I didn’t sleep well that night. Less than two hundred metres away was a man I had known my whole adult life imprisoned, sleeping on a rough wooden floor. Yet, here I was in luxury. A large bed, a soft mattress, and blankets that felt almost frictionless against your skin. All the physical comfort imaginable had been afforded to me. But mentally, rest was impossible. In just a few words I could walk into Jacob’s office, vouch for Thomas, demand my friend was released and he would be. I was certain of it. Thomas should be out by now. I should have gotten him out. I wondered if I could sneak over, get back in, and sleep on the floor by the cell. Suffer as he suffered. I had spent enough nights with splintered and uneven planks replacing my mattress. One more wouldn’t hurt. However, it wouldn’t help. Another’s pain doesn’t make yours any less. So instead, I compromised, deciding to be as awake and as uncomfortable as I could. No matter my physical surroundings, in my own head I was lying on the hot sticky floor listening to the rats scurry. I lay there listening to the nothingness, and staring at the inanimate ceiling. Everything was frozen. Time refused to move. I don’t how long I lay in that bed, vaguely aware of the shifting stars out the window in front of me, but at some point I heard a noise from outside - a break in the monotonous nothing. It started quiet. The faintest disturbance in the air, but soon it grew into definite voices. Alessia was fast asleep, her face planted into the pillow, her mouth agape. But the voices grew closer, and louder. Slowly I rose from my bed, listening to the calls like they were a Siren's song. I began to detect an anger in them. One shrill cry battling against stronger but calmer heads. I wrestled with tge urge not to investigate until curiosity got the better of me. I got dressed and headed down the stairs. Outside, the guard by the back door greeted me, before his gaze turned to the right where the voices crept around the wall towards us. Without the walls, the screams were crystal clear. The shouts cut through my skin and I could feel my pulse race instinctually. The curious noise that drew me here was now definitely a woman's howls. Her voice a mixture of despair and rage. It won’t do any good. You can’t stop all of us. We will come for you. We will dismantle all we have built.” She appeared accompanied by two guards wrestling her up the path towards the prison. She wore a sleeveless dress, and I could see symbols painted onto her arm - stick figures of animals and patterns of leaves. “You can’t just go back to the way things were. We have to change. We have to turn to the Earth.” “Shut it. It’s over,” one of the guards barked as he yanked her arm. She was momentarily silenced by the forceful jolt. Squinting into the darkness, I recognized his face. He was part of the group that had found us by my old house. “You can lock me up all you want. There’s plenty more of us. Nature will prevail.” I approached them till I was close enough for my voice to carry. “What’s she been arrested for?” The guard looked my way and nodded, seeming to recognize me. “Found her trying to set fire to one of the Council buildings in town.” His voice was steady and calm despite the woman struggling in his arms. “Why?” The woman turned to me, her mouth wide, and her teeth bared like a cornered dog. “Because we need to undo our sins. Undo civilization. Return to nature.” “Quiet,” the guard muttered. The woman ignored him, keeping her eyes fixed on me. “Look what technology brought us. These empty shells. These guards. It’s corruption. Nature is the only peace.” “Quiet!” The other guard shouted as he shoved her in the back, knocking the wind out of her. The first guard looked up at me shaking his head. “Her lot have been causing problems all over. We’ve got them though. Sorry to wake you. Have a pleasant night.” He turned his head away and continued dragging the woman away. She continued to holler. Not to be rescued, but instead a final battle cry, a recruitment call to the nighttime so that they may join her fight, replace her in the ranks once she disappeared. But there was no one to listen. Just me, a few guards, and the other prisoners she would soon be locked up with. ————————————————————— As we set off for the Yarmouth Pit the next morning, I could feel the tiredness cling to my bones, weighing me down. Despite a cool summer breeze, I still felt a damp sweat stuck to my skin like leftover glue, and my muscles groaned with each step. Despite not knowing the way, Alessia was out ahead of me, pace setting and dragging my unwilling limbs behind her as we headed to the western side of the island. She raced up the smooth dirt path as it crested at the top of a small hill. She stopped at the top, turning back to me as the morning sun glistened across her face. She looked down with a smug face, her arms folded. “You doing okay back there?” “Yeah. Just tired.” Alessia paused, picking up on my tone. Her smile fell flat “Thomas?” I nodded. Alessia looked out to the sea to her right, watching the waves crash against the rocks below. "What do you think we’re gonna find today?” I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know. Probably nothing.” As I caught up to her, Alessia began walking again, this time empathy slowing her gait. “You don’t think there’s anything odd?” I shook my head. But out of confusion not denial. “I don’t know. If I were to choose three people in this world I trust the most, it would be you, Thomas and Jacob. Not sure what to do when they disagree.” Alessia raised an eyebrow. “No Xander?” I let out a small chuckle. “Xander did try and kill me when we first met.” Alessia tilted her head back and clicked her tongue. “Oh yeah. Before I got there.” I looked at the path ahead as it curved out to a small headland. “I don’t know why Thomas is in there. I can’t understand it.” Alessia pursed her lips. “Jacob put him there.” “I know But… Jacob. He saved me. If it weren’t for him risking his life I’d still be back in that prison hoping to survive the day. I’d never had gotten out, never traveled the Archipelago, never met you…” I turned to Alessia with a frown. “I owe him everything. Including my faith.” As the path turned left, the new citadel - the Estates - came into view once more behind us. My eyes looked to those homes down on the coast and the hope they contained. A patch of cloud rolled across the hills beside it, the homes highlighted in the gaps between the shadows. The light glanced across the red slate roofs, before brushibg against the wide windows of the upper floors, and rolling across the shamrock colored grass. Somehow the homes were more beautiful than the ones I had imagined at the Citadel. “How you feeling about your speech?” Alessia asked. I turned to take in the whole island anf the contours of the land I knew so well. “This place needs to calm. If I can help with that. Jacob needs it. The island needs it.” I threw my arms up into the air. “I need it.” “You don’t have to give that speech if you don’t want to. We’ll get the information on Sannaz.” I remembered the woman last night, and the path others might take the island down. “I’ve got to do what I can for this place.” I said as I forced my feet to keep moving, breaking from the pensive inaction. It took another hour of walking until we reached the Yarmouth site. The once great pit dug down into the earth, like the claw mark of some ancient god. Where once hundreds of workers could be found either scraping away at the rock or dealing with the output, over the years the lines had run dry. Now Yarmouth was a relic. A lonely place where a handful of workers spent their days digging away, hoping for a fresh vein to make their efforts worthwhile. It was remote, uninteresting and uncared for. And as we approached the office door I was certain that we were alone. As alone as Thomas would've been when he left the documents here. I momentarily paused as my hand grabbed the door handle. I took a quick breath and forced my arm down as the space opened in front of us. Thomas's old desk was in front of him. As I looked at the chair half drawn out from the desk, I wondered when Thomas was last here. At some point, he had sat at this desk and worked unknowing of what was to come. At some point, his life held a routine. It was my actions that had caused that pattern to be unravelled, for the predictable and certain to be replaced with the horror of his speculative imprisonment. Shaking the thought from my mind I walked over to the cabinet at the back of the room, bent down next to the cabinet and pulled out the bottom drawer. I could see several stacks of papers. Most were old books. The same type I had used when I managed the pits. But in the far left there was a folder, its sides thick, the front bulging with papers jammed inside, a taut string keeping its contents from spilling out. I lifted out the folder and walked it over to the desk, letting it land on the table with a thud. I undid the string and the lid flew up, the contents seeming to breathe a sigh of relief at being let free. Alessia looked at the stack of papers pushing out. “Any idea how we go through this?” I frowned. “No. Just… go through it and see what we get, I guess.” We began laying out the papers on the table, separating them into various categories. Almost two-thirds of the papers seemed to be applications from islanders, people pleading to be allowed into the Estates. They spoke of their family’s efforts, how hard they strived, and named those who could be contacted to vouch for their work ethic. I only gave each one cursory attention, but still I noticed page after page of people boasting of the extra hours they worked, how they had volunteered to help build the park after the Citadel was seized, or how they’d sacrificed time with friends of family to the greater cause of Pomafauc Reset. Others had taken a different tactic. Merely begged or detailed stories of their own suffering. Then of course there were those that tried bargaining, offering their own meagre house to the Council in return, or suggesting donating funds to causes the Council deemed worthy. After the applications, the documents began outlining the construction proposal for the Estates, the number of homes and the square meterage of each building. There were a few letters of correspondence, messages sent out to the towns to declare the application process open, or clarifying the new open nature of the Estates. Then there was a memo titled “Projected Earnings.” I scanned the document. Most of it focused on the costs, going into detail how to calculate the expenses of the project; totaling man hours, materials and the inevitable setbacks. Then at the end there was one line. “Jacob, I know after our last meeting you asked me to be certain of the return value. As I presented the other day, I can confirm each home should be able to return double its investment cost and more than make up for the downturn in the islands’ exports in recent months.” I stopped and read the sentence a second time. I blinked slowly, trying to take it in, being sure every word was as I saw it. “Have you seen anything about income from the homes?” Alessia turned to me and shook her head. “How would they be making money off the homes? They’re awarded.” I began to feel a sour taste in my mouth and a lump in the back of my throat. I contemplated putting down the papers, walking out the door, and trusting that there was an answer that made sense. But then I looked down at the documents still to be read. I began turning over the last few pages. Near the very end, there was one final correspondence. I immediately noticed Jacob’s signature at the bottom. It was a statement declaring that the winners of the first round of homes at the Estates had been declared. Beneath that was a long list of names. I began reading. South, Willem Naudain, Tess Lombard, Hannah Waverley, Ronald My mind paused, stuck on the last name. Waverley. I had heard it somewhere before. I didn’t know anyone on the island with that name - no colleagues, no friends. Yet it flicked a spark, a little sequence of thoughts that brought me back to Kadear. Yet it wasn’t Ronald Waverley I knew. I had the sound of an Alice Waverley in my head. An Alice that tied to a Waverly. Distant thoughts. Small pockets of memory that I couldn’t make connect. I read on. Pine, Wilbert Panama, Melle Delancey, Michel That name I knew. This time not with some distant connection I couldn’t make out, but as clear as day. “It’s got to be a coincidence,” I muttered. “What?” Alessia furrowed her brow. I turned away from the desk, back to the cabinet, pulling open the upper drawers. I grabbed one of the old large books, and dropped it onto the desk, a thin film of dust dispersed into the air as it landed. Inside was a list of substantial sales; bulk orders from traders on other islanders. I flicked through the pages, skipping over the tonnage and delivery dates, just glancing at names, until I saw one. Michel Delancey. I closed my eyes. I could feel that lump in my throat fall down to the pit of my stomach, and down further until my legs felt like stone. “What is it?” Alessia asked. I pointed to the name in the book. “He’s a massive land-owner on another island, runs a bunch of factories. Used to be one of our major importers.” “He’s got the same name as…” Alessia trailed off. I shook my head. “I bet you if I keep reading that list I’ll find more of them.” Waverley. That name came back to me. Alice Waverley. I could hear the name being shouted by an impatient mother, keen to use every syllable to get her point across. “Alice Waverley, you come down now or we’ll be late.” I remembered the shout. Steadily the picture grew clearer. The woman was right next to me as she called out, but paid me so little attention I could’ve been a ghost. I had grimaced as the noise reverberated around my ears, but I didn’t flinch. It was in one of the homes in the old Citadel. I had ignored my ringing eardrums and continued polishing the cabinet in front of me, certain not to cause a scene. Now the image was crystal clear and all the details came back to me. The who - the mother; the where - the Citadel; the when - I was a prisoner. I could see that family so clearly now. One daughter. Mother and father. He was on the old Council. His name was… Ronald. There was a bubbling in my gut, as bile made of stress and dread began working its way up my throat. Another moment flashed before my eyes. Our first day here, when we toured the Esates with Jacob. The woman who I saw scurrying up the steps to the building. I knew her name. I recognized that face. I looked down at the list of awardees. The very next name. Spruce, Christine. “FUCK!” The words left my lung like a stab wound. I hunched over, clasping myself against the desk. Alessia reached out a hand, placing it on my arm to stabalize me. “What?” I pulled myself back up as I felt my knuckles spasm with the anger. My hands burned, as thoigh the bones inside were trying to leave my body through fury. I stared at my palms, trying to regain my thoughts, my heart pounding against my chest. The rage overcame me again. “GOD DAMN IT!” I bent over placing my face in my hands. “Ferdinand.” Alessia placed a firm grip on each of my arms, gently stroking them. Part restraint, part soothing. “Ferdinand. You’re going to have to explain this to me.” I forced my head out from the sanctuary of my hands. “They’re selling the homes.” “What?” “The homes aren’t being awarded for hard work. They’re real. But they’re just being sold to whoever can afford them. Tycoons from other islanders, people with stolen artefacts, even the old council members themselves.” “The old council?” “Ronald Waverly. Christine Spruce. They lived at the Citadel. I cleaned their homes.” I could feel the nerves in my arm convulse, until my hand shaped into a fist and slammed into the desk. The old wood shook and a few sheets of paper fell to the floor. “But why not just build the houses and sell them.” “Same reason as ever. Keep people working. Keep everyone striving for something and trying to please you." I clenched my jaw and my throat. Words boiled up, pushed out my mouth like steam pressurised by the heat in my chest. "That’s probably the only way they could’ve built those homes in five months anyway. Builders working round the clock believing it could be them on the inside.” Alessia looked to the ground. My mind was racing. “Nothing changed. The old council fell, and everything stayed exactly the same, except now the man conning the entire island was one of my best friends. I’m complicit in it this time.” “No you’re not” Alessia tried to interrupt. I didn’t stop. “I’m part of it. I released him. I was glad when I found out he was premier. And I left the island so he could stay here and do to the island exactly what the people before him did.” “This isn’t your fault, Ferdinand.” I turned away, facing my body back towards the Citadel. I couldn't see it, yet I turned to it like a magnet facing north. “How did I not realize the second I saw Thomas in that prison? How did I accept that for one moment?” “Because you trusted Jacob. Trust is good.” “That trust was stupid.” I spat the words out “What do you want to do?” “This ends. Now.” I looked at the papers strewn across the desk. “Grab the evidence we need, and take it to Jacob. This ends today.” ——————————————————————————— The closer we got to Citadel Park, the more people we saw. And each face brought with it another flicker of anger. I didn’t mind the faces that looked grumpy or displeased. It was the smiles that hurt. The bodies dragging uneven heavy carts across pothole ridden roads, grinning with wide eyes as the sweat poured down their faces. They would die doing this, die pulling that stupid cart, the grin still wide on their face. Slowly all that bitterness that had nowhere to go developed into melancholy. And my feet dragged slowly along the ground. “Do you think I’m to blame?” I muttered, my eyes staring at the dirt. “What? No?” Alessia replied. “If I hadn’t left when I did… in the way that I did. Maybe things would be different.” “You didn’t do this, Ferdinand.” I shook my head, scrunching my eyes shut. “You said it to me. All the way back on Tima Voreef. The truth isn’t enough. You have to build something after. I didn’t see it through.” “You were running for your life, Ferdinand.” I opened my eyes again just in time to see a couple walking away from the park towards us. I stepped around them as they silently marched by. They passed me as though hypnotized, disconnected from my presence. Turning to Alessia, I scrunched my face. “Do I see it through this time? Should I stay here?” I could see Alessia take a momentary pause in her step. “That’s up to you. Can’t make the decision for you. But I will say… I hope you don’t. And I don’t think leaving is wrong.” “I could’ve done more.” Ahead of us I could see more people heading down the path towards us. Their eyes fixed forwards down the hill. Alessia gritted her teeth. “Ferdinand. When you escaped. You came back and freed the others. You could’ve kept running. But you handed them the island to do with what they wanted. You gave them the blank slate. Them screwing it up isn’t your fault.” Part of me listened to Alessia, but I was caught by a growing crowd leaving the park. They all had the same fixed expression on, hollow eyes that were forced forwards, their necks refusing to rotate as though screwed in place. Some instinctual part of my brain, hardwired to the behavior of others, was alerted. There was an abnormality in the air. The mixture of our surroundings not quite right. There were two women ahead of us. They walked briskly, as one held a small child on her hip. The kid was three or four, capable of walking on their own, and large enough that the woman shifted awkwardly with the weight on her hip. Yet she insisted on carrying. “I know it’s the rule of law. I just don’t want my kid seeing it, you know?” Alessia was eyeing up the pedestrian traffic as well, her eyes shifting and focusing on different people, trying to parse a meaning. “First one in a while, I think. Right?” a man said to another. “Yeah. Was starting to worry the Council had gone soft,” the other laughed. I picked up my pace as ahead of me I could see the great arched sign that welcomed you to the park. A family walked out from under the archway. The man had his hand on the shoulder of a young boy in front of him, the child’s face glued to the dirt. The man shook his head, and turned to his wife as they passed. “I guess it’ll be good for him in the long run. See justice served. That crime doesn’t go unpunished. But…” The scaffold. I began running, charging underneath the large archway, weaving between the bodies meandering down the hill. Ahead of me two young women walked idly in gossip, hogging the center of the path. “Move!” They parted, jumping out of the way with, their lips turned upwards. “Rude!” one of them shouted. I didn’t care. I sprinted until my legs told me they could sprint no more. And then I still kept sprinting. I had to collapse the unknown into truth. The limitations of my limbs were irrelevant, a greater physical force propelled me forwards. The prison building grew closer, the walls masking the blue sky. My skin grew hotter, and my eyes stinged with sweat the fear of what lay around the corner. I ran past the building. I stood. I paused. And I wailed. A long desperate sob left my lungs. Saliva spluttered from my lips as my lungs heaved, coughing out every ounce of grief and anger and regret I could find. There in front of me, hung two bodies. The woman who I’d seen brought in last night. And next to her, Thomas. Alessia arrived, keeping a few paces behind, giving me space. “I’m sorry, Ferdinand.” “Give me your knife.” “What… why?” “Give me your knife.” I held out my hand behind me. “Ferdinand, what are you-“ “I’m cutting him down. Now give me the knife.” My tone had lost all respect, all humanity. It simply demanded the world bring me what I need. I felt the metal blade land in my palm. I wrapped my hand around it, feeling the sharp edge scrape at the skin, a small pain that served as a welcome distraction. At the base of the slope, I climbed up the steps to the gallows. Somewhere in the distance, people would be turning to look - confused and concerned onlookers, gawkers, even guards, unsure if they should intervene. But they were all a haze. An indistinct blur. There was only one figure I could see. I wrapped an arm around Thomas’s torso, feeling the heat dissipate from his limp body. Stretching, I reached up, and grated the knife firmly against the taught rope. After three strong slashes there was a snap, and Thomas’s full weight fell upon me. We staggered back, and I fell down, landing in a seated position, with Thomas’s body lying on my lap. There was a look of pain on his lips. But I couldn’t help but notice a small smile at the corner of his mouth, and how relaxed his body seemed. Wrapping my arms across his chest, another convulsion of grief rose from within me. I spluttered his name. I tried to apologise. It was all for nothing. I sat on that stage, for the whole park to see, as I held my oldest friend.


It all started with that damn coffee maker. That damn — she said she *needed* it, didn’t she? I have your coffee maker! Why aren’t you here?! *Probably because she’s dead*, I reminded myself. Dead because of that damn — *shit!* It all started because… Because… “Don’t you like it?” she asked me, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips and scrunching her small nose. Time slowed as I gazed into her large, dark brown eyes. *I miss….*“We don’t need it.” I said. I watched as that spark in her eyes died. Her smile died where it stood and even the sun seemed to dim in disappointment. How had I missed it back then? How had I been so stupid! “I just thought if you could make your coffee at home….maybe you wouldn’t have to leave so early. Maybe I’d get to see you in the morning.” “Ell, I don’t have time for this,” I frowned. “You stole my credit card and bought a damn coffee maker so we can say “hi” in the morning? Give me a break! You’re thirteen now, grow up. Either figure out how to return the thing or find a way to pay me back — end of discussion.” “But—!” “End. Of. Discussion.” If I’d known the last time I was going to see my daughter was right then, with her back turned and tears falling due to my idiocracy I….I would have done *something*. I hope. I was such a screwup back then. Still am, but at least now I know it. That’s the worst part; knowing everywhere you failed to see what is so blatantly obvious now. Knowing you could have been better and dealing with the consequences of having not been. What happened after that? Well, it’s all kind of fuzzy, to be honest. The end of the world wasn’t really what anyone could have predicted. I mean, we know it was aliens so there’s that, but how they did it still remains mostly a mystery. Best anyone can tell, it was some sort of intergalactic hack. In retrospect, maybe we should have expected that our reliance on technology would have been an obvious crutch to exploit in the eyes of any alternate intelligence that might inhabit the cosmos. Everyone blamed the Russians for the wave of strange chaos propaganda and brain-washing material that flooded the web. Ironically, they along with China were amongst the few who had managed to establish a fleet of spacecraft sometime near the beginning of the apocalypse, escaping amongst the stars while the rest of us stood pointing fingers of blame at each other. When the Borgians finally made their appearance things on Earth had already reached a boiling point. All would soon be lost to nuclear fallout as warheads of every size streaked jet trails across the open sky. But with a wave of their hand, the Borgians ended the war they started — rendered every warhead dead on impact. Maybe a thousand people died from the unlucky circumstances of having been in direct line of the physical missiles when they came crashing to the Earth, otherwise, the war was of little note. The real horrors came after — during the Culling. I was at home when the missiles fell, oblivious to the world beyond me like most; too caught up with work and self to notice how absolutely disconnected from reality we were. When the television suddenly pulled a Decepticon maneuver and tore through the wall, I almost shrugged it off at first. *Almost*. I think it was the unexpected warmth of blood speckling my cheek that really tore through my demented psyche. My daughter’s blood. Back then, it was only a spark at best — a brief, easily extinguishable flame growing in my heart. But it was more than I thought I’d felt in a long time. I’d take pain over nothing, I suddenly realized. At least pain was *something*. So like a relapsing addict I seized, and that pain grew; that flame grew. As my daughter died I came to life, and I all at once knew myself to be the vampire that I was. I bore no fangs, nor fear of garlic and crosses, but I carry with me this life of undeath — an inability to live, but now surely an inability to die. I could not face her. Not yet. Not after what I’d done. I destroyed the television — it wouldn’t be the first time. It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last in this damned Hell. Life since then has been a bit of a miserable blur. A lot of fighting for my life, that sort of thing. I can’t count the number of times I thought I should have died. I can’t even count the number of people who *have* died. It’s been too many. Anymore it’s just me and this damn coffee maker. For reasons I can’t quite figure it’s the only bit of Old-Tech I’ve found that hasn’t come alive to try and kill me. I’m convinced it’s just another f-you from the Universe. Another reminder of all my mistakes. Whatever the case, I miss you Ell. I wish I could say it should be you out here, but I wouldn’t wish this fate on my worst enemy. I really do like the coffee maker, though. It hasn’t served much of its intended purpose, but the red suits me I think. I’m….I’ll be home eventually. I promise.


Two figures walked among the ruins of a town, the rubble still smoking and, in some cases, burning. The air was hazy and gray, thick with a wide assortment of highly unpleasant smells. The figure at the front had an odd lightness to her step, the short-haired blonde meandering down the ruined streets almost as if a tourist. She was dressed in the bright red of an Arturian officer’s dress uniform, a decorated saber at one hip and a polished revolver at the other – though, her chest was conspicuously absent of any medals despite her markings on her collar and cuffs denoting her position as Knight-General. Behind her walked a much more sensibly dressed lieutenant, clad in a professionally-maintained gray field uniform. He seemed far less comfortable than the woman in front of him, having trouble navigating the debris that his superior traversed so effortlessly. “Wonderful, isn’t it?” the woman sighed, a smile on her face. “All these buildings, once standing proud and tall, now collapsed around us, no two buildings fallen the same way… The neat and still aftermath of utter chaos.” “It certainly is a… unique sight,” her aide replied diplomatically. “Oh, no need to hide it if it’s not to your taste,” the woman replied, tucking some hair behind her ear as she bent over to examine a picture frame, the glass front shattered and the picture behind smoke-stained beyond recognition. “Not everyone appreciates every form of art, that’s just the way it goes. Personally, I don’t like reliefs. It’s like someone couldn’t decide if they wanted to make a painting or a statue and made some sort of awful compromise.” “Well, I didn’t want to insult your work,” the aide replied, carefully stepping over a charred arm sticking out from under what seems to have been a tavern. “It’s as much the gunnery teams’ work as mine,” the woman said, standing back up. “All theirs, really. Telling someone to make art is a far cry from making it yourself.” “I suppose that’s very true-” the aide began, before a crumbling and shifting of rubble caught both of their attention. Some dozen feet away, someone coughed, and started clawing their way out from under the rubble. “A survivor?” the woman gasped, her eyebrows rising… before they scrunched back down in annoyance and she started stalking over towards him. “Ugh, it’s like sneezing on a Pordeaux.” The aide watched awkwardly as Knight-General Violet McLochlan pulled out her pistol. He winced a little as the gunshot rang out, and the man fell limp. She sighed, and put her revolver back into its holster. “And it was looking so well, too.” “You know, my father kept a Pordeaux in his study,” the aide offered. “Really?” Violet replied, turning back towards him with slightly-lifted spirits. “Which one?” “Untitled Number Sixteen, I believe.” “Ah, I’ve always been fond of that one,” Violet replied, running a hand through her hair as she contemplated the rest of the destruction around her. “Wonderful interplay of colors.” “Me, too. It always reminded me of summers, for some reason.” “Really?” Violet mused on that, her head lilting to the side as she placed a hand on her hip. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I can see it. That’s a beautiful interpretation.” “It wasn’t the original, sadly. Just a reproduction,” the aide shrugged. “Oh, pffft,” Violet dismissed, waving a hand. “Art is art, copied or not. You don’t need to see every individual line from each brush hair to appreciate it. Not everyone can travel around the world to see the originals in museums or in the halls of whatever rich jerk decided to keep it to themselves, so reproductions are a necessary thing! Art that isn’t shared is a tragic loss to society. Partly why I brought you along on this little inspection, if I’m honest.” “Ah,” the aide said awkwardly. “It’s no matter than it’s not to your taste, or even if you don’t consider it art,” Violet shrugged. “I told you before, every person’s interpretations and tastes are different and valid. I think art would profoundly boring if everyone agreed on what art is. Pordeaux himself was criticized for painting abstractions instead of nature scenes, you know.” “Really?” the aide replied, carefully stepping through the rubble to close the distance between himself and the knight-general. “I didn’t know that.” “It happens more often than you think. Art is like fashion, in a way. Tastes change with the times, and sometimes something that people initially hate becomes the next big style. Personally, though, I think certain kinds of art never go out of style. Nature scenes, for example. Not a lot of people make them anymore, but there are a few who make truly beautiful ones. Have you seen Franleist’s work?” “I’m afraid not, ma’am.” “I’ll show you some next time we’re back at the capital, then. There’s a few galleries in Arturia with some of his work. I’m especially fond of the paintings he does of old pre-godwar ruins. There’s something… nostalgic about them,” Violet mused, staring upwards in thought. “I think I’d like that, ma’am,” the aide nodded, re-evaluating what he initially thought would be an awful assignment, destruction tours notwithstanding. “That said, I think we’ve seen enough here. Let’s head back to the transport, and I’ll file my report." “Yes, ma’am." The two turned, walking back the way they came. Behind them, the survivor’s blood trickled down the rubble and soaked into the ash-covered dirt.


When I look with my third eye and gaze into the future— I can hear a boom clap clap clap clap clap like the sound of a drum line. When I look deep within, I can hear the inevitable beating of war drums shake the Earth. What a shame. To have witnessed the end of the world and have no way to help turn things around for the better. How Grim of an end that we all met; and for me to have seen it (accidentally) and have nobody to lend an ear and actually trust my words— I feel lost. I feel like the captain of a sinking ship, that washed up along the shores of a deserted island after a brutal storm. Washed up along the shore of a strange land, I sway with the ebb and flow of the tide. High tide will rise amidst the fall of mankind— mark my words, for I have looked deep within my being. My battered limbs seep blood which draws the attention of nearby sharks. Shadows shift and slip away below me; into the Great Deep. It came up from the bottom of the sea. The depth of a sickness which is only paralleled by the sinking black void from which it had sprung up. I can feel how ancient it is. This illness. I can feel it’s progression from the world below; from the depths of the ocean, to the brink of the land. Crawling on all fours; primordial. Only to shift from beach to forest to cave, and then back again. Building momentum, increasing in strength. It was a very ancient virus indeed, that had sprung up from the bottom of the sea. The secret to it’s downfall is also down there too, I believe. Marks my words. This world will end in one fatal blast of Hellfire. Destruction will be mutually assured, I guarantee. I accidentally saw the end of the world during a psychedelic experience, and now I am left feeling hopeless; saddled with the guilt that I know how the world will end. I have no way to prevent it. I hope that if this story is spread far and wide, that somebody out there will believe it. Somebody with the power to affect real change in this sick, sick world of ours. It came up from the bottom of the sea— to spread, grow and progress into infinity— unless somehow disarmed or destroyed by a much more powerful force, indeed. Whatever the outcome, it will have been the Lord’s plan— and his judgement reigns supreme. No matter how Grim the final outcome may be. I will tell you this much— when it fell from the sky, God sighed. Our Holy Father in Heaven, laid his head in his hands and let out a long sigh, almost as if He were somewhat relieved. (To my horror). I will tell you this much— Every living thing that had eyes looked upon the fiery cloud as it spread and turned to black; turning day to night. All of the birds stopped chirping and laid down to roost in their nests, as darkness befell the land. Everything that had ears— heard the gutteral echo which swept across the land, ice, and sea. It ripped through the ocean; it flung surf and sand hundreds of miles into the air; sending men, ships and planes pummeling to their demise below. May We Rest In Peace. The blood of every living thing caught in it’s path sprayed outwards from each and every core; crimson fades to carbon black, bones and flesh obliterated to dust in the wind which whipped from the epicenter of the destruction. It ripped around every mountain, valley, forest, beach, desert, prairie, swamp, tundra, and cave, within moments of it’s decent to the Earth below. Every living thing that had lungs, breathed in and breathed out as a collective, all at once, as they witnessed the cloud of Hellfire rise above. As above, so below. The Great Equalizer: our demise has risen up from the bottom of the Deep. The only solution which I can think of, would originate from down there too, I believe. The key to preventing our untimely, brutal end lies obscured; in the darkness and beneath the depths of ocean. I can find hope at the bottom of the sea. Mark my words, for it will be the only thing capable of saving humanity. Although this virus which sweeps through God’s creation will cause death, destruction, and heartache the likes of which no mortal has ever seen— it is not actually a virus like you and I were made to believe. It is only but the hand of God; putting the scales of Absolute Truth back within balance; cruel Justice for a planet we’ve made barren; sucking dry any resource which yields monetary gain. The virus is not a virus. The virus is the hand of God. You and I are the real virus on this Earth. Humanity. We plague this Earth and strangle Her to death with the pollution, excess, greed, and ignorance which fuels our march to our fiery end. Fuel, in fact, will be a big player in who ultimately decides to toss the nuclear football— I can say that with upmost certainty. And after the dust settles, and humanity is wiped off the face of the Earth; the forces of Life itself will one day prevail to once again sweep across the desolate planet; through every river and desert, every Arctic tundra and jungle. Every lake, ocean and stream. Every abandoned outcropping of humanity will grow life from within the cracks which begin to grow. From between the cracks of pavement, Life will spread it’s roots again, to upend the mistakes which man has wrought, and God has sought to bring back into balance, I have seen. I have seen it with my own two eyes. Life will embrace the land and God will prevail, once our damned souls either ascend, fall, or just decide to pack up and leave. Our scales will hang in balance again someday; as they did before Original Sin— in the garden with Adam and Eve. In summation, mark my words— It came up from the bottom of the sea. The secret to it’s demise lies down there too, I believe. Humanity is the true virus which plagues this Earth; the illness which plagues humanity is nothing but the Hand of God restoring this world to righteousness. Our lives hang in a very finely tuned balance. Mankind has thrown off that delicate balance too much and too soon, quite obviously indeed. The torment of Lucifer will rain down upon us like a trillion knives; but it will only wish to pierce the veil of ignorance pulled over the eyes of mankind. We shall receive deliverance from the evil which was born, cultivated, and spread through the hearts of every mortal who dared suck the lifeblood out of our dying planet— due to their own selfish desires, for conquest, victory… and greed. Everything that has eyes will see the end as it befell our dear Earth, and not a single soul in that very moment would even dare to blink. It haunts me. Everything that has ears will hear the gutteral echo of the Great Equalizer; which will fall from the skies above and rip through the land with the force of God’s hand— a strength no mortal could ever truly appreciate or believe. I hope somebody out there believes me when they read this, and finds meaning in the way I said we could solve this all— —the answer lies within the deep, seemingly endless void below us in our oceans, and also above us in the endless expanse of outer space too, I can see. There are secrets which the Universe holds that are beyond the scope of comprehension by modern day man. That is why I have dreams which turn into reality. This is why I have these Grim visions of the End. It’s due to a force much greater and more powerful than you or I— a force which is beyond the scope of written language, beyond the realm of modern-day science, to be able to document, test, replicate, and prove with upmost certainty. I hope you don’t take me for a liar. I hope you believe me. When they burned all of the witches, do you really think that all of them died? Or did it only weed out the weaker ones, so that the strong witches may carry forth their bloodlines— eventually giving birth to a strange person like me. I remain haunted by the sigh of the Lord. Upon seeing the Great Equalizer, every living creature with lungs took one deep breath and then breathed out again together, all at once. The collective sigh of Life itself is a a haunting, ghastly noise. I will never forget it. I urge you to spread this story like wildfire so that it may be shared with somebody who has the power to affect real change upon our destiny. I am haunted. Haunted. Haunted! Blessed be.


Sam I was awoken from my daydream by the bell. School was way more boring than usual. The teacher seems like she doesn't want to be here, which I guess is understanble. Who'd rather be here than at home watching TV? As I pack my things, I hear my name being called. \- "Sam? Could you come here, please?" It was the teacher. I knew what she was going to say since my grades were so low. \- "I'd like you to join us at the extra class. Your grades are lower than they should be. Are you avilable?" \- "Sorry, I have to be home by that time."- I lied. \- "I understand, but please make an effort to be there." \- "Sure, I'll try. See you tomorrow, teach."- I said trying to get out of there as soon as possible. As I leave the school, I dread the walk home. I see other teenagers together planning their afternoon and kids playing at the park. Life can be fun sometimes, although it hasn't been fun for a few years. It's sunny with a nice breeze coming with it. Leaves colour the ground with various colours. I'm taking the longer way home in hopes I see Ethan and, for sure, I was right to do so. \- "Hey, Sam! How are you?"- said Ethan. His brown eye is wide open, and his slightly blon hair is covering the other one. He's the athletic type, so he catches up wit me quite quickly. \- "Hey, I'm fine. What about you? i heard you were sick."- I answered. \- "Oh, yeah, it was just the common cold, I'm fine. So, what's up? We haven't hung out in a while."- he asked. \- "Nothing much. Next thursday is my birthday, though. Do you want to hang out? We could go to the lake and, if you're okay with my dad being home, we could watch a movie at my place and eat lunch."- I proposed. \- "Sure, I'd love to. Why would I not be okay to go with your dad home?"- he asked, confused. \- "Oh, you've met him."- I said.- "You know how he is. He's cold and doesn't talk much. Just thought maybe it would make you uncomfortable." \- "Nah, it's not a problem."- he reassured me.- "Look, I've got to go, but I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" \- "Sure, see you!" I continue my way home wondering if inviting Ethan to go to my house was a good idea. My father's not really the friendly kind. Since I can remember, he's always been distant. He doesn't talk much, he's always in his bedroom and never really showed any kind of affection. To be honest, sometimes I think he hates me. From what some members of my family have told me, my mother died when I was young, but neither them nor my father have told me how. Maybe that's why he's so grumpy all the time. Before I realize, I'm home. As soon as I open the door, the smell of burnt coffee hits me like a truck. I guess my father's home. \- "Hey, dad."- I greeted him. \- "Hi." And that was the most I was going to get. I went into my room to do my homework. No to my surprise, it was a mess. There were some clothes on the floor and my bed wasn't made. My desk was full of papers and notebooks lying around. I must clean this up or I won't be able to get anything done. Fifteen minutes later and although it is better, it's still a mess, but a manageable one. It's now fifteen past ten and I'm starting to get hungry. I'm still in the middle of my homework but I won't be able to concentrate if I'm hungry. I step out of my room trying to hear if my father's in the kitchen. A wave of relief spreads through my body when I realize he's not. Three-day old cold pasta with tuna is my dinner. My father doesn't cook often, so this ought to do it. After finishing eating my dinner, I remember I need a permisson signed for school. We're going on a field trip to the capital next month. I don't want to go, but it's pratically mandatory and to make it worse, this means I have to talk to my father. I knock on his door trying to understand what he's watching. \- "Dad? Could you come here, pleas?"- I asked. The door opens and my father comes out. He has bags under his eyes and he hasn't shaved his beard for a few days now. The smell of cigarettes and beer came out of the room as soon as he opened the door. He's not the best at taking care of himself. \- "I need you to sign this permission for school, please. We're going on a field trip next month."- I said. He sighs as he grabs the pen from my hand. \- "Also, we have to pay 5$ to the school so they can rent the bus."- I said, trying to ignore his annoyed face as he grabs his wallet. \- "Here."- he mumbled, giving me the money and then he closed the door as quickly as he could. That was basically how our conversations went. Never more than a few words and annoyed looks. He's never yelled at me nor got mad at me. He just seems bothered that he has to take care of me. I don't remember seeing him smile once, for as long as I've been alive. He always seems hurt or empty, especially when I catch him looking at my mother's photo that is on the living room. My family never talks about her, but always seems to want to. They always look at my father before saying anything and then change the subject. They've done that so many times, that I've given up on trying to know what happened, but the doubt never leaves and I, someday, would like to know. It's a new day now, and after first perid, I went looking for Ethan. As always, he's playing football with some friends. I don't want to interrupt so I stand beside the bench waiting for him to see me. He's a good player. In the five minutes I've been here, he's managed to run across the field avoiding the other players and has scored twice. He finally notices me and tells the others to continue to play without him. \- "Hi, Sam. What are you doing here?"- he asked. \- "Just wanted to give you more information about my birthday and see if you wanted to hang out."- I said. \- "Sure, let's go to the cafeteria, then. I'm starving."- he complained. \- "You always are."- I said, laughing. We entered the cafeteria, and the smell of baked goods and coffee started making me hungry as well. We ordered two sandwiches and juices and then sat outside. \- "So, you want to go to the lake, right?"- he said. \- "Yeah, it's peaceful so I thought we'd go there for a bit. Do you mind?"- I asked. \- "Not at all. It'll be fun."- he reassured me. \- "Then, we could go to my place. I have darts and we could play videogames." \- "Oh, cool! I have some at my place as well. If you want, I could bring them to yours."- he offered. \- "Sure, I'd love that. Thanks." \- "No problem." \-"So, i was thinking we'd meet up at the gate and then go to the lake. About 16:30h, what do you think?"- I said. \- "Sounds great, can't wait!"- he said, excitingly. We finished eating and then went to a walk around the school. We talked about school, what we were going to do once we were on vacation, and then talked about the most random things anyone could think of. The bell rang, and we each went into our classrooms. It's Thursday, now, my birthday. My father's been getting progressively more depressed as the week went by. He always got like that around that time of the year and as always, he hadn't wished me happy birthday. I pass by his room and knock on his door like I did every morning. It was my way of saying good morning to him. He never responded. I got ready for school and on my way to it, I ran into Ethan. He was excited for that day, more than I was but it was nice to see him like that. He said that he had forgotten my present at his house, so we had to go there before heading to the lake. I told him it wasn't necessary for him to get me a present and he just smiled at me and continued walking. It was 16:15h and I was starting to get anxious. With my father being the way he is, I was afraid Ethan would get bummed by him or say anything that would make my father mad. He had met him before, but it still made me anxious everytime they were together. As I was reaching the gate, I saw Ethan radiating joy. I didn't understand why he was so happy and it kind of made me feel like I should have been happier. \- "Hey, Sam! Happy birthday, pal!"- he said that so loudly that people around, that ididn't even know, started wishing me happy birthday as well. If I had somewhere to hide, I would have. \- "Thank you, Ethan."- said I, sarcastically because he knew I hated that.- "And thank you, everyone." \- "Don't be so embarassed, Sam. It's your day, you get to be the centre of attentions!"- ha said, trying to comfort me. \- "That's the problem. I don't like to be the centre of the attention."- I answered, trying not to seem ungrateful. \- "I know, I know. But some day you're going to have to come out of your shell. You can't live like that for the rest of your life."- he advised. \- "I know, but not now."- I said, smiling. \- "Okay, okay. So, let's get going then." We headed to Ethan's place, and he seemed extra happy when he was going to open the door. As I saw his family jumping and yelling "Surprise!" I understood why. \- "Oh, sweetie. Happy birthday, dear."- said Mrs. Stevens, Ethan's mother. \- "Thank you. Thank you so much."- I said. I looked around and saw a table full of all kinds of food and beverages. I can't believe Ethan had told them to do that, but at the same time, I was so glad he did. His family was really nice, and i liked them a lot, and from what they had said, they liked me too. \- "Here, buddy. From all of us."- Mr. Stevens gave me an envelope with 40$ in it with the warmest smile on his face. \- "I...I can't accept this. It's too much." \- "You can and you will, buddy. You're a great friend to Ethan and part of the family. We love you and hope you have a great year. Now, accept this, please."- he said. Tears filled my eyes as I heard this. It felt so good to have such amazing people care for me. Mr. and Mrs. Stevens noticed that I was tearing up and hugged me. Since they met me, six years ago, they knew about my mother and father. Maybe that was why they had a special care for me and always asked me if I was okay. I looked at Ethan and thanked him for preparing the party. \- "Thanks, man. I think I needed this." \- "I know you did, pal. Happy birthday." We ate, we laughed, and I heard the funniest stories about them. Some of them I already knew and others I just bursted out laughing. I finished eating around 8pm and then, I helped them clean the mess we had made. Ethan walked me home and I invited him in. My father was in the kitchen making some coffee. I was so happy that, for a moment, I forgot who I was talking to. \- "Hi, dad. I just had the best birthday ever! Ethan and his family prepared a surprise party for me. It was so cool! There were lots of food and drinks and we..."- I was interrupted halfway through. \- "Shut up. I don't care."- the hatred in my father's voice scared me to my bones. I looked at Ethan. He seemed as surprised and as scared as I was. That was the most reaction I had ever gotten out of him. \- "But, dad, you should've been there. You would've had so much fun, and you would've liked Ethan's parents as well." \- "Stop talking! You never stop. Don't you get it? I don't care about what happened. I don't care about what you're feeling, and I denfinitely don't care about your birthday party. Just shut up and pretend I'm not here. God knows I am." The silence that followed weighed on me like I was carrying two tons of bricks on my back. Why is he like this? And why now, with Ethan here? I sat down and as my father was leaving the kitchen, I got the courage to ask him something I had always wanted to know. \- "...Dad... do you hate me?" He stopped halfway through the door. He turned around and started almost running towards me. He grabbed my shirt and pushed me against the wall. My body froze when I looked at his eyes. Thos eyes full of hatred and anger... all directed at me. \- "Stop!"- Ethan yelled. My father ignored him. \- "Why do I hate you? How about because you were the one who killed my wife?! She would've been alive if it weren't for you!" My heart sunk.


16 years before I had just gotten off work more tired than usual. I was out of town for the next week because of work and that meant I had no idea what to do when I wasn't working. I didn't know anyone and didn't know any good places to visit, so I just sat on my couch watching TV and eating the snacks I had brought with me. When I went to the fridge to grab a soda, I realized I was all out. Which supermarket was the closest? I turned on my computer and searched. Turned out, there was a Walmart a couple blocks away. I got my keys and got in the car. The voice of the GPS lady was starting to annoy me, so I turned it off for the road. I entered the Walmart and started looking for the beverages section. I found it quite quickly and grabbed other groceries I needed to the motel room. As I was getting ready to pay, I noticed the cashier. She had liquid blonde hair rolling down her shoulders and her blue eyes were looking back at me. She scanned the items delicately, even though they weren't fragile, and I tried to get the courage to say something. Unfortunately, all I could do was say thanks and get out of there. That same day, at night, I couldn't stop thinking about her. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met, and she had the most soothing voice Ihad ever heard. In that moment, in that day, I decided I'd ask her out. So, for the following week, I went to that same Walmart everyday hoping to see her and every day I would ask her for her phone number. She'd say no, always smiling, until the last day. In that day, as I was getting ready to say goodbye, she said she would give me her phone number and get a coffee with me, but only if she could bring a friend. I went home that day with the biggest smile on my face. She'd said yes! I delayed my return for a couple of days so I could get to know her. On our first date, I had asked the waiter to put a rose on her seat and some on the table. Thanks to my car, I was late and when I got there, she was sitting at another table. I smiled and said, "That's not the right one.". She looked at me confused and then I pointed at the other table. \- "That one. That obvious one with roses."- I said laughing. \- "Oh, I thought that was for someone else."- she giggled. We ate, we talked and then, at the en of the night, I kissed her. It took all my courage to do that, and I was scared she wouldn't like it, but for my relief, she kissed me back. I was reying to sleep that night, but I couldn't. I couldn't believe how well the date had gone. We spent the next days texting each other, and we'd go out every night. When I had to go back home, I called her and arranged a date. \- "These last few day have been amazing."- I said, trying to hide my anxiety about what I was going to say next.- "Unfortunetly, I have to go back home. I know we've only mat a few days ago, but I would really like if we could keep talking. What do you say?" She took some time to answer which made me almost open a hole on the floor and escape through it. \- "I'd love that as well."- she finally said.- "It's not everyday I meet someone as nice and funny as you. I'd love to keep talking." After a few weeks, we started dating. I was over the moon the whole time. She was so funny and delightful. I literally couldn't have asked for someone better. I'd visit her at least once a month and she'd do the same when she could. After a year, we agreed it was time for us to live together. We rented an appartment on the city I lived in since I couldn't quit my job. It wasn't the best appartment, but it was great with her living in it. On the first day we slept on the appartment, I woke up earlier and made breakfast. Then, I brought it to bed and surprised her. I started doing that every weekend as our relationship progressed. I was a little messy and was scared that she wouldn't like it and that it would lead to an argument, but she didn't mind. She'd make jokes here and there about it and I got better at it along the years that passed. She'd sing while cooking, cleaning and basically while doing anything. She had a beautiful voice and sometimes I'd just stop whatever I was doing and listen to her. She was trying to be a singer but hadn't had any success. I didn't understand how, though. She was absolutely amazing. I remember when I asked her to marry me. We had been together for 4 years and we were on one of the best stages of our relationship. We were close, intimate and had complete trust in each other, so I thought it was a good time to ask. I did it on a date nate. We had made reservations at a really fancy restaurant which made me think that she knew I was going to propose. We entered the restaurant and set on the table. I spent a good minute looking at her, admiring her beauty and she obviously got confused. \- "What's wrong?"- she asked. \- "Nothing. Just looking at how beautiful you are."- I answered. She blushed and avoided eye contact as she always did. \- "So, I have amazing news."- she announced. \- "What is it?"- I asked nervously, because the only thing I could think of was that she was pregnant. \- "I got a gig!"- she yelled. \- "What? Really?"- I asked, surprised.- "That's amazing! Congratulations!" \- "Thank you. You'll see it, right?"- she said. \- "Of course, I will. I wouldn't miss it for the world."- I answered. We ate, we talked and, at the end of the night, along with the desert, it had arrived the time to ask. \- "So, the last few years have been amazing..."- my voice started to crack because I was so nervous.- "Everything thanks to you. And I hope they have been the best of your life as well."- she nodded with her head yes.- "And so, as to prolong our journey and this happiness..."- I kneeled on one knee and she quickly realized what was about to happen and blushed again.- "... I would like to make you my wife. Anna, will you marry me?" She jumped out of her seat. \- "Yes! Of course, yes! Oh my god!"- she yelled and everyone in the restaurant started clapping. We kissed and hugged and told each other we loved one another. That night I went to sleep as the happiest man alive. I couldn't believe I was going to marry the girl of my dreams. I couldn't fell asleep and when I looked at her, she wasn't sleeping either. I guess the adrenaline of everything kept us both up. We spent the whole night talking and laughing. It was the best day I could ever have asked for. A year later, I found out she was pregnant. I was going to have a kid! I spent the whole nine months talking to the little guy and doing all sorts of stuff to make Anna as comfortable as I could. I'd cook her breakfast, pull her hair up when she was throwing up from morning sickness, went to all the appointments, etc... I had an image of what my son was going to be like and what personality he would have. I already loved him even not knowing him. Nine months later and on a random day at work, I got a call. \- "Hey, hon. Come home, please. I think my water broke." \- "What?! How are you so calm?!"- I said, clearly freaking out. \- "Calm down. I've read all the books and have watched some of my friends go through this. Just please come home. I don't want to be alone when the contractions start."- she said. \- "Of course, honey. I'll be there in 10min, I love you." \- "Love you too." I arrived home to find my wife wiping the floor. \- "No, no, no, no. You can't be doing any of that; we have to go to the hospital!"- I said. \- "Not yet. The contractions have to be 5min apart, I think." \- "You sure?" \- "Yeah." A few minutes later and she was screaming bloody murder. I grabbed her bag, and we went to the hospital as quickly as we could. The little guy would take 10 hours to come out. I spent the whole time with her. At 4am, she went into the delivery room. \- "Ten centimetres. You'r ready to go."- said the doctor. \- "Oh, God. This is it. Can he come?"- Anna asked. \- "Of course. It's actually better if he comes. You'll feel slightly more comfortable." \- "Good." My heart was pounding. I had absolutely no idea what to do. I had read all the books about what to do, but as soon as we entered the delivery room, all that knowledge went out the window. I was shaking. So happy I was going to meet him. \- "Push, sweetie. C'mon, you can do this. On three. One, two... three!"- I said. She was pressing my hand so hard I was afraid she was going to break it. She was yelling and suddenly... she stopped. Her hand went weak. I could only hear the doctor. \- "Wait, someting's wrong."- the doctor said.- "Help me, she's bleeding. She's bleeding a lot." My heart stopped. The nurse went to help the doctor. \- "I can't stop the bleeding. At this rate, we'll only be able to save the baby." The delivery room was full all the sudden. All I could hear were doctors and nurses talking, almost yelling. Abruptly, the ECG machine stopped beeping and started to make the most horrifying sound. I looked at it. My wife had flat lined. \- "What's happening?! Please save her."- I pratically yelled at the doctor while grabbing him. \- "Someone get him out of here, please! Mark, help me here! I'll try to save the baby."- the doctor shouted. \- "NO, NO, NO. Save her, please."- I cried. I ran to my wife. Somehow, I had gotten her blood on my hands. I was crying. I didn't know what to do. As I looked at the love of my life, I saw her empty eyes looking back at me. She wasn't moving anymore. Someone had taken her life way and mine went with hers as well. I looked behind me and saw the murderer. He was crying, yelling, completely oblivious to what he had done. I felt sorry for him, but I felt the rage pulsating through my veins. How could I ever have cared for him? Men carried him away while I cried uncontrolably on the floor. That day, that faithful day... that was the day I met the murderer of my wife. My son.


Present day (Sam) \- "Wait... what do you mean by that?"- I asked, completely confused. \- "You heard me. She died giving birth to you."- he said, with the most disgusted face he could make. I looked at Ethan. He was shocked. I was frozen and couldn't move. She died giving birth to me? I... killed her? Before I could organize my thoughts, my father punched me in the nose. I was so shocked I couldn't even feel the pain. only the blood running down my nose. \- "HEY! Stop that!"- Etan yelled.- "Sam, come here. We're going to the hospital, now!" Ethan grabbed me and led me to the outside. My father was just going in circles around the kitchen saying "crap", again and again. Ethan called his parents and, in the blink of an eye, they were at my door. \- "Oh, Sam. What did he do to you? Are you okay?"- I was frozen and so, Mrs. Stevens helped me get in the car.- "Oh, sweetie. That bastard. I knew we should've done something before it was too late." Mr. Stevens entered my house yelling at my father. I tried to stop him, but nothing came out. I felt tears running down my face. Was I crying? How... how could he do this? I know he blames me, but I was just a baby. It wasn't my fault... was it? Am I really to blame? Did I really... killed my mother? It couldn't be. Ethan was holding me while I sobbed copiously. Between blood and tears, I stained all of my clothes and Ethan's. \- "Hey, dude. It's going to be okay. Don't worry. We'll take care of you."- Ethan comforted me. I was so out of it that I couldn't even answer him. I just hugged him stronger. We arrived at the hospital. I hadn't said a word since he punched me. Mr. and Mrs. Stevens talked to the nurse, and she wouldn't stop looking at me asking what had happened. I didn't say anything, and Mr. Stevens lied and said I injured myself playing football. She looked at me for a bit longer and then led us to a room. A couple minutes later and I had a piece of metal on my nose. Apparently, my father had broken it. I slept at Ethan's that night. I was staring at the top bunk bed while laying on the bottom one. I stood there in silence, crying and hoping Ethan wouldn't hear me. After half an hour, Ethan asked if I was awake. \- "Hey, Sam. Are you awake?" \- "Yes."- I mumbled. \- "How are you doing?"- I didn't answer him.- "You know we love you, right?" \- "Yeah, I know. But why didn't he?"- I asked. \- "I don't know, pal. I'm sorry." After a few hours, I fell asleep. I had the worst nightmare that night and woke up gasping for air. Ethan helped me calm me down and then we went into the kitchen. \- "Good morning, Sam. How are you?". Mrs. Stevens asked. \- "I'm not sure. My nose still hurts a lot."- I answered. \- "Don't worry about it. The doctor gave us some painkillers for you. It should be less painful in a few hours."- Mrs. Stevens informed me. \- "Thank you."- I said. \- You hungry?"- Mr. Stevens asked me. \- "No, not really. But thanks."- I said. \- "C'mon. You need to eat something. Just a yogurt, at least."- Mr. Stevens convinced me. \- "Okay..."- I compromised. I spent the whole day quiet while Ethan's parents tried to solve the mess my father had made the night before. Ethan tried to distract me as much as he could the whole day. We played some games, went for a walk and watched a movie. He was the best friend I could ever have asked for. At the end of the day, I just hugged him and thanked me. He hugged me back and said I didn't have to. It was agreed after a few weeks that Ethan's parents would take my custody. I'd live with them, and they reported the accident to the police. I wasn't sure how I felt about that at the time. Though my father did hit me, I didn't want him to get in trouble. Either way, living with the Stevens was the best decision. My father went to court for what he had done, and it was said that he couldn't be alone with me. Someone had to be there ass a witness, so the accident wouldn't happen again. After the first year, my father moved out of town, and I never saw him again. But it dind't matter. I had Ethan and his parents. My surrogate family. I loved them as if they were my family since the beginning. I eventually found out where my mother was buried and would visit the cemetery every month. My family started to be a little more open about her, so I had an idea as to who she was. I found out she liked to sing, that she was funny, nice and overall, just lovely. I wish i had met her. Maybe my life would've been different. Maybe things would've been better. Maybe things would've been worse. Who knows? The end. Thank you for reading.


Helen shook. Her muscles ached from shaking. She had always hated the darkness but grew to dread the sliver of light that came when the door creaked open. She closed her eyes to the darkness and tried to take herself far away. She traveled to her grandfather's house, where he would tell her stories that brought tears to his eyes while he smiled. She went to memories as they faded and held them like a limb. Still, the black pierced her eyelids and betrayed her delusions. Helen felt her way into a corner and took a deep breath of stale air. Her mind found its way back to its most convincing tangent; her room transformed into the peace and certainty of a tomb. Helen held her breath and drifted off before the next. A sharp pain woke her from her restless sleep. As quickly as she opened her eyes to the black, her hand shot out and grabbed at the rat that had been feasting on her. She fought the desire to squeeze the life out of it as it contorted to bite at the flesh of her hand. Holding its head tightly, the rat continued to claw at her in a struggle for its life. Helen tied a rope of torn cloth around its tail, then threw the rat hard against the concrete floor. As Helen hoped, the stunned rat fled frantically. Helen held a loose grip on her rope and let the rat lead her. Climbing up the rough walls, the rat found its exit easily in the darkness. Helen felt along the rope and found a small crack in the concrete at the edge of her reach. She wondered how the rat could have squeezed through. Still holding the rope, she felt around for her bucket and placed it directly beneath the crack to use as a stool. Helen pulled at the rat, still fighting to get free. She planned to kill it to avoid being bitten again, but as she reeled in its gnawed off tail she realized she simply hated it. Helen began to chip away at the concrete. She had managed to slide one of the iron rings off of the bucket and bend it into a brittle tool. The concrete crumbled faster than it ate away at the rusted iron, but soon wore it down to a sharp splinter Helen could not hold in her fingertips. Standing on the bucket, she twisted her hand to fit through the crack. Her skin tore in deep lines as she reached past her wrist. As she stretched to reach further the bucket broke. Helen's wrist snapped as she dropped. Her cry shocked her. She had lost her voice soon after arriving and hadn't heard it since. Dragging her swollen hand from the hole, she cracked her teeth as she bit down in pain. Helen sat against the wall and let out a terrible sound that echoed for too long. The sound of the door's mechanism alerted her to the arrival of her host and Helen quickly shielded her eyes in the crook of her arm. The door creaked open slowly and the figure stepped in. They did not speak. Helen's eyes still burned from the occasions she had tried to see her captor or neglected to shield her eyes. The being shone a blinding light towards Helen, who had become accustomed to darkness and could not focus her eyes through the pain. "Why?" Helen asked, knowing she would never get her answer. They brought Helen's food and water, hardly a mouthful left to pool in an indentation in the floor and left immediately. The closing door shifted the stagnant air. She finished her stale bread and water before she finished starving. Helen could not remember how she had gotten here, only waking up to black. Time passed. Helen could only guess how long it had been by the length of her fingernails, that had broken in the cracks of the door and grown back brittle. The rat without a tail returned as Helen sat motionless. At first, the bravery of the rat shocked her but as she held it, she realized it had no choice. The rat was starved and skeletal. It fought weakly for a moment before surrendering to Helen's grip. Helen snapped its neck with a thumb and wept for it. The wrist healed wrong and the crack in the wall grew. She wasn't sure if it was resolve or boredom that made her continue, knowing it was hopeless. Rat bones carved lines in the crumbling concrete and after those wore down, Helen used callused fingertips. Her captor came and went with no set pattern. Helen kept trying to communicate as they refused to acknowledge her. Always shining the light. She starved on the meager bread and soon began to feel like the rat without a tail. Helen's hatred grew and she stopped caring *why*. She couldn't be certain her captor was even human and it had treated her worse than an animal. Helen shook. Her joints ached as she held herself up against the wall. She waited. Helen wondered if waiting for nothing was a contradiction and felt comfort knowing her wait would soon be over no matter the outcome. Eventually, the familiar sound of the door's mechanism woke her from a trance. Straining to see through a sliver in her eyelids, she waited for the figure to enter. The intensity of the light made Helen reel but she caught a glimpse of her captor's silhouette. Helen lunged at the figure, who collapsed weakly to the floor. "Why!" Helen screamed, over and over as she clawed at her captor, who was still shining the light in Helen's eyes. They did not fight back and still kept completely silent. Even now they could not acknowledge Helen and this infuriated her even more. Moments passed although Helen realized moments were subjective and she had no frame of reference. She stood and the figure remained motionless on the floor. The light still shined. Helen felt along the wall for the door and left frantically, pushing it shut behind her. She exited into a hallway with a single flickering neon light. Eventually, her eyes adjusted and she was finally able to see. Her arms were caked in blood, concrete dust and crossed with scars. The wrist that had broken was discolored and twisted. She was emaciated and broken but she was alive. Water dripped onto Helen's head and she noticed a small crack in the ceiling. The hallway ended with an identical door and Helen proceeded towards it. In the center of the hallway Helen found a small door-less room. Inside was a shelf that held nearly a full loaf of the stale bread she had been fed. As Helen choked it down her dry throat, she noticed a large hole in an upper corner of the room. Helen continued down the hallway and lifted the latch to the door opposite her cell. As it opened, the hallway filled with the same intense light that her captor had used. Helen screamed and shielded her eyes as she pushed the door closed again. Believing she had gotten turned around, she ran down the hallway to the other door and opened it cautiously. A faint glow emanated from the crack in the door and as it opened fully, she saw the being she had known as her captor still face down on the floor. Their flesh gave off a light that was fading slowly. Confused, Helen approached the figure cautiously and tested it with a kick. Confident they were dead, Helen turned them over. Helen ignored the light as she recognized their face but could not quite place it. Then, Helen saw the being's wrist. It had been broken and healed in the same position as hers. Helen stood over her own body, nearly starved beyond recognition. A husk of herself. In shock, she backed into the hallway slowly as she tried to convince herself it was a hallucination. Helen returned to the light filled room and, with closed eyes, began to feel along the walls for an exit. She felt no other doorway but refused to believe it until she had circled the room several times. She only felt the same rough concrete walls from her cell. On her last pass, Helen tripped over something placed against the wall that she recognized as a bucket identical to the one she had been using. Feeling the wall directly above where it was placed, Helen found what she expected; a hole carved into the concrete. The mouth was wider and it continued further than the one Helen had carved. Helen felt around the edges and was confident she could fit. Without hesitation, she accepted her insanity and pulled herself in. The light persisted through the claustrophobic tunnel forcing Helen to keep her eyes closed as she crawled. She felt a smooth edge in the concrete ahead and eventually squeezed through to a gap in the wall. This small space seemed to exist for ventilation, though the air was still stagnant. The tunnel narrowed as Helen inched forwards and her body soon blocked all the light coming from the room as she found herself stuck. She opened her eyes. The tunnel continued several feet and ended with another hole carved into the corner. It was faintly illuminated by the pattern of the hallway's flickering neon light. And she watched it flicker for what felt like forever.