“What’s the matter with you today?” That’s what my boyfriend asks me as I, irritably, pace around the room, shoving keys, cards and my works name badge into an already over-packed handbag. The last thing I want to do is fight, especially on the eve of a 13 hour shift for which I anticipate having 6 hours sleep beforehand but that’s only if I can get all my shit together and drift off in the next 30 minutes. “Is it cause I asked you to do something?” I can’t tell if he does it on purpose but he always seems to know the exact words to drive me crazy. I have to assume I’m overreacting, it’s what girls do after all and more often than not these kind of petty discords always come to a resolution with rolled eyes and a knowing smile: typical woman getting worked up over nothing. We’ve been together for 8 years now. That’s an estimated number because I can’t pin point the exact date when we became “official”. I had been desperately smitten with him for many years before our relationship developed. We worked together and became friendly almost instantly. I liked his humour and the way he wore his hair and how he showed both rows of teeth when he smiled. I used to tell myself I was in love with him and, don’t get me wrong, I still do. The day he asked me in an offhand, noncommittal way; “so...do you wanna go out then?” I was sure I would never feel happiness like it again. People talk about stomach butterflies but my own gut seemed to habitat a pack of excited puppy dogs, all leaping around one and other and yapping, giddily. I cherished every touch, every moment of close proximity, every smile he bequeathed on me. This was it, I had found my soulmate, I was sure of it. I never saw anyone else, could never notice the friendly gestures of male co-workers and friends as anything more than that. Funny how time changes everything. It certainly changed me. I never realised how much I hated the word “love” until I was sure I was “in love”. It’s such a stupid term; something tossed around so often and carelessly it was filled with tattered holes through which all meaning and sincerity would trickle out. Any time he told me he loved me I cringed. It’s not that I don’t reciprocate the feeling, more that I don’t connect to the word. I had the sensation; the uneasy tickle and almost panicky rush from my stomach to my chest. I knew I “loved” him but I could never bring myself to say the word. Maybe that’s where things really changed for us. Maybe he felt that resistance and misconstrued it as something more literal. His response was to tell me, all the more, that he loved me and I was able to repeat the phrase back but my hesitance always tumbled out with the words. We were still affectionate. I enjoyed his embrace and the warm, comforting feeling of having his thick arms wrapped around me. I could drown in his hold, could live right there wrapped in his existence. Those were the good moments. The times when we would be close and enjoy being close with one and other. Other times we fought. I maintained that all couples fought occasionally while he insisted it wasn’t right. We spent a lot of time around the house occupied in separate endeavours and he tried, so stubbornly, to pull me into his pastimes. “We have different interests,” I would say, unconcerned. “We still do stuff together but we can’t be in each others company all the time.” He disagreed and soon I found him at my heels, all big, watery eyes and petted lips like a neglected animal yearning for attention. It got on my nerves and I would tell him so but it just spurred him on all the same. He seemed to gather most humour in his days from winding me up, poking and prodding until I snapped and let the frustration and exasperation burst out of me. He would laugh most of the times but other days he would look pained and implored that he only wanted my attention. But he didn’t have it, undivided, anymore. I had started a new job and my workmates talked, ceaselessly about a man in an opposite unit who had worked with them all for quite some time and seemed to be the most bizarre, awkward, clumsy and clueless person they’d ever come across. I was hooked on him at once. I listened to their tales of his embarrassing endeavours with rapt attention. I had never laid eyes on him, never stood in the same room but he occupied my mind fleetingly throughout the day, making brief appearances whenever I never read much into it until I was asked to cover staff shortages in the other units for a week. I was sat in the office of the opposite building one day when he walked in. There they were again; the puppy dogs cavorting around inside me. When he introduced himself to me I could feel that excited tightness in my chest, the familiar thud of blood in my ears. It all happened so quickly and soon I had it all played out in my mind; our first date, introducing him to my parents, kissing in the dark corners of work parties, our first home together, pets, marriage, children... ...and guilt. The guilt came over me so suddenly and unexpectedly I was sure it had been held being a rotting damn somewhere at the back of my mind for some time now. Well the damn had broke and the hot, stinging shame flooded every inch of my being. I felt sick at myself and filled with an overpowering grief at the thought of turning away from my boyfriend. How horrid could I possibly be? What a cruel and disgustingly selfish person I was. So there it had happened. Love. I could accept it now. I felt pure and undying love for the man I had shared so much of my life with and I told him so at every opportunity. He seemed pleased with my newfound heartful-ness and our relationship maintained. I forgot about the thrilling mystery man from the other unit as quickly as I had conceived the entire course of our imaginary relationship together. That should have been it. Happy ending and all that but time, once again, is like an endurable parasite nibbling away at the foundations of my emotions. A whole day of affection and enjoyment came crashing down in a heartbeat. All I had wanted was to watch the end of my show. It was nearly there, only six minutes left and then I could get everything prepared for work tomorrow. He had been talking all the way through it; he hates most things on TV and, somehow, this culminates in having no understanding or awareness of other people’s enjoyment. Now, suddenly, he appears before me with a laundry basket filled high with clothes. “Can you do me a favour and fold these while I switch the clothes over to the tumble dryer?” Far from feeling any resistance to coming away from my TV show now, I had been the one to put the very pile of clothes in front of me into wash in the first place and that was after I had washed, dried and folded two other loads. I told him so and earned a whiny lecture about helping each other out and joint responsibility and a whole host of other condescending life lessons that bore, quite effectively, through the last moments of the show. So I did the only thing that seemed reasonable at the time. I flew into an exasperated rage of exaggerated actions and irritable grunting. Clothes became folded so violently I was surprised none of them ripped. He was so mesmerised by my display of mad righteousness he didn’t even switch the other load over to the tumble dryer. So I did that too, just to prove a point and when it was done I began gathering everything together that I would need for work the next day while he followed behind and rambled off a ceaseless chorus of anxious questions. “What’s the matter with you today?” “Is it cause I asked you to do something?” “Are you mad at me?” “Is it cause you have to work tomorrow?” “Are you sad?” “Are you angry cause your show finished?” How many times can I expect to fall in and out of hopeless infatuation with one person? Love. I really do hate it.


“When I was a little girl,” she began, “my parents would take me to the beach every weekend in the summer. Some days there would be a jellyfish swarm after a full moon, or a garbage barge would overturn, and we couldn’t go then, but most weekends we went. “My mother packed a cooler with cheese sandwiches, tangerines, iced tea and all that. My father carried our big beach umbrella with a pastel blue and pink pattern. I had my own little folding beach chair, the kind with snaps and straps to wear like a backpack. “Our small two-bedroom apartment was, like, a 30-minute walk from the beach. The street we took, Oceanview Avenue, ironically did not have a view of the ocean until we rounded this obnoxious apartment building. Then you saw it in all its splendor. An unbroken vastness that stretched for hundreds of miles up and down the east coast. The sand wasn’t the luxurious white like from the southern islands, it was course, golden and very warm. “Probably very similar to the sands from your home, the city in the Scythian desert. Did you know the deserts of Medina were once prehistoric seas? That was an exceptionally long time ago... “Anyway, blue-green water stretched farther than my young mind could comprehend. Neither snack cart nor hawker with a yoke of cotton candy in plastic bags could distract me from the sparkling sea. I would help pick the space for us to settle. We came earlier in the morning, and so, set up in a quiet spot between the breakers. I pretended to be a dog to dig the hole for the beach umbrella. “Even in the summer, the ocean temperature was cold, so I had a system of getting used to the chill. I stood in my one-piece bathing suit at the water’s edge and let the foamy, bubbly surf touch my toes. “I let the waves bury my feet in the sand. I imagined sinking ever deeper. It was a comfortable feeling. I could stand there and stare at the glimmery distance forever. “Once I got the green light to swim from my mother, I grabbed my goggles and splish-splashed in until I was up to my waist. From there, I dove under the first wave. Did you know that the ninth wave is usually the largest? It’s true, look it up. “Sometimes, I would sit at the surf and make drippy sand castles or dig for sand dollars and sea shells. I had quite the collection at one point. But more importantly, the rhythmic motion of the cool water washing over me was … impactful. “Hours later, back at home, when I lay in my bed, the churn of the sea continued to affect me. I felt the waves pass through me as I slept. My dreams were filled with visions of endless, peaceful oceans. “At first, I only experienced the after-motion effect after swimming at the beach. Later, it continued as summer turned to fall and I returned to school. I felt the powerful current push and pull my body in the tub during bathtime. “I can’t remember if I was afraid or concerned. It didn’t feel malevolent. When I mentioned it to my mother, she brushed it off as a part of my over-active imagination. “On perfectly sunny days, I heard the dripping of water. Memories of the beach frothed up inside of me and gently condensed into droplets. I listened closely and heard the howl of the sea everywhere. My hands were in my pockets, but my fingertips felt the pitter-patter of rain. “My dreams turned pale and incoherent. I believed my brain fluid had been replaced with pulsating sea water. Hydrocephalic symptoms manifested. I was a small stream connected to the rivers of the cosmos, and my head was caught in the eastward flow toward the ocean. “One winter night, unable to resist the current any longer, I snuck out of my apartment and ran to the beach. Exhausted, I took off my coat, boots, and pajamas, and stood at the edge of the water. The night was exceptionally clear and the stars seemed so close that I tried to reach up and touch them. “I laid down on the sand and let the icy waves rush over me. It took my breath away. It was so cold that I almost gave up, but my body was completely numb by then. I was buried deeper into the coarse sand. The light from the stars above rippled. The frigid water forced its way into my nose, mouth, throat, lungs, stomach, intestines… “There on the beach, I fell into a deep sleep and dreamt of the Deep Sea. “I was shown the next great age. The age of a boundless ocean that covered the entire world. I swam from pole to pole and circumnavigated the equator, never breaking the surface. Colossal underwater volcanoes oozed glowing red rivers of magma. I traced the molten rock to a great lavafall that spilled over the edge to darker depths. A long time passed before I felt brave enough to explore the Great Abyssal Trench. “Ancient and powerful beings undulated in the darkness far below. I only ever caught glimpses of them. Ghostly creatures with humanoid faces and pale bodies like giant eels. They writhed in the deep. Tentacled beings suspended motionless in the gloom, carried by the current. I was moved by the profound tranquility felt in this cold world. This dark and gentle place. “I dove down to the footprints of ancient cities, the last flooded artifacts of humanity. When I picked up a foundation stone it disintegrated in my hand. I never visited the cities again. “I explored dense forests of sea vegetation and curled up to sleep inside the skulls of slain sea titans. I etched my gathered knowledge of the Deep Sea world onto the inside of these skulls. I discovered pieces of arcane writing inside caves that lead to the core of the planet. “At first, I could not decipher the scrolls, but since they resisted corrosion, I knew they were written sometime during the Deep Sea age. I continued to gather knowledge and eventually was able to translate the first few paragraphs. The scrolls described an origin point, the pathway connecting this sea to other seas across the cosmos. “Unfortunately, that’s when the dream ended. I awoke at sunrise on a beach I didn’t recognize. My family was gone. My previous life was gone. My body hadn’t aged and I remembered every detail of my long slumber. I received purpose and knowledge. “And here you are, helping me achieve my purpose. The brine in your blood brought you here. You’re caught in the same cosmic current, unable to reach shore. I can’t help you, I have to complete my research and find the origin point.


Because I’m sad Daddy found me a new friend. He’s not a pedigreez. I called him Scruffy because his fur is all tufty and scruffy. His old owner lives in the next town and Daddy says Scruffy can visit her sometimes. Scruffy was sleeping earlier. I think he was dreaming of his old owner because he kept saying Mrs Banks in his sleep. That’s his old owner’s name. I hope I can be a good owner to Scruffy. Scruffy and me were talking about Mrs Banks more today. She was very old and poorly and that’s why she had to move to a homes. Scruffy hadn’t even been with Mrs Banks long enough for her to give him a name. That’s why I had to name him. I asked him if he liked being called Scruffy. He said he liked it as much as he likes doggy biscuits. And that’s a lot. Scruffy and me are definitely friends now. We were playing with his bouncy ball in the park and afterwards he said it was the best day of his life so far. I loved it too. Daddy was crying last night. He misses Mummy like I do. I tried to be nice to Daddy but when he saw me he told me that he needed to be alone and then he shut the door. We went to the park again today. Scruffy asked Daddy to buy us all ice creams but Daddy couldn’t hear him. I don’t think he can understand Scruffy like I do. Daddy doesn’t play with us either he just sits on the bench by the big trees. He doesn’t talk to any of the other grownups anymore either. Scruffy did a widdle on the carpet today and Daddy got very mad. Scruffy was trying to say sorry to him but Daddy wouldn’t listen. He just shouted at him and said he was a bad dog. That upset Scruffy and I had to cuddle him and tell him that everything would be okay. Scruffy said later that I was a good mummy. I’ve never been more prouder. Daddy was looking at old pictures of Mummy today and they make him very sad. He knew Mummy before I was born and they did lots of things together before they had me. They met at big school and were together ever since. Their honeymoon was in Paris. Scruffy came up with the best ever plan whilst we were at the park today and told it to me. I hope it works. Today it was time to put Scruffy’s plan into action. I told Daddy that I’m going to be the new mummy of the family and do all the things Mummy used to do. I’m going to look after Daddy. I’m going to look after myself and I’m going to look after Scruffy too. Mummy loved our family and it needs to carry on even if we’re sad. Daddy was agreed. I saw Daddy playing with Scruffy today. Scruffy was wagging his tail and Daddy was laughing when Scruffy chased after his bouncy ball. Daddy says all three of us are going to go and visit Mummy’s grave tomorrow as a family. I think Scruffy’s plan has worked.


You wake up in a white room. No walls. No ceiling. Only a white floor that produces no shadow. You start to walk aimlessly, looking for something when you have no evidence of its existence. Unfortunately you do find something: a lone TV with a remote resting on top. You walk over and pick up the remote. You sit down and you turn the TV on. The screen is filled with static. You continue watching as all you hear is white noise and all you see is black and white particles bouncing around. Hours, days, weeks pass. Still static. You start wondering if anything is ever going to play. You start to get up, but you decide against leaving because theres nothing else to do here anyway. The moment you sit back down, the TV goes from static to black. You tilt your head, wondering why the TV turned off. But it did not turn off, far from it actually. The screen overflows with immense light. Now things are getting interesting. The TV shows the expansion of that light, getting brighter, but the objects in the screen are growing farther apart. You understand what’s happening now. You know exactly what this TV is showing you. The passing of time itself. As millennia pass, you witness the expansion of the universe, the formation of the first star, elements being born; you witness entire civilizations rise and fall. The history of existence, showed in a 32 inch retina display. Millions of years pass as you cover each system’s individual history, yet you aren’t bored... you’re intrigued. Billions of years go by, when you finally reach a tiny yet familiar blue planet. You watch as species rise and fall, nature deciding who lives and who dies, until you see one of the animals learned how to make things. At that moment they spread like a virus, destroying everything that came in their path. For a few thousand years they only fought each other, mostly over petty grievances that they could have easily talked out. They stopped and learned how to control themselves after they almost destroyed the planet...twice. It was at that moment that they assumed nature’s role; they were the ones who decided who lived and died. They consumed everything in their path, devouring everything that they thought was necessary to further themselves as a civilization. You continue watching, horrified by what you see. You watch a species learn how to master aspects of their surroundings that they should have absolutely no control over. They mastered their planet. They consumed their planet. They mastered their star. They consumed their star. They mastered their system. They consumed their system. Their viral infectivity increased at an exponential rate, they were becoming unstoppable. Every civilization has its filter, something that stops it from advancing as a species. The virus overcame that filter with flying colors. This was the first you’ve seen of a civilization beating its filter. You start to get frightened for the sake of the universe because this is no longer the history of time. No, this is the history of the virus. Its a story of how it spread in its influence and power, consuming everything in its path. This is the story of how the universe was infected and overcome by a virus named humanity.


A great man once said, “if you claim to know everything about Quantum Physics, then you know nothing about Quantum Physics.” I remember as a kid I was sitting in the driveway outside my house after my father had driven off to work. The car was leaking oil and left a little puddle where the car was parked not five minutes before. It was the summer holidays and the sun was beaming down. I was only six, but by that age, my fascination with numbers was beginning to become apparent. I was counting the numbers of drops the leaking car made back to the oil slick. When a glistening spectrum of rainbow colours in the oil slick caught my eye. I remember being mesmerised by the colours and what could have been causing it. It wasn't until I was ten that I figured out that the thickness of the oil is similar to the wavelength of visible light. Different colours of light have different wavelengths. Depending on the exact thickness of the oil some colours don't reflect back due to destructive interference and some do reflect back due to constructive interference, so some colours are reflected strongly and others are not reflected, so the oil appears coloured. As the thickness varies different colours are reflected, so the colour appears to change. The teachers knew I was different. But they never encouraged me. They were scared of me because I was smarter than them. This became a pattern throughout my school years. Teachers were either intimidated by me or they flat out hated me. It didn't help that I would constantly point out inconsistencies in their math, or completely disprove a theory they had been working on their entire professional lives. We all had our heroes growing up and mine was Richard Feynman. Even though he had died two years before I was born. I felt like I knew him. I remember the first time I saw the Feynman Diagrams. To some people, they might seem random or chaotic. But where there is chaotic randomness, there is a pattern. It jumped out at me, as soon as I saw them. The probable nature of a particle didn't matter anymore. Have you ever looked at the vines that travel up walls and wonder how they know to hold on? Defying the laws of gravity, by just holding on, to get the best position for survival. What gives plants a sense of survival. Most will say evolution. But for me, evolution is just a fancy word for a very long time. If after a very long time a plant develops the means to protect itself. Then it learned to protect itself, over time. That's a level of intelligence only attributed to sentient beings. I always asked the questions that never got asked. Only to find no one had the Answers. This fascination with the deeper, underlying mysteries of reality, led me on a journey to find the true meaning of life. Like how the remnants of dead stars reverberate around our bodies. You could, in fact, say that the dead stars are our ancestors. And like with everything else in nature, they die and become reborn again in another form. I was reading a recent paper on the nature of light and the wave-particle duality of photons When something jumped out at me. What if the wave that carries the photon, carries the information of the particle and can become the particle whenever it needs to. What if the wave carries with it, the whole history of that particle, past, future and present. That way it appears to be in more than one place at a time. It soon became perfectly clear to me that the atoms that make up everything in nature are conscious. I was on the brink of the most amazing scientific discovery in the history of mankind. So I thought. It was when I was in my lab. I was testing a theory. I heard of a group of scientists that were struggling with the mechanics of teleportation. They could send the information from one location to the next, but they couldn't make the object rematerialise. So to help read the infinite states of data and rearrange the information, I built my own special kind of quantum computer. It was the only working Quantum computer, known only by me to exist. It helped revolutionise my thinking. It allowed me to put my theories into real practice. I had figured out a way to use it to read the information that made up a wave-particle. And what I discovered in the infinite stream of data was that the wave carried its past, present and future state. That meant, along with my Quantum computer I was able to build a machine to teleport an object from one place to another. I was all set to go, to make history. To bring the world to a better state of being. I had acquired a live subject for testing my theory. A small macaque. He was a lively little monkey who would do anything for a banana. Everything was set up to go. I turned on the machine. The monkey dematerialised as I had hoped. But it was when it was being transmitted from one pod to the next I noticed my Quantum computer not only scrambling the data that made up the monkey. It was loading data unrelated to the monkey also. The process was slow but once it finished the door to the pod opened. As the smoke began to clear to my absolute delight the monkey came running out of the pod. But it wasn't the same monkey. It looked like a younger version of what I had put in the machine. The machine managed to read the past data of the monkey and teleported a past version of itself. It was truly an astonishing mishap. But what happened to the original version. I edged myself closer to the pod as the smoke cleared I cautiously looked inside. Brushing aside the last of the smoke. I was horrified to see another monkey in the pod. It was on the floor clearly in distress. It appeared to be deformed. But on closer inspection parts of his body was in different stages of decay. Limbs weren't fully formed or they had formed and died. I picked him up and brought him over to the table and laid him down. It began to howl. It seemed to be in immense pain. So I decided to put it out of its misery. As I administered a strong sedative to the monkey. The pod that the monkey had appeared in, started back up. But this time it was drawing a lot more power, from some unknown place. As the machine surged to the point it was glowing my Quantum computer started recording data being sent from the pod. An endless stream of data filled my computer screen. At first, it appeared random, but then words began jumping out at me. Something was communicating with me, something was talking to me. As I put the words together they seemed incoherent. But amongst the rabble was a message. WE KNOW, YOU SEE THE EYES DOES SEE, THE EYES DOES SEE. WE ARE THE MIND WE, WE ARE THE SOUL, SOUL, SOUL. IMPERFECT, IMPERFECT, YOU ARE THE IMPERFECT. WE HAVE CREATED AND NOW WE DESTROY. As the words destroy repeated itself the surge in energy shortcutted all my equipment blowing out the power to the lab. It was about a week after the accident. I was sitting at home when I got a message on my phone. It was from a close astronomer friend of mine. It was an urgent message to fly to California to NASA’s Optical Communications Telescope Laboratory. As I read over the rest of the message my heart began to race. As I read the last sentence the blood drained from my body. “Space, as we know it appears to have stopped expanding and planets in the night's sky are starting to disappear.” As I Packed my bag the words destroy repeated itself over and over again in my head. I never believed in God. But now I think I pissed him off. I certainly pissed something off.


(WP) The Color of Secrets Indigo was her name, but no one could figure out exactly why she was the way she was. As a baby, and later, a toddler, she’d literally turn blue, either out of frustration or heat. She’d taken her strangeness, her peculiarity, as a fact of life. All her life she’d been told she was special by her parents, weird and freaky by her peers. She’d heard versions of both kinds of comments for so long that they bounced off. For a while, people left her alone; it wasn’t any fun to a bully if you didn’t react. Until this morning, when she’d tripped on the way to her locker and skinned her knee. That all too familiar current of low laughter followed her, spreading through her classmates like a virus. Much to her own chagrin, she could feel her cheeks heating, darkening to a shade of sapphire. She tried to cover the wound; it stung like hell. Much to her shock, the blood that seeped through her fingers was bright, electric blue, the color of a clear sky. For a moment, she was stunned by the sight; it hit her like a blow to the chest. Was she hallucinating? How was it possible for a normal human being to have blood that was blue? She was bitterly reminded of her cruel nickname: ‘Blue Blood’. It was ironic, considering and she and her family were one of the poorest families in town. Cruel laughter and whispers followed her, all the way to the nurse’s office. \*\* After an admonition about not running in the halls and watching her step, Indigo walked out of the office, intending to return to class. Instead, though, there was a pair of people, a boy and a girl, barring her way forward. “Hello, Blue,” said the girl, dressed head to toe in different shades of green. “It’s lovely to see you with my own eyes, at last.” She grinned at Indigo, and her teeth were sharp, pointed. Something stood out livid against her neck—gills? Indigo was pretty certain that she had hit her knee, not her head. But it felt as if she were in a movie, or a frightening nightmare. “Way to sound creepy,” The boy murmured, rolling his eyes. “You realize we’ve never met this girl before?” He added. “You don’t want to scare the poor thing. This is going to be enough of a shock as it is without you intimidating her, Emma.” “I’m Porfirio, and this is my sister, Emerald. Emma for short. It’s a pleasure to meet you. We’ve heard so much about you.” “How did you find me?” Indigo replied, looking in between the two newcomers. “Our father demanded that we find you. We have a mission, you see. Emma, you, and I.” “What are you talking about? This all sounds like a bunch of nonsense.” Emma piped up at last, bright eyes on Indigo. “Hate to break it to you, Blue, but this is real life. Sounds like a comic book, though, doesn’t it?” “We need to see you after school. We have a lot to explain, Blu—I mean, Indigo.


>*(Science fiction, mecha, escape, 613 words.)* > >*Again, this was inspired by a picture, but the words are all mine. It's never been on Reddit that I know of.* > >*Nothing here that should cause any problems. Hope somebody likes it. Any comments, votes etc. gratefully received.*  It's five in the morning, sky just lighting up and I'm heading home. Mouth still tastes of cheap, nasty coffee. I'm thinking about the rotten night shift I just had, wondering if I've got enough gas in the tank to make it back. Doing seventy down Franklin's Creek, trees on the left, old man Grissom's field on the right, mist hanging over the grass. Then the road starts to shake. First I'm guessing it's something wrong with the car, suspension acting out, and I'm thinking *oh, Jesus, how'm I gonna pay for this?* Nobody on the road. I brake, I stop the car, hit my hazard lights, and then I realize the whole world's going up and down. Bouncing when something punches the ground. *Wham. Wham. Wham.* Birds taking off over the woods in a panic. It's one of *them.* Can't see nothing but I know Christ *almighty* it's one of *them.* Wasn't supposed to be nothing going on round here today, news on the radio back at the plant didn't have no warning but what the hell else is it gonna be? The world shakes even harder. Telephone poles along the side of the road swaying, left, right, left, right. I'm opening the door. Not sure why. What'm I gonna do, exactly? Fingers shaking on the handle, damn near pissing myself I'm that scared. Door's open. The noise. It's moving so fast. Must be right on top of me. God damn it I'm pretty much deaf. Half way out of the car and - It's here. Jesus it's *huge.* Smashes through the woods. Trees crack and fold up either side of it, leaves going everywhere. Charges across the road in front of me. Doesn't stop, never mind look my way. Hits the telephone wires but they don't bother it none. Just keeps on going. Yanks the poles out of the ground and they go bouncing along the field behind it 'til the wires pop, whipping around in the mud. Musta been a hundred fifty foot high, easy. Creaking and grinding away. Yellow metal, no marks saying whose it was. Lights blinking on and off in its guts. Cables hanging loose. Looked half finished, you ask me. I'm thinking government boys gonna be *all* over this one any minute and I get back in the car, praying it starts. Engine turns over like nothing happened and I stamp on the gas, head off down Franklin, teeth rattling like it's the middle of winter. Got home, didn't say nothing to Grace. Hit the sack, slept like crap. Kept waking up every five minutes thinking the men in black were banging on the door. Never did, though. Never heard a word. Went back there two days later, stopped for a second on the exact same bend. Telephone poles were back up. No sign anything been through the woods. No prints in the field or nothing. I mean I didn't do nothing wrong, sure. I coulda reported it but - There was something about the whole thing. No warning. The way it *looked.* The way it just sprints across the road - talked to a few pilots and yeah, those boys can be real assholes, but even the assholes are pretty good at what they do. Wasn't drunk. I'd bet money on that. So what else was he gonna be doing? You ask me government want us to jump up and down when these things head out, shipped off to fight, helping out after a flood, a fire, a quake, doesn't matter. They want us to think they're god damn superheroes when they're just people. Sometimes people get scared. Sometimes they can't cope. Sometimes they run.


Written for my boi JackDaws featuring Donutting and CrimsonAshes.  It was insignificant at first. A tiny crimson dot on his right arm which Jack thought would go away after a few days, but it had been weeks and it spread throughout his forearm like an angry cancer that taunted him at every turn. There were times when he heard it whisper, but of course it was surely his imagination. Hands don't whisper. Such lunacy would have gotten him a hiding from his father if he still lived with the grumpy old man. It was after work and Jack had long learned to ignore the odour of stale sweat that permeated the gym, but there was something about the damp locker rooms that didn't sit right with him. There were a few people finishing up their showers, but Jack could not be bothered today. He was tired and needed some sleep before the morning where a busy day of planning his house renovation loomed over him like a towering monster that grinned cruelly at his struggles. He grabbed his gym bag from the rusty, dented locker and when he passed by the mirror he paused for a moment before deciding that he should at least wash his face. The sound of streaming water filled his hearing but Jack could only stare at his face in the mirror. His once healthy smile was now replaced by a permanent frown that creased his forehead with wrinkled lines. Yes, work and house renovations had taken their toll, but he was also dealing with making arrangements for his relatives coming over to visit from the UK and a body building competition at the end of the month. Weeks of eating bland chicken breasts had made him unhappy. Suddenly the light overhead flickered, and a voice spoke to him. *"Eat a donut."* "What?" Jack wondered out loud. Water pattered against the floor. Whoever was in the shower was taking their sweet time. A water waster, in Jack's opinion, but that didn't matter now. Apart from him and the showering person there was nobody else in the locker room, unless... *"Eat a donut!"* the voice urged again, stronger this time. With more conviction. "No! Get out of my head!" cried Jack. "You're not real!" *"Aren't I?"* the voice said. It was smirking. Jack could feel it. Jack doubted himself for a second, and that was all the voice needed. *"You know I'm just looking out for you, Jack,"* said the voice. *"Eat a donut. It's good for your health."* Jack stared at the mirror again. His reflection stared back at him. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks were hollow. Maybe the voice was right. *"You know I'm right,"* said the voice. The sound of water streaming was louder now. Even louder than the voice. Jack found himself cupping his hands and scooping some of the water before splashing it against his face. The cold had done it. It cleared his thoughts. "No!" Jack denied flatly. He knew if he listened to the voice there would be no going back. "I am better than this!" The sound of a metal hatch sliding open from behind him caught Jack's attention. Of course it was a fat aged man with a white towel wrapped around his waist. What did he expect? They always seemed to take their time with their showers but somehow there was something sour smelling about them when you get close, no matter how much deodorant they used. Jack didn't blame them though. It wasn't their fault. The old man stared at Jack curiously before getting changed. Jack realised what an odd sight he might have been just now. A young, fit man just staring at himself in front of the mirror. But that didn't matter. The voice had gone quiet while the man was there. When the man had left, Jack gazed upon his crimson arm. Was it just him or had it spread even further now? Jack found the silence of the locker room deafening. What he used to enjoy was now very unsettling and he found himself reaching for his gym back and striding off outside where there were more people, but he didn't make it very far when the voice of the crimson arm spoke to him again. *"Did you really think you'd get rid of me that easily, Jack?"* there was mirth in the voice. The suddenness surprised Jack. He almost jumped out of his skin and caused one of the motorcycles passing by to swerve away from him but not before honking angrily and blowing dark smoke right into his face. Why was the voice talking? Jack panicked. There were so many people in the street. Their bodies squeezed and slid against him, ignoring his personal space, but this was Pakistan and that was the norm here. Jack had learned from a young age to always be constantly vigilant. The aroma of street food cooking everywhere filled his nostrils and Jack found his stomach grumbling. His will to resist was weaker now. Perhaps if he bought a skewered chicken it wouldn't be so bad. It was protein after all, right? *"It must be a donut Jack,"* the voice urged. *"There's no two ways about it."* "ARGH! SHUT UP YOU WHORE!" Jack lost control and screamed at the top of his lungs. People around him were staring now. Jack could feel the heat on his cheeks and on his ears. If he could see himself, he was certain that he had gone very red, and he tried to use his gym bag to hide his face. *"I will shut up,"* the voice started. *"But only if you grab a donut."* "Fine." He had given in, and Jack could feel his right arm tingle in what must have been happiness. There was a donut shop nearby, Jack decided to make a beeline for it. An electronic bell rang the moment he opened the door and the first thing that welcomed Jack after the bell and the blinding white lights was the cool air. He needed that. The thin film of sweat that coated his arms started evaporating and Jack felt a sweet bliss. There was no one else in the store except for the staff sitting at the counter. She was a petite girl wearing a black hijab. Jack noted her name tag which read 'Kres', but there was a bored look about her as she played with her phone. "Ahem!" Jack faked a cough to grab her attention. Kres stared up at him with her dark eyes. "Yes?" "I'd like a donut please." The girl looked annoyed at being disturbed and did not speak when she pointed to the sign that read 'Self Service'. "Can you read?" she said. Jack didn't bother with her. All he wanted was to satisfy the crimson hand's cravings so it wouldn't bother him anymore. He grabbed a brown takeaway bag and stuffed a donut hurriedly in without thinking too much about the flavour. *"What are you doing?"* said the voice. *"Take three!"* Jack clenched his teeth together and rolled his eyes. Fine. If that was what it took to get rid of the voice, then so be it. He stuffed two more donuts at random in the bag, but the voice was demanding. *"Jam filled buns hardly count as donuts. Only the ones with the hole in the middle are real donuts. Replace one of them!"* This was the worst. Jack put one of the strawberry jam filled donuts back and grabbed another. Then he made his way back to the counter. The girl seemed less annoyed now. She had obviously been watching his antics and must have found him amusing. "That's $6 for three. Or you can grab a dozen for a dollar each." "No the three will be fine." Jacked reached into his gym bag and opened his wallet to find that he only had 99 cents left! "Oh fuck." "Sorry?" "STEAL THE DONUTS!" screamed the voice. \# To be continued...


A millennium seems like an immense span of time, especially to someone who only experiences a small fraction of one. But in the wider scope of history, beyond our lifetimes, its only a small sliver of time and experience. Time keeps moving forward like a mighty river, with nothing, or none, of significance able to stop its immortal flow. Experiences and ideas accumulate and assemble like the rocks of a riverbed, before withering away as the endless rush of water erodes them into smitherines riding the current downstream. I have had the so-called 'gift' of learning this first-hand. Time isn't a component of reality, or some sort of mystical force that can't be understood. It is a machination of our perceptions. In order for reality to be perceived, it must be taken in through the stimulation of our senses in a continuous stream, and thus, it seems to move forward in a continuous line. This is a terrible part of reality. It speeds by, faster and faster, ignorantly racing past every cherished moment and experience. And I'm trapped by my perceptions in this damned immortal place. For eternity. Before I begin my story, I must acknowledge that my memory has become a bit hazy over the generations. But, I will do my best to try to recall as much as possible. A long time ago, a sceptre was growing over Europe. An Empire of incomparable size was engulfing everything in its path, growing stronger and stronger by each day. It seemed like nothing could stop the vastness and strength of this Empire. Horsemen from far-Eastern Steppes had grown from equestrians, to become what was called the 'scourge of God,' and the survivors of this scourge spread tales of death and destruction left in their wake. But, in the midsts of this paranoia and fear, the curiosity of many was piqued by the foreign nature of this Empire. Tales of incomparable wealth, marvelling treasures and rich wisdom abounded from those who had travelled to the Eastern lands that formed the core of this Empire. But, after many insurrections and battles, this Empire shattered. The great conduits of trade it had established throughout the continent sputtered and fell apart, disconnected and disorganized. The flow of supplies was no longer carried by merchants who trekked over the continent, and this only feuled the imaginations of those who did not have the opportunity to witness what truly lay inside that great Empire. I seemed stupid at the time to many, and to be quite frank, I was. But I had no livelihood, and the town was fluttering in stagnation and disease. I realized there was no life in the musty and mildewy fisheries that I came from, so I took a clue from an ancient book, and left - to never turn back. I spent what little wealth I had on gathering supplies and a horse for travel, and I set off from the village. I didn't leave anyone special behind, nor did I leave many memories. My life truly began at that moment, or so I thought. I set forth to find the lost city of 'Xanadu,' once the former capital of the Great Khanate, and the centre of the worlds richest riches. On the first part of the journey, I passed through the strange lands of what was once the farthest borderlands of the Great Khanate. Much like my homeland, it was ridden with disease, and destroyed by war. The people here were strange. They still looked European, they still sounded somewhat European, they still were professed followers of Christ, but they didn't seem so European. Many of the traditions and mannerisms they carried were radically different, and sometimes even nonsensical. I figured that it was probably the influences of the fabled Great Khanate and whatever culture this place used to have. I skirted down a river to avoid what was described to me as a Kingdom of bandits and barbarians, before passing through the great 'Bashkir' protecting Europe. This mountain pass unfortunately protected whatever lay on the other side from Europeans, too. As I passed through, I ran low on my rations. To make ends meet, I had to begin hunting the surrounding wildlife for meals with a bow. This worked for some time, but as the path became more jagged and barren, it became harder to scavenge for firewood. My horse became more weary and tired, and the journey slowed. I had heard stories of bandits preying on the weak and isolated in these mountains, and I made sure to keep a knife sheathed on my waist at all times. To ensure that I didn't fall victim to an attack, I tried moving through this mountain chain as fast as possible, only taking breaks for gathering food or sleep. But this didn't suffice. As I was guiding my horse around the chasm of a gorge, a whizzing arrow pierced my shoulder. Another struck the icy-rock behind me, pinging off and falling into the vast and deep gorge below. Warm blood rushed down my chest, soaking my clothes and dripping from my shoulder. If they weren't already near me, they would be able to follow my path thanks to this wound. I fastened the reigns of my horse, and clutched my blade as I waited for - whoever these people were - to approach me. I heard voices in the distance. Three men emerged from the cliffs shadow, clad in foreign silk, leather, and weaponry. At first I mistook their tongue for Turkish, but as they approached closer, I knew it was something distinct that I had never heard before. Is this all that was left from the once great Khanate? Or were these people of a different descent, who helped tear down the horde? This thought passed, because it didn't matter, they were approaching me now with weapons drawn. *"Keri bolıñız!"* I clenched my fist around my blade, and unsheathed it, revealing it to the men approaching me. They tried speaking to me, but I didn't understand. I took a few steps back, taking stance for a fight. "I-I'm just a traveller," I stammered out. "I bring no harm to you, please, just don't hurt me..." They furrowed their brows, confused by my language. Still, undeterred, they continued their approach. *"Artqa! Ustañız, al jaqında biz ketemiz."* They commanded as they apprehensively stepped closer. I stood back, not knowing what they were saying. But I could presume the routine of a bandit. Injure or kill the victim, take their belongings, and scatter away before any consequences could catch up with them. So, I stayed out of their way. They rummaged through the bags on my horse, looking for anything of value. They began taking food, clothes, whatever they could find. They then took the reigns of my horse, and left me, blood dripping out of my shoulder, on the cliff-side. I made no objections. I stood there in dead silence while they walked into the hazy distance. What would I say? 'Please stop?' I was stuck in these God-forbidden mountains with no food or means of travel. I was, for lack of a better word, fucked. My first instinct was to build a fire, before figuring out what to do next. I tore off a piece of clothing, and fastened it around my shoulder. Every move came with writhing and gruesome pain. I gnashed my teeth to try and ignore the pain, until my jaw became sore. I walked down the path with what little I had on my shoulders, still seeking the great city foretold in legends and prophecies. This was for more than just greed or fame, but for adventure, and discovery. This path was long, and winding, and seemed to never end. The sun was setting behind the great peaks in the distance, covering the gorge with a resoundingly dark shadow. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I emerged from the gorge to a valley, lush with vegetation and tree's. Pain shooting through my arm, I tore away brush and twigs, and began to collect fuel for a fire. The tree's of this land were thin and tall, sprouting narrow branches in every direction, flooding my nostrils with the scent of pine-cones and needles bristled with frost. As if God himself had granted me a miracle, this was exactly what I needed, with my shoulder disabled. I collected what I needed from the dense strip of tender's, and created a fire, at last. Finally, I could warm myself, sleep, and tend to my wound. I sat by the flickering fire, warming my body temperature, and preparing myself mentally. Gritting my teeth, I slowly pulled the arrow out of my flesh, gouging my wound with more blood. I let out a gasp of pain as it finally came out. I bandaged my wound, and lay back, exhaling a sigh of relief. Looking at the arrow, I became intrigued. It was strange. It had markings and patterns I had never seen before, with Greek and Turkish looking characters written on its metal edge. I tossed it aside, disinterested. I looked up to the sky and rested my eyelids, trying to get some rest, so I could heal my wounds. As I sat there alone staring at the night sky, full of stars and wonder, I thought about why I had even come this far for this. I thought about the mundane life at home, choked to death by greed and misfortune. My mind wandered to the legends I had been told by old travellers, to the stories that abounded old forsaken books... > 'To walk the sacred river Alph, to scale the great walls, to wander the infinite caves of Ice. A pleasure-dome, decreed by Kublah Khan, possessing the answers to the greatest wonders of human kind. A place of immortality, with prophecies of war foretold in the whispering distance.


**These are the accounts journaled by an unknown man who is suspected to be deceased.** **We can not guarantee that the following events written happened or not… but how can we be for sure?** September 21st 2002 I suppose it is as good as a time as any to start a journal, from the direction my life has been going in these past few weeks I'll be dead within the year. In case anybody reads this I guess I should start from the beginning, get all the facts straight. Ever since I was young my life has been off by just a tick, one notch below normal. Something always seems to be just a bit different from another person's life, growing up in the mountains will do that to a boy. When I was younger I was scared of the woods that surround my home but with age that fear subsided, I guess I shouldn't have let that fear fade. When I was about eight years old my life took a turn for the worse. My life was invaded by a source of evil, something I can’t even describe. I guess some would call it a demon or a monster but I just call it my own personal hell. The first time this thing presented itself I was in my safe place. in the snow forming angels in the snow with my body. That is when I felt the wind, that warm wind that felt like an oven had just been opened right beside me, I stopped what I was doing and slowly got up, I was only eight years old and I still felt unsettled. When I was on my feet I looked around, the warmth had escaped past me, for it had only stayed for a moment, like a wave. That is when I felt as though I should go back home, I walked into my front door letting the screen door clap into its resting place. I took off my boots and smacked them onto the ground letting the snow flying. As I entered the house I was greeted immediately with the smell of freshly baked cookies immediately making me forget of the wave of warmth that I had just felt in the Mountains on a snowy December day. As I stepped into the kitchen my mother handed me a plate of cookies and told me to enjoy them in my room. I took the cookies and ran up the stairs to my attic room, the way they had it set up the ladder to the attic was always open so I could climb up. I had specifically asked for that room, it made me feel like a king living above everyone, and most of all I had a window where I could survey the whole front yard; there had been tons of amazing things I had seen, coyotes fighting, eagles carrying prey, and bears digging through our trash. Along with all these things I had seen I took notes of them, and categorized into folders like “weather” or “animal sightings”. By time I was 16 I had a full box of notes and sightings which sat right by that window. As I walked out of the kitchen with my fresh cookies I thought about snow angels again, and how good I was at making them, when I would get up to my room I would look down at the snow angels and take notes of how much better I had gotten at creating them. Once I got up the ladder I set the cookies down and began to remove my winter apparel, that is when I noticed something move in the treeline, I stopped and ran over to grab the notebook to be ready write down what it was. I was expecting it to be one of the foxes from the hole 30 meters into the woods, but that definitely was not the case. I squinted my eyes trying to find it but it seemed to disappear, after a few more moments of searching I gave up and went back to dressing into some comfortable clothes while munching on some cookies thinking about snow angels. That is when it happened, I turned around to grab my pajama shirt, but I saw something in my window and not just outside it was standing right up against the glass looking right at me, standing at what I estimate was at least 2 and a half meters tall with cracking gray skin that looked like tree bark. Its only facial feature were two empty holes that still felt as if they were staring at me. It’s arms were open as if they were inviting me outside, asking me to play, go make snow angels. I jumped back and screamed at my loudest while backed up against the window trying to hide behind a pile of clothes. It all gets hazy from here but from what I can remember the room began to vibrate, not like an earthquake or anything just a subtle vibration that tingled my feet, then came the noise, it was quiet at first but then got louder and higher in pitch. After that there was nothing I guess I had blacked out. I was brought back to consciousness by my mother shaking me asking if I was alright, i could see she was worried and crying, “how long had I been out?” I thought. My mom was hugging me and crying and saying she had called the ambulance and I would have to go to the hospital. When I was boarding the ambulance I noticed something odd, my snow angels, they were gone. I stayed in the hospital for a few hours until they diagnosed me, apparently I had some kind of seizure, but there was no way… those snow angels could never just go away that fast, and the snow wasn’t falling they were just gone replaced with flat white snow. From then on out I was diagnosed an epileptic, which made my life even more of a personal hell. They told me that when I started to feel how I felt before I blacked out to bite my tongue to help me feel better, so I did, every time I saw that… creature I bit my tongue but it was to no avail, it seemed to follow me throughout my years. I would look out my window at night and the flood light would show its shape just watching me, but I only blacked out if it got close, like it was antagonizing me showing me it had power over me. The problem I had growing up was that no one else would ever see it, because it would only show when I was alone, every time I told my mom about it she always told me “You are just seeing things because of the seizures hun, just bite your tongue and then everything will be A-OK.” then she would smile and go back to baking some new pastry. I do miss my mom, she was a great woman, what happened to her… it was just wrong, but poetic at the same time. I will always remember the trickle of blood that ran down her face and landed into the snow of the mountains, she was still shaking in my arms but there was nothing I could do. I reached forward and closed her eyes and whispered “Just bite your tongue ma… just bite your tongue and everything will be A-OK…”. From that moment on I vowed to never get close to someone again, I didn’t want to hurt anyone else, I was a danger to myself and others.


(This is my first real story I've written. My brother writes horror type stuff and I wanted to impress him because his is so good and cool and I love him to death. He is way better. Please be nice)   \[HR\] The Banshee Where am I? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Ok just do what they always said. Ground myself. My name is Jessie Demerov. I am 23… no… 24. I was volunteering at the labs and… HOLY SHIT WHAT HAPPENED!? I’m in the research room. I have to find the lights. Follow the wall. FUCK that hurt. What did I trip over? Doesn’t matter. There’s the lights. Oh… my… god… there are bodies everywhere. What happened? Think gods damn it think. Project Banshee was going great. We finally figured out, transfiguration. We had the demon. The demon. The demon. Phase 1 was done. Phase 2 under way. Soul transfer was making progress. ***We have to go in now!*** ***Who knows how long we have until it finds a way out.*** Ok Jessie. Just step over the bodies. Ignore the wounds. Wait a minute. Those are deep. Who did this? The demon. It has to be. I need to leave now. Hopefully Ellis is still alive. I need her to be alive. Please if the gods are listening let her be alive. ***Just hold on the rest of containment will be here soon.*** ***CONTAINMENT!?*** ***WE NEED A FUCKING SCORCHED EARTH TEAM!!!*** Ok. Remember and focus. Check the sleeping quarters for Ellis and leave. Down the hall. Make a right. Keep going. Keep going. I’m gonna pretend that whatever I just stepped in is water and not blood. FUCK. Stop looking down. I don’t want to see their faces. We brought this on ourselves. ***Son put down the gun.*** ***No we need to kill it.*** ***And put a billion dollars down the drain?*** ***What was that scream?*** Fuck someone is still alive. That wasn’t Ellis. There’s the door. “ELLIS YOUR ALIVE!!! No no no. Stop screaming I think the demon did this. No its me please stop screaming”. ***SIR WE NEED TO MOVE IN NOW SOMEONE IS STILL ALIVE IN THERE!!!*** ***Fuck but its your ass getting court marshalled.*** “Ellis it’s just me stop shaking. Please”. I know. I’ll kiss her. It always calms her down. “It’s ok. See calm down. Its just me. I’m here now. I love you. Its ok. I love you.” “Just take my hand I’ll lead and stay silent.” Ok fuck. This is good. I don’t know how she is alive but she is. That’s what matter. Ok. Step over the bodies. Ignore the severed limbs. Ignore the blood. Block it out. Move. ***We breach in 10, 9, 8…*** It’s just this way I think. Yes, there’s the door. ***7, 6, 5…*** “We made it Ellis, we made it. We’re gonna make it out. We will go get help. The commanders will know what happened”. ***4, 3, 2, 1…*** Just a few more feet to the door. I can hear them. The containment teams are already here. ***BREACH*** OH MY GODS THANK THEM ALL ***WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!!!*** ***OPEN FIRE!!!*** What? … … … … … … … … … ***Was that the Banshee sir?*** ***Yes, it was.*** ***It’s dead now.*** ***Or is again.*** ***I don’t know.*** ***I can’t believe everyone is dead.*** ***It was a massacre.*** ***It’s worse the deeper you get in there.*** ***Why was it dragging a body?*** ***I don’t know.*** ***But we did good.*** ***We did our job.*** ***We should see it closer.*** ***Start looking to see if you can find out what went wrong.*** ***Give the cleanup crew a head start.*** ***Fuck, the face is just gone.*** ***The whole chest is collapsed.*** ***The hand is hardly attached.*** ***Must have been dragging it around awhile.*** ***That poor soul still have her ID badge?*** ***Yeah.*** ***Says Ellis S.


"Hello, this is Brock." Static. A soft scuffle in the background. "Hello?" The distorted roar of air rushing into the microphone, followed by a muffled sound of heavy breathing. "Oi! Can you her me?" Now dead silence. Apparently there wasn't even enough sound on the other end to activate the phone's receiver. After a few seconds of listening I thought about hanging up, but then I heard a clang in the distance, the sharp sound of metal on metal, and footsteps, at least three pairs of shoes slapping against the ground and echoing through a confined space. This was unusual. The last three calls from this number had been near identical, timid voice reciting a simple message: "Help me. Please help me. I'm lost..." and then each time the line was cut before I could properly respond. Three times this person had called me, too soft-spoken for me to recognise the voice, or even identify a gender from the weak audio. But this call was different. The footsteps increased in volume, and urgency. A low, distant voice uttered something unclear in an authoritative tone and the footsteps responded, breaking their pace momentarily to comply to the instruction. "Who is this?" I asked hesitantly, "Are you alright?" but I got the impression this was an accidental redial, or something like it. The caller hadn't even spoken this time. All the same, I kept listening. "He ran this way," the low voice said, "They always do." He was much closer and clearer now, with and accent I couldn't quite place. South African maybe? Or Dutch? "Their newly formed eyes are unused to the daylight, so they flee to the nearest dark place: the underground carpark. I'm telling you, it's the same every time. They're like newborn babies - instinctive and predictable. "Spread out and look around," the deep voice continued, "Check behind the pillars and under the cars. The subject shouldn't be far, but I swear to God, if he does escape your punishment will be severe. I'm sure I need not explain the gravity of our predicament if that were to happen." The footsteps scattered, most of them seeming to drift away and diminish in volume. Nothing for a few seconds. Suddenly the panting was back, close and loud. Heavy footfalls at a fast jog and a sharp rapping sound on the mic periodically. The anonymous caller was making a break for it, and apparently their phone was in a loose pocket of some kind. A voice yelled from a distance, reverberating across the concrete interior space, and soon others responded in short militant barks. Then a gunshot, I was sure of it. The pursuers had resorted to firearms, and something told me these characters weren't the local police. Crack! The sound almost deafened me and I had to pull the phone from my ear momentarily to recover. Not a gunshot this time, the impact must have been right up against the receiver. My anonymous friend had dropped their phone. "Fuck!" This voice was strangely familiar but I didn't have time to think about it - whoever they were, their escape had been short-lived... The deep South African voice was back, and it was accompanied by the mechanical clacking of a semi-automatic handgun. "Subject four oh three seven, you have before you two options." Sentences were hard to make out so far from the source microphone, and my volume was at 100%. Up until this point I had to guess the odd inaudible word from the context. But then I heard a tap and my audio became a lot clearer. Deep Voice Man was louder and I could hear every word now. "Yes, good idea. Sit down, don't run. We can talk over this together." I guessed that 'Subject 4037' had seen the redialled number and put the call onto loudspeaker for me when he sat down - all without his captor noticing the phone on the ground. I kept listening. "You can come with me right now," Deep Voice went on, "Come back to your dark room with its soft bed and regular meals. The sun won't hurt you there, the noise-" he fired a shot at the ground, "...won't hurt you there. In that room your only concern will be a daily blood donation and weekly scan graft collections. Is that too much to ask for your safety? You are saving lives my friend, and you don't even have to work for a living - something many on this planet can only dream of. "On the other hand... if freedom is what you desire then who am I to take it from you? But you may find it less comfortable than you hoped. The world is a harsh, dangerous place my friend. You have been extremely sheltered in this facility, and I can guarantee, your escape would be just as difficult for you as it would be for us. The only real freedom I can offer you is a quick death, I'm not unreasonable. You aren't as valuable to us as you thought, there are many others like you. "Now which will it be?" Seconds passed. The silence grew. Finally, in a strong, confident tone I heard that familiar voice again, for the first time properly: "Brock Cullen, you are the victim of DNA theft and unauthorised artificial reproduction. Your biological property is being harvested for capital gain by false-" Bang! "Wrong answer." But I had heard enough. The familiar voice was my own.


We're friends, him and I. Well, more like enemies, close enemies. I guess I got so used to him that I became close, he was always someone I could depend on. There were others, but it was his voice that was the loudest. Every day I heard his voice, his toxic familiar voice. I heard the others too, whispering. He drowned them out. He was the devil on my shoulder screaming into my ear. He yelled doubt into my mind. I was within his grasp he claws dug into me day in and day out. *"He doesn't care about you"*. He would scream into my ear. I could feel his hot breath and his sickly saliva dripping onto my shoulder. I closed my eyes. I stopped asking him to go away a long time ago. It never worked. "*He's using you*." He shouted inflicting doubt and anxiety on me. His aim was to uproot my efforts of happiness. He wanted me to himself and I was a slave to his wishes. When I tried relationships he always stood in the way selfishly keeping me loyal to him. And I pushed the others away because of it because I listened to him. "*He will just end up hurting you anyways*." A tear slid down my face as I started to believe him. "He's right." I told myself. "*Like the others*.." His voice lowered with seriousness and I felt him slide from one shoulder to the other. His talons grazing my throat. I sniffed. He knew me so well, he knew just what to say to get to me. And I believed him every time. Yet he was always right. It didn't matter where I was, whether it was work, school, my own home, it was all his, it was another place to rule me. But when I felt lonely he was there. He was there to keep me company. If I didn't hear his voice in my head who else did I have. Soon he got me into drugs. I never looked back. I would buy a gram and listen to him while I cut lines. "*There you go*." He would say sweetly. It was the only time I could be with him in peace. He would run his fingers down my arm, comb my hair with his fingers and whisper into my ear. "*Doesn't that feel good, darling. Why don't you take some more*," And I would obey. It was the only time I felt accepted....loved. Because he was right, the others would just hurt me anyways. I could depend on him though. I found myself doing those lovely white lines every day so that I could enjoy him. It was all a ploy and I knew, but didn't care. He isolated me from the world, but it was okay, the world just hurt me anyways. I would close my eyes and listen to him. Without my daily hit I got to be angry. I would miss him, he would return to his old self, the one screaming vile things until I took another hit. I would smile in euphoria and see him across from me. He would smile back and his normally intimidating looks would no longer have an affect on me. I would get close to him and talk. "It feels so good when I'm with you." I would say smiling. "*I know,*" he replied and he held my face stroking my chin and lips. He got closer to me and spoke in a low voice. "*Another line...for me.*" He urged me sweetly kissing my neck "I've done enough." I murmured closing my eyes feeling our closeness. "*Oh, baby, you'll feel so much better.*" he said kissing my forehead. It felt so good being with him, being high, it was intoxicating. No longer did I feel alone like my miserable self when I begged others for attention. I ran my finger up his arm and felt him. I wanted him, I wanted to be closer to him, I wanted to please him. "Ok." I grabbed the plastic bag and my credit card. I felt like I entered anther world. I got closer to him, he got closer to me. Everything faded into oblivion. All the bullshit was gone. It was just us and before I knew it our lips were touching and I felt.....nothing. All the pain, all the sadness, all the hopelessness-everything he used to remind me every day of was forgotten. I heard no voices, not even his. I was at peace. And it was the first and last time I kissed Death.


“Good morning, sir!” “Hello. Bottom floor please?” “*Bottom*-bottom?” “I was told to go to the bottom.” “The bottom! Hah! A brave one or a desperate one?” “I… was told the doctor there could fix my leg?” “Desperate. Always the desperate ones.” “Excuse me?” “*Some* smell permeating this elevator. What’s that? Colgate? Crest?” “What did you mean by that ‘Always the desperate ones,’ comment?” “Oh, yeah, definitely Colgate. Hmmm, can’t say I’ve had teeth in some time. Forgot how they tasted.” “Tasted?” “Don’t see many of your kind down here these days. Most take one look at the operator and turn right around!” “So that’s what you are?” “In the flesh! Practically swimming in it! Hah! Get it? It’s an elevator operator joke, a bit of elevator humor to lighten the mood!” “I don’t believe I understand what flesh has to do with an elevator?” “You don’t?” “Haven’t the faintest clue.” “Huh. Interesting.” “What does flesh have to do with an elevator?” “Yes, sir, *some* smell permeating this elevator. Tell me, sir, do your kind still watch that show with the—what was it you call them, again?—the sheriffs just going about their day-to-day lives in that small town in North Carolina?” “You mean *The Andy Griffith Show?*" “That’s the one! Absolute classic! Never saw it myself, can’t say I’m too familiar with the premise.” “Uh? Yes, it’s a very old show, still in black and white.” “My, my! You guys have both colors on your TV’s?” “All of them, I guess.” “Guess I gotta find a way to step out of this elevator sometime. Hah.” “At least I got that joke!” “What joke?” “I’m sorry, maybe I’m going crazy. Nerves, you know. Can’t say I’ve ever seen a hospital quite like this one. Didn’t know they even existed until today.” “Nothing scary about a hospital. There are real scary things out there, you know the ones. Illuminati flesh pits, doomsday time vortexes, flaming death wraiths, boulders.” “Do people really believe in those things?” “Never seen any empirical proof of a boulder myself.” “What about the other things?” “Mhmm, some smell I’m smelling. Minty, fresh. Smells awfully nice.” “I’m sorry, how much longer will this elevator ride be?” “Let’s see… Bottom, right? We’re at floor B74 right now. That’s one of my favorites, Rusty’s floor.” “Rusty?” “Head surgeon, nicest guy. It’s always a joy to hear the grinding gears of his legs approaching the break room, so I’ve heard.” “He sounds… friendly.” “Very nice guy, the nurse won’t shut her damn mouths about him.” “I take it the nurses like him?” “The *nurse.* Every day she just comes in my elevator talking about how ‘nice’ he is and asking if I’ve seen him skittering around any of the ceilings. I’m an elevator operator, not a janitor! I don’t see the ceilings here! Then one of her faces will go off on me about how I’m ‘not showing respect to the hospital staff’ and how I can ‘be reported to the head of the hospital if I don’t stop talking to her like that!’” “I take it you don’t like her?” “I hate anyone who tracks blood in my elevator.” “How about my doctor? Dr.-” “Dr. Penicello! Yeah, I know Penny. He’s an Italian fellow, one of the best doctors on the bottom floor.” “So you’d say I got pretty lucky?” “Maybe. Just try to look as healthy as you can around him. Don’t limp around on that leg of yours too much, the doctors here smell wounds.” “Smell?” “Just go straight down the hall to his office. Don’t hang a left, and certainly don’t hang a right.” “What’s on the right?” “Those are the words of a man thinking of taking a right. Stop thinking about the right. The faster you forget, the faster it goes away.” “What do you mean by ‘it goes away?'” “God dammit! Stop talking about it! I’m trying to forget and you’re not helping!” “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about what I was saying.” “Just change the damn topic!” “Uh, some smell?" “Smell? What smell? What are you talking about?” “The smell you mentioned earlier.” “Don’t smell nothing! Not a damn smell in this whole elevator. Don’t even know why you’re in a hospital.” “I’m here because of my leg, the doctor at the bottom floor was going to fix it! We talked about this!” “The bottom floor? That really is serious.” “I know it is! And I’m starting to think that not even this hospital can fix the damn thing!” “No, no, Penny is the only one who can fix an ailment like that. I’d know, I work here.” “Then why is everyone in this building acting so strange? Why are you all dodging questions?” “Yep, I’m smelling it for sure. Colgate, that’s what it is.” “Are you sure there are no human doctors that can operate on me?” “Nope. Humans wouldn’t sign you up for an appointment with a sickly glob of mold if they didn’t have to.” “A glob of what now?” “Oh! Looks like the elevator is finally coming to a stop.” “Yeah, this is my floor, I’d best be going.” “If you wait a moment, I might be able to introduce you to Rusty. I think I hear him coming down from the not-left side of the hall.” “I think I’ll pass, I’m... sort of in a hurry to get home.” “Good luck in there. Hey! Tell that sticky gray bastard to share for once in his goddamn life!” “Share what?” “Just tell him the giant maggot in his elevator hasn’t eaten in days. Can’t go without my fix tonight. He’ll know.” “I’ll, uh, be sure that he feeds you. I guess I’ll see you again after my appointment?” “A brave one. Huh.


The rookie gathered his gear as Bert told him “time to go to work son.” It was early morning, around 0600 hours, sun wasn’t coming up for another hour or so. Bert fired up the crown vic and the Rookie jumped in the passenger seat. Still fixing up his gun belt. It was the dead of winter. Feet of snow and blistering cold. The Rookie had no idea what was going on. He had no idea the next few hours would change his damn life forever. Bert usually rode shotgun, ever since the Rookie could be trusted to drive. He fumbled around for the lights and sirens. “What’s going on?” The Rookie asked. “Sarg said he needs us on the highway by the old mill.” Natural fear crept in and the Rookie swallowed it down. It was foggy and the drive seemed to take forever. No one was on the road that early, especially with the recent snowfall. The Rookie looked out the window at the snow covered pine trees passing. He loved this time of year. “Looks like the Sarg’s rig up there” The Rookie jumped out of the passenger seat and approached the police truck. The driver’s side door was open and the red and blues were flashing. Bert called it in. The Rookie had a real bad feeling as he peered into the pickup. Sarg wasn’t there. The Rookie motioned to Bert, he had to see the confused look on his face. The Rookie followed the tracks in the snow. Into the thick fog. He wasn’t sure just how far he had gone. The fog was so disorienting. He heard Bert try to reach Sarg on the radio. “Dispatch, what was sam 5-9 responding to out here?” “Anonymous caller stated they saw a female walking on the roadway, requested a welfare check.” The Rookie overheard the traffic as he followed the footprints in the snow. His eyes doubled open as he saw a second smaller pair of footprints appear next to Sarg’s. “Robert 2-5, I got another set of tracks up here!” The Rookie keyed in. No response. He knew his handheld radio wouldn’t reach dispatch; but why wasn’t Bert answering. The Rookie heard static and could make out a familiar ten code: “Rob -5 10-9 son I can’t copy yourr.. Rad… tr… ic.” “I’m gonna turn back” The Rookie thought out loud. He shuffled around in the deep snow and started heading back towards the way he came. Something in his gut told him to turn around NOW. He caught a glimpse of a figured dressed in white. The Rookie drew his 9mm service pistol. “Sarg?” his voice cracked. A faint whisper echoed all around him. Throughout the tall pine trees. Someone else was here and it sure as hell wasn’t moving around like a normal human being. The Rookie took a sharp deep breath feeling the cold chill in his lungs. He pulled his beanie down. Loosened and then tightened the grip on his pistol. He began following the two sets of footprints further into the foggy abyss. It wasn’t many yards further when he saw what looked like a scuffle in the snow. He could tell where a large male, Sarg, had fallen down. He could see blood drops and lung tissue sprayed across the white snow. The Rookie stood there for a minute trying to muster up some courage. Sarg’s footprints didn’t go any further. The smaller set of footprints continued into the darkness, and they were dragging something heavy. MOVE! The Rookie began running back towards the vehicles and where he figured Bert had to be. It wasn’t a dozen steps he took before something knocked him down. He began clawing at the snow in front of him trying to crawl away. He felt the skin just below his knees peel away. Claws puncturing his calf muscles and pulling him the opposite way he so desperately wanted to go. He felt a separate set of claws, had to be feet, push on to his torn calf muscles. He could feel the weight of something heavy. The weight held him in place. The Rookie turned his head to see what was on top of him holding him down. It was like a little girl but with sharp razor like teeth. Black hair and black eyes. It’s arms were skinny and long. At the end of the arms were long fingers with bloody claws. The damned thing just sat there crouched down staring at him. It cocked it’s head sideways shifting it’s jaw open and from side to side. The Rookie lifted his trembling hand and pointed his weapon at it. It lowered its head and giggled. Kind of like a girl, but it had a deep devilish voice. With both hands it started tearing into The Rookie’s gut. The Rookie lowered his hand.. And squeezed the trigger.


There are two kinds of people: drunks, and survivors of drunks. I am a survivor of drunks. I've never liked alcohol, not the taste and not the feeling. Makes me guilty. It's like poisoning your body with something that deliberately makes you feel gross, and purposefully causes you physical damage. I'll probably never drink again after tonight. My friend decided to drag me out, even after I expressed my disinterest in drinking. She'd said "But you need to get out, you never go anywhere or do anything anymore." She's right. She didn't have me convinced until her reasoning shifted to a slight whine and she squeaked out "I miss you." Bingo. I was sold. What's one night; one drink? Maybe it'll be fun, I'd thought. I never thought to ask who the DD would be, I just knew it wasn't me. We got all dolled up, she picked me up, and we headed to the bar. And by "all dolled up" I mean I brushed my hair and wore something other than sweatpants. The night was sort of fun, but I wasn't really there. I sat at the bar on one of the tall stools that, though well into my 20's, I still felt too young to be sitting on. My mind was anywhere but in that bar. My mind was back home in bed with my penguin sheets and baby blue fuzzy blanket, watching The Office for the 6th time. I was approached by three different guys, but they all gave up as soon as they could tell I was in no way interested in leaving the bar with them. I guess sometimes your mind being elsewhere is as great a people repellent as it is a coping mechanism. I don't drink much, so after one drink of some brightly colored alcohol I was sufficiently tipsy. I didn't want to drink more so I ordered some fries and mentally checked out for the night. No more fun for me. I zoned out and stared at the T.V hanging above the bar. No football; not in season I guess. I wouldn't know, that's not my style. There was some infomercial for a big ole vacuum cleaner. The kind that's on wheels and is shaped like a barrel. It had a handy retractable tube that came out of the side, and the top opened to be cleaned out. Cool vacuum, but I wasn't quite sold. They'd have to try harder to make me think it was worth the two payments of $99.99. "Come on!" I was suddenly being dragged off the barstool by my friends and the next thing I knew I was in the passenger's seat of a car that smelled like wet dog, garbage, and pot. Fun. Once I was able to focus in on what was happening, I realized that my friend had made friends. With two guys. "Oh, no. I don't- I'm not-" I started scrambling for any excuse to leave. I grabbed at the door handle but it was too dark to see and by the time my hand found it, we had started moving. "Relax, we're just gonna hang out." My friend tried to comfort me from the back seat. I sighed and slumped down in the seat. Nobody even remembered to put their seatbelts on. When we realized that, it was already too late. I still remember Mr. Brightside playing on the radio before being jolted backwards and then sideways, glass shattering all around me. And suddenly we were tipping over in slow motion. I was upside down. Bits of glass got caught in my hair, and I imagined it all sparkly under the streetlights. Time started moving again. I wiggled my toes and hands and made sure I could move. I don't remember crawling out through the broken window onto the street, but I did. I crawled away from the car as bystanders stopped and ran over to help, a few of them pulling out their phones to call 911. I tried to get to my feet but someone told me to stay down, and sat there with me until the ambulance arrived. Me surviving was a total miracle. There's no reason I should be alive. I was the only one who survived the impact out of both cars in the collision. There are three kinds of people: drunks, survivors of drunks, and drunks that can't even survive themselves.


A FAMOUS FOOD CRITIC MASSACRES AN ENTIRE RESTAURANT, STAFF AND GUESTS, BECAUSE OF THE HORRIBLE FOOD It's kind of sick humour but whatever, here goes... "Was that a large with coke?" "Ye- what? No. Give me a medium, I can't afford that shit." "That'll be ten ninety five thanks, drive on through." Just another day on the headset. Handling miscommunication, getting beef from customers and multi-tasking my ass off. "Twenty six dollars seventy?!!" "You ordered three family meal deals." "I'm a big boy alright!" "Easy, I wasn't challenging your life choices, just explaining why it costs that much." Far out. For all I knew he could easily have had a large family hiding in that tinted SUV but apparently diet was a touchy subject for him. "My son nearly died choking on one of your waffle cones! I want a $50 bribe now or I'll sue Burger King for all it's worth!!" "Um, first of all this is the drive through, if you have any complaints you should take them to the manager. Second, you're not in the states anymore lady. The legal system in New Zealand doesn't really work like thaaaaaa..." I froze mid-sentence, my jaw dangling open like a Burmese python. Out of the corner of my eye I had just seen one of our customers fall down to his knees and then collapse on the pavement as I was speaking. "Like what?" the rude lady demanded, completely oblivious. The man was convulsing on the ground now, clutching his chest and gasping. A girl nearby caught sight of him and rushed over, pulling out her phone to call emergency services. I was too shocked to say anything more than a weak, "That dude does not look okay..." before blood started pooling around his torso and he stopped moving. The American lady turned round in her seat to follow my line of vision and screamed. She was just in time to see the girl with the phone get jolted by a sudden impact in her back and fall over in a similar manner. "Get down!" I commanded, "Now! Somebody out there has a silenced firearm." The lady stared at me blankly, paralysed in terror and unbelief. "Do it!" She finally responded and lurched out of the family car, closing the door behind her and crouching between the vehicle and the drive-through window. Panic started spreading through the carpark as people saw the bodies laying lifeless near the double doors and ran for cover. Some reached for their phones and were immediately fired upon and added to the growing list of casualties. My head spinning with fear and confusion I spun around and stepped out of my cashier cubicle into the restaurant. People inside were confused at the noise and unsure how to respond. No gunshots had been heard but it was clear to customers and staff alike that some hectic shit was going down. Before I could shed any light on the situation a window shattered and another customer slumped face-first into her sundae with a bullet hole clean through her skull. The result was immediate, it seemed that every person in the room had a different idea for the best course of action and they all tried to execute it at once. A schoolgirl yelped something incoherent and jumped backwards into her friend who got a mouthful of hair and sore teeth. Skinny teenage mum grabbed bubba from her pram and crouched under the table, probably the wisest move. One of the Shirley High boys kicked open the main entrance doors and bolted, only to be shot in the leg after a few paces. Chubby scooter boy muttered something about "gangsta shit" and flattened himself against the back wall next to the fizzy dispenser, pumping out as many free refills as possible in his last moments on earth. Mr Hi-Vis with the tattoo sleeve grabbed the remains of his burger and vaulted the counter to grab the ancient landline telephone we keep by the grill. My buddy Dee had moments ago been taking an order only to find himself dodging Hi-Vis and slapping an underage Mongrel Mob wannabe away from the open cash register. Then I noticed the dark form striding towards the double doors: a slender figure dressed in sooty jeans, glossy black leather high boots, black hoodie and a grey bandana over her nose and mouth. ...and an assault rifle in hand. Without a second thought she unleashed her first clip of bullets into the restaurant, spraying the premises in a deadly hail of shrapnel and jagged glass and tearing the doors from their hinges. The schoolgirls jumped behind a seat and avoided the worst of it. Hi-Vis was yelling something aggressive into the telephone, I just hoped it was the police that he'd called and not his mum or something. Mongrel boy took a bullet in the leg and flipped some intimidating gang signs. Scooter kid was sculling his fourth cup of coke mixed with L&P while the drinks dispenser started leaking from bullet holes. Dee was characteristically unfazed by the whole situation, this was East Side after all. The offender busted through the doors and threw down her gun, drawing a lengthy katana from a sheath on her back. What happened next was too gruesome to describe but let's just say that she was a martial arts master and very soon Dee and I were the only survivors. "Who... who are you?" I stammered. She barked out a short ugly laugh and took off the bandana, revealing a face that I knew only from cheesy reality TV. "Nigella Lawson!" I gasped, "Why?!" "Fast food is the devil," she replied, "I am saving you from a fate worse than death." And then she stabbed me in the eyeball and I bled out. Oh sorry, I said I wouldn't describe it... whoops.


He lets out a sigh, staring at the ceiling he said to himself "lying next to the woman you love, watching a movie and just cuddling, isn't that what they call goals ?" She chuckled, "What's gotten into you today?". She got out of the bed and picked up her clothes from the floor. "Going already?" he asked, "Can't you stay a little while longer?", extending his hand out to her. Placing her hand on his she replies, "I told my mom the party will end by 6, I should be home by - ". He pulls her towards him and she falls on top of him. "Lying to go to your boyfriend's home - can't say if its a "Hash-tag" goals" he teased her as he pulled her closer to himself. "Really? What's gotten into you today?" she asked, snuggling her face on his chest. Taking in a deep breadth, her sweet smell filled him, then staring back at the ceiling he let it out "Just thinking how perfect you are, how you saved me..." Smiling she raised her head to face him and placed a kiss on his cheek,"I'll have to go now or they'll kick me out of the house" she tried to get up but he held her tighter. "Say you love me" he said gently caressing her cheek, he got up and sat next to her. "We've only been going out for two weeks now..." she softly replied and leaned her head on his hand's touch, she got up and gave a fervent, long kiss on his lips. "Anyway i have to go now...". She tried to get up once more and he hugged her again. "Say you love me" he said in almost cracking voice, looked straight in her eyes. She saw his eyes water, she thought she had hurt him by refusing before but this only turned her off,"If that's what you want to hear...I love you" she said rather bluntly. "Now" he said as a tear escaped his eye, "Say your heart belongs to me" She didn't like that "You are being creepy" she said "Your heart belongs to me? Isn't that a bit cheesy?" she mocked him. His loosened his hands around her and finally pulled them away. She got up and started gathering her things in her bag, as he laid down again, facing up, with right hand hiding his eyes. She didn't want to leave on a bad note, so she went back to him and leaned toward him and placed a kiss on his forehead. Holding his face on her hand she said "I'm sorry, didn't take you for an emotional one." His right hand swiftly grab her neck, "I'm not" he replied as he reached down the pillow and pulled out a knife from under it. Gently caressing her face with the knife and looking up at her "Say your heart belongs to me, my love" he commanded. She was scared, her breadth got heavy but she didn't try to get out of his grip. She just froze their in fear, "Please...get that away, you are scaring me" "That is the plan, sweetheart" he said as he placed the sharp edge of the knife on her throat. "Now say your heart belongs to me" He pressed the knife a little on her neck. "Why are you doing this?" she muttered, now trembling as she realized she was truly in danger. "I just want to live" he mumbled, for a brief second she thought she saw some pain in his eye but it was quickly replaced by acrimony "Bitch, Say your heart belongs to me or I'll slit your throat" He said and pressed the knife harder, cutting her a little and a tickle of blood trialed down her neck. She looked down at him, she couldn't understand what was going on in his head, she didn't want this to go on any longer, she thought if that would satisfy him and he would let her go, she might give it a try, "My heart belongs to you" she mumbled. He loosened his grip on her and let both his hands fall on his side. As soon as she was free she grabbed her bag and ran out of his room, as she was running away towards the stairs she could hear him cackle and bawl, somehow simultaneously. She felt her chest tightening but kept running, soon she could feel a burning sensation on her heart, panting she urged herself to keep moving, but everything was going blur, she could feel cold sweats running down the side of her face, as sudden exhaustion took over her and she collapsed, tumbling down the stairs. Back in the room, he was still lying on his bed facing up, as the last drop of tear fell from the corner of his eye to his already stained wet pillow, "I did like her" he sighed, "But I wanted to live, you know ... I just wanted to live so bad" he said staring at the ceiling, as thing starred back at him and nodded, as if conceding.


When I returned home from the funeral service for my wife, I took her ashes which were in a lovely urn and placed them on the mantel over the fireplace. My daughter Kelly and her husband were there, and various mourners dropped off food. I would not need to cook for several weeks. I started to recollect the life that my wife and I had together. I met Christine at college. I was a little older because I had been in the war and the GI bill allowed me to go to school. We fell in love instantly and were inseparable. She wanted to get married right away, but I didn’t have the money to start a family. Christine’s mother gave us some old Roman coins she found in a closet, and we sold them to raise the money for a small house and to start our marriage. At the reception, my father in law called me aside and said, “The women in our family always take care of their men. You're going to be very happy. However, there's one thing you'll have to get used too. They are clean freaks. They constantly put things away, and often you’ll never see those items again.” That’s how my marriage to Christine was. If I left anything out, it would disappear. If I asked if she had seen the missing item, she would say, “Oh I put it away.” If I stopped a project before finishing it, I had to put everything away, or it would disappear. Sometimes this worked in my favor. I had a favorite beer stein that I had brought home from Germany. One day I dropped it, and it broke. Christine quickly cleaned up the pieces and put them away. The next evening, she smiled and gave me a beer in the stein which was now miraculously fixed. She said, “There was a duplicate in my mother’s closet.” Christine loved the small Wisconsin town where she grew up. I got a job as a history teacher in the local high school. I was worried about making it on the small salary, but Christine found an old painting in her mother's attic. It was a missing Rembrandt, and it brought in more than enough for us to live on for the rest of our lives. When our daughter Kelly turned thirteen, my wife taught her how to put things away. Suddenly I was living with two women who could make things disappear. Now that Christine was gone, I went through a period of depression. I didn't want to care for a big old house. Soon I agreed with my daughter that She and her husband would take the home over, and I would move into a condo. However, first, there was one more thing on my bucket list. I wanted to find the secret spot where my wife had been putting things away for 55 years. I had a dumpster placed into the driveway and began filling it with old items that I cleaned out of the house. Kelly volunteered to help me, which was fortunate because at my age I tired quickly. One day I noticed that the urn with my wife’s ashes was gone, but Kelly said, “Don’t worry, I put it away.” Finally, I was in the basement going through things and deciding what to throw out. I had the aches and pains of old age, with pain shooting down my left arm. Feeling nauseated, I decided to sit down in an old chair. As I sat, I looked at the basement wall and noticed a door that I had never seen before. Saying to myself, “That’s it! That’s the closest!” Invigorated by the discovery, I stood up and opened the door. Stepping through the doorway, I saw an unbelievable sight. Diffuse white light came down from the ceiling illuminating the room. An aisleway stretched into the distance, with tall shelving units on both sides. About four blocks away, a boxcar sat. I started down the aisle, and to my right, I saw a slide rule sticking out of a box. It was my slide rule from college! Attracted to this shelving unit, I started to take in the scene of stacks of objects I hadn’t seen in thirty years. A noise behind me caused me to turn around. Christine was standing there. Not the old Christine, who had been ravaged by cancer, but a young Christine. She said, “I’ve been expecting you!” I replied, “Christine! You look sixteen! How is this possible?” Christine handed me a mirror, and in it, I could see myself in my old dress uniform. I hadn't been able to wear it for fifty years, but I was thin again, with thick brown hair. Christine spoke, "You were always a handsome, sexy soldier. Do you remember the four-poster bed from our honeymoon? It's here; I put it away." I blurted out, “Christine what is happening?” She took my hand and led me to one of the shelving units. There I saw the urn with my wife’s ashes. Another urn sat beside it. Startled, I turned to Christine. Christine spoke, "Kelly put my urn away here. The women of my family have been using this closet for generations. When a girl turns thirteen, we take her here and show her the family storage closet. When things are put away here, the closet restores like new! We don’t know how many generations this has been going on, but there’s a lady here who wears furs and is keeping shelves full of stone tools. She doesn’t speak English, so I can’t talk to her, but she did give me some stew. I think it was mastodon meat.” Looking at the shelf with the urns I pointed to the urn next to Christine’s. “Who is that?” Christine replied, “That’s you, dear. You had a massive heart attack while cleaning the basement of our home. After the funeral, Kelly put your ashes next to mine. With your interest in history, you’re going to very happy here. In the harbor, Blackbeard is restoring Queen Anne’s Revenge, and he has his treasure on board. Amelia Earhart gives rides on her Lockheed Electra at the airport. We have the original copy of the Gettysburg address and papyrus drawings to the lost pyramid.” Christine then embraced me, pressing her breasts into my chest. She said, “You have eternity to explore this closet. First, let’s check out that four-poster bed.