-doors and no smoke and mirrors. The crowd rose to their feet, with rapturous applause as I seemingly made the woman disappear in a blink of an eye and made her reappear in the other box. I bowed as the audience screamed for more. The owner of the club was so amazed by the show he gave me a permanent contract. Within a month I was doing seven shows a week in three different venues. And by the end of the year, I was selling out massive arena tours. I was back on top. As long as I had my demon friend in my corner nothing was stopping me from taking the world by storm. I had gotten home tired and weary from a disastrous show. " "What was that all about, "I screamed at the demon. Not impressed with me screaming at him he flew into a rage trashing my house. He made all the furniture in the house disappear. Having been on a whirlwind for the past year I had forgotten how vain, jealous and diabolical a demon could be. He was Jealous of all the attention I was getting. He was angry at the fact that I was taking all the credit for his work. I was getting all the praise while he had to sulk in the shadows. The demon assured me he was going to be on his best behavior at the next show. I should have known better than to trust the word of a demon. The show seemed to be going as planned. The demon was sticking to his word. It was coming to the end of the show and I had a big showstopper planned. I was going to bring half the audience on stage and make them disappear and reappear outside the venue on another stage I had set up. The lights went dark and when they switched back on the audience was gone. I directed the rest of the audience to follow me outside. When I got out to the other stage it didn't take me long to realize something was wrong. The people that I made vanish hadn't reappeared. The other half of the audience were making their way out to an empty stage. I could see the confused looks on their faces. Some were still smiling waiting for the big reveal. I call out to the audience. "Be prepared to be amazed," I asked for the curtain to be lowered, to buy me some time. I call out to the demon. "What in the hell you doing." The demon laughed. "That's actually where I sent them. And if you want them back all you have to do is say my name?" "Abraxas, that's your name." The demon laughed at me again. "That's the name given to me by humans. What's my name?" I racked my brain. I just started blurting out random names in the hope I would get lucky. I was desperate. The crowd was starting to think something was wrong. I begged the demon to bring them back. Impatience turned to panic. The crowd was calling for me to bring back there love ones. Panic turned to anger as the crowd started baying for my blood. The began storming the stage to get at me. Kids were crying for their parents, parents were crying for their kids. I looked around for the exits but people had them covered. I was trapped and the crowd of people was going to kill me for sure. "All I had to do was say the magic word, I thought. Then it hit me. The magic word. I call out to the demon. I know what your name is. Abracadabra, your name is Abracadabra. The demon gave out a laugh that echoed through the air and then he just disappeared. He kept his part of the deal and made the audience reappear. There was a stunned silence in the air for a moment. Then the crowd broke out into rapturous applause.


2.21am The apartment "Are you ready?" "No." "Yes you are, just grab my hand and let's go." "I don't want to." "We've talked about this for so long. Please, just come with me." "..." "Come on, we can leave all this behind, it'll be just the two of us, just trust me." "No." * 2.46am The rooftop The wind was freezing on the roof of the high-rise apartment building, but the young man with an almost empty bottle of whiskey in his hand didn't mind. He wasn't afraid of getting a cold, it wouldn't bother him anymore, since he would stop existing in about fifteen minutes or so. It was a struggle for the man to obtain the keys to the roof, but now as he watched the sleeping city from way up, he was absolutely certain, that it was worth all the trouble. It truly felt like the city was asleep. The only thing, that the man could hear, were the trees ratteling in the distance. The city lights were glimmering in the darkness, like stars in the night sky. The view was stunning. It was hard for the man to understand, how much this city transformed during the day. * 2.23am The apartment "Jump with me!" "You're scaring me." The woman replied. The man moved closer to the woman, his face now five centimeters away from hers. "We've talked about this for a long time, don't back out now." The woman could smell the alcohol from his breath. The woman could see the storm in the man's eyes when he pulled her hair. "Do you understand? " The man shouted. "You are coming with me, just like... just like we planned! " The woman fell to her knees, and covered her face with her hands. She was crying and praying to a god, that she didn't even believe in. "Don't make me do this!" He shouted, while walking around in their living room. The man took a drink and continued to shout at her. She didn't even know what the man was saying anymore. She couldn't hear him. She felt the man's hands wrapping around her neck. His hands were strong, and he squeezed as hard as he could. The man heard when the woman tried to gasp for air, gasps filled with despair. The woman didn't resist, she didn't try to get herself free from his grip. She just stared at him with her big brown eyes. This was the first time, the man truly realized how gorgeous her eyes were. * 2.55am The rooftop The man opened the almost empty whiskey bottle, and took a swig. It was Jack Daniels, his favourite. The man felt the warm sensation in his throat, he had always enjoyed that feeling. The man was sitting on the edge of the roof, his legs hanging in the air below him. 'How will this bottle break, if I drop it from here? In how many pieces will it be, when it hits the ground? Will the pieces spread on the collision like fragments from a grenade? Who will clean them? When will he clean them?' He dropped the bottle. Silence... Silence... Crash The man could hear the bottle breaking in to a million pieces down below. ' When I jump and eventually collide with the ground, will I be in bits and pieces, just like that whiskey bottle? When will they clean me up? Who will do it? How long will it take?' The man looked down from the edge. He usually wasn't good with heights, but the alcohol cooled his nerves. ' Will anyone miss me, will they remember me? Is there anyone who cares about me anymore? Did I drive them all away? ' ' Did I just kill the last person that cared about me?' The man started to count out loud, slowly but steadily. "One..." "Two..." "Three..." "Four... " ' Will I meet her again, somewhere far away? Will she forgive me?' "Five... Six... Seven... Eight... Nine..." "..." ' We'll be together again... Right?' "Ten.


Margaret’s caretakers tell me she doesn’t have long. When she was born, I swore that she would be my last child. It was for humane reasons at first—for the sake of my children and my own peace of mind. But as she grew, as she became the sweet, fiercely compassionate woman she became, I wanted her to be my last child because I had never done better. She was the best of them all, and she made me feel like my life had not gone to waste. I walked through the doors of the “Colonial Plains Nursing Home,” a facility designed to mirror a particular vision of the American past. There was a mix of Monticello-esque columns with the 21st-century idea of colonial decor. The colors were hospital-style pastels with dark brown accents, ostensibly to match the wooden beams of construction back then. There were a lot of cornucopias and rocking chairs. The idea was to appeal to a kind of nostalgia that couldn’t be rationalized with. If no one was actually in Colonial America, then everyone could remain at peace in the illusion of a shared past. It was a good enough effort, but I had that bemused condescension people must feel when movies about their lives exaggerate the wrong details. The woman at the front desk stopped me as a I walked past. She must be new, I thought. She was in her mid-30s, if I had to guess. “Excuse me, young man. You’ll need a visitor’s pass. Who are you here to visit?” “Margaret De la Cruz. She’s in Room 3A.” The young woman was clicking around a lot more than Mrs. Myler, the other front desk woman. She squinted at the screen, searching for the right way to record my visit and print my pass. I tapped my foot lightly, but enough to be heard. “I’m sorry, we don’t normally allow unsupervised minors in the facility. Are your parents with you today?” I started composing a good excuse, but to my relief, a heavyset orderly in his 50s walked around the corner: Harold, a proud man who understood, as few do, the ancient and sacred duty of caring for our elders. “Ah, Ms. Peña, I can vouch for young Will here. His grandma isn’t doing too well—he’s been visiting every day this week. I can record his visit, don’t you worry.” Before she had a chance to argue, I was already walking down the hall as quickly as possible. Before long, I was in Room 3A. “Mrs. De la Cruz, I’m back. How are you feeling?” My daughter opened her eyes. Even now, close to the end, she was keenly observant. Her hair was thin and her brown skin papery and liver-spotted, but her eyes—her eyes could reduce emperors to jittery schoolchildren with a hard look. “Ah, William. Not bored of this old crow yet?” “Old crow? All I see is a young lady in her prime!” “Ha! I should be so lucky that this was never my prime.” “What will it be today, Mrs. De la Cruz? Want to talk about your childhood? Or are you interested in recording an interview about your activist work?” I started taking out my headphones and a voice recorder when Margaret handed me a book. “I much rather feel like being read to, William.” “I—read to? That’s not really why I’m here, Mrs. De la Cruz.” “Maybe not—but I also know you’re not here with the Jamestown Historical Society. Or is the historical society hiring teenagers to conduct interviews now?” “Mrs. De la Cruz, I—” “Never mind why you’re here. Fine. Let’s trade. A story for a story.” I took the book from her—To Kill a Mockingbird—and nodded my head. “Well before your parents would have been born, the children in my neighborhood came down with a truly terrible case of the flu,” she said with clarity. “A few children died, if I remember. All of us were quarantined in a special part of the hospital to keep the flu from spreading.” Margaret absentmindedly stroked the back of her hand. I recognized the gesture and made a note not to do the same. “I was delirious most of the time—the fever kept most of us on the edge of death for a few days. But I remember being read to then. A young man, unafraid of the flu, came in to read to us to help us take our mind off the fever and sickness and nausea.” I realized my hands were gripping the book hard enough to bend the cover. I loosened. “But I remember believing that he was there to read to me especially. He stood in the center of the room and read to us all, but he only ever paused or slowed down when I couldn't hear. While other children drifted in and out of consciousness, he read the book only when I was awake. Other children might have missed bits of the story, but I didn’t miss a single line.” Margaret reached out to my face and touched my ear, putting her finger on a birthmark behind my earlobe. “I would like to be read to one last time, William.” She touched her own ear absentmindedly, and for the first time I saw that she had a birthmark in the same place. I resisted the urge to hold her, to tell her it was going to be fine, that she wouldn't be alone for the rest of her life. Instead, I wiped my eyes, took a breath, and turned to the first page.


At the turn of the twenty-second century, many of Earth’s colonies revolted. Within days, enemies of Earth’s mighty empire declared war, hoping to take advantage of the chaos. Forced to fight battles on all fronts, we had been dragged into the center of the third galactic war. After nearly three decades of bloodshed and meaningless carnage, Earth and her allies emerged on top. In the aftermath, countless planets lay destroyed and people all around the universe prayed for peace and prosperity. All the involved parties ceased fire and finally, soldiers could return to their homes. Like many others, General Rayleigh wanted to put all that had happened behind him. He had led many of Earth’s troupes to countless victories and now longed to peacefully settle down and discover his place in the new world. For his service to the Empire, the president awarded him with a hefty pension and a manor on planet Leos, the birthplace of his late mother. He had spent his last twenty years fighting. War was all he knew and all that he was good at. To somebody who’d been in battle his entire adult life, the normal world seemed foreign and empty. Rayleigh, however, was not a man to live life without a purpose. He planned to spend his first month introspecting and thinking about how he wanted his new life to shape up. Leos consisted of many fertile and uncultivated lands. He could spend his money to buy land near his house and become a farmer. Else, he could use it to buy a spaceship and spend his remaining years exploring the galaxies. The possibilities were endless and soon, Rayleigh was overwhelmed with choices. One day, an unusual guest came to visit him. She was an old woman who’d traveled halfway across the galaxy to speak to him. By the time she left his house, Rayleigh had once again found purpose in life. Ellis had been Rayleigh’s closest friend in the war. They originally met each other as recruits in the training camp and later, they’d been assigned to the same battalion. For eight long years, they fought countless battles side by side. On one of their missions, they had been stranded on an inhospitable planet. After roaming the land for many days, they finally came across a crashed and abandoned space ship. Ellis confirmed that he could fix the radio and by help would arrive by the next day. That night, as they waited for rescue, they ate their first meal in days. It was a rotten apple they’d found in the cockpit. It tasted bitter but the two quickly divided it amongst themselves and devoured it within seconds. Later that night, they talked about what all they’d do once the war was over. It had become a tradition for them to do so after every mission. It was one of the few things that kept them going. This time, they talked about opening their own restaurant. They would offer customers the “finest meal they’ll ever have”. Both knew, however, that the end of the war was nowhere in sight. They had even begun to lose hope of ever seeing the planets co-exist peacefully in harmony. Less than a year later, Ellis was gravely injured in combat. He succumbed to his injuries before a medic could get to him. Following that day, Rayleigh started having a regular occurrence of nightmares. Rayleigh’s unexpected visitor was Ellis’s mother. Having lost her only son, she had waited thirteen years for the war to end. When it did, she left to seek out Ellis’s dearest friend and learn about her son’s final moments. The two talked for hours, telling each other stories about the man who had meant so much to them. In the midst of their conversation, Ellis’s mother talked about his lifelong dream to open a restaurant. Rayleigh was taken aback when he heard this. He was reminded about the time they’d talked about doing so together. He’d never realized that his friend genuinely held such a dream. The moment he found out, Rayleigh made up his mind. He would honor his best friend’s memory by accomplishing his lifelong dream. He would open a restaurant and figure out a way to offer its customers the finest meal of their lives. Rayleigh was a smart man. He had ranked first in his military when it came to mental proficiency and was one of the youngest generals in his quadrant’s history. His strategies and tactics had tipped the tide in his side’s favor on many occasions. He realized that although he was no longer a soldier fighting in a war, the mindset and strategies he had developed in wartime would be of use in the business world. Acknowledging that his knowledge regarding the dining industry was scare and lacking, he made a decision to spend the next five years studying the history, science, and psychology of food. He traveled to Earth in an attempt to study its galaxy - renowned cuisines. By his second year, he learned Italian, Indian, Thai, Chinese, Mexican and every other cuisine he had ever read off or seen. At each step, his main focus lay on thinking about how he could use his new knowledge to craft the finest meal a customer could have. He held the belief that successful business was driven by innovation, which came only from technology and research. By the end of the fifth year, Rayleigh had a clear vision of what his restaurant would be and how it would operate. He spent the next three years documenting and refining his plan. By this time, his friends from the war had reached high positions. He proceeded to schedule meetings with investors he’d served with. They invited him to pitch his idea in front of everyone. Within the span of twenty minutes, everyone in the room was floored by Rayleigh’s idea and a huge number of venture capitalists agreed to pour in huge amounts of money for the project. As a year went by, suspense and mystery regarding the restaurant continued to build up. Eleven years after he’d first decided to honor his dearest friend’s legacy, Rayleigh finally declared “Ellis and Rayleigh” open. The tagline read “The finest meal of your life”. He had carefully selected and invited various food critiques and journalists who were now lined up outside. Sharp at twelve, the doors opened for the very first wave of customers. Standing on top of the tallest tower in the city, the view from Ellis and Rayleigh was impeccable and it’s interior was impressive. Rayleigh stood proud in the center, waiting for everyone to head to their assigned seats. None of the tables had any menus or cutleries. Instead, in front of each person, there lay a sleek rectangular slab of glass. Transparent with a light shade of blue. Many brought up it’s resemblance to a smartphone. When everyone had finally been seated, Rayleigh spoke “Thank you all for coming. Initially, the plan was to start with a huge ceremony. However, we collectively decided that it would best if instead, we cut right down to the chase and begin the demonstration. I request all of you to pick up the rectangular slab you see on your table.” Puzzled, everyone did as he asked. “Now hold it front and place your tongue on it, as if you’re licking it” The entire restaurant erupted with laughter. General Rayleigh had to be joking. He couldn't possibly be serious, they spoke amongst each other. Rayleigh joined in with a friendly laugh. After everyone calmed down, he proceeded to demonstrate. Holding up one of the slabs that he’d been keeping in his pocket, he proceeded to open his mouth and place his tongue on it. After a few seconds, the device beeped and turned to a light shade of green. On the slab, there was now a digital timer. It had been set to nine minutes and instantly started counting downwards. Curious, everybody around the room proceeded to imitate what Rayleigh had just done. Slowly, slabs all around turned green and multiple counters started. Some started from as few as five minutes and some even started all the way from twenty-five. This time, when Rayleigh spoke, all eyes were on him. “When the timer ends, it means that your meal has been prepared. One of our waiters will bring the dish to you. Your dish will initially be covered with a lid. We request all of you to not open the lid until everybody else has also been served” Everyone waited. When the final dish had been served, Rayleigh finally asked them to open their lids and have a look at their food. The entire room gave out a collective gasp. On each plate, they lay a different dish. Some people had been served pizza, some others had gotten noodles and rice. Countless dishes spanning a huge variety of cuisine could be found in the room. Even people who were served the same dish noticed huge variations in ingredients and flavors. Few of the meals were even accompanied by a custom made dessert or drink. “Using state of the art technology, our research team has devised a way to analyze your tastebuds and monitor their interactions with your brain. Using this rectangular device, we determine the dish you’re most likely to prefer. Once determined, our team of versatile chefs begins making your favorite dish, ensuring that it’s cooked and made it in the manner you’d enjoy the most.” The demonstration left the crowd wild. Most of the attendees were still shocked from having seen their personal favorite dishes suddenly appear in front of them. Business analysts unanimously predicted that this new restaurant would revolutionize the entire food industry and go on to become massively profitable and successful. They turned out to be right. When the first word of “Ellis and Rayleigh” got out, residents from all over the galaxy rushed to experience the finest meal they’d ever have. Within weeks of the opening, the restaurant became one of the hottest places to dine at in the galaxy. Within a year, reservations were required to be made weeks, if not months in advance. After a hugely successful IPO, Rayleigh began work to set up branches throughout the universe. By the time he turned ninety, Ellis and Rayleigh had turned into one of the most profitable organizations of the century. Rayleigh retired soon after, passing on his responsibility and leaving the company in the hands of a trusted board of directors. A few years later, he was invited as the guest of honor for one of the company’s press conference. The research department had been working very hard and it was finally time to announce their latest innovation. The new restaurants would now do more than just analyze one’s tastebuds to create meals. They would also factor in the customer’s DNA and brain activity. This would allow the company to factor in dietary restrictions for certain meals and even recreate items from the customer’s memory. The crowds cheered as General Rayleigh walked to the stage, soon to become the first person to try out Ellis and Rayleigh’s revamped technology. As he had done so many years ago, Rayleigh picked up the slab and placed his tongue on it. He then proceeded to let the device scan his brain and collect a sample of his DNA. When he was done, the timer displayed a waiting time of just three minutes. Soon, his food arrived. Rayleigh lifted the lid for everyone to see. On the plate, lay nothing but a crudely cut piece of a rotten apple. Everybody in the crowd looked puzzled. A voice shouted from the back of the crowd. “Does it not work?”, it asked. “Quite the contrary” replied Rayleigh. Wiping off a tear that just formed in his eye, he proceeded to eat, truly the finest meal he would ever have in his life.


College life has been interesting for me. I’d taken college prep classes in high school but they really hadn’t prepared me for the rigors of the university workload. My freshman year was filled with relentless study and requisite class attendance to take it all in. There really wasn’t time for anything else. Once I’d met some mandatory credit requirements of my major, I had a little space to breathe. It was in the middle of my sophomore year that l considered joining a fraternity. There are a lot of them to choose from on campus but I didn’t know how I felt about the idea. I‘m not from a ‘silver spoon’ family. Most of the fraternities seem like glorified social clubs for rich people but you quickly learn that being a member has certain privileges. Both the faculty and other students treat you differently once you join and work your way up the ladder. It’s some measure of artificial respect that (as a socially awkward twenty year old) I could use to my advantage. Like anything else, you have to pick the one that best suits you and hope you are accepted. Word gets around that you tried out and were rejected from certain houses; and that affects how the others view you. I didn’t want to waste my time trying to pledge the really exclusive ones. I didn’t have the money or ‘class’ to have much of a chance with them. The only problem was that the ones I had a realistic chance of being accepted in, were ones I didn’t have any interest in joining. It was like the quote attributed to Will Rogers. “I wouldn’t be a member of any club that would have me.” I observed members from all the campus fraternities, hoping for insight into which one I might fit into. That really wasn’t much help. I was put off by what I saw in those guys. To put it plainly, they were jerks. I didn’t want to suck up to people I didn’t even like. Weeks passed and I started to give up on the idea. It just didn’t appeal to me anymore. I even entertained the idea of starting my own campus support group for nerd students who were not in any fraternity or sorority. It seemed like a clever way around the hazing and sucking up that I wanted to avoid like the plague. I figured there were other outcasts like me who felt the same. That night, I had a crazy dream. At least I assume it must have been crazy. Many of the details faded after I woke up but I was stuck with a very odd detail. “Neptune’s penis is a trident-shaped missile.”; a voice said. To be honest, it was about the only thing from the experience I retained, and that was purely due to it being such a bizarre thing. I didn’t have any idea what it meant or what might’ve inspired it. It was a completely random sentence my mind made up. I grinned briefly about the strangeness of it, and then it quickly faded away. To be perfectly honest, the whole thing might’ve been lost forever, had it not been for an incredibly bizarre coincidence. One that came about a couple weeks later. I was at a party. I didn’t realize it but a couple members of the most prestigious fraternity on campus were also in attendance. I hadn’t even considered pledging to them. Their members were from millionaire families and political dynasties. It was way too blue for my blood. One of them asked if I’d ever considered pledging their organization. It was embarrassing but I admitted that I hadn’t. To my surprise, they expressed sincere interest in me. I didn’t even think they knew who I was. According to them, I had been on their radar for some time. It was all very strange. In just a matter of a few minutes, I found myself at the most exclusive frat house on campus, talking with senior members as if I had some chance of being accepted. They were notorious for turning down varsity team players and academic marvels because their families were not wealthy or ‘connected’ enough. Frankly I knew I didn’t stand a chance at being let in and wondered why they were wasting their time on me. It was an exercise in futility. Still, when opportunity like that knocks, you generally answer, even if you are convinced they are at the wrong house. They assured me that I possessed several admirable qualities that overshadowed my academic and social status but I couldn’t imagine what they might be at the time. My pledge sponsors led me through a heavily guarded hallway and down a maze of corridors until I came to a golden door with a sliding security panel in the middle of it. My sponsor assured me that very few people had ever been that deep into the building. They were going to ask me for a pass phrase at the checkpoint. If they liked my answer, I would be permitted through the door and welcomed into the Alpha Omega house. I gotta tell you, I was incredibly nervous. It was very intimidating. I wasn’t prepared for the ‘cloak and dagger’ secret society stuff. My mind raced. What was the pass phrase? I had no idea. Any second, the sliding door would open and I’d be put to the test. My mind raced. If there was an actual answer, I didn’t have a clue but if it was all a test of how I performed under theoretical pressure, I would just offer up something and hope it suited the doorman. My pledge sponsor stood behind me. I stepped toward the secret door and raised my hand to lightly rap on it. My mind raced. What would I say? I still had no idea but hesitancy was never going to look good to the deciding parties. They were surely looking for decisive men. My thoughts were still blank. Apprehension grew. I had initiated the process with no prepared statement for the Alpha Omega guardian on the other side. Surely that would look worse than just standing there. Inside I was screaming while trying to maintain an outward demeanor of calm. I wasn’t sure if my facade was convincing or not. The door slid open. A voice from the other side said: “Humble pledge to the great house of Alpha Omega: What is the passphrase?” “Neptune’s penis is a trident-shaped missile.”; I spoke as clearly as I could muster without hesitation. There was a pregnant pause and dead silence from the other side of the door. I stood there motionless and just looked at the closed sliding panel. I didn’t dare turn around to gauge the expression of my pledge sponsor. I immediately regretted uttering that ridiculous statement for such a solemn occasion but It was the only thing I could come up with at the moment. Fortunately I heard muffled chuckling on the other side of the gateway. Then laughter. Then my sponsor directly behind me laughed. It seemed like a good sign. I heard the sound of a sliding bolt being retracted. The door opened. I was in. As the newest member of the fraternity, I was sworn to absolute secrecy about the identities of the members and our activities. I’d love to share numerous things but to remain a member in good standing, I must abstain. I don’t know if there is an absolute wrong answer to the passphrase question, but if you are able to make the gatekeeper laugh, I believe you are a shoe-in. That’s a trait they really value. Good luck future pledges to Alpha Omega.


I do not know who or *what* he actually is. Some of us think that he is a forgotten God punishing us. Others say that he is a malevolent demon out to hunt humans. Everyone in the support group has their own theory. The only thing we all agree on is that he is a supernatural being out to get us all. I infer that he a biological urge to see us suffer and be terrified. That is the only plausible explanation I can think off. Why else would anyone do the things he does? Two years ago, I went to a bar near my house. It was there that I first saw him. He stood in the corner resting his back against the wall. A small crowd was gathered around him. With his sharp wit and Greek God looks, he had everyone around him laughing at his amusing stories. Soon, I too felt attracted towards him and in minutes, I was chuckling at one of his celebrity impersonations. My gaze fell onto a young couple out in the back. They stood hugging one another. Each time the enigmatic man made a joke, they laughed together for a few seconds. Then their expressions would change. They would proceed to hug each other even tighter with a terrified look on their faces. No one else seemed to notice them. Everyone else was too engrossed listening with awe to the big, hilarious man. When I woke up the following morning, I jolted upwards from a sharp and intense pain. Throwing off my blood-soaked blanket, I discovered the cause of my pain. A huge bloody slash ran across my pale stomach. It was surely not there the previous day. The doctors could not explain it’s sudden appearance and just assumed that I was lying about the circumstances surrounding my injury. Once I reached home, I turned on the TV in order to distract myself from the pain. The news ran a report regarding a dead couple the police had found on the highway early this morning. I took out my phone and looked on the internet for pictures of their corpses. I was beginning to have some suspicions. The moment I saw the photo, all the pieces in my mind clicked together. It could not be a coincidence. The couple in the photo was the one I had seen at the bar yesterday. Their corpses even had slashes on their bodies that seemed identical to mine. My injury today had something to do with the handsome man I saw at the bar yesterday and he might somehow also responsible for the couple’s death. The only piece of the puzzle I could not figure out was why did the corpses look as if they were smiling. Later that night, I looked for the mystery man at every bar in the city. When I finally found him at a shady bar in the next neighborhood, he instantly recognized me and ordered some drinks. Once again, before I could help it, he charmed me and I threw my suspicions out the window assuming that I was overthinking things. This handsome and funny man couldn't possibly be harming me, I thought to myself as I fell asleep that night. When I woke up the next morning, I was absolutely certain that the mysterious man *had* been harming me. A long ugly slash now ran across my back. My fingers started trembling. I remembered that he had even offered to drop me home last night. He knows where I live, I thought to myself. A cold shiver went across my body and I rushed out of the house. I ran as far as I could. The moment I started to think that I’d reached far enough, he magically appeared before me. I turned around to run but I then heard his voice. He started making slightly amusing remarks. I couldn't help it, I grinned. My body froze and my foot began to ache slightly. He then proceeded to make a few more jokes. As I laughed, a terrible terrible pain shot up in my ankle. Seconds later, I’d fainted from the agony. When I woke up, he was no longer there. My foot was covered in blood and all I could do was limp. That night, the support group found me crawled up inside a dumpster, terrified and shivering. The group was formed by other people the mysterious man had been attacking. They explained everything. A few months ago, the man started showing up in various bars. He would captivate people around him and make them laugh. Every time a person laughed, he/she would become completely vulnerable to the mysterious man. The man had the bizarre but terrifying power to telepathically inflict pain and injuries upon people as long as they were laughing. What made the matters even worse was that even if we laughed when he wasn't there, he could still somehow sense it and harm us. Everyone in the group had been a victim of his unusual power. We were his chosen targets. That day, I left my home to join the group. After learning everything, I was frightened of ever spending a night in the house alone again. All that happened long ago. The support group now lives together in one of our richer member’s mansion. We have become more of a “survivors group” now. There are so many of us. We have people of multiple races, religion, and gender. It seems the mystery man does not discriminate. The locals think we are crazy and the media pays no heed to our cries. Our own families think we are delusional and self-harming. We haven't felt laughter in months. Nobody even smiles anymore, afraid that the mysterious man might somehow find a way to inflict pain on them. There are few who muster the courage to go out in the day. Maybe to meet their family, or maybe just to give in and end it all. They seldom seem to last for more than a week. Sooner or later, the man finds them. They shriek in pain as he makes them laugh. He then proceeds to laugh as he watches them shriek, feeding his sinister powers. There’s a rumor that’s been going around that the longer he waits before killing you, the more he’ll be depraved he’ll be when he finally gets to you. I pray to God that this is just a rumor. I have been living here for the longest now, everyone who was in the group when I joined has long since been dead. If the rumor is true, it means he’s saving me for last as sort of a special prize. The world seems bleak when everyone is afraid to laugh. Sealing off one of the most natural human responses takes a heavy toll on your psyche. But still, if we ever come across the mysterious man, he’ll find a way to make us laugh. We’ll be howling in pain but he’ll find something so witty to say that it will still make us laugh. By this point, you’re probably in disbelief. You’re wondering the same question that everybody else asks. Why don’t we just refrain from laughing at his jokes? No matter what he says, surely we can control our laughter given the circumstances, can’t we?” Well. The answer is simple, really. No, we can’t. He’s funnier than every comedian on Earth combined. He isn’t just funny. He happens to be fucking hilarious. And sooner or later, you’re bound to laugh.


Byron slid his revolver back into the holster on his hip, and gripped the burned tissue at his waist where a plasma bolt grazed him at the start of the fight. If he wasn't covered in cybernetics already, that graze would have killed him outright. "Guess being pulled apart and stitched back together again has its benefits if it happens enough to you..." He laughs under his breath as he walks over to the corner of the food court now littered with the bodies of the men and women he used to call family, and pulls out a cigarette as he takes a seat. "Smoking is bad for your health," a synthesized female voice warns him in the back of his head. "I have a goddamn hole in my chest, Sal. A little smoke isn't gonna kill me at this point." "No, but its going to shorten your natural lifespan if you keep it up." He takes a long drag on the cigarette before he resumes talking to the AI. "I don't plan on dying naturally. Besides, any death at this point is better than putting up with your incessant nagging at my lifestyle choices." He leans back in the seat and closes his eyes. "I can keep doing this as long as I want anyway. This tech they stapled all over me is holding what's left of my body together remarkably well." "Yeah, well, don't forget that if you die, we both die. I have a hard enough time dealing with the fact you're the only human I can interface with, so you'll have to forgive me if I get a little concerned for my own survival." They hear the sound of rushed footfalls and the clanking of heavy armor echo through the halls on either side of the fod court. Six heavily armed men dressed in metal riot gear and carrying heavy plasma rifles line up on either side of the food court, all aiming at Byron. "Speaking of survival..." "Spaceport security! On the ground and hands in the air!" Byron stubs out his cigarette and stands up, his artificial fingers grabbing his revolver and automatically reloading it despite the demands of the security guards. "Sal, hit the lights for me." "Already on it." With a loud \*k-chunk\*, the overhead lights flick off, and all the security guards hear is the sound of gun and blaster fire as they shoot blindly into the darkness. When the lights come back on, six guards lie dead on either end of the courtyard, all of them with a single hole bored through their face plates. Byron lights up another cigarette and steps carefully around the bodies next to the right hallway, and reloads his revolver. "I think we're done here, Sal. I got what I came for." "Kind of a lot of effort to go through for a hundred year old pair of headphones..." "Not a pair of headphones, Sal... These ones are the key to a whole lot more than good sound quality." He holds out a pair of red plastic earbuds, with the audio jack at the end resembling a small microchip. Byron pulls the chip from the headphones and stuffs them in his pocket, feeling pleased with himself about a job well done.


***In a deal gone wrong, you become impregnated with the devil’s daughter. The devil forgets about his young daughter until on her 13th birthday, he attends her party and wants her back.***  There's a knocking on the door, and I yell "Coming!" as I sprint through the house, dodging teenagers. The house is currently full of them, lounging around drinking or eating snacks. Some crowd the TV, some crowd the pool outside, but over it all is a thumping bass beat coming from the home sound system. I finally make it to the door and open it to find *him*. Suddenly I can feel the bass beat thrumming in my chest and I'm not sure it's the music anymore. I stand with my mouth hanging slightly open, before recovering and narrowing my eyes. "What do you want?" I demand. He smirks, knowing full well what's running through my mind. "I want....my daughter." "What? No," I breathe. "Yes," he says, and I almost feel the word creep up my throat and roll off my tongue but I catch it in time. "I said, no. You don't get to forget about her, forget about me, for THIRTEEN years, then just decide you want to take her away." We're still standing in the doorway and the couple of kids around us are gaping at the man in the frame. Reluctantly, I take a small step back and tilt my head, silently asking him to come in. He glides into the house and the sea of teenagers parts for him. He makes his way into the kitchen. *Of course he knows the layout of the house,* as I roll my eyes internally. I follow this man, the devil, my devil, into my kitchen. "Coffee?" I offer. "Sure," he smiles, and there is that grin. That smile that took me in so many years ago. My hands tremble as I hold the coffee mug out to him, and as he grabs it from me he looks up at me with his bottomless eyes. I let my own eyes roam, drinking in the one man who ever owned me. His beard, his hair, kept perfectly trimmed, brushed, and oiled. The rolled sleeves of his dark blue business shirt that put the star tattooed on his forearm on display. He knows my memories are flooding back, the dam I built in my mind buckling under the weight of his presence. The deal I tried to make, and how utterly wrong it went. How much fun we had, how much love we made, until one day, he disappeared. The crushing blow. Then later, finding out I was pregnant, with the devil's progeny no less. The baby grew healthy but I was alone. I couldn't tell my friends how it came to be, or where I had been, or who the father was. Thus I alienated myself, and the most difficult parts of the pregnancy came and went. A nameless doctor held my hand as I gave birth, and when I heard "It's a girl!" from one of the nurses, I blacked out. I thought he would come find us. I thought he would know. He *is* the Devil after all, who knows and sees all much like his heavenly counterpart. Fast forward thirteen years and all the pain, the sadness, the melancholy, gives way to a simmering rage. Who knows how long we sat in silence, me wallowing in my thoughts, him looking out the window, contemplating... something. I feel his eyes rest upon me, feel their weight at the top of my head. "My daughter is my pride and joy," I say, finding words. "She's so sweet, so calm, such a great kid who as you can see has made a fair amount of friends. You can't just take her from me." He smiles a soft, slow smile that spreads across his tanned face. "Babygirl, you knew the deal." My eyes start to brim over with tears. "She's all I have, all I have had, since you left," I manage, voice cracking. He tucks my hair behind my ear as one traitorous tear falls into my coffee. "I got very busy. I have a life of my own, you know. Had one for thousands of years before you came along and bewitched me." The last part makes me look up. *What a pathetic sight I must be. Not just crying, but allowing my heart to flutter in hope at his words.* He knows he has me now. "Can we work out another deal?" I say. At this his eyebrows arch. I barrel on, not wanting to give up whatever head start I have. "I don't want you to take her, and you're set on taking her, so how about this. We play a game of chess, just like old times. You win, you can have her and I won't fight you. You lose, she stays with me, but you can visit as you please." He laughs. Tilts his head back, opens his mouth wide and chortles at me. "You do realize you've only won one game against me?" I smile a small smile, and look up at my demon.