This story's about 2900 words and is about an old man who's been working on something for many years. What it is and why he's working on it are explained in the story. If you have the time, I'd appreciate your feedback. I'm mostly interested in impressions -- what works for you, what doesn't and why. Thank you very much for reading, and even more so if you can spare a word or two :) I hope there's something here that you like!  The Old Man’s Machine By Thomas Bradford The underground complex is abandoned and has been for a long time. Not abandoned completely, but deserted of its original inhabitants. Now it serves as the old man’s home, its concrete ceilings and dark corridors his refuge from the empty world above. He sits in front of a peculiar machine. It is a device he has worked on for decades. Breathing through his nose, the air rustles his long white beard as he stares at his creation, concentrating, before lifting a wrench to the side of the machine’s cylindrical frame. There he tightens a bolt slowly, his muscles moving of their own accord, mindlessly performing tasks of which he has spent his life in the hope of one day finishing his creation. Finally, it seems, he has. The old man lowers his arm, letting the end of the wrench fall to the floor with a soft clang. His movement is tired as he pulls a yellowed sheaf of papers from his waistband. He adjusts himself on the metal stool and holds up one particular page, his eyes moving back and forth from the completed machine to designs he had sketched forty-seven years ago. Forty-seven years. To him it feels like a hundred lifetimes; an incomprehensible span he has become deadened to. Or so he thought. For now the possibility of change has returned, the longing for redemption spreading through his being once again, like water gifted to gnarled roots that for ages have been dried-up and dormant. Satisfied that each bolt is in its right place, that each metal plate and circuit is exactly as it should be, the man lowers the page, his expression unchanging save for a faint hopeful smile in his eyes. He regards his cylinder of metal, his unassuming capsule, one final time, resolving to test it tomorrow. Getting to his feet, the old man walks away. Like a silent watchman, his time machine stands at the ready, waiting for his return. \# His filthy bedroll sits in a dark corner of another room in the complex. This area is as big as a warehouse, with many stairs and catwalks running along its sides. It is under their canopy that the old man rests, his back leaning against the cold concrete of the wall as he sits among his rat-eaten blankets and musty pillows. He idly scratches the white hairs on his chest and thinks of the past. Of the world it created. He speaks to a rusty machine that floats at the edge of the room, its quiet presence like a specter in the shadows outside the muted glow of the overhead bulbs in their circular dishes. “A-lon, activity on surface,” he says. An orange light flickers briefly in the corner of the robot’s rectangular frame. “*Previous expedition to planet’s surface yielded no signs of human life. Long-range scanner detected no presence beyond basic flora and fauna.*” The old man’s eyes are distant as he listens to the robot speak. His lips move slightly, mouthing each word as it is spoken. The machine’s report has never changed, he knows it never will, yet he asks for it every day. In a way he has become like a machine himself, compelled to a routine of robotic banter from which he doesn’t deviate. “Current state of reserves, A-lon.” The light blinks again; calculations are made in microseconds. “*683 bags dry goods — 406 dehydrated, 277 regular. Freezer holds 308 items. Freezer itself exhibiting increased signs of failure; at current rate it will cease to function in approximately two days, twelve hours, thirty-eight minutes and twelve seconds. Recommend utilizing my hunt/gather protocol functionality in order to secure parts necessary and/or additional unit.*” The old man shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. There’s more than enough dry food to last. Were you able to find what I asked?” The machine floats towards him, circumnavigating a metal staircase to come to a gentle stop several feet from his bedroll. Its frame rests halfway between light and shadow; the overhead glow catches its side and reveals a faded serial number: A-lon686742med-u1. A small compartment in its metal frame opens and a rudimentary arm emerges, its two claw appendages holding a clear glass bottle of bronze liquid. The bottle is coated in a fine layer of dirt, the label visible: black, with white lettering. “*One bottle eighty-proof distilled bourbon whisky.*” The old man cups the bottle, his hand trembling. The days when he’d been thankful that his sole companion’s synthetic voice is non-reproachful by design have long since passed. This frequent request has become merely another part of his routine. He murmurs his thanks as he takes the bottle. “*You are very welcome, Robert.*” The old man says nothing. Untwisting the plastic cap, he lifts the bottle to his mouth. Thick bubbles of air chug through the liquid as he takes deep gulps, desensitized to the burn of the alcohol passing his throat, welcoming the warmth as it settles in his stomach like a dull ember. He lowers his arm, his gaze fixes on the floor as it empties and becomes vacant, and he loses himself for a moment. Then he notices the robot again and waves his hand. “Go away A-lon.” The machine dutifully obeys. The old man takes another pull from the bottle. Minutes pass in silence, his expression unchanged. He thinks of the past. Suddenly the man’s eyes water. He shakes his head bitterly, finally lowering it altogether, as if in defeat. He clutches the neck of the bottle to his leg as he cries, his shoulders hitching in silence, tears spilling onto the rotting blankets. The old man’s heart is heavy and his chest feels like it’s filled with lead. Tilting his head back, he clenches his teeth and rubs a hand across his eyes, wishing for the moment to pass. His nose is running and the mucus is in his beard. He looks ancient, rundown and withered. He is a sorry sight to behold. The importance of this man’s invention, the machine he has crafted in his many years of isolation, cannot be understated. The empty surface of the world above has not always been empty. If one had the ability to go back, to address the past with knowledge of what the future holds, perhaps that world could be saved. Perhaps the old man’s present could be nothing more than a bad dream, and the world could be filled with life once again. For anyone else, that would be the reason. It would be incentive enough to construct a machine to travel back in time, and one could not be blamed for expecting it of anyone with such an ability. For what greater purpose could there be than the world’s salvation? But this man . . . Robert . . . He doesn’t care about any of that. He doesn’t care about the world above. He doesn’t care about those who lived, or those who died. He doesn’t care about the joy they had, the dreams they kept, or the hatred they visited upon one another. He doesn’t care about lost potential for love and kindness, the possibility of wonder, the capacity for creation and destruction and everything in between. The machine he created could be important to the world that was; he created it because it is important to *his* world that *is.* Maybe in the beginning he told himself otherwise. Maybe he even once believed it was so. But even a year in isolation, with ruminations of the past as his only diversion during the countless hours of staring at nothing or lying restlessly awake, is a long time. Over the decades, he has come to know the true reason for his work. Has come to know it intimately, to see its face over and over again, impossible to get away from, useless to try to suppress. The bottle in his lap has always proven a poor weapon against it. It is regret. It is shame. And throughout all these years, it is all that is left to him. The old man wants to sleep. He wants to not stare into nothingness with red eyes for hours, days, and years. He wants to go back and fix it. He thinks back to who he was before — the child he was, then the man. Nothing seemed to work right for either one. It was an odd-shaped life, a puzzle piece that never fit, its only purpose that to be set aside, disregarded and forgotten. It was an awkward existence where the greatest of ideas had a way of stuttering into reality stunted and ill-formed. Luck was never with him; many decisions he made were doomed to be wrong from the start. And like a curse, his wrongness of being finally culminated in a single instance, a terrible moment of which he would give his life to have avoided, if only he could. He is to blame. He, and he alone. But now it seems he can change things. He can erase that blame, make it go away, leaving him free at last, without burden, with a clean conscience at the end of his life. More than anything, he does not want to die with this regret. An air processor switches on, clicking its fan and pulling the old man from his thoughts. He goes to take another drink from the bottle and discovers it is empty, and that he has no recollection of draining it. Disappointed, sad that it’s gone, he pushes the bottle away, a moment later hearing the sound it makes from the shadows as it stops against the other empty bottles. \# The old man rubs sleep from his eyes as he sits down on the metal stool. His creation stands before him, its quiet presence unchanged. It has been two days since he completed it. Rather than try it out the following day like he wanted, he found himself too nervous to go near it. He finally summoned his nerve by telling himself that if he didn’t do this now, then he never would. His fingers shake as he adjusts several dials on the machine; this time his shakes have little to do with sobriety. He sets the numbers, he checks the circuits, he lets his hand rest over the toggle switch. His eyes are wide, his stare intense with a mixture of hope and fear. His dry throat clicks as he swallows. His lips tighten as he steels himself, ready to push the button to start the machine for the first time. For the last time. He pushes the button. . . . Nothing happens. The old man’s heart drops. His mind floods with panic and he presses the button several more times, each time hearing the dry click of the switch inside the small metal box, followed by his rushing breath, followed by silence. He lets the box fall to the floor and runs his hands over the outside of the machine. He checks the myriad of wires, he feels the bolts, he looks at the exposed circuit boards. He sees nothing wrong. “*. . .—obert . . .*” Turning his head, he sees A-lon appear in the doorway. A small red light glows steadily in the corner of the robot’s rectangular body. The old man has never seen it lit up before, and doesn’t know exactly what it means — clearly an error sign of some sort, but he doesn’t know of what. “*. . .—zer ceased . . . function . . .*” the robot says, its speech clipped, the words disrupted by quiet pauses. The old man asks the robot what’s wrong. “*. . . speech . . .—otocol system is . . .—ailing . . .*” The old man nods, understanding what has happened. He is not surprised. It all makes sense to him, in fact. It fits perfectly with what he now knows is the only way this scenario could have played out for him. To imagine otherwise had been foolish of him, and he feels a rueful disgust for ever hoping things could have been different. The freezer had failed. A-lon was malfunctioning, wearing down after all these years. And his creation was a failure. A piece of junk. The possibility of this moment had surfaced in his thoughts throughout the years. Part of him had expected it, but a larger part of him had still believed. Believed that somehow, this time, things would turn out differently. This time he wouldn’t screw up, as he had with every other important thing in his life. This time things would come together, and he would finally succeed. Even if it had taken his entire life, in the end he would get this one thing right. He was a fool. There would be no fixing anything. The machine doesn’t work, and he is too tired to discover why. He is too old, his mind isn’t what it used to be, and he would likely waste away before the capsule’s mess of circuitry trying to discover where he went wrong. It is over, in other words. In the end he failed. Looking at his inoperable time machine with eyes that have begun to water, his stubborn mind slowly begins to come to a reluctant acceptance. He knows that there is only one recourse left to him now. He must accept the end. Accept his failings, his guilt, as best he can before passing on. His stomach pangs with a dull ache as he turns his back on his failed invention, putting it from his sight forever. He leaves the room, heading to his storage of dry food. There he gathers only what he thinks he’ll need, storing it inside a blanket which he then ties off, making it into a bundle which he can carry. He takes a small jug of water as well, wishing it were a glass bottle instead. Perhaps he can locate where A-lon has gone all these years to supply him, he thinks. The old man does not say goodbye to the complex as he starts to leave. It had been a lonely and desolate home to him, and he feels no sentiment in leaving it. A-lon follows the old man as he walks; the man notices the robot behind him just as he is about to leave and raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “You stay here.” The old man turns to go, but the robot continues to follow. Again he commands it to stay; again the robot disobeys. Finally, he gives up and instead opens the door, ducking through it and slamming it shut before A-lon can follow, sealing his companion in as he turns the metal wheel. The machine floats on the other side, motionless, lost without someone to direct it. Left without a voice or purpose, perhaps it will never move from that spot for the remainder of its artificial life. The dim lights of the underground complex continue to glow, illuminating a facility that is once again abandoned. Just as it was less than forty-eight years ago, now it is again, and perhaps now will forever be. In a room tucked away in a back corner of the complex sits a curious machine, its lights and dials dark. If one were to look at it and deduce its purpose, they might discover that the only thing keeping it from working is a lack of power. A simple adjustment to its power cord would fix this problem. This theoretical person might also suspect that the creator of this strange contraption had already used the machine himself, and disappeared into the infinite stretches of time. It probably wouldn’t occur to them that the dead device was merely the last example of a lifetime defined by stupid mistakes, of messing up anything and everything it encountered. \# Tears stream slowly down the old man’s face. His eyes are rimmed with red as he shoulders the makeshift pack on his back. As he limps through the dark corridors on his way back to the surface, he feels as if he is reaching the end of a very long dream, one that should have ended differently. Everything feels wrong, like things were not meant to be this way, but they are. The urge to make things right is still within him, but it is useless now, impotent, with no path forward and no chance of being a reality. The old man doesn’t want his life to end underground. This at least is something he can fix. He wants to see the sky. He wants to breathe the open air. Maybe once he is above ground, he’ll see another human being again. This is secretly his last desire. Although he is old, and facing the end, the capacity for hope in his heart has not changed. His pull towards irrational longing is the same as it ever was, and he hopes to see one person in particular again. If not in the past, then here in the present would be enough. He wants to see this person and say that he’s sorry. That he always was, and he will die being so.


A response to the following prompt: *You are stuck living in the void with a banished immortal. You don’t know why they were banished, but you try your best to make their days less lonesome.* \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ You don't walk in the void, you really can't do much of anything. You would think that when existence gets stripped of its fancy clothes it would become more simple, an unloading of sorts, but it is quite the opposite. Existence is one of those really funny things that becomes more confusing the more time you spend with it. I'm beginning to feel that society as a whole is just one big attempt at running away from the enigma of living. I don't remember how I ended up in the void, nor does my neighbor. It's the type of thing you forget after a while, a physical fact that ethers away with the rest of the things that you could once grab. "How long have we been here?" I asked the phantom once. "I can't remember." "I think about this a lot," replied it. "I think that's an impossible question." We often dance these type of conversations together, utterly meaningless in all senses of the word, but we too want to forget we exist, even if that's all we have. "How did you come to that conclusion?" "I propose two pieces of evidence. The first being that we have both forgotten about time, so proof inside of tangible evidence, and the other being that time requires things to stick itself to. Time is like the ripples in a pond or lake, following things that misbehave inside of the water's still beauty." "Are we not doing such now?" "I think we are the water." Then we disappear into silence again, questions and answers followed by deep quite. I would tell you for long we'd be quite for, but I think we just established that such a question is beyond me personally. Sometimes I struggle to recall what I was before the oblivion. In my frustration I ask my friend, who I've become quite dear to, about theirs. "What were you before this?" "That's a little complicated." "I think we could use a little bit of that now." "Well, I still am what I was, so I can't tell you without being bare." "That's not true, everything changes. What were you?" "You change, even in a place where time finds a hiding spot, you are changing more than you know. But me? No, I don't change. I suppose you could call it my curse, among other things." It didn't sound like a curse to me, but I understood that my apparitional friend probably knew more about such subjects than myself. I was feeling less and less competent with every conversation, as void moved to void and time spun with hands I did feel quite different. I knew one thing though, this poor spirit had been here longer than me, and that made me sad. As I changed, in whatever way I did, I took it upon my duty to try and keep my friend company. That was all they had. "Hey, have you ever lost anything special to you?" "Anything?" "Well, it could be a person too I guess. Just anything that left its mark on you." "Too many to count." "And that hasn't changed you?" "... Can I tell you something?" I was excited at this prospect, it felt like theatre in a dark room. Granted, I was feeling very very strange at this point, and was having trouble focusing on my neighbor, but I gave it my all. "Please." "I don't know if you've ever thought about this, but what would you say if I told you life was like the rain. Pulled down from those abundant clouds and splattered onto the ground in violent, unpredictable ways. Not because it needs to rain, or because something is making it rain, but merely because water let loose will fall. What would you think about that?" I was in a weird trance, a strange dizzy that felt like thick fog, but I still heard. "I'd say... I'd ask how life came back to the clouds." "Well, there's a sun. A sun that soaks them back up to be used again. Not killing the rain, you can't do that. But just turning it back to mist, so that it can fall once again." Dizzy, "Wha... What?" "I'm sorry, this is confusing, but I like you a lot. You've given me such good company. Just do me a favor and next time you see the sun, remember how sad it is that it has to melt even the most lovely snowflakes back into air..." I lost sound of my friend. Strange feeling of dizzy, not scary. I'm not scared. I'm not... I need to talk to my friend. He'll be lonely, poor soul... Dizzy... Was I? Was I helping him? No... Dizzy... I feel... Cloudy...


Hello everyone, just recently got recommended about this forum, and I really like it. This is my first ever attempt to write something, a 1900 word urban story, need all the feedback I can get about writing. Also English is not my first language so sorry about the poor choose of word and grammar.  **UNINSTALL** January 5th 2005, finally my package has arrived. The pirated copy of The Sims 2, bought from some forum I found online. I rushed to my room to open the package, inside there was 3 plain DVD disc. “The Sims 2 1/3” written with marker pen is the first DVD, I inserted to the DVD-ROM of the pride of my life that time, an all-black intel Pentium 4 CPU with 512 MB of RAM. I open the DVD folder, and then double click at the installation apps. The installation started, and while waiting a text arrived from Lisa my computer science lab partner asking about our MS Excel project. “I’ll get to it tonight” I text her, can’t risk my computer to crash if I open MS Excel now. “Ding” suddenly my speaker rang, “Please insert The Sims disc 2/3, then click continue” the notification in the screen said. I guess I’m stuck here, can’t risk missing the notification for the third disc. This piracy activity was a high-tension event for me. After inserting the third disc, the installation was successful, the manual text in the DVD said to copy the file in the crack folder in disc 1 to the installation folder. “I’m such a great hacker-man” I told myself proudly after copying the cracked folder. “It’s 7 o’clock, have you done it?” Lisa text me, so I replied “I’m doing it now”. Guess the game have to wait a bit, I then open the excel file of our project “The Body Mass Index Calculator” where you just put your weight and height then the file will count your body mass if it is: underweight, normal, overweight or obese. The formulas are very basic, but we have some trouble to automatically change the result cell colour according to the BMI category. It was Lisa idea, so people can have more awareness if their bodyweight is overweight or obese by changing the cell colour to red. Took me an hour to finally figure out the excel formula, but then the moment of truth. Time to open the game I just installed. I really loved The Sims, and they said this sequel is far much better. I clicked the icon, then the loading screen appear. The green crystal graphic, the loading music it was so amazing for me. I ended up playing it until way past midnight that day. Playing the best game of my high school days. “You look so pale dude” Lisa said to me in computer class the next day. “Yeah, work all night to complete our project.” And of course, playing The Sims 2 after that. “Aaaw, my hero. OK you can just sit down while I’ll do our project presentation.” “Fine by me, I’ll cover you if you can’t answer anything” I said to her. “Again, my knight in shining armour always ready to save the day.” She laughs, while walking to her laptop getting ready to do our project presentation. Her smile while saying that really brighten up my day, feels like I'm wide awake again. Lisa is a cheerful girl; we’ve known each other since primary school. We hang out in a same “gang” but actually I never really talk to her privately like in this project. We usually just hang out together with all our other friends. This project really makes me adore her, a fun girl, know exactly what she wants, and she always makes me feel that I’m a cool guy, which I know I wasn’t. I watch her doing our presentation with such confidence, I swear I can see her shine, or maybe it’s just the effect of sleep deprivation. After class, Lisa talks to me “Thanks man, you’re awesome. Sorry I can’t help to much in the formulas.” Again, with her cheerful personality. Her way of talking and the way she looks at my eyes while I’m speaking to her really makes me feel noticed. Is this my first high school crush I asked myself, but I immediately think “how can a beautiful girl, that everyone likes in school will like me.” Maybe this is the effect of listening to much Emo songs and their sad, rejected, melancholy song theme. “So, what are you doing after school?” She asks me, waking me from my thought. “Probably having a nap, I really need it. Why?” I asked her back “Yeah, you look pale. Actually, I was going to ask you out.” she said, blowing my mind off because I just been asked out by the coolest girl I know. “Maybe you can share some of the formulas in Excel so I can be more of a help next time” She continued. Of course this was about the project, what else would she ask me out for. “I think I’ll pass today, maybe some other time. I’ll share my formulas collection next time” I said to her, then we said goodbye. After school, I turn on my computer then start playing The Sims 2 again, I remember that year I can spend 4-5 hour a day playing. The game got so much freedom, you can create characters, design your dream house, and be everything. Playing this game is one of my happy moments growing up. A week after the project, Lisa texted me. “Hey, your kind of missing after school are you OK?” Wow, she noticed I’m not hanging out anymore after school, I texted back, “been busy doing some little project so stuck in my room.” Then I received another task from her “I bet your project is going to be awesome, can I look?” “Maybe when it’s ready” I replied, knowing I would never tell her that my project is playing a video game. Sometimes later at school, Lisa comes to my table. “Hey, you want to watch Lord of the ring together”. Wow, this girl is asking me to go out to watch my favourite movies. I really wanted to say yes but that time I was really addicted to the Sims 2, and going home to play was all I can think off. “Sorry, still got this project I’m doing” I answer, and yes this was going to be one of the epic bad decisions I make my whole life. Choosing to play a game over going out with this awesome girl. She looks disappointed, but then smile and said “OK, good luck with the project.” “Hey maybe you should get more sleep, that pale look doesn’t look good on you.” She said to me while walking away. Again, this girl just hit the spot, I can’t believe she notice me not getting enough sleep because of my gaming habit. After that we started to grew apart, she started to get busy with other friend and me with my The Sims 2 addiction. Sometimes we pass by and said hi, but no more real conversation. Until we finally graduated. We went to different college; I took the math major and she was studying public health. It was always her passion; she cares so much about people that she wants to prevent them from getting sick rather the become a doctor to heal the sick. That's why we have the BMI project. When she tells me about this, I was so amaze that this word was coming from a high school student the same age as me. While all I can think off is playing video game all the time. I never heard from her again after graduation. October of 2008, I was busy at campus when suddenly I received a phone call from my high school classmate. It was a very shocking news, that Lisa was involved in a car accident. She was going home with her boyfriend, the police suspected that her boyfriend was DUI and crashed a road separator at high speed. They both didn’t survive the crash. The funeral is going to be held this week. It’s been a few years, and I have a few dates in college but Lisa is still my dream girl, I still think that she was the perfect girl, and I remember crying that night after receiving the news. At the funeral, everyone I knew in high school was there. Everyone was talking about how she brightens up their life, and how she was the best friend they ever had. It was such a beautiful funeral for a beautiful soul. I wanted to cry, but I made a promise that in the funeral of the happiest person I ever know, I will say goodbye to her the way she always speaks to me, with happiness. And so, I said goodbye to my friend. “She really likes you, you know” Jamie said to me after the funeral. Jamie was Lisa best friend. “She tries to get closer to you, but you kind of shut her down.” She continues. This really shock me; I was too childish to realize it that time. To addicted to my video game, that I could not get the hint from Lisa. I just found out that I was the one rejecting the girl of my dream at her funeral. After the funeral I went home, it’s been 2 years or more since I come home. I know I need to fix this antisocial way of life. After catching up with my parents I went up stair. My room was just the way I left it; I sit down on the side of my bed trying to process everything that happens today. When then in my sight, there it was: my high school best friend, the black computer I'm so very proud off covered in plastic case to prevent dust. I plug all the cable in then turn it on, and The Sims 2 logo – the green crystal is still on the desktop. Then I remember the project I was telling Lisa I was doing. The project that makes me ignore her. So, I open the game, again that loading screen brings back all of high school memory. I open a save file and there she was. Lisa was there as beautiful as ever; I remember spending a whole weekend making her Sims to look as similar as her in real life. Even the way she smiles in the game really reminds me of her smile, every time I told her what I think we should do in our school project. She was there, and I was there in Pleasentview, the neighbourhood’s name of The Sims2. We are a married couple with 2 children. Our house was so big and white, with white fences. I work as an astronaut, and she was a painter. This is the project I could never told her; she will think I’m a psycho in high school if I told her I’m making her as a character in The Sims 2 and marry her. And so there it was, Lisa and I as a married couple in the game, I decided to play the game all night that day. She was really happy in the game – I was really happy in the game. Suddenly it was morning, and I decided to stop. I said goodbye to her. Kiss her one last time in the game and I close the game. I look at the mirror and my face look so pale because of no sleep from playing the game all night and remember what she said that day. “Hey maybe you should get more sleep, that pale look doesn’t look good on you.” I smiled and talk to my reflection, “Maybe you’re right”, and then uninstalled the game. After that I said goodbye for the last time, “Good bye forever my friend, my Lisa.


Sarah loved her friends and all the fun she had with them. Their latest fun activity was to race their bicycles as fast as they could down to the ice-cream truck in the park. Sadly Sarah couldn’t participate. She still used training wheels, you see. Her friends could go so much faster and didn’t have to stick to the paths so when Sarah caught up they had already got their ice-creams and she was always left behind trying to get one. Soon enough Sarah got fed up and begged her parents to teach her to ride but they were always too busy. She felt so lonely every time her friends rode off on their bicycles. She wanted to do that as well. Suddenly, Sarah had an idea. She grabbed her bike and dragged it into their garage and snuck into her father’s toolbox. She didn’t know what she was looking for and the pile of tools was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, but she was determined. She spent her afternoon picking up tools and trying them on the bolts of her bike. Eventually, after several hours she found what she needed and got to work removing the training wheels. The bolts were on so tight she would’ve thought they were tightened by the Hulk himself. But after much pushing and pulling they came loose and a sigh of relief escaped Sarah’s mouth. The extra wheels were discarded on the floor as if they were broken toys. Sarah ran back into her house and yelled to her mother, who was busy typing on the computer, that she was going out with her friends. Her mother only grunted back a sound of acceptance and didn’t even turn to look at her daughter. Sarah grinned a mischievous grin and ran back to the garage, picked up her newly renovated bike and pushed it out onto the street. After a tiring walk to the dilapidated car park next to the park she paused. Her nerves were wrought but her determination prevailed as she pushed through it and got on her bike. She almost immediately fell over and bruised her arm. This was going to be much harder than she thought. Try after try, fall after fall, bruise after bruise, she almost gave up but eventually she managed to cycle a few metres. It wasn’t much but it was a step in the right direction for Sarah. So she hopped on her bicycle and tried again. This time she went a few more metres. The next go a few more. Until she was cycling anti-clockwise around the car park. This was a massive achievement for her and she was so proud of herself, but it wasn’t the end to her struggles. Next she had to tackle right hand turns. “This will be a cakewalk,” Sarah said to herself. However this was no ride in the park. As soon as she attempted to turn right she fell off and grazed her knee. She sat up as blood trickled from the wound, she wanted to cry but she knew there was no one there to comfort her and she didn’t want to be stopped so soon. Sarah stood up, picked up her bicycle, and jumped back on once again. A little bit of blood wasn’t going to stop her. Sarah peddled and peddled, trying a right turn again and again, her knee was stinging but her stubbornness to finish and motivation to learn kept her going. Soon enough, after many wobbles and falls, she finally got it. She was overjoyed! She could finally ride her bike with her friends. She felt like she had climbed Mount Everest. Nothing in the world could bring her down. She couldn’t wait to show her friends when they went to the park on Saturday. As the week came and went, it was agonisingly long for Sarah. She was so excited and almost told her friends multiple times, but she wanted to surprise them so much she managed to keep it a secret. Soon enough it was Saturday. She woke up early in the morning and got ready. They were supposed to meet at ten but she got there at nine so she could make sure she hadn’t lost her groove. After an hour of tentative waiting and looking at her watch as if it was going to jump off her wrist and run away, her friends arrived. They all rode up on their bikes and Sarah was there to meet them. It was quite a surprise for them as a week before there were pink little training wheels on Sarah’s bike and now there were none. She excitedly challenged them to race down to the ice-cream truck, and though surprised, agreed. As they raced down together as a group Sarah no longer felt alone and was happy to be able to race and play with her friends again.


With a firm grip on my shirt collar, an arm tugged me out of my cubicle office chair. I bent backward, hearing the chair hit the floor at the same time as me. Locking his grip onto my collar, the guy dragged me through a town of cubicles. “What’re you doing?” I asked. “As of this morning, your name is on the Z-List,” I heard the man say. “I’m taking you to your trial.” “It can’t be, no,” I shouted, but the guy continued to drag me out. “Let go of me.” Coworkers were avoiding eye contact, I was getting dragged and no one paid more than a glance to the tall muscle dragging me. My boss walked through the stair-well exit, then as he saw the man dragging me, he moved aside, taking a sip from his coffee mug. I was clawing the floor until tossed into the elevator. \ The muscle brought me into a dark room where he dropped me to a chair. I held my arms against the chair handles in silence. That’s when I hear a click. A lamp brought light to the other side of the room. The dim lamp light revealed a tall, wooden podium extended across the room. Alongside the podium, I saw hooded figures and I couldn’t make out their faces. In the middle, the lamp revealed an older man under the hood. “It would appear that trusted members in society have voted that you require rehabilitation. Before you reenter your community, you must serve the judges of the Z-Watch until you earn a citizen status worthy enough to reenter society.” “What? I don’t know who put my name on that list, but I’m a good member in society, I didn’t commit a crime. I don’t need vigilante rehabilitation.” “My job isn’t to decipher who put your name on that list or why. My job is to evaluate whether you’re a worthy citizen of worth status that qualifies to reenter society.” “Wait-” I tried to talk. The judge hit his hammer. “Silence,” the judge’s voice made me still in my chair. “Your current citizen status is currently set to chaotic.” “Ch-chaotic?” I asked. “As a new member on the Z-List, your status is chaotic by default. You must work your way up to outstanding citizen status again if you want your name off the list.” “What do I need to do?” I asked. “Serve your community. Earn your title as an outstanding citizen and you can rejoin society. The judges of the Z-Watch have been watching over the safety of ordinary citizens such as yourself since before you could open your eyes.” “I’m not a danger. If I am, why not call the cops and jail me?” I asked. “You may have not committed a crime, but trusted members of your community seem to think you require a citizen evaluation and pose a safety risk. The Z-Watch must rehabilitate you before you *do* become a danger to your society. It’s time to serve.” “I can’t serve now, I have a full-time job.” “You won’t go hungry while you serve, son. You’ll get your pay cheque. *Show* the Z-Watch judges that you care for your community. There’s a lot of dirt in this town that needs cleaning and as you’re on the list, it’s time to get your hands dirty. Are you ready?” I couldn’t help but think about how crazy this situation was, I was caught in the net of a vigilante group. They wanted me to volunteer but Z-Watch volunteering isn’t a part-time commitment. It’s like they give you a leash and tie you to your phone. You have to take the calls and do the errands for the Z-Watch Judges around town. It seemed honest at first, but who was I to go out there as a vigilante to help order citizens around? “I can’t do it, I’m just not made to work on the street,” My head turned to the muscle then back to the judge. “Are you sure you want to reenter society as a chaotic citizen?” “I’m sure.” “If that’s the case, then you can go,” the judge gestured for the muscle to untie me. I was out of the chair, “uh judge, thanks for understanding.” “Good luck, son,” the judge said. \-- The muscle gestured me out of the judgement room. It seemed like this trial took place in someone’s place of residence. A small house on a regular block. Time to find the nearest subway station. Everyone on the train was quiet for a moment. Then I started hearing chatter over the screeching train-tracks echoing through the tunnels. People started to bring up their phones to their faces. Afterwards, they started to look at me. My heart pounded as someone to my right nudged me. “Yeah?” I asked, turning to the man on my right. No response from him. He seemed to be uttering mutters under his tongue. “Ch-chaotic Z-Lister,” he muttered. “M-must be controlled.” “Are you okay, sir?” I asked. Everyone on the train broke into chatter. They’re all looking at me as they started to stand. “Young man, how can you walk in here with a chaotic status?” The middle-aged blonde woman told me. Everyone started to stand, gazes gravitating toward me. Their stares sending shivers through my weak knees. Someone came up to me with a phone to their ear, “Z-Lister refuses to serve,” the man said. “Neutralize him before he hurts someone.” “Get the hell away from me,” I realized a crowd started following me off of the train. I flew up the stairs to leave the station. At one point, I felt a blade slice some skin off the back of my neck. Or was it someone’s nail, attempting to claw at me? I jog toward an intersection set to a red stop light. After coming to a stop for a second, I realized I was about to collapse. Not enough energy to raise a finger. With no plan in mind except to get away, I took a right turn to the cars parked along a quiet road. As I turned, my vision revealed the mob on my tail. The on foot chase must’ve lasted more than half an hour. Around twenty or thirty of them, roaring and yelling for me to stop. As I stood in the intersection, I knew I had one of three ways to take. A figure from down the road caught my attention. Is someone calling me? “Over here! Quick, I’m right here,” the man waved, his foot holding the door open to one of the restaurants along the curb. I had my eyes set on the next intersection, I couldn’t stop for this stranger, I thought. Though, I realized I felt an overbearing tiredness, like I’d already exhausted the energy needed to get away. I couldn’t help but keep looking at the man holding the door open, “come in here, I can help you.” “Help *me*?” “I’m on the list. I’m a judged citizen, just like you. Those vigilantes are getting closer, now get in here so I can close the damn door,” the man’s voice escalated. I didn’t have a breath in me to keep running, so I followed him inside. My eyes tracked him as he ensured all locks were snapped shut. He had these glasses with big frames and sweat sliding down the side of his neck. Stuck to his skin was an old dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I wanted to sit down, but we had to shut all the windows as the mob passed the restaurant. I noticed a half empty glass of water on the barstool, “go ahead, drink,” he said. I emptied the glass into my dry throat. While exhaling, I leaned against the bar table, not an eye off the windows. It was starting to get quieter. Most of the crowd passed the restaurant and started heading to the next intersection. “What the heck were you doing out there as a chaotic Z-Lister?” the man asked. “I don’t know why they’re after me… I think the judges are doing more than just cast me out. I think the judges are turning everyone around me insane. One second I’m on the train, next second everyone’s trying to kill me,” I watch the veins on my hand. “Welcome to the list, kid. Guess now’s when you learn what the judges have been really doing to chaotic Z-Listers. Judges have a supercomputer configured to trigger everyone’s emotions to act against you. It doesn’t matter what you are or why you’re on the list. What matters is you get phazed out if you exist with a chaotic status.” “Damn,” my jaw stayed open for a few solid seconds. “That sounds like one messed up piece of tech.” “It’s something, isn’t it? The judges of the Z-Watch. They can’t keep up with everyone on the list on their own. They need a supercomputer to help. A computer that makes sure we stay in the prison.” “The prison?” I tilted my head. He snapped his finger, “wake up Z-lister, since you refuse to volunteer, the judges put you in a cage.” “A cage?” “With a chaotic status, everyone around you gets hacked to break you open until you submit to the judges. The world is a prison until you complete your rehabilitation. That’s why that crowd was after you.” “How could it be like this? What’s happening to the world?” “World is the same. You just woke up today on the wrong list. This was always the nature of this. I reckon at one point, the supercomputer made *you* act out against other chaotic Z-Listers throughout your life.” “How long have you been on the Z-List?” I asked. “Two years.” “Two years? Why are you still on the list? Did you try to serve?” “I served, I broke my knuckles on a daily basis helping put criminals away. I managed to reach the ‘good citizen’ status. But a while into the game I realized, the judges always needed servants, they weren’t just going to let us loose. And as long as we’re still on the list, they can keep up away from society for as long as they please..” “What do we do?” “Run,” the man asked. “Right behind you,” I nodded. “Good,” the man marched to the back of the restaurant, waving to me to follow along. I paced behind him. “There’s a door at the back of this restaurant, we’ll make our way through the alley, then get to a main road to make our way out of here.” I started hearing engines roaring at what seemed like a block away, “You hear those engines? Looks like the Judges already sent their errand boys are here,” L said.”I think we’re about to see a judge real soon.” A roar came into the road. A large black truck, flashing high beams into my eyes. Another truck like it came from the other side of the road, spreading the people on the road apart. They both zoomed toward us and zigzagged to a full stop. A large guy with a cape jumped out of the truck, “you’re coming to see the judge,” said the Z-Watch errand boy. “Jake, when it comes to facing a judge, it’s not a matter of *if* you face trial. It’s a matter of when,” L placed his hands above his head. “Better not struggle. We’re in the palms of the Judges, it’s best to submit before they crush us.” I looked up to the podium, I saw hooded figures and I couldn’t make out their faces. In the middle, an older man had his face revealed. “Please, take my name off the Z-List,” I shouted at the podium. The judge pointed a piece of chalk to a chalkboard behind him. On the board, I saw a column of words. First the word laying on top was, ‘outstanding’, below it was ‘good citizen’. Next the word, ‘satisfactory.‘ ‘Chaotic’ was written and underlined in the very bottom.“ “Once you get to the level of an outstanding citizen,” he tapped the chalk against the board. “Then you’ll get your name off the list. You’ll qualify to get back into society again. But for now, you need to serve.” “You can’t do this to me, you can’t control me like this, I’m an adult,” I noticed my voice rose. “Hell, *you’re* an adult, sir.” “Silence.” “Judge, just outside this room, I saw your Certified Public Accountant certificate… I think this is your part-time job or something,” I took a step closer to the podium. “I know you’re serving this purpose as a vigilante, but I shouldn’t be on the Z-List, I’m a good citizen, I swear.” “Either way, you must begin your rehabilitation or you *will* be permanently programmed out of society itself,” the Judge leaned forward. “Is that clear?” I exhaled out of my nose, “okay.” “Okay what? Do you really want to stay with a chaotic citizen status? No one will even look at you, so wait like a young, respectful gentleman and pick up the call to serve.” “Why…” I take a breath. The judge had to hear this. “How could you vigilantes sit there and judge me like this? Who’s judging what you do as people in our society? You’re a vigilante, you’re not an actual judge.” The judge didn’t respond. He just looked at me. I started feeling uneasy, it started with a bit of chest pain. Then my head started to feel heavy. One of my eyes started to twitch. I looked at the judge and he didn’t seem bothered. “Something the matter, Jake?” My breathing was getting slower, “no, judge.” “You seem exhausted.” I looked at the lamp in front of the Judge, then back down to his stare. He was watching me struggle to take breath. My thoughts started to become unsorted. I began to sweat, it wasn’t out of embarrassment from the Judge watching. I fell off the chair and laid myself on the floor. “Sometimes you’ll stray off the path, but realize, I don’t have to place you behind bars to imprison you,” I heard the judge. I reached my hand up toward the podium. I felt nothing but head pain. I realized he didn’t care for what I was going through, “help,” I called out. “You’re not going to die. Do you feel that? Feel the grasp of our powerful system? We call it the Mother System.” “The system?” My eyes were nearly shut but I was regaining consciousness as he spoke. I remembered the supercomputer me and L were talking about. “It can sift through the code of your brain like nothing else, gazing straight into your soul….” “Please, make it stop.” “My suggestion: free yourself of the chaotic citizen status, serve and volunteer,” he tapped his cane as he stared down at me, I layed there sick, watching him. What was he doing, what sort of system was he talking about? Or was it witchcraft? “J-judge,” I fought to breathe out the words. “Okay, you can turn down the Mother System,” I heard the judge tell a figure next to him. Now, I was regaining my ability to breathe again. “Does the Mother System frighten you?” “What sinister technology is this?” I asked. “The Mother System is programmed to fix subpar citizens. There are no worse citizens than chaotic. See where you stand now?” “I understand you judge, I will serve.” \-- My first service call was helping to wipe the remains of a corpse off an apartment floor. Other days, helping local police control gangs that brought trouble. It was order after order to help law boys clean the streets. Sometimes it was a simple drive along with the neighbourhood watch to help them look out for robberies and the districts with soaring crime rates. Z-Watch representatives would reach me with a phone call. I didn’t know how much of what I was doing mattered. But judges must’ve been the ones who saw the bigger picture. I’m sure the last judge I spoke to sees the bigger picture, they see how Z-Watch props up our communities. My hand was on my phone before it even rang. I stared at it, waiting for a Z-Watch service call. A ring brought up my pulse. I pick up the phone, “hello?” I said. “Hello Z-Lister Jake. I’m a Z-Watch representative.” “I’m listening.” “Okay. You’re getting a big request. This one is priority high.” “Woah,” I react and whisper over to L what the rep told me. “Judges are getting happier with you, but if you want to make them really happy, this is the kind of service you want to do,” the representative continued to tell me that this was the mission that earns us a lot of points with the Judges. The Z-Watch will for sure elevate my status after this one. A young girl in a poor neighbourhood had been kidnapped. Once the girl gets to safety in one piece, I get my satisfactory citizen status, leaving behind the chaotic one. A young black girl disappeared. No one knew where she went, the police officer on the block informed me. The officer said that one of the witnesses told him the girl was last seen with a gangster that lives across the street from her family. Through a reported analysis, the Z-Watch’s Mother System predicts that he’s 95% likely to be the kidnapper. I look at the gangster from a distance. He’s twice my size, “What do you want?” He asked, an annoyed expression sat across his face. I took out my phone to show him a picture of the missing girl, “I need to find that girl.” “What’re you concerned about her for?” “I need to know her whereabouts.” He laughed. “You were last seen with her, you know where she headed?” I ask, not breaking my straight expression or eye contact. “I don’t know..” “You need to tell me where she is.” “I can’t help you.” I ask the gangster once again,“where is the girl?” I ask the gangster. “I don’t know, I’m heading back into my house, get lost,” he slammed the door behind him. “He won’t talk,” I told L. “What now?” “Backup. Our target might require mind control,” L said. “Mind control? What do you mean?” “We extract truth out of him, with the help of the Z-Watch of course.” I watch L bring up his phone, picking one of the numbers on the contact list, he texts one of them, “Is Mother System online?” A response to his text appears in a second, “mother System servers are online.” “The Mother System?” “We want the girl now and alive, yeah? We can make this mission simple, all we really do is text a Z-Watch representative and they’ll have the mother system inside the gangster’s mind and hacked in no time.” “So we’re going to use a system to hack a person’s mind? Don’t you think that’s messed up?” I asked. “Yeah. But if we can’t find the girl, can you really afford to face a judge again?” I shook my head, “no.” I watched L text to the Z-Watch rep, “I need the target to have a fear of level 3, he’s not revealing information about a kidnapped girl”.. This brings a response text to his phone, “A judge accepted your request to the mother system, the system will now modify your target.” “What happens now?” I asked L. “Now watch the gangster’s house.” We stood outside his house. A sudden scream came from the gangster’s home, as if he were trapped in there with a monster. “What the heck is going on in that house?” I asked. “His brain got hacked to elevate his fear level to three. For all I know, the Mother System is making him hallucinate the walls of his home collapsing on him, you’re sure going to make him talk now.” “Wh-what?” The gangster burst outside the house, like a corpse collapsing in his front yard. “Why’re you getting on the ground like that? What’s wrong with you?” I asked him. “I don’t know what’s happening, the inside of the house is hell and you're becoming the shadow as I look at you, I don’t know who drugged me man,” the gangster cried out. “A shadow?” I realized that Mother System must’ve been playing with his emotions, but it seems to have made him hallucinate. L must’ve used a level of fear that was too high when he commanded the system to raise it to three. I don’t know who that guy is. He seems young. I’m not here to hurt him. I just needed answers. I approached the gangster, I felt sorry seeing him lay down like that, “please, where’s the young girl?” I asked. “I can tell you, please don’t hurt me,” the brainwashed gangster said. The gangster started spitting out everything, telling us the kidnapped girl was in his basement. She’s safe now. But what did it take? We had to drive the gangster’s brain into a state of fear. Was that justified? He kidnapped that girl, he has a history of sexual assault. Maybe an investigation wouldn’t have had the same result, but who am I to say? I’m just a service Z-Lister and the Judges pull the strings. I held my phone to my ear, “Jake, I’m a Z-Watch representative. I assume you want an update on your status as a citizen.” “Yeah, I do.” “Well, last job puts you above satisfactory. You go straight to good citizen status.” “What? No Way,” I exhaled relief, a lot of tension fled my mind. “The judges are proud of your recent contribution to your community, making the gangster confess to the kidnapping.” “Thank you,” I hung up the phone. I look at L,“we might’ve been upgraded to satisfactory citizens but we’re still on the Z-List, judges are still judging us.” “For now. But you know how to play the game now, right? We just have to serve.” “I guess.” “This is all for the greater good, we saved that girl, right?” L asked. I didn’t know how to answer him. I used a system to make someone else feel uncomfortable. The judge used this computer system to instill fear in me. Yet I have the audacity to use it to instill fear in others. If I was using something like the Mother System against another person, am I that different from this cult that terrorized me? But I knew it was all to do with my name on that cursed Z-List. I had to keep my neck elevated above a chaotic status. I served the judges and made them happy. In returned they promised Z-Listers freedom and a better tomorrow using us as servants to build the new world.


He screamed. The man fell and feebly scrambled on all fours through shallow muddy water, backing away from the approaching creature. He never should have come here. *"Nooo!"* His face contorted with terror, and fatigue sapped the strength from his bones. He collapsed knowing this was it. From the murky green fog it came, 'The Monster' had finally come for him. Closer and closer it sloshed, cloaked by a thick shadow of flies that produced a low sickening buzz, filling his ears with the revolting sound of some hellish chorus. The insects bit at him and tore at his face, covering every inch of exposed skin. At last, through the swarm he saw clearly the man-shaped rusted metal body of a feral Automaton towering over him. Its chest bore the marking 'M-0N-ST-3R'. Its skeletal metal frame decaying, encrusted in dark blood, masticated flesh clung to it like ragged clothes. The stench of rotting meat assaulted his nose with the foul pungency of weeks old death. Mushrooms, tall and ominous, crimson capped and secreting streaks of an inky tar-like liquid covered its body and had completely replaced the head altogether. Whatever sense of hope left in him fled as the monster knelt down and reached forth with a skeletal metal hand, taking him by the neck. An icy fear coursed through his body like cold lightning, freezing his soul, yet through choked tears he managed to utter, *"Why?"*. Suddenly, the creature stopped and spoke. *"I am eating you."* it replied, emotionless, even for the lifeless voice of a machine, *"To become human."* With rusty joints groaning it stood, lifting him into the air. He flailed in vain as he gasped for breath, feet kicking weakly at the machine, barely making a clang against its iron skin. For a harrowing moment it froze and held him there, then the monster continued, *"The master has gone where I cannot follow. I must become human. I need a soul to follow the master."* A hatch on its shoulders opened up, spewing a cloud of spores and choking fumes, and its mushroom head lifted back. The metallic belly of the beast, a maw of whirling gears blackened with gore and flies stood gaping, hungering for blood. He'd heard its horrid grind before, echoing through the mist, seemingly coming from no where and everywhere at once with no discernable distance or direction. In this malignant fog all sounds seemed distant and muted except for this *one* that traveled unhindered by time or space. He knew what was about to happen. It leaned forward and he screamed as it pulled him closer and flies swarmed into his mouth, tearing at him from the inside. Someone listening would have vividly heard his cry cut short by the squelching of wet flesh and bone grinding to a pulp. But there was no one else. He'd been the only one left as the others had fallen already. When exhaustion pulled them down, the monster caught up every time. Gore dripped from the machine like rain as it stood, silently hating itself, hating its failure. It had nourished its body how humans do, but still its fleshed died, rotting in its core and sloughing off its body. It sought to achieve the same qualities as humans, emulating as many as it could, like 'hearts', 'nerves', and 'guts'. Still, it was driven away by angry mobs, damaged and despised everywhere it went, yet people still called *it* the 'monster'. It had everything humans had, except a soul. Its master must be quite upset at such tardiness.


Above the city, the moon shined splendidly, but the stars that littered the nighttime sky were nowhere to be found. Bursts of thunder echoed throughout the city while streaks of lightning crawled their way across the sky, but the storm clouds that usually contained them were just as absent as the stars. “Must. Reach. The gate.” A man panted frantically to himself as he sprinted underneath a towering overpass. A trail of stars followed from behind him as he exited the concrete labyrinth and stepped into its desolate sandy outskirts. He stopped sharply to catch his breath and looked outward towards a royal, luminous gate. It was planted roughly 300 yards from the edge of the city, but it’s brilliant glow could be seen shooting upward towards the heavens from any hidden alleyway or cloud clinging rooftop the city had to offer. The man was dressed in a bright carrot colored 3 piece suit, with matching slip on loafers and diamond shaped cufflinks pinned to each of his sleeves. A pile of stars, once belonging to the cosmos, sat in his arm cradled to his stomach. He looked down at the stars and began shuffling through them with his free hand. “Sirius.. Where is Sirius?” He mumbled worrily. The flick of his wrist grew more aggressive as he fumbled through the pile in search of the missing star. He dedicated a short yet stressful 30 seconds to his search before giving up and turning back around to face the city. He began to survey the trail of stars that he had left behind and hopped up onto his tip-toes in efforts to catch a glimpse of the star’s glimmer from a slightly elevated point of view. His pupil caught the shine of the star almost immediately as it sat firmly in the sand a few feet in front of him. “Brightest in the sky, brightest on the ground.” He said to himself, as he began to walk toward the star. His heels sunk into the sand and kicked up small piles of the soft golden dust with each step he took. He counted out 8 sand sulking steps before he reached the bright blue ball of fire. He bent down, picked the orb up with his bare hands, and placed it in his inner jacket pocket. Several more of the sand scattered stars found themselves being picked up and placed into the man’s star pile before he finally stood up and turned back around. Once again, his heels flipped in and out of the sand as he made his way forward towards the gate. He took the same 8 steps back to where he initially stood, but this time, instead of being met with a bright burning cosmic bulb, his eighth step was met with a voice. “Hey, you there!” The voice shouted from behind him. The man paused at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. He flexed the muscles in his arm, securing the stars as tightly as he possibly could, and slowly turned his body back around. There in front of him, underneath the overpass he had run through just a few moments prior, stood a short, stocky, muscular man. The stars spilled on the sand between them shined a substantial amount of light onto the stranger, allowing the star snatcher a perfect opportunity to analyze him. He wore a thick, long sleeved dark blue shirt, baggy dark blue pants, jet black combat boots, and a white helmet with the word “POLICE” splattered on either side. A utility belt littered with handcuffs, keys, a large baton, a flashlight, and a standard issue Glock 22 was wrapped tightly around his waist. “Are you talking to me, officer?” The man replied calmly. “Who else would I be talkin’ too?” The officer spat back. His tone was as blunt and aggressive as the black baton that sat on his hip. “Ah yes, my apologies. Is there something I can help you with?” “Real funny. That sounds like somethin’ I should be askin’ you.” “Oh, you’re far too kind, but I don’t need any help. I’m doing just fine! Thank you for the offer though.” “Quit slitherin’ that silver tongue a’yours ‘fore I stomp my way over there and rip it out. Now what do you think you’re doin’ with all them stars you got there?” “No need to worry about all that. I was actually just leaving.” “Leavin’? Takin’ all those stars with ya? Where ya headed to?” “Well I believe that’s rather obvious. I’m off to the gate, of course.” The officer snarled and placed his hand on the top of his holster. “Like hell you are. Ain’t no man ever stepped foot in or outta’ that damn thing. ‘Specially not on my watch.” “Well it seems your watch may be broken, officer. I’ve traveled through this gate more times than I can count. You know, you really should get that watch looked at. After all, what good is a watch that can’t tell time?” “Alright, enough of the chit chat!” Barked the officer as he unbuttoned his holster. “Drop the stars and put your hands up high where I can see ‘em.” “But I’ve only just picked them back up.” “I said put your goddamn hands up! Do it now!” The man stood still and smirked. “May I just ask: Why does it matter what happens to these stars? You have no use for them. They’ve been scattered on the ground across this cesspool you call a city for quite some time now.” “That don’t matter. This is *my* city, and them stars don’t belong to you.” “Well of course they don’t belong to *me.* I was sent here to retrieve them.” “Sent by who?” “The king, of course!” “The king? Ain’t no king rulin’ over this here city.” “Yes, yes, this is *your* city, you’ve already made yourself very clear about that. Listen, I really don’t have time for these dramatics. The king is expecting me to arrive with his stars any minute now, and I can’t imagine he’d be very happy with me if I were to arrive even a second late. So if you don’t mind, I’ll just be on my-” “STOP!” Screamed the officer, as he ripped his handgun from its holster. He gripped it tightly with both of his hands and aimed it at the man’s chest. “One more move and I’ll shoot.” The man stood still and stared directly down the short barrel of the officer's gun. He felt his heart rate rise gradually, but continued to hold himself in a calm, cool, and collected manner. Tiny beads of sweat began to form at the brim of his hairline, and the hairs on the back of his neck sprouted upward. He shook his star bearing arm up and down hastily as his mind attempted to conjure up a way for him to escape. The officer, whose face was now just as bright as the man’s suit, took a step forward. “I ain't lettin’ you anywhere near that gate. You’re comin’ with me.” The officer said sternly as he pulled the handcuffs out from their waist-clipped holder. “I assure you, there is no need for this. You’d be committing a great disservice to the king and his people if you don’t allow me to travel back through the gate with these stars.” The officer ignored the man and continued to walk towards him. The man, although still maintaining his composure, silently began to panic. His mind began to overload with thoughts of what might happen if he failed to return the stars back to his king, or what his peers may think of him. As his thoughts continued to pile up, he found his lips begin to open. With no destination of where the words would end up, he began to speak. “Don’t you ever wonder how the stars managed to find themselves on the ground of your city?” The man asked curiously. “Hell if I know. I ain’t got no time to worry ‘bout all that.” The officer replied. “It’s because they’ve fallen. Surely you’ve heard of, or perhaps even seen a shooting star before?” “‘Course I have! But that ain’t actually no star shootin’ across the sky.” “I beg your pardon?” “Everybody knows shootin’ star’s ain’t actually stars! They’re just meteors, or comets, or space junk.” “No, no. My goodness, is that actually what they tell you down here? Those aren’t just space rocks, they-” The man paused. Suddenly, without warning, an idea had finally found its way to the front lines of his mind. “Officer, please allow me to tell you a bit about myself.” “I told you what I was fixin’ to do if you kept flappin’ that silver tongue ‘a yours.” Threatened the officer, who was now only one foot step away from being completely face to face with the man. “Yes, I know, but I believe you may find my background to be profoundly entertaining, and it in fact might just convince you to let me go. Besides, with a broken watch, time may as well be frozen still, right? I don’t suppose you have anywhere to be that couldn’t wait a few extra minutes?” The officer stared at the man for a moment and exhaled sharply before eventually lowering his pistol. He placed the gun back in its holster and snapped it shut, but he continued to hold onto his handcuffs. The man took his change of posture as his cue to elaborate. “You see, that gate you see there, it-” “What’s your name?” The officer interrupted. “I beg your pardon?” The man replied. “Y’know, your name. What do they call you wherever the hell you're from?” “Oh, right, my apologies. You may call me Alastar. Alastar Phoenix, of the Phoenix family. My family has served the King for generations, and I am the current heir of my family’s position.” “You keep spoutin’ on and on about this damn King, but I ain’t never heard a’ no king ‘round here.” “Well that’s because my King is not the King of this land. My Lord has many names amongst our vast universe - The Constellation King, The King of The Cosmos, The King of the Stars. Everything you see above you is ruled by my King. And just beyond that gate, that glowing, glorious gate, is his kingdom. That is my home.” “Alright, that's enough. I ain’t gonna sit here and listen to you spit all this hoo-donkey nonsense about some king in the stars. Drop the stars and put’chur hands behind-” “Have you ever heard of the war of constellations?” Alastar quickly interjected. “You must at least have heard of some sort of war throughout your planet's history, yes?” “‘Course I have. I ain’t no rookie to the battlefield.” “Ah, so you can understand! You see, right above you, although you can’t see it with your naked eyes, is a catastrophic, unparalleled ongoing cosmic war. For eons, my people have been giving their lives to defend my King, his kingdom, and the people who serve him. Regular people, just like the ones here on your planet, have been slaughtered for generations defending their King.” “You sure do spit a lotta’ fairytales. Ain't nobody ever heard ‘a no cosmic war down here. Where’s your proof of all this anyway? What makes you think I’m gonna believe a single word that slivers outta your mouth?” “My proof? Why, these stars are all the proof I need! They flood your city with their light, and their heat, and their glory, but nobody seems to care. You must hear the sounds of our war late at night, can’t you? The flashing, pulsating lights that fill up your nighttime sky? The eruptions that sound off throughout the night?” “You mean the storms?” “Storms? You believe them to be nothing but storms? Where is the rain? Where are the clouds? Surely you can’t truly believe in such a thing as an invisible storm.” “The News says it’s just storms.” “Your News networks lie. Your educators lie. Your governments lie!” “Well that ain’t no concern ‘a mine. Only thing I care about is keepin’ my city safe from people like you who sneak around and try to tarnish it. Besides, ain’t no war happenin’ down here. Least not nowadays.” “But of course there have been wars in the past. You yourself claimed to be no stranger to the battlefield! Don’t you remember how it felt to be a part of something so cruel?” “That ain’t none ‘a your business.” “But you must remember the heartbreak!” “Don’t push it!” Shouted the officer, as he took a step forward and grabbed Alastar by his collar. He pulled him into his chest and gripped his shirt with a force that Alastar had never experienced before. Several of the stars tucked into Alastars arm fell from their pile and sprinkled onto the sand below. The two men locked eyes, both of them refusing to blink or break eye contact from the other. The stare-off continued for what felt like an eternity before Alastar finally broke his gaze by aiming his sights towards the sky. “Please, you must understand. These are more than just stars. These are my comrades. I must bring them home.” Alastar begged. Small puddles of tears began to well along the underside of his eyelids. The officer’s eyes widened as he noticed Alastar’s composure begin to unfold. He took a deep breath, let go of his shirt, and allowed Alastar to fall to his knees before him. He watched as the poor, star scavenging man sobbed. “Before a soldier heads off to war, a part of his soul is collected by the King and is molded into a new star. This is treated as a badge of honor amongst the entire kingdom. An honor of the utmost righteous caliber. From there on, the star is sent outward into the heavens, where it will burn and shine nobly, while the soldier is sent off into hell to fight. If the stars continue to shine, that means our soldiers continue to fight. But when a soldier dies, the remainder of his soul dies with him, and all that’s left is the sliver of soul that sits at the heart of his star. And if his star doesn’t have enough time to age and grow into itself in the sky, that's when it falls. A fallen star signifies a fallen soldier. If a star stays put on the ground for long enough, it burns out and withers away. But if the star is retrieved quickly enough, it can be placed back in it’s rightful spot in the sky! If a star can be returned, it will once again shine proudly for all to see, never to be forgotten. Even after a soldier has passed, the light of his star can live on and prove to our enemies that we shall never stop fighting. We fight for our King! We fight for our people! We fight for the light! And that, my dear officer, is why I have been sent down here tonight. I must collect as many stars as I can and hand them over to my King, so he can place them back where they belong. These stars are more than just stars. I must not let them be forgotten.” A grueling gust of wind wisped its way through the two men, picking up piles of sand and dormant stars and flinging them several yards away from where the pair stood. The drums of war, once mistaken by the officer to be claps of thunder, pronounced themself assertively above the city. The officer huffed a deep breath, tilted his head upward towards the sky, closed his eyes, and listened intently. Alastar, who remained kneeling down in the sand, wiped the tears from his eyes and stared up at the officer. The men remained cold and motionless until the wind finally halted. Then, to Alastar’s astonishment, the officer opened his eyes, looked downward, and held his hand out to him. Alastar stared at the veiny hand for a moment before reaching out and taking it. He used every ounce of will and strength left in his bones to plant his feet in the sand, and with the help of the officer, he stood up. “Alright. ‘S’go.” The officer grumbled, letting go of Alastar’s hand and placing his handcuffs back into their designated waist holder. “You’re letting me go? Honestly? Oh sir, I can’t thank you enough! Truly, you have no idea how much this will mean to my King and my people. I promise, once I-” “What’d I tell you ‘bout that damn silver tongue?” “Right, right. Well then.” The two men walked together side by side, silently, and finally calm. They walked sluggishly, each kicking up small piles of sand with their heels after each step. Alastar stared down and flipped his fingers through his pile of stars, mumbling each of their names one by one. “Polaris.. Vega.. Betelgeuse.. Rigel..” It took the men 3 measly minutes to travel the 300 yard trek from the tip of the city to the gate. Upon their arrival, they were greeted by a dull, comforting blanket of heat. The gate hummed somberly, and a hint of ominous purple light could be seen leaking out from the crack in the middle where the two doors would part once they were opened. Alastar turned to face the officer, who was staring at the gate in a temporarily hypnotized state, and smiled. “Lift your sleeve.” Said Alastar. “What’s that now?” The officer replied, breaking loose from his trance. “Lift your sleeve. I want to take a look at your watch.” The officer obliged and lifted his left sleeve up to his elbow. Underneath it sat a shiny, silver, non-ticking watch. “Just as I thought.” Whispered Alastar. He smirked, pulled the left breast of his jacket forward, reached his free hand inside, and pulled out the star he had tucked inside of it just moments before the two met. “This is Sirius. The brightest star in the sky. And a very, very good friend of mine.” He reached his arm out towards the officer and placed the star on the top of his watch. He held it there and watched as its shine briefly intensified for about five seconds, before eventually returning to its original glow. As he pulled the star off of the officer's wrist, the watch began to tick. “There you go. All fixed.” Alastar said with a smile. “Well, I must be going now. The King will have my head if I'm even a millisecond late.” “Now just wait one second.” Interjected the officer. “Now let’s say I really do believe everythin’ you told me t’night. All them stories ‘bout the war, and the king, and the souls in the stars and what not. Now, if all that’s true and not a whole load’a hoo-donkey.. Well then why do they lie to us down here?” Alastar paused and thought about the question. He was unsure of how to answer it without upsetting the officer, and he had no intentions of adding fuel to the fire of an already unstable society by telling him that his entire planet was seeded in deception and corruption. “Well, I suppose they may not be aware of the real truth, so they create fantasies to appeal to the masses.” “But that still don’t make no sense to me. Why lie? We ain’t as dumb as they might think, y’know. We can think for ourselves. All they gotta do is just tell us they don’t know the real answers.” “Well officer, not everything is as it seems. Let me put it this way: When a star runs its course and finally burns out, the light it let’s off can still be seen for years to the people on the planets who surround it. Light needs time to travel far distances. So even though a star has burnt out, it still appears alive and well to the naked eye.” “I don’t think I’m gettin’ get what your tryin’ ‘a say.” “Even the stars lie, officer.” The officer stood silently and motionlessly. His eyes latched onto Alastar’s and didn’t let go. Alastar had surprisingly grown rather fond of the officer in the final few minutes they had shared together, but he had officially run out of time. “Well, I must be going now. Thank you again, Officer…” “Don.” The officer replied sharply. “Right. Thank you, Officer Don.” Officer Don nodded his head and released a faint yet noticeable smile. He looked down at his wrist and watched the small hand on his watch tick. “Oh, one last thing.” Alastar proclaimed. “Once I walk through this gate and the doors close behind me, keep an eye on that watch. Stare at it for 30 seconds, and then look up.” Alastar smiled, glanced outward at the city one last time, and then turned around to face the gate. He lifted Sirius up to the doors of the gate, and held it there as its shine intensified. The gate made a loud, clunky sound, which indicated the star had done its job by unlocking it. Without anymore hesitation, Alastar closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, tightened his grip on his pile of stars, and pushed through the doors. A strong ray of purple light flooded the sandy outskirts for just a moment as Alastar walked through the gate, and then quickly vanished the moment the doors closed. Officer Don did exactly as he was instructed and immediately looked back down at his watch. He watched the small hand tick slowly and counted down along with the watch. As the hand hit the 15 second mark, he felt a single tear begin to form in the corner of his left eye. He remained there, steady, unblinking, and counted down the last five seconds. “5.. 4.. 3.. 2..” On the final second, he dropped his arm back down to his side, and aimed his sights upward. He watched in awe as the nighttime sky began to flood with stars right before his eyes. One by one, each star popped back into existence, just as Alastar said it would. He felt the tear drop fall from his eyelid and slowly make its way down the side of his face. His cheeks began to rise, revealing his teeth that shined just as brightly as the new stars in the sky. He pointed out some of the stars he remembered and listed them each, just as Alastar had done. “Polaris.. Vega.. Betelgeuse.. Rigel.. Wait, but.. Where is-” Just before he was able to mutter the star's name, Sirius flashed its way into existence. He bellowed out a deep, powerful laugh, and allowed his eyes to shower his cheeks with tears. He took a seat in the sand and kept his gaze on the heavens. He placed both of his hands in the sand, leaned back, and ran his fingers through the warm, blonde powder. The sky was shining brighter than he had ever seen before. His heart beat slowly and steadily, and for the first time in his life, he felt at peace. He sat comfortably in the sand and spent the rest of his night listening to his watch tick, and watching the stars shine in all their glory.


The earth shook with a low rumble and all the surgical tools rattled. Kono’s hand slipped with the tremor and his scalpel sliced into the young soldier’s exposed artery. Unflinchingly Kono threw the scalpel into a bucket of dirty sanitizer and pressed tattered rags against the artery but the young man had already lost too much blood and what little remained of his life slipped away. He probably would not have survived the operation anyway. Maybe a few more days alive and able to write some last words to his family and then dead of an infection or blood loss or just plain stress. Kono released the pressure and dropped the rags in a bucket of cold soapy water. He washed the blood from his hands. He wore no gloves because the camp had no gloves. Kono took off his glasses and wiped away the sweat of his brow with a dry rag and then sat in the only chair in the surgery. He cleaned his glasses with the best part of the rag and put them back on and let out a long sigh. He always held his breath during surgeries, and for a time after, too. A few heavy hailstones plinked into the metal roof of the surgery. Kono sat for a long time and stared at nothing. He saw past and through and around the mostly empty supply crates and folded cots and thin metal walls of the surgery. Sometimes it was a triage. Sometimes it was a medic’s office. Always Kono lived there. He had not slept for twenty hours. The coffee rations ran out two weeks ago. Harsh fluorescent lights lit up the concrete floor like driven snow — the men bleached it every day. Blood trickled from the table to the floor. “Doc.” Kono looked up and saw the Major at the door. He held his hat by his side as he was a good-mannered man. The combat fatigues had no matches and the Major had clearly slept in them. The door was closed behind him, Kono had not noticed his entry at all. He had been thinking too much. Thinking about the trickle of blood. “Major,” Kono said. He did not salute but rubbed one hand over the other and brought them to his mouth and rested his elbows on his knees. The soldiers did not salute the Major because the Belligerents took to shooting commanders. Kono did not salute because he did not care. “Ryerson?” the Major asked with a nod to the body on the table. “Dead.” “Shame.” “It is.” There was silence for some time. “It was an accident,” Kono said at last. “I’m sure,” said the Major. “You’re a good doctor.” “I’m not a doctor.” “You’re most of the way there.” “I’m not a doctor.” The Major shrugged. “We can’t afford to be picky.” “It was the blast. It shook my hand,” Kono said. He held out his hand still as stone nad then dropped it. The Major gave a wan smile and nodded. “Shook the camp. Bella’s getting close.” The Major stood in silence. “Is there somewhere I can sit?” Kono waved to a box of expired antibiotics and pain pills. The Major nodded and dragged it over to where Kono was, squared it across from him, and sat. Kono glanced up at the Major, and over to Ryerson, and back to the floor, and prayed to God that Ryerson would glance at the Major but the young soldier only stayed dead. “I can’t keep doing this,” Kono said. “You just need some sleep.” “Sometimes I think I’ve killed more people than Bella.” “Maybe,” the Major said with a shrug. “But you certainly saved more than the Belligerents ever have. You know that, right?” Kono said nothing. He looked at Ryerson. The blood had stopped trickling and begun to congeal a little on the floor. The boys would have to bleach it tonight. They only bleached it when there was blood to bleach. “Why are you here?” Kono asked. The major pursed his lips and looked up over his head. “There’s an evac coming in soon for civilians. Headed for Oshkosh and then further East. Technically — well, technically you’re still a civilian.” “And?” “And, if you’d want, I can get you on that evac.” “I can’t just go on that evac?” “I could stop you.” “But you wouldn’t?” “I wouldn’t.” Kono sat in silence for sometime again. Another, smaller tremor rumbled through the ground and rattled the surgical tools. “You’d be out a medic,” Kono said. He pushed black unwashed hair back from his face, far longer than what the FAS allowed in the enlisted men. But technically — technically — Kono had civilian privileges. He also kept a short beard. The Major had no facial hair and had gone bald many years ago, and once he had been fat but the skin now fell in loose folds on his face and neck. He had become as thin as Kono. “You could go back to school,” the Major said “But you’d be out a medic.” “I’ll requisition a new one.” “That doesn’t mean you’ll get one.” The Major glanced at Ryerson and back at Kono. “I didn’t even have to tell you about the evac, you know. It’s landing ten klicks East. You would never have known.” “So why tell me?” The Major was silent for a while. He massaged his hat together in his hands until it became a tight ball and then he released it again. “War is awful,” he said at last. “A lot of awful, awful things happen in war. I hoped to God I’d die before my children saw war but here we are. War is where the Devil comes to do his worst. He plays his worst games and we’re all just toys to be scattered and broken.” Kono said nothing but he thought of Ryerson and the many men and women who had preceded him. “But you, Kono, you’re just some kid in the thick of it who stepped up to the plate. You stepped up to the plate and you’ve been doing good damn work in all this awful war. You’ve been doing God’s work. God’s work in the Devil’s playground. You stepped up and you did what you could, and when I asked for more you gave more. And then I asked for more, and you gave more still. You always gave more.” The Major stopped and looked at the door. Another rumble had shaken the surgery. “Bella’s getting real close,” Kono said. “He is. But that’s my problem to deal with,” the Major said and held Kono’s gaze. “I need an answer. The evac gets here in two hours.” “I’ll go,” Kono said flatly. “I’ll go.” Kono cocked his head. He could hear a flurry of activity out in the camp. Men running, engines roaring and tires coming to a screaming halt. Voices shouted “Injured, injured incoming!” and grew closer. The Major heard it, too. Kono looked over the surgery. “I’ll need a gallon of fresh antiseptic. Any antiseptic at all,” he said. “To start. And two men to clear out Ryerson and set up triage. Bellmonte and Irish, if they’re free. I’ve taught them the most.” “Of course,” the Major said. Kono stood and began preparing Ryerson for collection. Even the dead deserved a clean suture. The Major stood and watched for a minute. “You didn’t have to tell me,” the Major said. “What?” Kono stopped and turned to face the Major. “That’s why I told you about the evac, even though I didn’t need to. When our medical staff got turned into red paint in Chelsea you stepped up. You didn’t have to tell me you were a medical student. You didn’t have to help. You didn’t have to do any of that. You could have lied and been on the first evac out of the U.P.” “I need that antiseptic and the men I requested,” Kono said and returned to Ryerson. The Major nodded, placed his crumpled hat on his head, and went to the door. He stood with his hand on the knob but did not open it. “Antiseptic. Men,” Kono repeated. He finished the suture, unlocked the table wheels and pushed Ryerson over to the far wall to make room for incoming cots. He had no sheet to cover the corpse. “The evac comes in two hours,” the Major said. “And the injured in two minutes,” Kono replied. The Major nodded, and left the surgery. Two hours later Kono instructed Irish on the proper method to drain blood from a lung, and Bellmonte pulled shrapnel from a corporal's thigh. He did not notice the corporal had stopped breathing before the operation began.