“Make sure that needle’s clean,” Sybil said. “Don’t want any infections now.” “Infections? You’re worried about infections?” “Oh, sorry Charles. Perhaps *you’d* like to give blood instead so I can stab you with dirty needles?” “It’s clean, all right? You saw me run a flame over it—twice! Now if only I can find your vein. I don’t remember you being this hairy.” “Shut up. It’s the time of the month.” “Hmph,” Charles said, “I still don’t get why Drago over there doesn’t do this himself. Afraid of blood my arse. He *is* a vampire, after all.” “Hnng?” came a voice from a dark corner of the barn. “He’s hurt, Charles.” “It’s a silver bullet to the leg,” Charles said. “That shouldn’t stop him from drinking blood straight from your neck, should it?” “He doesn’t want me to turn, that’s all.” “Look here, Sybil. The blood’s flowing down this tube into this packet down here. How hard would it be to drink straight from the source? Why do we have to do the extra work?” “Hey,” Drago said, “It’s not just blood that gets me, all right? It’s needles too. And you can’t just expect me to drink Sybil’s blood out of a straw like she’s some sort of… beverage!” “We’re always doing extra work just for you, is all I’m saying.” “Just do your work, Charles,” Sybil said. The nurse muttered under his breath. Words like “coward” and “world’s most useless vampire” shared that breath. “I heard that!” Drago exclaimed. “Good! I wanted you to!” “Can we please just stop fighting? Please?” Sybil said. “*I’m off to buy a drink*,” Charles said, his mouth twisted to one side, his voice a mock European accent. “*No, no blood today*.” “That’s not how I talk!” “Just because you ordered a bloody Mary doesn’t mean you can add in your own stash, Drago. In front of the bartender, no less!” “I thought she wouldn’t notice—” “Well she did!” Charles was standing now, a fistful of hay in his hand, which he flung into the darkness where Drago’s voice came from. A horse neighed. “You know how much they hate vampires here, and yet you act as you please. Well you’ve gotten us all into trouble now. You happy?” “Well, I needed to feed. You don’t know how it feels like when the weakness overcomes me. It’s not my fault I was born a—” “Don’t you dare bring the race card into this! You’re lucky the clouds blocked the moon back there, because you could’ve lost more than just a leg. Now it’s just a matter of time before the sheriff combs through the village, and what do we do then, huh?” “Just help me heal, idiot. Then I’ll take care of—” “Shut up!” Sybil yelled. “Both of you! All your bickering isn’t going to help anything. What’s done is done, and we can’t change that. Now, can we just focus on helping the damned bat man so that we’d have a chance in a gunfight?” Charles watched in silence as the blood dripped into the bag. “I still think he’s—” “Shut!” Some hay rustled in the dark. “You humans always think—” “I said quiet!” The barn fell into silence, but only for a while, as barely two minutes would’ve passed before there was a thud on the door. “What the—” said the voice outside. “It’s barricaded from within. They must be in there.” A few more thumps on the door shook some of the dust off its slats. “Open up! It’s the sheriff. We know you’re in there!” “Shit,” Charles said, pulling the needle out of Sybil’s arm. “I don’t know if it’s enough, but it’ll have to do.” He capped the bag and tossed it into the corner. “You best do whatever it is you do and get us out of here.” “How much time do you need?” Sybil said. “Five minutes,” came the voice from the darkness. “I hear ya in there!” said the sheriff. “Now you come out nice and peaceful and we won’t have any problems, ya hear?” “Just a minute!” Sybil said. “I’m putting on my clothes!” She looked at Charles’ inquiring face, then shrugged. “We’ve got to buy time somehow.” “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step outside—” “Just hold on, sheriff. I need to put on my clothes too, if you’d be so kind,” said Charles. “What in the hell’s going on in there?” came another voice from outside. “This is bullshit,” said the sheriff. “Tear the door down.” As soon as he said that, splinters of wood exploded off the door and ricocheted towards Charles and Sybil. One shard spun through the air and lodged itself into the pillar where Sybil’s head was just a second ago. There were the sounds of shotguns cocking, and the deafening blasts that followed. “What the fuck!” Charles yelled. “You’re going to kill us!” “I think that’s the point,” Sybil said. More shotguns cocked. More blasts followed. “It would be *real* great if you could help us now,” Sybil said. “I still haven’t healed!” “Well then heal faster!” The shotguns cocked. The blasts followed. This time, the bullets would shear a hole in the door large enough to admit a rather portly man, which meant that the sheriff barely had space to squeeze through. He stepped in, squelching in mud and sawdust alike. “All right,” he said, “which one of ya’s the bloodsucker?” A head stuck out from one side of the sheriff, then the other. “They were with him,” said the head, “but they’re not the one I served.” “Damn snitch,” said Charles. The sheriff glowered over them. “Now ya guys turn the creature in and we won’t have to drag your sorry asses back with this guy’s body. Your choice.” Something shuffled in the corner of the barn, and the sheriff let loose a slug without looking. “Motherfucker!” Charles yelled. Both him and Sybil had their hands to their ears. Through the ringing, Sybil could barely hear Drago screaming bloody murder. *Shit*, she thought, *was he shot?* “Whaddaya mean he’s not the boss?” Charles yelled. “I said, he got the horse!” “He got you by the balls?” A groan of exasperation left the darkness. The deputy, having just slunked into the barn, trained his torchlight at the source of the groan, and there was Drago, still crouched on a stack of hay, the blood bag on his lips, streaks of red flowing down his chin. He looked as if he got caught raiding the wine cellar. A horse lay beside him, legs still twitching. “Well, well,” said the sheriff, cocking his shotgun. “Nowhere to hide now, freak.” “No!” came a yell, and with that yell came Charles, who tried to wrest the gun away from the sheriff. The rest only looked on, looking equally as surprised as the sheriff was. They danced for a few seconds before another blast clapped at their eardrums. Pieces of the wooden ceiling crashed onto the mud, letting in a wide shaft of moonlight. “Oh, jeepers,” said Sybil. The sheriff, being twice as wide as Charles, heaved his assailant face first into the mud. “Simon, stay on him,” he said. “You do that one more time, mister, and I’ll blow your head clean off, human or not.” Of course, the sheriff’s words would’ve been more audible had Sybil not screamed over him. Her yells bounced across the wooden walls. There were sounds of twigs breaking and cloth tearing. “Wha” —said the deputy, and upon seeing what stood before him now, he continued— “aaaaaaaaaaaa!” “What the hell’s your” —began the sheriff, who also caught sight of the creature and went— “raaaaaaaaaa!” Charles merely looked up and said, “Wha?” The sheriff barely ducked a swipe at his neck, and had his shirt sliced off from the next. “It has claws! Get out of my way, Simon!” he said. The sheriff, deputy, and the bartender ran out into the open and off into the night, their cries trailing behind as an afterthought. Soon, all that was left was silence. That, and a weird heaving. “Is… is that you, Sybil?” Charles said. The figure before him nodded, its fur reflecting the shaft of moonlight beaming in through the roof. “You’re a lycan?” Charles said. “You’re a *lycan*?” Drago said. “Oh, *now* he comes out. Where were you when we needed your help, huh?” “I was recovering!” “Or hid—” A roar batted them both into silence. “Right,” Drago said, quieter this time. “But you’re a lycan? All this time, you’ve been giving me your blood…” “I don’t think that’s the issue right now.” “No, it is. Vampires need human blood to survive.” “Aaand... her blood tastes better?” “No. Vampires can *only* survive on human blood.” Drago turned to Sybil. “You knew all this while? Is my thirst just a mental thing?” The figure that was once Sybil shrugged. It also whined a little. “Hah,” Charles said. “You really are the most useless vampire in the world, you know that?” “I… I think you may be right.” “Well I’d love to gloat, but I don’t think we’re welcome in this town anymore. Should we get going?” Things seemed quiet outside the barn, though that wouldn’t be for long. Soon the entire village would be out for them. The unlikely trio padded out into the trees, relying on the vampire’s keen sight to lead them out of this town and into another. “Thanks,” Drago said. “For what you did back there.” “Ah, don’t mention it. You treat me better than my own race does.” Sybil let out a whine from behind them, though in this context she sounded more like a hyena. “Maybe don’t get us caught again next time,” Charles said. “You know what?” Drago said, casting a sideways look at Sybil. “I think I actually won’t.


Now you may be asking how I got into this situation, well it all started when I went with my friend to an abandoned mental facility. It was a nice breezy normal January night, and I was at my friend's house. We were sitting on the couch watching TV when I had an idea, what if we were to go explore the old mental hospital that's not too far away? So I casually said “Hey, Johnny, why don't we go and do something interesting and go explore the old Wynner Mental Facility?” He had a questionable look on his face but he eventually responded back with “I don't see why not, we don't got anything going on” So we packed a few supplies like a flashlight and a spare jacket just in case and then we left a note on the kitchen table telling his mom that we went out for a bit and we’ll be back in a couple of hours, and then we were off. We grabbed our bikes and headed out to the mental facility and on our ride there we saw a small black car just sitting around the corner of Johnny’s block and we just shrugged it off and continued on our way. When we finally got there we put our bikes somewhere out of sight but easily accessible in case we needed to make a quick escape, then we grab a flashlight and head inside being careful as well as cautious. At first, there was just rubble and trash everywhere but when we went deeper inside we found some rooms that were locked and some areas that were not destroyed or graffitied. Then we found a basement and it had to have perfect timing because that's when we heard a loud bang from the entrance and without thinking we ran into the basement and hid behind a few big boxes and then we heard a heavy footfall. I was sitting on the cold hard floor of the basement behind some tall boxes, trying not to make a noise as I was listening for movement and auditory cues as to who the people were chasing us. We assumed it was the guy in the black car because it seemed to be the only rational thing. And so while we were sitting there Johnny accidentally kicked an old beer can and it seemed to bring the guys attention to the basement. We heard what sounded like a pipe drag across the ground as one of them walked from the stairs to the basement level. Neither of us dared to make a move or sound during those moments until we heard a voice say “I know your down here, come out now and no one will get hurt” Johnny looked over at me and I can see the terror in his eyes as the guy walked right past him and to the backroom. Johnny then despite me telling him not to, ran for the entrance of the basement. As you would expect the guy heard this and chased after him and I didn’t know what to do and so without thinking I just grabbed an old beer bottle and ran towards the staircase that leads out of the basement and saw Johnny pinned against a wall and the guy had a pocket knife pulled out and it looked like he was about to cut him and so I yelled out “Hey! Put him down!” Then I hit the back of the bottle against the wall and it shattered into a million pieces but it left enough for me to use as a weapon in case I needed to. He just looked at me and laughed, then dropped him and walked towards me. I didn’t expect it to work and so I just stood there scared and not knowing what to do until I heard a loud bang similar to the one we heard earlier and the guy fell to the floor unconscious. Then I heard a voice say “That was a close one, good thing I got here when I did” It was the guy from the black car, he followed us here and conveniently helped us out. He then told us how he has been watching us for a couple of days and said how he lives close to Johnny and happened to see us go towards this place and know how there are bad people who go here during these hours and so he knew that we might get in trouble. He was a good guy overall. He gave us a water bottle and some chocolate chip cookies his wife made just the other night which were delicious by the way, and he offered to drive us home and we accepted and when we got in the car we started to get uncontrollably drowsy and I could barely keep my eyes open but during the time that I could I saw that we passed Johnny's block and kept going and during those last seconds before I fell asleep I looked at the guy and he was smiling devilishly and simply said “Shhh” Then me and Johnny fell asleep and we knew we weren't going home anytime soon.


Everyone spends their lives building their pillar. They’re all a little different, from height to material to sturdiness. Most people can’t build them on their own. They need parents, friends, loved ones, someone who can pick up the slack when they’re tired. I don’t know when it happened, but you stole my pillar. It was your smile, your hugs, your knowledge that you were what I wanted so desperately. You took my pillar away from me and added it to your own, and I was foolish enough to help. I used what materials I could find, and it was only when I had no more to give that I wanted to join you, to see the heights you took for granted while you insisted that it was all the same. It took time. You cheered me on as I climbed, playing the supportive role I needed. Did you think I would never make it? That I would fall, and resign myself to building you higher? When I finally reached you, I didn’t have the strength to pull myself up. I was tired, something you probably counted on, and you nodded as I held out my hand for you to take, to pull me up. With that same smile, your foot stomped down on my fingers, grinding them beneath the pedestal until I could take it no more. I fell, and you didn’t seem worried that I would die, just that I continued to worship you if I survived. I closed my eyes and waited for the impact, and I was surprised by the warm arms holding onto me, cradling me close. She caught me. I had never asked where the building materials came from, or how the platform was built when I was too tired to work on it, but it was always her. I had never asked for her help, and so I never noticed that it was given all too willingly. She was always quietly by my side, supporting me and holding me up when I was too tired to stand on my own. It’s just a shame that you had to show me who you really are for me to see her. My pedestal is small, but it gets larger every day. Sometimes I still have flashbacks of my plummet, and I’m afraid to fall back to Earth, afraid to get too high lest my pillar collapse, but she’s next to me. She lets me know that I can build my tower, that I don’t have to fear the sway of it, or what should happen if I fail. And you? I know that your stolen platform is growing even without me there, but I can see it in the distance. It crumbles and cracks without the right blocks so strategically placed, and your pleas for me to come back, that I owe you, that you are faultless, that you forgive me, are lost in the space between us. I don’t need you anymore. I have her, and I’m all the luckier for it.


I was always told that a degree in anthropology was silly. “How will you make money with that? So you’re going to be a professor? You think you’re better than us, don’t you?” Each question was always more ridiculous than the next. I let it all slip off my back like silk. This had been my passion since before I could even remember. While all the other children were skipping stones across lakes or playing hopscotch, I was pondering over why they did those things. I wanted to know what caused the girls and the boys to think the other was “gross.” A sketchbook was my constant friend, filled with drawings and notations on anything and everything that I saw on a daily basis. With all that in mind, you can imagine my excitement to be invited to a Namur village. I was beyond elated at the prospect of being able to talk to people from within this sparsely studied culture. We knew what their societal structure was, where they were located, the general age of the population, all the boring statistics like that. But no one had really sat down with them and listened to their stories. It still blew me away that somehow they had trusted me enough to let me in. Makes my chest puff with pride a little to know that my reputation precedes me even in highly isolated villages. I had been here for a few days but was finally offered a special meeting with a person called Nah’ma. Generally, no one from outside the Namur people was allowed to see her. I was told that Nah’ma was something of a mystic... I’d seen plenty of other cultures that had claimed connection to the spirit world, so I wasn't all too surprised. And yet, nothing could have prepared me for what came next. At the very least, I certainly hadn’t expected to find a woman who looked near to burst at the end of a pregnancy. She smiled graciously as I entered her wood, grass, and leaf sheltered home. A calm hand moved softly over her stomach absentmindedly and she gestured that I should sit. The small square cushion was admittedly not much separation from the hard ground beneath it, but I took it with thanks nonetheless. My translator had been my shadow throughout my entire visit thus far. She was one of the few Namur people to ever leave the village and study abroad. Her reasoning had always been that the villagers were ready for the outside world to know about them. And they knew overcoming the language barrier was going to be the first big hurdle. Much to my chagrin, she threw a coy little smile my way and backed out of the hut, closing the gap between the cloth doorway behind her. My mind screamed for her not to leave me. How was I ever going to learn anything through broken speech? It was at that exact moment that the entire hovel burst into brilliant light. Blues, and greens, and purples, and maybe even some colors I didn’t have names for, glittered across the walls, ceiling, and floor. I could hardly believe it, but the source of the light was Nah’ma herself. It was emanating from her forehead, and while it was visible all throughout the room, it wasn’t painfully bright to look at. Quite the opposite actually, the source was soothingly dim. Just when my brain had registered a specific color it would flit away to another, and it continued on like this through the next one, and the next. “We are happy to welcome you to our humble village.” Nah’ma’s sudden entreaty snapped me away from the brilliant colors and I realized she was looking straight into my eyes. At first, I thought the “we” was used as a majestic plural, but Nah’ma had folded both hands across her midsection, indicating that she meant her and her future child. *Wait.* *Was that English?* “Um...Thank you! I’m so very glad to be here!” I responded a little louder than I maybe should have. The resounding laughter from Nah’ma was so pure and golden that I couldn’t help but smile. Clearly, she’d understood me. “I believe you’ve come here for a story, so allow me to share one.” Nah’ma’s smile was enduring, but never seemed forced. I wouldn’t remember until later, but her eyes never left mine. “In our culture, we have a tale we like to tell the little ones. It is about the tiger, the great source of magic in this world. Without it, we would have no imagination, no creativity. We need these things in order to weave words and images into something new and wonderful. Each of us is born with one of these tigers in our bellies, and we carry it with us always lest we forget about our magical roots.” Nah’ma’s hands that had previously rested on her stomach glided across it and rested at the bottom as if supporting the weight. As she did so, a warm glow spread across her tan skin. I watched in awe as the muted orange light gave way to darkness. There, where Nah’ma’s belly button had been just moments ago, was the interior of her womb. I could see her child, eyes closed peacefully, tiny fingers and toes curled in comfort. My shock was only multiplied when I saw the tiger. Its head rested on the child’s and looked very stoic and regal, just like any tiger you might see in a zoo or in photo books. But from underneath its lower jaw, where its neck should have been, protruded at least a dozen long and slender tentacles. These wrapped all around the tiny infant, curling around its legs, torso, and arms. One even cradled the head against the tiger. My wide eyes, open mouth, and gasp caused another ring of Nah’ma’s laughter to ripple through the air. “You see? The tiger is with us from the very beginning. When we are simply a hope in our mother’s womb.” I hadn’t realized how far I was leaning forward until I just about damn near fell on my chin. I’d managed to get my hands out underneath me to stop myself, and Nah’ma’s beaming smile made me feel like everything was okay. I settled my elbows onto the floor and let the lights from the room dazzle me. The tiger’s tentacles never ceased to move, but it was clear that there was no malice or ill will, it was protecting the child.


The grass. It took my friends. It took my family. It took my life from me. What else is there for it to take..? \ *...no...No...NO* *A shadow loomed over the man in the front yard of my house that we were hiding in.* He stared at me with begging eyes. “It's too late. Save yourself... PLEASE-” He vomits as the grass burrows into his heart, taking control of every vein. “**Run.**” He gasps, and his eyes roll back into his head. The man stops moving. He lies still on the once kept yard, now overgrown with the grass. I.. I can’t move.. I’m frozen.. I see the man’s finger suddenly twitch. ...I know what’s coming but I can't..move… The spikes of grass are getting closer. Come on.. Pull it together.. I strain and somehow manage to break the spell. Trembling in shock, I take off. After a while, I quickly sprint left into a dark road. I notice how cold it is.. Shivers go down my spine… I feel a sting. I look down at my foot and see a single... weed. My heart sinks. It’s grabbing my foot now- I don’t know what to do. I’m filled with fear and panic but manage to tear it free. *Gasp-* It hurt. I look down. The thorns on the plant are still embedded in my ankle. Using all the energy I can muster, I frenziedly stagger down the road, leaving a trail of blood behind me. My vision turns blurry.. cracks in the road begin to form- it’s coming. I let out a blood curdling scream and pump my legs to run faster…. It is of no use. It is inescapable. My bloody nails claw at the ground as it pulls me in.. It’s slithering up my back. I can feel the life being sucked out of me already... Everything goes numb… A kind enticing voice reverberates inside my head*: “Give up. It is over. Embrace it."* It’s not true. This is a trap. I scream and struggle even harder, desperate to prove the voice wrong. But my energy is fading… It seems so much easier to succumb.. The grass is only getting stronger. ..The grass..? Where am I? All I know is that i'm very tired… Why am I screaming again? I remember a man…I think the grass was helping him… Right? Yes.. the grass is the only thing I need. I go limp, my body no longer mine. I suddenly gasp and seize up, retching. Sour smelling sap oozes out of my mouth and eyes, yellow and thick. I hear a voice..? Where is it coming from? I look down, shocked. I can barely see anything with the sap coating my eyes, but I can see it. It’s coming from my mouth. Something is using my mouth, but it’s not my voice. It isn’t me. ...Who am I? “*I am safe,”* I say, but it isn’t really me. Or is it? My mind is cloudy. “*You are safe now.”* “Who are you?” My voice this time, hoarse from screaming. *“I am the grass.”* The grass..? *“I am protecting you from them.”* “Them..? Who is them-” I wince. The grass tenses at the thought of *them.* “*They want to hurt me. They want to hurt you. Without me you cannot survive.”* I can’t? The voice sounds so tiny.. So meek… So vulnerable. I must... I must protect it. *“Thank you.”* My eyelids droop. I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. The warmth of the grass comforts me. It holds me like a mother. “Long live the grass.” I whisper. Everything goes dark.


The Hearth The hearth above the fireplace at Pewderschmidt’s Department Store was a resting place for the collection of unique objects left there by any and all patrons which elected to do so. There was no criteria, other than to abstain from hoisting a behemoth upon it, even though it’s breadth was sizable, Yfan promoted a sense of scale so unconsciously upon those before him it seemed that whoever had placed the first object, a soul long since forgotten to the ages, and even Yfan himself - or so he says: suspicions and rumors mount to this day - had placed a spell on the ever living wood and all had followed suit to select an object similar in size and space consumption. The item first placed upon the now soot covered grains, which were ostensibly fresh at the time of its placing, yet that was still undetermined as many claim Yfan was not the progenitor of the establishment as he promotes himself, is a small token of an indistinguishable figure, carved from an earthly clay hardened and greyed by a millennia of smoke and grit. The figure kneels, its head raised, a hand facing forward, the other resting on its knee, the outstretched leg counter balancing the straightened arm. Legend has it, one night as one of the heaviest snows hit the countryside, the roof failed and snow, ice, and rain plummeted towards the mighty hearth, the patrons hollering for cover and diving under the tables faced being buried alive in the thousand year storm, yet with a whisper a nearly inaudible voice cracked, and the small token increased in size 100 fold, rose from its knee and pushed the storm back with its broad chest and hips, heaving the weather with a shock of its own, a zephyr whipping up to the clouds. The force of the thrust created a vacuum, and drew in the surrounding timbers, intertwining them in an impenetrable woven roof of trees whose roots stretched down the walls to the soil and strengthened the structure. It was this night that the immortality of this place was enacted. They say the token is a key to the heavens, and the hearth it rests on enchanted by the one who placed it there allows one to pass through the fire beneath it and arrive in paradise. Or so the legend goes. Many a man has scorched himself attempting to access the fiery vessel only to return engulfed and choked, yet strangely no creature has ever been burned by the eternal flame. Yfan himself is said to have placed an object on the hearth yet over the years the living tend to blend together in the eyes of eternity, a sea of unique and unified consciousnesses heaving and flowing like an ocean, it’s currents hidden beneath the surface, directing it and cloaking its purpose, and since Yfan himself fails to admit what it may be - if anything - and generally smiles and feigns dutiful in his own excusing if queried, eternity is left silently winking at us - but probably not at Yfan. The most recently placed item was put there by a small boy passing through with his grandmother. Both on their way to the theater in the city, and needing respite and taking some winter bread and cheese into their stomachs, their horses being cared for by Polty the stable hand, Yfan approached them with the tradition of Pewderschmidt’s Hearth. The grandmother, showing more interest in engulfing sour crumbles and rips of bread, fished in her purse and pulled out a tied leather pouch and handed it to the boy. He poured the contents out before him and climbed upon the table. He began to sort the arrangement of Knick knacks that fell to the gouged planks. By what standard Yfan could not tell, and the grandmother was occupied too much to give notice if she had any clue herself, so Yfan sat and watched. The boy would move the same piece, placing it next to one other, then another. He’d hold two up to the fire, a shiny sitting on the hearth catching his eye or both, his gaze altered momentarily before focusing back on his task. When he’d selected the one he wanted, he turned to Yfan and handed it to him. Yfan put his hands behind him and bowed before the wood carved gorilla. The boy pointed to his chest and held the figure up. Yfan understood the boy had made it himself. Yfan smiled and directed the boy to place it upon the Hearth. The child hopped off the table, his suede moccasins wrapping the wooden floors as he walked slowly to the monstrous hearth that towered before him. The boy looked to Yfan for assistance, but Yfan simply gestured elegantly towards the hearth, leaving his hand hanging gingerly before the flames. Tendrils of smoke snaked out from the fire pit and wrapped themselves around the ankles of the boy. Slowly his soles lifted from the ground and he rose towards the hearth, his hand outstretched. He placed the gorilla next to a smooth stone and brass fork green with grime. the smoke puffed and a single flame leapt out and enveloped him, and retreated to the roaring embers beneath the hearth, taking the boy. Yfan bowed toward the grandmother, a smile in his eyes. The grandma looked up for a moment, pointed toward the cheese plate, and took a gulp of honey milk. Yfan nodded and retreated to the pantry for more cheese.


Father Anselmo had embarked on his first mission to spread the Good News. He was signed onto a Spanish war ship sailing from Peru to a colony in the Indian Ocean, and they were going to drop him off to the island of Bohatu in the South Pacific. Bohatans had established exchanges with the Crown twenty-five years prior. While in his seminary in Sevilla, Anselmo had spent several years with a Bohatan prince, Kahoba, from whom he learned the language of the island. Kahoba, who was with him on the ship and going back to his native island, had told him of the great beauty of his island and his people. He often talked of the great traditions and folklore of Bohatu, from which Anselmo drew similarities to the Christian faith, and surmised that Bohatans should be relatively receptive to the Word of God. The ship left Father Anselmo and Kahoba on the island with several craters of gifts for the locals. They included a wealth of tools for agriculture and wood carving, fine textiles from all over the world, and precious jewellery for the King of Bohatu. In addition to that, Anselmo of course brought materials for teaching and conversion: loose and bound paper, ink, pens, books, Bibles, and all the props required for liturgy, baptisms, and exorcisms if needed. The king, Kaha, held a three-day festival in honor of their exotic guests. There were dances of nubile young girls and young warriors, singing and feasting. The king personally talked with Anselmo from his wooden throne: \- We have propitiated the great Mahala, God of the Mah Mountain, prior to your arrival, and he indicated that a guest from the Stiff People, your people, is to be honoured. The ships of the Stiff People are wonders in our eyes, and your artefacts allow us to better honor Mahala with holy places and food offerings. Thus, your God must be a mighty one too. This is why Mah welcomes you, priest. Anselmo smiled and rose his cup of *fi* spirit in toast to the king with both hands and a bow. It was the third day of the welcome festivities. The dances on the first day were militant, with fearsome masks. On the second day, the celebrations included incantations and trances culminating in slaughter of five boars. The third day, there were merry circle dances and exchanges of gifts. Anselmo was instructed to ceremonially gift some of the stuff from the craters he brought to whomever gave him a gift, and he did so. However, in the evening he encountered a problem. Anselmo was seated on a palm trunk near his craters and merrily drinking spirits and sweating in his frock. He was all tensed up throughout the day, which the locals noticed, and joked amongst themselves how Stiff People really are stiff. At dusk, an imposing man who appeared to be a high-ranking warrior walked up to Anselmo with a giggling teenage beauty. He pointed at a beautiful carved axe in the trunk, and grabbing the girl by the forearm, offered her to Anselmo. “Oh boy,” thought Anselmo in panic. “This girl is beautiful, but I cannot break my vows of celibacy. I cannot do it. I cannot do it.” Thus, Anselmo waved his hands politely and explained in broken Bohanese that his God forbids him from taking that particular gift. He must be kept apart from women for his whole life; this was his oath. The warrior was taken aback and kept repeating his offer. Anselmo tried to reason with the warrior, but the warrior pretended not to hear Anselmo, and kept repeating rather mechanically the offer of exchange. The teenager stopped giggling and began to look somewhat concerned. Several people nearby noticed the impasse, and before any serious commotion rose up, Kahoba showed up to try and sort things out. He bowed to the ground in front of the warrior and threw some dust in the air, which made the latter stop repeating the offer and freeze as it were, looking blankly straight ahead. Kahoba then talked to Anselmo: \- The gift-exchange ceremony is sacred to my people. Giving and accepting of gift is the sign of accepting the peace of Mah, our God. Refusal to accept can unleash chaos on the island. You must accept the girl! It is an extremely honorable gift! \- But Kahoba, you know how things work for me and my Church. I am not permitted to sleep with women, it is a grave sin for me! \- Of course, I know that. Our people understand celibacy. Of course, we are very careful with our women. But on the third day of the Hospitality Festival things must play out exactly the opposite as the rest of the year, in that regard. We say that those who do not accept other men’s woman on this day, are exactly the type of men who try to steal them and sleep secretly with them on all other days. Your acceptance is in fact a sign of celibacy. So, you must prove to us that you are an honorable man! These words threw Anselmo into confusion, which was not helped by all the fi drink he had had. At the seminary he was a seasoned debater, but the theological argument he just heard from Kahoba was unlike anything he ever encountered before. He did not know how to answer. The obvious response was that Jesus Christ was the true God and that their mountain god was merely a metaphysical construct of the human collective; but of course, it was too early for that. He needed to use the internal logic of Bohatan spirituality to convince them. This is what he came up with: \- Kahoba, tell this to your warrior. My god Jesus has held a three-day festival that has fulfilled the need for all three-day festivals from now until the end of time. Thus, my people believe that the third day of gift giving has been ended forever. It does not mean at all, not at all, that I don’t accept gifts, but that I have accepted the gift of all people, including your people, already once and for all. My celibacy is a symbol of that gift. You see, I wear this cross and this black robe to indicate that. Tell him, these are the symbols that exclude me. Kahoba’s face was growing desperate throughout Anselmo’s rant. The warrior started to grunt angrily. Kahoba grabbed Anselmo by the lapels and cried: \- Anselmo, don’t you understand? You are giving the exact the opposite impression that you are trying to give. With every moment you refuse the gift, you grow more and more lecherous, more lustful in their eyes! I told you, man: not accepting a woman on this day is exactly as committing adultery on any other day! Do it now, or we are both going to get into big trouble! Anselmo looked from one face to another. He looked at Kahoba’s panicked face, the warrior’s angry face, and the girl’s worried face, and at the many obscure faces watching the scene now in a semicircle, in the darkness of the evening. He had no choice, he had to consent. There was a sigh of relief in the crowd. Anselmo smiled at the warrior and bowed to him with hands clasped, and he accepted the girl from him. He respectfully handed him the axe, and the man seemed content. He walked off shaking his head and grunting, but once he made it back to the main fire, he got himself some drink and continued laughing and carousing with the crowd. The friction caused by Anselmo raised concern among some elders. Several middle-aged islanders informed Kahoba that, in order to make sure that the sanctity of the festival is preserved, they would have to observe Anselmo consummating his gift. Anselmo frown deepened further when Kahoba told him about this requirement. He looked on the verge of crying. After some thought, he said: \- This is going to be very difficult for me, Kahoba. Can I at least have some time to prepare. Can you get me some more of that fi-spirit? Oh my Lord, I’m so lost. Kahoba walked back to the circle of elders. There was some laughter, then he returned and told Anselmo: \- They said, sure. You have until the fifth dance ends. Anselmo joined the big fire and began drinking hastily. Soon he was so drunk that the others started coming up to him and laughing with him, urging him to dance. Soon enough, Anselmo was hopping around on the dance ground with a group of warriors and maidens. Someone even gave him a spear, which he tried to spin around in Bohatan dance fashion. However, he wasn’t very good, and he was soon discouraged from doing so for fear that he may let fly of a speak and injure an onlooker. By the time fifth dance ended, Anselmo was hardly in control of his wits. He barely remembers walking into a hut with the girl who was his gift, and of the love-making experience he remembered only some still-images the next day. He woke up late the next day, and the girl had already gone. He did his morning prayer return, adding a few extra prayers addressing specifically the transgression he committed last night. He was boozy, and given the circumstances, and considering his greater mission on this island, perhaps it wasn’t such a great transgression after all. Besides, he barely remembers anything, and certainly doesn’t recall experiencing any pleasure. This is surely an alleviating factor. He found Kahoba carving a piece of wood in front of the hut. \- Good morning, brother Anselmo! Will you eat now? \- I am quite hungry, to be honest. \- Haha, of course. They say you were akin to a green demon last night! \- What? \- Relax, it’s a compliment. It means you are strong! \- Well, thanks, I suppose. \- Relax, man, Kahoba hugged Anselmo. – That girl is outside her moon, so you have nothing to worry about. What’s such a big deal with getting laid, anyways? \*\*\* Several weeks passed, and then several months. Anselmo learned the routines of island life and became very comfortable with speaking the language. His life was comfortable too, as he was always considered a guest and treated with honors of a guest, which mean that he didn’t need to get involved in the labors of the island. He had no internal role in the social structure. Instead, Father Anselmo walked among the people and observed their works, including fishing, hut-building, plastic arts, child-rearing, cooking, and hunting. He recorded much of what his saw in his diaries. The weather of the island loosened the stiff European; his skin bronzed and he looked healthier than when he had arrived. He helped out with some of the heavy lifting on the island, and the exercise strengthened his body. Of course, he soon enough began preaching Christianity to the locals. His behavior was proper and good in the eyes of the tribe, and they were receptive and even curious to hear about his God. He became close with the big warrior with whom he had exchanged an axe for a one-night stand; both of them felt the need to signal to each other that there were not any ill feelings left. The man’s name was Tadua. He talked to Tadua about Jesus often. One day when the two of them were spear fishing on a rock together. Actually, Father Anselmo was no good with a spear, so he was tottering in the shallows trying to catch crabs with his shirt as a net. He was explaining to Tadua: \- The Heavenly Father of all human beings sent his only begotten Son as a sacrifice to bring eternal peace to all humankind until the end of days, Anselmo would say, - Because Jesus was perfectly good, and God himself, his sacrifice has infinite value, and thus there is no longer need to sacrifice boars to ensure peace. \- But my people never saw Jesus, said Tadua, - And as you saw yourself, the boars bring us peace. How can Jesus bring us peace, when we never saw him, and we never ate him? \- Well, we cannot see Jesus Christ because he has gone to Heaven. But he will return at the end of time to bring final peace on Earth once and for all. In the meantime, Jesus lives in those who accept him. Also, we kind of *do* eat Jesus. \- So, Jesus lives in you, now? \- Yes, I hope so. \- Well, are you at peace? Has he already brought peace, or he has yet to bring peace when he returns? \- For the time being, we Christians are to imitate Him and strive to be like Him, but when he returns, he will be visible to all. \- You cannot have peace without rites. Our god Mah also lives inside of us. But first his spirit enters a boar, whom we slaughter and eat. When we eat the boar, the spirit of Mah enters us too, and we live in peace. But we have to keep repeating the ritual to maintain peace. \- Well, you see, we kind of do something very similar, said Anselmo. We eat the body and blood of Christ every seven days, too. \- What animal does Jesus enter? \- He doesn’t enter any animals. He enters bread, which is similar to your *saha,* and his blood is wine, a drink similar to fi. \- Plants don’t have any blood, said Tadua. – God doesn’t want plants. He wants animals, beings with blood. You already told me that your god is the same, with the story of the first brothers. Anselmo wanted to explain the concept of transubstantiation at this point but had no idea how to do it in the Bohatan language. He was going to have to learn more about the culture and try another time. On another occasion, while sitting with Tadua near his hut, he tried to explain the idea of Heaven and Hell. He said how the righteous, those who please God, go to a state of eternal bliss with God in Heaven, and how those who offend God are doomed to suffer in fiery Hell for all eternity. \- That is correct! was Tadua’s answer. We hold a similar belief. My people dread the fiery pit, and this is why we make sure that all of us go to Heaven. \- How can you be sure that every one of you goes to heaven? Asked Anselmo. Tadua was surprised by the question: \- Who do you see among us that is cursed? Can’t you see that we are all living in harmony? \- Okay, but no one lives in a perfect world. Evil must happen, even on Bohatu. \- Yes, evil does happen sometimes. There are times when the Evil god Lah enters the body of one or more of our villagers, and then that villages goes to the fiery pit. \- But how can you know that he goes to the fiery pit? What are the rules that make him go there? \- We watch him go down to the fiery pit. The Big Fiery Pit is on top of the Lah Mountain, which is on Lah island. It is half a day rowing from our island. When some unlucky person becomes possessed with Lah, we take him there, and we throw him in. This appeases Lah. We never let anyone possessed with Lah stay among us. It would create chaos and cause our island to be swallowed by the ocean. Where is your fiery pit? \- Our fiery pit is not on this earth. \- That’s not good. How can you get rid of evil then? Again, Anselmo was at a loss for words. He said that they can’t, and that evil is always present among them. \- No, no, said Tadua, Stiff People are not evil. Stiff people are noble! Though Father Anselmo could not present a conclusive theology to Tadua and his people, his preaching nevertheless attracted curiosity. Yet, he knew that to preach the Gospel it was important to demonstrate saintliness by example and to spare words, so he became resolved to show hard work and grace whenever and wherever he could. He noticed, for example, a poor old living in a particularly shabby hut on the outskirts of the village. Whenever, he would pass by it on his way up or down the mountain, where he went alone to pray, he would greet them cordially. The couple would wave back with smiles if they were lounging outside. Later on, seeing that they are frail and emaciated, he would bring them a spare fish or soup from the meals he took in the centre of the village. They accepted it with what seemed to be gestures of blessings, though Anselmo could not understand their dialect. They may have been from another island. One day Tadua took Anslem boar hunting with several men in the forest, and on their way there, armed with bows and arrows and spears, they walked right past the old couple’s house. The two hosts were sitting crossed legged right outside the door. Anselmo nodded towards them to Tadua: \- What a gentle couple those two are! \- They are tapu! Said Tadua, No one must touch them. If you touch them, you must die. They are tapu. Unclean! \- Oh, exclaimed Anselmo. – Okay, I got it. Of course, he decided not to reveal that he has already “touched” them on multiple occasions. In the bush, the hunting party, consisting in fact of seven men including Tadua, and Anselmo, tracked a sounder of wild boars for an incredibly long time. Finally, they spotted them in a clearing by a loud brook, and under silent guidance of Tadua, the men circled around and approached the beasts from downwind side. Tadua placed an arrow in his long bow and shot it in the direction the animals. Immediately, as the boars begun to squeal and scramble wildly, the other men jumped out, and with loud yells, rushed and threw their spears at them. When the commotion settled, Anselmo saw that there was large male lying on the ground, with the arrow and a spear sticking out of his body, and still heaving. Tadua pulled out wooden dagger with several prongs, like those of a fork, except they were sticking out in a circular and slightly twisted fashion. He placed it into the hands of Anselmo and said: \- You must strike it in the heart. \- I would rather not, said Anselmo, you see, I am not skilled at this. \- You must! said Tadua – Do not speak any more! \- But, … \- You and the boar are both foreigners on our land! said Tadua – You must kill a beast, to prove that *you* are not the beast! Anselmo once again found himself painted in a corner. He took the dagger and approached the lying boar. Lifting up the dagger with both hands over his head, he crouched by the animal looked to swing it into its soft belly, and upwards to under its rib cage. Just when he was about to do so, the boar swing his head violently, in one last death lurch. It’s tusks tore through Anselmo’s shirt and sliced deep into his forearm. Anselmo screamed and swung savagely at the beast, who squealed again, then got up and limped off into the brush. Anselmo’s blow was nowhere near fatal; it merely served to spur the beast into a last-ditch run. Anselmo then heard commotion from the hunters. They were yelling incredulously and pointing at him. They seemed to be yelling: \- He is the boar man! He is the boar man! One of the men took an arrow from his quiver and strung it on his bow. \- Don’t move! Don’t move! people shouted. The arrow shot towards Anselmo and missed him. At this point, Anselmo got up and rushed through the thicket, in roughly the same direction as the boar had done. The rest of the party was in hot pursuit. Anselmo ran downwards. In deathly panic, an idea occurred to him to rush to the old couple’s hut and hide in there. If the place was taboo, the villagers would perhaps not enter there. He managed to keep ahead of his pursuers, in part because the latter would slow down whenever they got close to him in the process of shooting an arrow or throwing a javelin. By the time he ran into the sight of the hut, the hunters could not see him. He rushed into the hut and hid away from the entrance and under a window. He saw the couple seated on the bed opposite the window, and he put his index finger to his mouth, imploring them to stay quiet. In a short moment, he could hear the hunters pause and gather in front of the hut. He could hear one of them guessing that Anselmo was hiding in the hut. \- He must be, Anselmo could hear the voice of Tadua shortly after. - Come out, Anselmo! Come out, you are unclean! We can see your blood in front of the hut! We know you are in there! There was complete silence. The men outside deliberated. From what Anselmo could gather, someone was arguing that they would need to perform a rite to lift the taboo from the hut in order to enter it. \- But if we remove the taboo from the hut, we remove the taboo from Anselmo too, said one man. \- But we cannot remove taboo from Anselmo. He was cut by the boar, so the shadow of the boar is in him now. If we lift the taboo, the boar’s shadow will escape, but we must slay the boar! After some more debate, the hunting party agreed to seek doctrinal advice from the village assembly, and they went back to the village. They left one of the warriors to keep guard by the hut, lest Anselmo tries to flee. They returned to the hut early the next morning, with medicine men and an additional crowd of villagers. They first saw the guard sleeping at his post, leaning on the trunk of a tree and hugging his spear. They then saw that the old couple was sitting in front of the door of their hut as usual. In front of them they saw the dead body of Anselmo spread out supine on the ground. His white shirt had been profusely soaked in blood, and the pronged dagger stuck out from his chest. The crowd murmured in commission, and an old medicine man stood in front and rose his hand for silence. \- The old man and old woman were taboo, but now that they have murdered another taboo, to wit, Anselmo, they have removed the taboo from themselves. Thus, they are free to go, and moreover, they are to be feted for expelling impurity from the island. \- Indeed, they are to be feted! Clamoured the crowd, which included Tadua. It also included the teenage girl that Anselmo had slept with, and it included Kahoba, Anselmo’s erstwhile cultural interpreter. That day, the village began another three-day ceremony, just as the one they had held to welcome Anselmo. Only this time, the guests of honor were the old couple. Instead of boars, alas, the party’s main feast was Anselmo himself. As Tadua poked his pronged dagger into an especially sinewy part of the meat, he remarked to a friend sitting next to him: \- You know, I am looking forward to seeing if it’s true what Anselmo told me, that he has Jesus in him. He is a great god indeed, for he gifts his people with mighty ships and wondrous tools. \- I think he was indeed sent from heaven to cleanse us. We only needed to strike his shadow before he returns to the village, but he kept running away.


Lying in the tent on his back, he held the picture with both hands and illuminated it with the flashlight sticking out of his mouth. It was a picture of his wife. He almost envisioned her lying next to him in a sleeping bag. She would have been asleep already; she had not been a night-owl. Gripping the picture tightly, he struggled to keep tears from flowing out of his eyes. He turned the flashlight off and set it down along with the picture. The night was quiet, and through the tent he heard the gentle wind rustle the pine trees. The nearby creek peacefully trickled along through the forest. He attempted to focus on the surrounding wilderness, rather than on his painful memories. He sat there for a while until he eventually fell asleep. An indistinguishable sound woke him up. He sat listening, intensely focused on the noise from the outside. A low growling appeared out of nowhere, and it sent a jolt of adrenaline throughout his body. The growling began to grow louder, and he sensed a creature was stalking toward the tent. He heard snorting and sniffing, and the volume of the noises convinced him it was a large animal— most likely a grizzly bear. The sniffing came closer, and he feared the beast was right outside his tent. Eyes wide open and body frozen with fear, he listened as it paced around his encampment. His heart was beating intensely, and his jaw tightened harshly. After about a minute, the noise abruptly withdrew. Perhaps the brute had become bored and lumbered away. Not trusting his ears, he sat for an hour before deciding to go outside. He set his picture and flashlight in his day-pack, put it on his back, and grabbed the 12-gauge shotgun propped against the inside of the tent. His two-person Marmot tent contained a zipper to exit on either side of the tent. Last hearing the creature on his right, he slowly unzipped the left exit all the way. He poked his head out, and peered around before getting out. The night was ominously dark, and the moon was completely blocked by clouds. Shotgun ready, he observed the forest surrounding him and saw no animals. A sigh of relief escaped his mouth. *Thank God*, she would have said. That was one of her favorite lines; she used to say it at least ten times a day. He wiped the sweat off his forehead as he stared up at the bleak night sky, void of any stars. Beginning to think about her again, he tried to distract himself. The purpose of his trip was to get away from everything— a distraction from his sorrows. He studied the tops of the evergreen trees, thoroughly staring at each tree to examine its shape. A snarl from behind erupted out of the silence of the wilderness. A second wave of adrenaline crushed him with immediate force. He spun around aggressively and pointed his gun at the enormous, snarling, 800-pound grizzly bear that stood before him. Standing about fifteen feet away, the beast bared its sharp, threatening teeth, and he felt it attempting to impose its dominance over him. The blood inside him turned to lead, and his mind went blank. He struggled to overcome the mounting dread the bear established within him. He hadn’t felt such an overwhelming rush of terror since the day she died. Unexpectedly, the mental images of that day flashed into his vision. Sirens. Police cars. His bloody leg. An ambulance. Her eyes, gazing up at him as she slipped away. The bear pulled him back to reality with a primal, guttural growl that shook him to his core. His mind became clear. Keeping his gun pointed at the beast, he slowly backed away, step-by-step. The bear maintained a menacing glare and took a step toward him. He shifted the gun’s direction off to the side a few feet and pulled the trigger. The deafening crack caused the bear to recoil slightly, and he sensed its imposing dominance waver. He pointed the gun back at the bear and started to back away once more. The bear did not follow this time, so he kept going. He was now fifty feet away from it. He kept backing up until he reached the creek, about a hundred feet away. He barely saw the bear’s menacing glare penetrating through the wilderness. He felt the contents of his pack poking into his back. He was grateful that he grabbed his bag before leaving the tent. Disregarding the staring beast due to the distance between them, he crossed the creek. The water was icy cold and chilled him to the bone. Upon reaching the other side, he fell into a dead sprint through the forest. After running for twenty minutes, he dropped to the ground next to a large cedar tree. The bear was nowhere to be seen, so he rested. He slept through the whole night. The bright, uncovered sun woke him up along with the warm, brushing breeze. For a while he sat there, enjoying the beauty of the forest. Eventually, he opened his pack and took out the picture. He set her down, and his hands began to dig. They dug a sizable hole next to that cedar tree. When finished, he took one last look at her and placed the picture in the hole. As his hands covered the hole back up, a cleansing sensation washed over him, and he felt whole once more. He got up, found the trail, and began to head back to the trailhead.


My eyes opened slowly, fluttering at the harsh sunlight. I sat up in my makeshift bed and groaned. My lower back was sore. Maybe sleeping on logs was a bad idea. I gathered the materials that I had used to make last night’s bed and stored them in my backpack. While doing so, I realized that I had some iron from mining yesterday. I melted the iron ingots into a sword and attached them using twine to a stick I had found in the forest. I did the same with the rocks I had collected and made a stone pickaxe. I ventured outside and found that there were tons of monsters terrorizing the village. I recognized a few that looked like the one I had encountered in the cave yesterday but the rest were unfamiliar to me. I took my newly-made sword and swung it at the creature closest to me. The sword hit the green-skinned monster in the abdomen. The attack from my sword hit him into the sun’s intense rays. The green-skinned monster, which I would call a zombie, burst into flames as soon as the sunlight hit him. I was so terrified that I ran away to the other side of the village, wondering how that just happened. After calming down, I went back to my home base and organized a few things. I realized that I still hadn’t explored the entire village yet. I explored the rest of the village, both avoiding the terrifying creatures, finding a list written on a dirty piece of paper that seemed to be a to-do list of sorts, and books with topics ranging from transportation using something called a ‘waystone’ and enchanting items with special powers. I read the list I had found. It seemed that the writer’s handwriting got messier as you read on. Almost as if they had written it in a high-stress situation. I spaced out for a bit, thinking of explanations for this. While doing so, I had to attack one of the unknown beasts in self-defense. The monster flashed white and exploded after I swung at it with my sword. Once I got back to my home base, I thought over the different explanations for the weird list. I came up with the conclusion that the list was written right before the writer’s death and that the tasks on the list were never finished. I didn’t really have a guide on how to survive in this world and I couldn’t help but feel that this list would guide me. I soon went venturing out of the village. I found a wide hole in the ground. I saw some more iron and went to mine it. But, there was another one of the monsters I had encountered earlier. I fought the monster off with my blade which was slowly getting duller. After almost being scared to death, I continued to mine in the open cave. I collected more iron and some coal. Once I was done with mining, I realized that the Sun had almost set and I needed to get back to my home base. I quickly ran back. I made a bed the same way I had the night before. I put the items I had gathered in a chest and made sure that the door was secure and slipped under the covers. Even though it took a while, I eventually fell asleep.


It came quickly, and it only lasted a moment or two. The last moments of my life. I couldn't quite remember how I died, all I remember is the dark. The void. The emptiness. The memories I had were a bit foggy, all I remember was a tall and disfigured creature standing over me. It was the last thing I saw. The last moment I had. I woke up with a gasp. My neck ached from the snap back to reality, and it felt almost unnatural to be in a physical form again. At least I thought. I started to wiggle around. Arms, legs, everything seemed to be there. I was dressed in all white. My head was shaved, and two wires were attached to the side of it, leading up to the wall behind me. In front of me was what looked like to be a large, curved glass shield. It was like a pod of some sort. Across from me I could see many more pods like mine, all lined up on the wall, at least a hundred of them, each containing someone else. The room was clean. Shiny. Each wall was made completely of metal, without a spot of rust in sight. I tried to move around, but both my arms and legs were bolted to the bod. Panicked, the shield started to rise and I was released. I removed the wires from my head and stepped down. *Is this...heaven?* I knew for sure I had just died. I had never considered myself religious but this was the only possible explanation. So this is where I would be spending the rest of eternity. I looked around to see if I could meet my creator. At the end of the room was a door, unlocked and wide open. Naturally I walked through, and the lights started to get dimmer as I went down the narrow hallway, dragging my fingers along the wall and feeling the smoothness of the metal. Then the lights started to flicker, and I heard whispers. I saw shadows. My vision went dark and I saw the moment of my death again, much clearer this time. I saw the creature- it looked to be more normal than what I originally saw. Its arms and legs were thin. It looked malnourished. Its face looked like melted candle wax. Human. That's right. That's what it was. Human. Just barely meeting the requirements to be called that. I said the word again, this time aloud. Human. The word appeared in my head almost out of nowhere. Human. Yes, that's what I was too. The human held some sort of small device with a flashing light at the end, sparks flying out from the end. The human raised it, and that's when it ended. The hallway. That's right. I'm in the hallway. Eventually the hallway ended and I turned to find a massive room filled with strange and grotesque machines. Faint laughter, that sounded almost insane and sadistic, was echoing throughout the chamber. My heart skipped a beat and I held my breath as I saw the end of the room. There was a body, like mine, hanging upside down from a machine. Below it seemed to be a pool of thick liquid releasing smoke. But- it was missing an arm. And a leg. Its face had no features. It seemed to be half-formed flesh. The creature with the sadistic laugh turned around, and I saw it. It was the human. Same thin limbs, same candle wax face. It spoke in a very high pitch and garbled voice. *"My child! Yes, oh my child! You've awakened!"* Child? What was it talking about? *"You're safe, I was so worried."* It came closer to me. *"My dear creation, my dear assembly of flesh and bone."* I was confused. Was he...God? The human had a haunting grin on its face. *"It's wonderful to have you here, my child. But I'm afraid you must go and join your brothers and sisters..."* The human walked over to me and placed its hand on my cheek. I was shaking and felt paralyzed. *"You are my proudest creation. Oh, but what a shame you must go back! A cat only has nine lives, you know. Like the cat, you must realize that each of your lives, no matter how many, is a treasure."* "Who are you?" *"Who am I? You forgot me? Call me father, my child. All of you are my children. And all of you must return to the world within the pod"* "Wha-I don't understand!" The human took out the device I had seen in my vision and pressed it into my shoulder. With a shock of electricity, everything went black. I woke up in the pod again. My arms and legs were bound. The wires were back on my head. And the glass shield was slowly lowering. I saw the human laughing maniacally as he watched me enter into my sleep again. I felt like I was leaving my body. I felt light headed. And then, everything stopped. \~ I came out crying and wailing as the doctor picked me up. I shook my little arms and legs as I could her murmurs around the hospital room. The doctor put me in the hands of a woman who I could only assume was my mother, with a kind face and a warm smile. She was beautiful, and she stared at me with utter joy. "Welcome to the world.


Long before the dinosaurs roamed the earth, there was but the earth herself. And there were the gods and goddesses that used the universe as their playground. They would play with the little planets and shape them to their will. They fought with each other over them as though they were just toys at a preschool. The ones that fought the most with each other were the ones of opposites. Fire would fight with water, darkness with light, good with bad and so on for all the many gods and goddesses that we can not even comprehend. Fire had recently won a battle against water for a planet that now remains forever red. In his sulking he fled to the next one closer to the sun. It was only mud and rock, but once he stepped upon the surface he felt a pulse. There was a goddess within all the mud and rock. Water started his work to carve her out. First he called the moisture from the sky but it would not stay. He needed help and there was only one that he could trust. He sent word for the silver warrior that could help him control the atmosphere and she came to him in no time at all. She did as he bid and held the water from the sky. He used the water to cut away the stone and soon his goddess began to take shape. At first it was just her head. Her hair was rivers of mud that flowed endlessly down. Her eyes a brilliant warm topaz that could melt even the coldest heart. Her jaw was hard and her neck swooped like the sides of a mountain. Her skin was ruset like rich clay. The hills of her breast were perfectly round but water didn’t get much further in freeing her when fire started to rain down from the sky. The earth goddess screamed as she felt every impact. The silver warrior could deflect a few with her mighty sword but she was no match for fire. Water was his only match and so he would leave earth to go fight him. He left the silver warrior to do what she could and she did try until silver dripped off of her skin and was soaked into the land. The earth cheered her on and the more time that passed with it just being the two of them on the planet, the closer they grew until the silver warrior fell in love with the earth and she in return. Water was not able to hold fire off forever. Fire wanted to consume the planet like he had so many others, leaving nothing behind. Water was fighting more than he ever had because he too was in love with the earth. They tangled as they fell back towards the surface and splashed into the water that had accumulated there. They fell to the center of the world. This hurt the earth, to have such great powers fighting within her, so she separated them with stone. The stone closest to fire turned to magma and the stone closest to water turned solid. Fire was so mad that he started spinning circles trying to throw water from the planet. Water was so distracted by fire that he didn’t realize that the tidal wave that their impact had created was heading for the earth goddess herself. If it hit her she would surely drown and be lost, forever worn away. The silver warrior had also been thrown from the planet during the impact on a large piece of rock. She watched from so far away helpless to help her love. She howled with such might that the wave ebbed back before it could destroy the earth goddess. When she stopped it crept forward again. It was clear to her that she would be forever stuck away from her love to keep her alive. Controlling the ebb and flow of the water while water himself was distracted by the swirling fury of fire at the center of the world. She looked down at the earth goddess with longing and sorrow. Down on the surface the earth goddess looked up knowing that her love and protector was up there. She had no voice to howl back to the silver warrior. All she had left was the sweat the silver warrior had left behind. She pushed it from the ground and asked life to give it shape. It turned into all different kinds of creatures but the earth goddess’s favorite was the ones that looked up to the moon and howled for her. She could hear them call to her silver warrior every night with their howling song of love and loss. They said for her what she could not and the silver warrior brightened. She would stay forever there to protect her love.


Hi R/shortstories this is my first post on this sub and really my first endeavor on showing anyone my writing. I hope you all like it - attempting to put my creativity into something more concrete. Raucous laughter filled the tavern where oil lamps illuminated the musky inside. Folks from all across the township were lounging and talking - a palpable excitement filled the space and the smell of beer and roasting pork wafted through the air as hoarse voices collided in a cacophony of sound. “They're disgusting is what they are.” “Ray!” Ben’s voice hissed, “Shhh! Don't say things like that! They might hear you!” “I don’t care, he’s the worst.” Ray pulled away from Ben's grasp at her elbow and grabbed their pitcher of dark beer. She refilled her glass and drank deeply out of it, dirty brown eyes flecked with gold peered across the room. It was a good beer, Felwind had brought out an old cask of Grittle Ale for this occasion. She smoothed back down her shirt and tucked it back into her leggings after it had been so unceremoniously groped at. It had been a long time since a Brinkleback Boar of this size was killed in Num’s Bridge township. This one in particular had caused many problems and destroyed crops, maimed horses, killed livestock - and wreaked havoc all through its territory, it’s children populating and destroying the area. Luther, and his men had finally cornered the beast at it’s the den deep in the Brinkle Forest and had burned them out yesterday. The large sow and her ilk had been harried for hours, only to finally erupt, killing two more horses this time before Luther’s long pikes were driven through her. Outside hung the massive sow. It cooked, fat dripping amongst the townsfolk, six dinner plate hooves hung lazily as the beast rolled on a spit - the head had been hung separately already. Tacked up to the make-shift stand someone had fashioned to present the trophy, twelve inch razor like tusks jutted through a slack upper jaw as the beasts tongue lulled out of it’s blood soaked mouth. It's ruddy, wirey hair stood up on the snout between black eyes. Luther's men were in rare form now. Having effectively become heros overnight, slaying the great pig, they were taking any liberty offered to them. Beer and wine had been flowing freely for the hunting party since mid-day. “I can’t take it any more Ben,” She said, pushing back from the table, “ I’m through with it.” “Ray!” Ben breathed, fear washing across his face. In an instant Ray pulled at the cording around wrist, the thin leather zipping free as her eyes focused on the fleshly, drunk man stumbling across the room. He groped out and the woman beside him spun - anger in her eyes as she pushed the drunk hunter away. He stumbled backwards out the door into the night. “Ray no!” But it was too late, Ray had already started to stand, and with a slight snapping sound the oil lamps suddenly went out as crackling energy suffused Ray’s gold flecked eyes - darkness poured into the room as the lights suddenly dropped away and Ray’s spell took effect. The only light now cascading in thin sheets from the bonfires outside. Darkness. A scream rent the air and Ben heard a stiff grunt come from the doorway, then the same tell-tale snapping sound he had grown more and more accustomed to. A crash broke into Ben’s focus as someone yelled out to get the lamps lit. The crowd roared in surprise and confusion. The only evidence of any change in the last few moments was a now wet leather cord tied securely around Ray’s wrist. It felt like only seconds, when the lights returned Ray was back just as she was before, but with a slight shiver and goosebumps on her arms. She looked sidelong at Ben, giving no indication that anything had changed for her - feigning confusion with the rest of tavern. Gad had felt a sort of pulling feeling, like falling and spinning all at once. Then a cold seizing pain was at his throat. A thin red line spread across his neck in a new grisly smile - he lay dumbly feeling his neck. Confused by the wet, hot liquid he felt on his hands. His eyes became cloudy, and he thought he saw stars above him. Had he tripped? Where was the tavern, why was it so quiet? What was that snapping sound he had heard? He had drank too much - he felt sleep now taking him.


Most people haven't experienced real cold. -50F. -60F. -70F. You can hear sounds from miles away, clear as a bell. Engines won't start, and the internal components of electronic devices can freeze and crack. Glass can simply shatter. When it's that cold outside, you could walk into a deep freeze meat locker and feel 60 degrees warmer.  The Cold seeps through layers of clothing, and with each passing moment, frostbite threatens to maim. It's easy to lose fingers and toes especially. If you don't wear a mask, you'll lose the tip of your nose, your ears. Your lips. Skin left exposed is skin lost. Sweating presents a mortal danger, and urination risks frostbite on your most intimate areas. The fluid on the surface of your eyeballs can freeze, hurting your eyes. Inhaling deeply through your mouth can hurt your lungs, and touching metal with your bare hands guarantees you'll be leaving a patch of skin behind. The risk of an asthma attack grows by the second. Wet hair freezes instantly, and it freezes so cold that you can snap it into pieces. When it's that cold, you could sit down and be dead within an hour.  The Cold isn't beautiful. Snow is beautiful. The Cold is malevolent and terrible. It's surreal, as if it wants to kill you personally. Imagine how you would feel if you learned that someone had hired an assassin to murder you. Take a moment to close your eyes and really imagine how you would feel if you found out that there was an assassin coming to kill you. Did you feel that little jolt of fear? That's how every second feels in The Cold. Temperatures don't have feelings and desires of course. The Cold doesn't want to kill you, but it will do the job all the same.  The three ingredients of fire are oxygen, fuel, and heat. Water is effective at combating fire because it is a coolant, thereby removing the heat component of fire. Extreme cold performs the same action, actively resisting efforts at creating and sustaining combustion. You could do everything right and The Cold might still kill you if your food and water freezes and you're unable to get a fire started. The Cold wants you dead, or rephrased in more scientific terms, life is not compatible with The Cold. Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) Ha!  Throughout Earth's history, there have been five ice ages. You could say that the history of our planet is the evolution, growth, and proliferation of life, followed by The Cold utterly annihilating that life with contemptuous efficiency. The last ice age began 2.6 million years ago and killed 96% of all life on the planet. Most people think an asteroid killed the dinosaurs, but that's only a partial truth. In reality, it wasn't a fiery apocalypse that nearly snuffed out all life. It was The Cold. The influx of dust into Earth's upper atmosphere blotted out the sun, which killed the plants, then the insects and plant-eaters, and finally, the meat-eaters. The Cold killed them all. 75,000 years ago, the Toba supervolcano in Indonesia erupted, once again chilling the planet and reducing the human population to 10,000 – 30,000 individuals. Humanity barely survived. Ultimately, The Cold will claim everything as the stars die and darkness and entropy settle in to the ever-expanding space between matter. This is the ineffable destiny of our universe. We exist in the infinitesimally small moment in time wherein heat and life are possible, just before the vast yawning eternity that is The Cold.  As I sit in this squat little cabin, contemplating The Cold and watching ice crystallize on the inside of the tiny door, I find it increasingly difficult to not take it personally and anthropomorphize. The ice seems to be reaching for me, blindly groping at me from the darkness beyond with cold fingers that won't take no for an answer. “Cabin” is perhaps too generous a word. It would have been impossible to heat a real cabin for long enough to survive The Cold. It's more of a deluxe-sized coffin, built short and sturdy. I built it with an oppressively low ceiling and an inward swinging door so small that I have to crawl out on my hands and knees. The cramped space is packed to the ceiling with chopped wood, neatly stacked as tightly as I could get it. The fireplace and chimney are stone, hewn together with clay mortar and sprinklings of ash. Most of my time is spent tending the meager fire and baking rocks for my primitive heated bed. The fire alone is not enough to keep me warm. I can feel The Cold leaching through the walls and floor, and I can hear the wind blowing down the chimney. Sometimes it's a whisper, sometimes a roar, and occasionally, a furious perpetual shriek of impotent rage. The only other sounds are my own breathing, the crackling fire, and the occasional gunshot-like detonation that can be heard when a tree freezes and explodes, or when a branch shatters and comes crashing down through the tree canopy, snapping all the branches below in a final act of arboreal suicide.  I built my little coffin cabin on the top of a hill. The wind roars fiercer and colder up here, but at least I don't have to worry about being entombed in a 20 foot snow drift, fuck you very much. I have two 5 gallon buckets for company. One is filled with high density food. The other is filled with my waste. I'm sure there's something poetic about that, but the poetry seems to fade every time I shit in a bucket and the smell lashes out at me with fish oil infused violence. The stench never lingers for long though as the incessant wind howling down the chimney provides ample ventilation.  Did you know that The Cold can kill in more direct ways as well? To quote and paraphrase Atlas Obscura: In 1942, a British forest guard in Roopkund, India, made an alarming discovery. More than three miles above sea level, he stumbled across a frozen lake surrounded by hundreds of human skeletons. That summer, the melting ice revealed even more remains, floating in the water and lying haphazardly around the lake's edges. Analysis of the skulls showed that hundreds of men women and children had been killed from blows to the head suffered during a severe hailstorm. Fun right? Strong winter snowstorms and blizzards can even produce their own lightning strikes, a phenomenon known as thundersnow. Lighting formed in this manner can strike from miles away, sometimes even from beyond the horizon. As interesting as that is, I'm not here for hailstorms or lightning strikes, nor am I here to see exploding trees, or birds falling out of the sky, frozen mid-flight. I'm not here to see herds of cloven animals flash frozen to the ground, or ice crystals tearing life apart at the cellular level. No, I'm here because there's something in The Cold, and I'm going to find it.


Girl was a big fan of Taco Bell. She was also a big fan in that she expelled copious amounts of air into the atmosphere on a daily basis. Fast food is gassy. Don’t blame her, though; she was a casualty of convenience. Fast food in general has everything a financially dependent teen needs; it’s super cheap, vaguely edible and dangerously addictive. In regions like South Asia, most Mexican food is sold as fast food (with flagrant disregard for the region’s doubtless interesting culinary history and culture), so Girl was already lost in a sea of indiscriminate sauces and refried beans by the time she reached her seat. You are correct in assuming the stereotypical loneliness and lack of social interaction, but she didn’t care (or so she thought). What she did care about was the food on her garish plastic tray and as she consumed it, it consumed another bit of her life. She loved her tacos and nachos and burritos and rice bowls much more than any human being, so alone in the oppressive décor she stayed. That is, until a predictably hot and humid afternoon in May. Girl was sitting at her favorite corner table with the L-shaped plastic seat and dealing with bean-sweat in spite of the relatively frigid air-conditioning. She twiddled her thumbs nervously while chewing her last bite. The tray in front of her was completely devoid of food; all that remained was a mass of greasy paper and empty sachets of Fire sauce with silly things written on them. She belched with unabashed satisfaction and checked her watch noisily. A quarter to three. She had entered at one p.m., so she complimented herself on her timing and her freakish metabolism. Fifteen more minutes and she could propel herself to the toilet. All the industrial deep-frying had not been kind to her stomach lining; she considered a switch to rice for a couple of months would help. A hundred milliseconds before she got up from her seat, she saw Boy. He walked in like a superstar, glistening forehead moving in time to the chart-topping hit blaring from the cheap loudspeakers and eyes fixed on the menu he wasn’t really reading. Girl stared at him with more than interest, and her heart stopped dead when she heard his timid but measured voice. “May I help you?” “Yes, I’d like a burr-” “What would you like on it, sir, *Extracheesevegnonvegsmallormedium*?” “Uh-” “Any drinks, sir? *CokeFantaMountainDew-*” Boy held up his hand. A tiny vein pulsed in his forehead. Our Romeo was about to lose his temper. The cashier noticed this and tactfully stopped in his tracks. “Can. I. Give. My. Order. Please.” “Yes sir, I am sorry. Go ahead?” “All right, please listen carefully.” Boy took a deep breath as if preparing for an important speech. His quiet tone turned authoritative; here was a man in his element. Girl could not breathe from the torrent of romantic feelings crashing into each other in her carb-fueled brain. She ignored the loud gurgling in her stomach and walked to the counter where she stood behind Boy and listened. “Okay. I need the wrap to be lightly toasted; it helps the contents sit better inside it. I noticed the other day that you guys have been adding a lot of beans and meat to the burritos lately, so please go easy on them; maybe three-fourths of a normal serving. I know you haven’t got new stocks of spicy salsa since last week’s truck strike, so it’s alright if you don’t use your reserves. Here’s what you can do; just use the topping sauce you put on your spicy loaded nachos. The reddish one with a bit of cheese in it. Not too much, just enough to give me a little spice without an overpowering heat. I’ll get that from the upstairs tissue drawer in which you hide the fire sauce sachets when your stock is low. Don’t worry, I will only use two and will pay for them if you want me to.” He took a quick breath and steadied himself once more before resuming his address. “Rice just a bit past half-cooked, all right? The beans are already mushy enough; I don’t need more gooey rice on top of it. Add the cheese from the quesadilla counter and the vegetables from the crunchwrap area, because even though you preach standardization of your raw materials, some things are very marginally superior to what you use for other items.” He grinned widely at the cashier, who was now trembling like an autumn leaf. “I’ll pay cash. Two hundred and thirty with a little box of sour cream, I believe?” The man at the counter restarted his now short-circuited brain, stopped shaking and took the money dazedly. Boy leisurely walked over to the pickup area and set a timer for three and a half minutes. The cashier disappeared into the kitchen for a few seconds and then walked out. He smiled weakly. “Your order will be ready soon, sir.” “Thank you so much!” Boy wiped his now sodden forehead with a tissue and busied himself with a small glass of water. Girl gave herself a few seconds and regained her composure. Maybe she could initiate something. She decided to try and catch Boy’s eye before his food turned up. She stood in front of the cashier and gave her favorite order; a soft taco, a plate of loaded nachos and a side of cheesy fried potatoes (Fiesta potatoes, discontinued at time of writing). She would combine them into a fully loaded semi-crunchy, semi-gooey creation; it had a good balance of flavors and textures, she found. She paid up, stood next to Boy (whose food hadn’t arrived yet) and slid her bill across the garish counter. “May I have an extra bowl and three packets of mild sauce, please?” “Sure, ma’am!” Boy frowned and looked over. Another connoisseur? He got a smile and a wink in return and was surprised. A fellow fan!? *Ding!* went his alarm. He smiled at her as he received the burrito; she pointed towards the corner table questioningly. He was overtaken with a sudden fear but with an effort, he nodded and walked over. In two minutes she joined him. The first few minutes were unsurprisingly awkward. Boy looked around and at the ceiling as if he had never seen man-made buildings before. Girl was also too shy to make conversation and decided to attempt to break the ice by preparing her meal. She looked up, said, “Give me a couple minutes, will you?” and began her work as Boy watched on in silence. He was beginning to like Girl very much indeed. But Girl was not looking at the ghost of a smile slowly moving across his face; she was busy meticulously preparing her creation. She carefully opened the taco shell and separated out just the lettuce with a practiced hand. She deftly introduced a spork to the potatoes and scraped off the cheesy yellow topping; in a few seconds all of it was in the taco shell. In went the peppers from the nachos and one packet of mild sauce. She finally looked up at him, smiled and assembled the remaining lettuce, nachos and oddments into what she called a ‘mishmás’; it was a relatively authentic name for the brand and she liked it as an appetizer salad. Once complete, she looked at him quizzically. For the first time in his life, Boy got the hint, realizing he had been invited to eat with her. It was time to appreciate their creations. He got up, went upstairs as quickly as he could while looking languid (at least, he thought he was being languid) to get the two fire sauce sachets from the secret drawer. There were only two in there; he assigned cosmic meaning to that fact. He walked back downstairs, sat down, dabbed at his forehead with a paper napkin and put his sauce sachets to the side. He gave his burrito a cursory check to see if anything had torn or was awry; everything was fine. Finally, he looked up and locked eyes with her. “Cheers.” That first bite was to them what- How does one explain it? We’ve all had that moment before. When you see a mountain for the first time, when you hear the first few seconds of music you know will change your life or when you meet your first partner; there is something indescribable about the electricity and emotion that goes through you. You seem powerless to behold anything else but also grateful that this moment is even happening. There is disbelief and mild confusion but also a profound happiness, the depth of which cannot be comprehended. Even though this was probably the thousandth time our two characters were eating their creations, it still hit them the way it did the very first time. Between chews, Boy decided to speak. “Do you remember the first time you ate here?” “Of course I do, man. Don’t you?” “Yes, obviously I do. But what I wanted to know was what you ordered.” “Ah, well, I got the crunchy taco thing, a rice bowl, a free-fill soft drink, and-” Boy chortled. “Free-fill!? How could you? How could you fill your stomach with a million glasses of those sugary, gassy-” “I didn’t know!” Girl glared at him and then laughed. “I didn’t use any sauce either. I thought the sachets were ketchup or something. But I didn’t know! And besides, it was good enough to make me come back the next week, so I was hooked anyway.” Boy laughed hard for twenty seconds, complete with lots of snorting and wheezing. Once he regained his composure, he smiled. “I’ll give you that. I just had a rice bowl with the fire sauce and I realized I never wanted to eat anywhere else every again. Especially not at home.” Girl was surprised once more. “Oh, what? Really!? You too?” Boy had a wise, weathered look on his face. “Yeah… It’s obviously why we even bother living with being addicted to this stuff. It’s not like we’d look at all this greasy and unhealthy food for happiness and fulfillment if we had households and families that provided the same thing, right? This place isn’t about the menu or the sauce. It’s where I come to feel at home. Because home isn’t that.” Girl was moved and felt a connection she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “Yeah. I guess… Actually, let’s not talk about it. No need to ruin this place with reality. And besides, we’re here at this table eating together, right? One could even say we’re *dos guisantes en una vaina*.” She looked up to see Boy’s face overcome with emotion and a strange joy. There was a minute of silence. Then he said, “I believe the more accurate expression is s*er uña y carne*.” And the rest, as they say, is flatulent history.


I didn’t think much of him the first time I passed him and gave him the leftovers of my egg and bacon sandwich. Five months later, I sat down next to him and pulled out a cigarette. "Want one?' I asked him. He nodded and took it from me. I took another and placed it in my lips while fumbling for the lighter I'd bummed from the convenience store. People walked past us, wrinkling their noses and staying a safe distance away. Last time I took a bath was last week in the park. It was getting colder now that winter was coming. “I got kicked out,” I said, pulling my hood up and rubbing my hands between my knees. He grunted in reply. “That so?” “He found out about my boyfriend. I left my diary out.” He chuckled and smoked a long one. “That fucker.” I started crying. The tears mingled with the dirt on my hands, streaking over the calluses like ugly brown worms. I no longer looked at myself in the mirror but today I had seen myself briefly in a donut shop window. My hair was matted and brown, and I had dark circles from months of bad sleep. Police uniforms haunted my nightmares when I slept under bridges that smelt of piss. Two nights ago a man had offered me $5 to suck his dick. Then he’d offered me $10 to let him suck mine. “Why’d the old man give you the boot?” the old man asked, between puffs of smoke. I wiped the snot from my face. ‘“Why? Because he thinks I sinned, that’s why. Because of his stupid fucking God.” “Ah,” the man said. “God is a cocksucker.” He laughed again. “Indeed he is. I’m sorry.” I laughed too now. “Why are you sorry?” “I fucked up,” he said. “I fucked up and created a whole bunch of contradictions and I fucked you guys all up because of my selfish desires.” He said that, ‘contradictions’, like he used the word every day and it surprised me enough I stopped crying. I looked sideways at him, sitting against the piss-smelling brick wall near the trash bins at the back of Lucky’s with me, and realized I’d never seen how blue his eyes were. Like while passing him walking home from high school I’d always noticed his straggly Einstein hair and dark, swarthy skin but he’d never been looking up. Now though that I was sitting level with him I could see his eyes under his black beanie and they were bright blue. “Son, let me tell you a story,” he said. “Once there was a star, and it began to grow. It grew and became more powerful and intelligent until it began to get lonely and bored. When it did it decided it would make more copies of stars like itself and so it did. But those copies were imperfect and therefore all flawed. They made stupid decisions and lived short, ephemeral lives. Over time that original star lost hope of true friendship with another star like itself and became apathetic. But it could never die, being the beginning of all, and doomed to live beyond all.” “So what did it do?” I asked. “It just sat and watched everything go by,” he said. “And it waited.” He turned and pressed something into my hand. Then he stood up and walked away. I opened my hand. In it was a calling card.


Alikast is a land of many unknown wonders and adventures to unfold. The continent is divided up into three regions each ruled by a king. The kings who are all brothers fight amongst each other very often in order to gain more land and power. Although they always fight, none have won yet. This being said a battle is going on right now between two of the regions, Artis and Breter. The third region Turin is recovering from a massive hurricane that just took place on their coast. Our story begins in one of the towns on that coast. A rather nice beach town named Seagrass Cove. Though this coast was suffering from the effects of this hurricane this small little beach town seemed unaltered in the slightest. Palm trees, blue skies, houses intact, people were happy and going with the flow. On this lovely beach we can find our protagonist of this story Fin. Without a doubt Fin was the most excited about the sea. It was filled with wonders and mystical creatures the likes of which he had never seen before. Sadly though he was just a young boy and travelling out onto the treacherous yet fantastical ocean was not an option he could take at the moment. So for now he would just play on the beach and watch as the waves crash down onto the shore. As he was sitting there watching he felt a whack on the back of his head. "YO FIN!" a voice shouted from behind him. Recognizing this voice Fin turned around with a sort of visible energy. "Aren! What'd I say about throwing things at me!" saying this Fin ran up to his friend and tackled him to the ground. Fin and Aren had been friends since birth. Their parents were best friends so they ended up becoming friends from this. Fin not being the strongest in the world had a bit of difficulty taking down Aren. Actually, a lot of difficulty. Fin and Aren were two very different people in looks. Fin being a scrawny, short kid with red hair and these sea green eyes. Aren however was the opposite, tall, black hair, purple eyes. The two lived like brothers but looked so different you wouldn't even think that they know each other. "Alright alright I'm sorry just get off me" Aren says laughing while pushing Fin off of him. At this point Aren stands up and has a wide grin on his face. He would always scheme some sort of plan that he would involve FIn in. This grin of his was Fin's way of knowing something was up. Fin getting up looked at Aren's hand and noticed a set of keys. A very distinct set of keys, ones that opened up Aren's family shed. A shed they weren't allowed in. A shed that had a very distinct set of things that would be perfect for these two young boys to get into some trouble. Fin seeing this smiles and starts darting towards the shed Aren following behind. Eventually the two reach it and look at it in awe. Knowing there are things in there that could very well cause them to be grounded for the rest of their lives if they touched them. They nod at each other and Aren opens up the shed. To them opening up the shed was more exciting than anything they had ever seen before. Inside was a boat and various other knick knacks. Fin started searching around while Aren hopped in the boat pretending like he knew how to sail it. "Hey, you gotta check this out come over here." Fin said in a hyper tone. Aren got out of the boat and walked over to Fin. He was holding a book. A book with four water droplets each in a corner of the front of the book. In the center of these droplets was the number nine. They looked at each other with visible confusion but also with excitement. Opening up the book dust came flying out from the old pages but there was also this sort of aura. An aura which Fin knew very well. It felt like the sea. Flipping through the pages one page speaks out to Fin. Not knowing what it says or what any of this means he reads out the writing on the page. "Eth Mrots Harces" Fin says while Aren stares at him having absolutely no clue what he just said. But as he says this they can both feel something. The aura that the book once had has gone away. Or rather it was moved. It was moved to Fin. They both look at the book and the words that were there now read out. The Storm Chaser. As this was all happening suddenly a storm started forming over this small little beach town. Thinking about it this town had never experienced a storm before the two boys noticed. A storm was really strange for them. They tried their best of course to ignore this fact until they heard footsteps hurrying fast towards the shed. "YOU TWO!" A voice yelled from outside the shed. It was Aren's father. A young man who had been in this town his entire life. His whole family had been living here throughout generations. Storming into the shed he looks at the boys and looks at the book and immediately knows what had happened. Aren stole the keys from him and their daily martial arts training and they had snuck into the shed. Fin read the words in the book and broke the seal which was protecting this town from generation to generation from storms. Now that the seal was broken a storm chaser has been born. It is now Fin's job to go and catch the storms to once again build up the seal that he had broken. And Aren was going to help.