The following Short Story is the first of many, set in the world I’ve created for my fantasy/steampunk novel. The aim is to flesh out the world a little and give a bit more depth to some minor characters (and possibly a couple of the main characters) that you’d come across when/if I get published. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the characters/setting or any constructive criticism you may have. Thanks for reading! For some time now animal life steered clear of Mulsoa Forest’s depths. Almost as if they feared whatever was lurking there, and with good reason. In the forest’s deepest part a small clearing sat in silence with a solitary cottage in the center. A sky blue mist clung to the ground, anyone steeping in it would struggle to see their own feet. The smell, that is the smell of death, seeped out from the clearing and wherever the smell went the mist followed closely behind. The clearing hugged tight to the cottage and candle light flickered out from it’s tiny windows. Inside, a skinny, dark haired young man, dressed in long white medical overalls and adoring a strange set of spectacles worked frantically at a workbench of sorts. His fingers occasionally flicking over minuscule switches along his spectacles rim causing various lenses of different magnifications and colors to fall into place. Every piece of wall space seemed to be covered in shelves holding jars containing all manner of things. Some contained herbs and various other plants. Other larger containers seemed to be preserving a variety of body organs, and the odd glass tank here and there contained whole body parts, at least one and full persons worth, although clearly they didn’t all belong to the same person, or species for that matter. Close to where his work bench lay, small shelves full of tiny jars were scattered around full of small pills. More than likely his most commonly used. A puddle of blood grew on his bench ever so slightly, dripping occasionally down to the cobbled stone floor. This was clearly some manner of Doctor and patient situation. His overalls were splashed here and there with blood, both old stains and fresh spatters. His hands were working delicately on the amputated arm of a man, this seemed to be the source of all the blood. The grunts and moans of pain that could be heard almost every time the Doctor made the slightest of moves with his long fingers, would suggest that the patient was awake. A socket of sorts protruded from what was left of the mans arm, just bellow the elbow where the bone would have been. The doctor carefully made adjustments to it, making sure it was securely bolted into the skin. He set his tool down on the bench, it looked like a horrific device, like his spectacles, many switches along it’s length would cause one tool to flip out and be replaced by another. The Doctor disappeared into a small back room and reached up to one of the highest shelves. Even with his height of 6ft he couldn’t quite reach. He sighed to himself and darted back into the main room where his patient lay groaning, he grabbed a small stool and rushed back to the shelf he was trying to reach. Placing it down, he hopped up onto it excitedly. He whipped dust cloth off and his eyes lit up as he examined the device on the shelf, a bronze forearm with pistons and pipes along it’s length. On one part some letters were inscribed in the common tongue which read: Dr. Reginald Qu’s – Armed & Dangerous Gently picking it up and carefully stepping down from the stool he looked it over. He held in his hands a mechanical arm each of the fingers as well as the wrist seemed to be connected to a series of pistons and each of the pistons formed the body of the arm, connecting to a fitting at the end which looked like it would fit his patients socket perfectly. He chuckled to himself. This was the first time in a long while he’d had the chance to try one of his devices on a living subject. He remembered back to his last attempt, a small street urchin that nobody would have missed from a nearby town whom he had lured to his home in the forest. The boy didn’t have the pain threshold for the procedure and the replacement arm didn’t even work how it was supposed to. An expression of horror over how badly it went crept onto his face and he quickly shook it away replacing it with a smile, This was the forth try overall and he was feeling slightly more confident this time. He stepped back into the main room and placed the arm on the bench lining it up carefully with the mans stump. “Now…” He said, holding his breath as he considered what was about to happen. Trying not to get his hopes up as his work was, hopefully, about to come to fruition. “…This may hurt a tad, and as you know I’m all out of pain suppre..”. The patient interrupted him with a low gravely voice, he shouted through gritted teeth “Get it ovur with!” The man on the bench seemed to draw as much focus as he could to glare at the doctor. It only lasted a few seconds before he had to let his head roll back to rest on the table and take a deep breath, clearly in agony already. “As you wish Mr. Rasmussen…” The Doctor replied in a tone that said don’t say I didn’t warn you. He flicked his fingers over a couple of switches on his spectacles and the lenses switched around to be replaced with clear glass. He grabbed the mans stump and the patient growled. Then he slid the mechanical arm up and the socket slid into the matching fitting and he twisted it a little locking it into place like he would a light bulb. The man screamed and did his best to cut the scream off as soon as he was able. Deep breathing, teeth grinding and low growls followed as the pain subsided. The pistons began to hiss and move and as they did so, the fingers and wrist followed suit. The Doctor grinned “Ha!” He exclaimed. “Try making a fist?” He suggested. The man did so with ease. “Fantastic! Now, try moving all of your fingers and your hand like you would normally be able to?” The pistons hissed a little as he did so and steam began to emerge from a vent near the socket. Doctor Qu bent over and examined all the moving parts one by one. “Seems to be working just fine!” He stood up straight and an ear to ear grin flashed to his face. “Now obviously you won’t be able to feel anything with this” he said looking down and shaking it, as if trying to gesture towards what he meant. Rasmussen growled through gritted teeth once more as he did so. “Oh… sorry” he said after realizing the poor fellow was still in pain. Rasmussen began to sit himself up, Qu assisted him and began talking again “You must remember to let your arm heal before using this… Do.. Not… Lift anything ot lean on anything with my arm until you feel the pain has gone. By that time it will be healed and you go about your business as usual..” He paused to make sure he had eye contact with Rasmussen before continuing “…If you use it before it is healed, the wound will tear open again and the socket and all my hard work will be ruined. And you Mr..” he poked his chest with two fingers “..You will be lying in a puddle of blood and bleeding out before you can say…” He paused again as he searched his mind for a suitable large and difficult to pronounce word, quickly giving up he hurriedly added “…pretty damn quickly OK. Only whatever God you pray too will be able to help you then”. Rasmussen nodded in understanding “Fine..” He said impatiently. “How lon till av healed?” Qu shrugged with his lips and then nodded to himself “You should be fine in about two span, but like I said before, once it’s comfortable, once the pain stops, then try it.” he rummaged around in a draw under his workbench and pulled out a long piece of material tying both ends to each other. “Here is a sling, you can use it to support your arm until it is ready to use.” He threw it over him and helped him put his arm in it. Rasmussen swung his legs around and slid himself of the bench. standing up straight he was a clear 7 inches taller than the Doctor. he was broad and seemed to be made entirely of muscle, and now metal. Qu helped him get dressed and swung his long coat over his shoulders after only getting the one of his arms into it. The other coat sleeve hung lifeless on his left side. With his good hand he dug deep into one of his coats pockets and pulled out a large purse, he weighed it momentarily in his hand before tossing it towards the Doctor who caught it in his chest with a thud “Da gold in ther shud cuver da cost plenty…” It was easily more than Qu was thinking of charging by a large amount so he didn’t argue. When he looked up from the coin purse Rasmussen had already opened the door, tuning back he nodded at the doctor and stepped outside walking silently out into the dead of night. Qu dropped the purse on the workbench and raced over to the open door, shouting after him “Feel free to come back any time you need further replacements or modifications! Tell your friends! Doctor Reginald Qu at your service! Provided you have gold of course, otherwise you’ll be at my service!” He fell silent and watched Rasmussen disappeared between the thick trees, not once acknowledging him. He swung the door shut and turned on his heel flicking a switch by the door as he did so. A loud series of clunking and grinding noises followed as which seemed to emanate from the door itself. He sat himself down in his soft leather chair, not bothering to clean up and began to doze off sighing happily to himself he said “Ahhh, another satisfied customer…” and let his eyelids fall shut. A cold breeze made its way around the room seemingly from nowhere and in his ear he head the whisper of a woman’s voice, her breath felt icy against his skin. Her voice was beautiful, gentle and delicate “The first satisfied customer you mean” She said playfully with a slight giggle.


I was only about twelve or so when I noticed a new presence in my life. It was the kind of presence where you'd see it out of the corner of your eye, or when you look somewhere quick. It's like a dark shadow, but when you look to the spot, it's gone. I've heard of other people dealing with this before but never anyone near me. This dark figure hung around a lot, more often in winter at first but after the first three years of my new companion, it started hanging around year round, often in the dark. After the third winter with the figure hanging around, just barely out of sight, it started showing up more and more, not just during the night anymore but any time during the day, day after day. It wasn't until after that winter, when I was 14, did I finally meet someone who dealt with the same issue I had. His name was Michael, a popular kid who I don't think anyone had a problem with. He spoke to me about the figure often and to others, and it made me realize I wasn't alone. The figure kept getting more and more common with me, I kept it to myself for the most part. Then one day I get a call, "Mike's dead" the voice on the other line tells me, I struggle to respond and ask how, only to be told that he took his own life. I know Mike, that's not Mike I told myself, that's not him. The next few days the figure seems to leave me alone and grieve. Then day it came back, and I guess it didn't enjoy it's time gone because it was worse than ever, doing a dance just beyond my vision but I knew it was right there. Weeks pass and I was taunted by this figure worse and worse every day. Then days came and it didn't jump in and out of the edge of my vision, it was clear ahead of me, clear as day. That's when I lost control, I tied a rope I found that I had in a way I've practiced many times before, but this time was different, because it wasn't going to be untied, I looked the beast in the eyes as I wrapped the rope around my neck and here I was, being controlled, not by anyone else, but by something inside me, something I couldn't control. A cancer of the mind. I released my weight, and as I gasped my final breath I realized what this monster was for it's true form, which went by the name of depression.


The curtains stubbornly refused to hang straight. For the thousandth time I moved the stool over to adjust the screw at the other end of the curtain rod. Taking a step back I could see that my work had borne no fruit. The lines formed by the edge of the curtain and the window frame where infuriatingly still not parallel. It hurt, deep inside me, as if someone had stuck a knife in me and slowly twisted it around " at an uneven pace. Maybe the window was askew, or maybe, the universe had just decided to create a small pocket of concentrated gravity, making the curtains fall in different directions. I was abruptly interrupted by the candle on the kitchen table as it suddenly lit itself. Work. I strolled over to one of the chairs at the table and sat down. A woman stood in front of me with the customary confused look on her face. “You have just passed on from the world of the living. My name is Mort and I will help you to go through some paperwork” I recited. “I’m, dead?” she asked, twitching her hand. “Yes. Would you be so kind as to read this” I responded, handing her a yellowing scroll. It was completely unnecessary to use those frail old parchment scrolls. I had tried to advocate for some nice paper or even electronic tablets but the boss had said it wasn’t ‘stylish’ enough. I glared over at the curtains as I waited for her to finish reading. “What are you looking at?” she asked, trying to follow my gaze. Of course she could not see the curtains, lucky her, so I just replied that it was nothing. “What will happen now” she asked, fixing her gaze on me. “What do you think will happen?” I replied, in my customer-friendly voice. She hesitated before answering. “I was raised catholic, so I kind of expected to go to heaven.” She sounded nervous, I didn’t blame her. “That is exactly where you’re going. If you would just be so kind as to sign here I will send you on your way.” It was a lie. Theoretically, it could be true, but I doubt it. In my early days I had always tried to explain to my clients that I had no idea what would happen to them or where they were going, but over the years I have come to realize that it is easier just to let them believe what they believe. Happy clients are cooperative clients. She reached over, accepted the quill I held forth and scribbled something at the bottom of the scroll. ‘Terrible handwriting’ I silently judged her. I gently blew on the candle flame which turned blue for effect before going out. The woman disappeared and I turned back to my curtains. I was in the midst of debating with myself whether I should call a carpenter to straighten the window when the doorbell rang. It was a pleasant sound, perfectly tuned. When I swung the door open it revealed a small man wearing a big smile. He looked rather alive " a non-client. “Can I help you?” I asked, trying to keep my annoyance out of my voice. “Hi, I’m Bob. I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.” Bob, a palindrome, with a nice round ‘o’ in the middle. Too bad it is asymmetrical spelled out. Why do people insist on capitalizing the first letter in a name anyway? Can’t they at least capitalize the last letter too? ‘BoB’, definitely better, still not perfect. How about ‘bod’ or maybe ‘dob’. I forced myself to break my train of thought in order to comply with the expected social order. “Hi Bob, I’m Mort.” “I brought some cookies” he said in response, still smiling. I looked at the tray in his hands and sighed mentally. “Would you like to come in?” I asked and did my best to make my faked smile look genuine. I stepped aside from the doorway and Bob entered. He reached down, undid his shoelaces and took his shoes off. Thank God for that. Even better, he put them neatly side by side on the shoe rack. We went into the kitchen and Bob placed the tray with cookies on the kitchen table. “So, what do you work with?” Bob asked. “Human resources” I replied. Technically, it wasn’t a lie, maybe a slight alteration of the truth but I found it justifiable. People generally don’t respond very well when you tell them you do administrative work for Death himself. Bob walked over to the curtains and reached out a hand. Before I could stop him he had grabbed the curtain rod and tilted it slightly. I froze, crushed by the atrocity. I stared at the curtains and to my surprise they were hanging perfectly straight. The parallel lines made a warmth emerge inside me. What a blessing from the skies. Maybe he was an angel? On that note, I had met an angel once, or at least she had been dressed as one, but now that I come to think about it, it had been around the time of Halloween. “Sorry” Bob said. “They were a bit askew.” “Yes they were” I responded. My fake smile had transformed into a genuine one. I offered him to sit and went to get a nice bottle of wine. We sat at the kitchen table chatting for a while. Bob was a humble guy with a colossal -but reasonable- love for felines. He was happily telling a story about one of his many cats when suddenly he went quiet. His pupils dilated and he had a surprised look on his face. He fell forward hitting his head on the table. “Heart attack” I murmured to no one in particular. I knew I couldn’t do anything to help - company policy. Inconveniently the candle lit itself once more. It took me a moment to realize why Bob was still sitting there. A few seconds later Bob sat up straight, his gaze flickering around. He had the customary confused expression on his face. “It’s awfully dark here, isn’t it?” he said, looking at me for confirmation. “Yes, clients tend to tell me that” I responded. Just like so many times before I wondered what it was like to sit on the other side of the table. I knew they couldn’t see the mortal world, with the exception of me and what I handed them of course. “What happened” Bob asked. “You died. Heart attack I believe.” “Really?” he said. He gave the impression of being more confused than scared. “I work for Death. My job is to guide you through the paperwork.” I said, trying to read his face as I spoke. “You work for him? One would kind of expect that he would do it himself, him being Death and all.” “There is no way he would be able keep up by himself, people die all the time.” I usually don’t talk about the organization with clients but I liked Bob, he was worth an exception. “So what do Death do then?” I found it fascinating how he was able to concentrate on such questions considering his situation. I respected his lack of egocentrism. “Mostly he manages things on a higher level, management and all that.” I answered. It was an exceptionally good question though. What did he do? Sure, he showed up sometimes when a celebrity died. Honestly, he could be a bit of a fangirl at times. Sure, a very bony fangirl with a laugh that reminded you of coffin lids, but a fangirl nonetheless. Other than that you rarely see much of him except when he has some new stupid idea about talking skulls or decorative scythes. “I never really thought of the logistics before. What happens during wars, plagues and such? Must be pretty chaotic.” “You should see the ant department” I replied. Just thinking of their backlog made a shiver go down my spine. “Would you please read this document and sign at the bottom” I continued, handing him a scroll. When he was done reading he put an elegant signature at the bottom and handed the scroll back to me. “So what will happen now?” he asked. “I haven’t got the faintest.” I said, smiling. “Will you take care of my cats for me?” He asked, worry in his eyes. “I’d love to.” It wasn’t a lie. Cats are very calm, and let’s not forget clean, creatures. Also, they behave very nicely around the boss, not like dogs who always start to jump and bark around him, sometimes even trying to get a piece of his arm or leg. “I guess I should be going then.” Bob said. His smile where happy and sad at the same time. “Cookie?” I offered him the tray. He reached out a hand, grabbed one and took a bite. He smiled at me as I blew out the candle. Bob disappeared, leaving only a crumb behind him. This is one of the first short stories I’ve ever written outside of school. Feedback and criticism are welcome. English is not my first language so I would be extra grateful for feedback on grammar and language. Also, I'm not very happy with the title so suggestions are welcome.


As the air grows colder, and the leafs fall unto the earth. So does my heart in all of it's passions grow colder, and fall into the abyss. It's sinful for a man to show such soft skin,but i retort. If you've ever loved such a woman, the way i love her, surely your skin will also grow soft. For such love to truly touch yea,your skin must also grow soft. Soft for her smile to pierce into your soul, and soft enough for her godly aesthetics to drive your mind crazy. But i still stand alone, in the gutter, by streets of rotterdam. Drinking my cheap wine, while the streams of whiskey dry unto my chest, and my eyes face unto the heavens. What i want more at this moment in my life, is for the one above to take me. So you ask, what putteth me into such distress. My good friend, it is love off-course, but not just any kind of love. Un-requited love , the love that drives a man into psychosis.


I lie there in silence. It slowly starts to come back to me. I know I should be dreaming but I am truly awake. I feel an enormous weight on my heart. I know all the good, all the bad. I am aware that I am a small part of something much greater. Next to me is my friends and family. Quiet, breathing softly. Drifting away in another world, soft asleep. I am the first one to wake up. I have ‘that feeling’ that this has happened before. I remember much, but not everything. There is still much that I do not know or understand. I lie there thinking about this, blinking my eyes lazily, while looking up at the star covered night. I tell myself that I am not going to wake anyone this time. I tell myself that I am just going to lay there in peace, or just go back to sleep. No need to get up and leave. No need to wake anyone else up. I feel a tad fidgety and take in a deep breath. It is nice, the night sky, the air, calm. It is nice. I feel my upper body rises up, with the curve of the oncoming wave. The sudden upsurge reveals a smile on my face. My legs rise up as my chest sinks back down. I can always sit up and look at the waves that are going to come but it is more fun to be surprised. Another wave is coming, I can feel it. I slowly look over to the corner of my eye, to get a look at my sister’s face. She smiles while the wave takes her up, then becomes sad as the wave brings her back down. I understand what is happening, but it is hard to explain. I think back to the terms and lingo I used in my last dream. I want to simplify it. I want to describe it in a similar way. I think to myself, “It is like being on a waterbed. A really big one. We are all laying down on it together. Something in the center creates big waves on the waterbed by jumping up and down or something. These waves move over the whole thing. Over to all that are laying on it. They feel the waves together.” That is part of the reason I do not want to get up, I don’t want to make any ripples. It is not as simple as that. It is a lot more complex and elegant. Much like explaining to a bee why and how art theory makes a flower beautiful. The bee cannot understand, nor would it care. The bee is only interested in the flower for nectar for the hive. The bee doesn’t care about if or why the flower is beautiful. But in the end it is all the same Beauty, nectar, fuel, resources, it is all the same. Thinking about all of this really makes me question it’s validity. This kind of reasoning makes little sense in my last dream. How do I know that I am not dreaming right now? A subtle nervousness builds inside of me. Perhaps, this is just a lucid dream. Or perhaps, this is the reality. Maybe if I sit up I can see the oncoming ways. Maybe I can check to see if there are any major ones or any big surprises. Then I can go back to the dream and warn everyone.. Maybe, maybe. Perhaps, perhaps. I let out a deep sigh. I want to look around. I want to see if I can recognise any other faces around me. I want to know if any trouble is coming our way. I want to sit up, but I can’t. I feel almost immobilized. I know I can sit up if I really want to, but I do not want to create any ripples. I do not want to create a disturbance for anyone around me. I do not want to wake anyone else up. I want to remember. I want to fully understand everything. But I can’t for the life of me. I know I should just close my eyes and go back to sleep. Ride the waves and enjoy the highs and lows of an unexpected journey. I want to remain calm, but curiosity continues to burn inside of me. I want to sit up. I want to walk around. I want to see where the waves are coming from. I want to run away. I want to explore, but I know that I would be lonely. I also know that I would loose my spot if I left. I know I should just lie here and ride the wave. Go back to sleep, enjoy it, and ride the wave. I try to calm myself by repeating that phrase, ride the wave. Just ride the wave. I cannot take it any longer. I have to at least sit up. I look around, making sure that everyone is still asleep. I slowly and carefully sit up. I sit there quiet and think to myself, “See, that wasn’t so bad” I slowly start to turn my head, to look behind me, when I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder. It is my friend. He softly says, “Don’t look, it only makes it worse” I lie back down and close my eyes, as if I am going back to sleep. I didn’t really need to look. I did not really need to see what was the cause of the waves. I wanted to fall asleep. I wanted to go back to the dream. I probably would have if I had not already seen ‘it’ from the corner of my eye, moments before my friend tried to stop me. What I had seen, just, ruined me. I feel a torrent of fear and anger, twisting and billowing inside of me. I am mortified at the monstrosity my eyes had behold. I am livid at myself for breaking my own rule, a rule I had forgotten. Never gaze at the man behind the curtain. My moment of frustration was overtaken by a new onset panic. What if it saw me. What if it knew I looked. That horrible abominable creature, what fate should befall me and my loved ones if it knew I looked. I made a big mistake. A mistake that knew I would surely be paid for, when I go back into the dream. I have surely brought a terrible fate upon myself and those I love. Oh God, please forgive me for looking upon your glory. It is impossible to know if ‘it’ knew I had looked or not. It is impossible to fall asleep now knowing what I know. I just have to somehow relax and go back to sleep, ride the wave. The cosmic deity I have sinned against, by gazing upon, what horrors will it inflict on my as payment for my sins? That terrible malformed monster. A mere glance of it drives my mind to madness and back. I am sickened by the idea of its very existence, let alone it’s purpose. That thing, is the culmination of every person’s fear, hope, desire, passion, love, and hate. All of those raw feelings, mashed together in bastardised brown mush of horror. It is the physical manifestation of what everyone has and will ever feel. It feeds off our dreams. It sustains like a parasite of emotions that the people feel. In return, it creates their dreams and keeps them guessing. It creates a reality that we all share. That thing, is God as well as Satan. It gives us heaven, as well as hell. That repugnant thing is all there is. There is nothing I can do. They want it this way. If they rely and trust it, they are rewarded with good dreams. They are all willful puppets. We are all prisoners to fate in the cosmic dance. There is nothing that can done. I am but a flea on the back of a boar. I cannot stop it, I cannot help it. I can only ride the wave. A tear runs down the side of my face while I try to force out, of my mind, all that I had just discovered. I have to forget. I have to go back to sleep. I have to escape anyway I can. I murmur a phrase to myself. Something to focus my mind on, something to distract myself with. “Ride the wave, just ride the wave.” The wave is unpredictable, and can surprise you if you let it. Just go with the flow. Just ride the wave. That’s all I can do. That is all that anyone can do. Just ride the wave. Brain idea I lie on the rippling water bed. Timothy jumps up and down. I close my eyes and embrace the wildness of the wave. My torso rises up with the oncoming wave. My rump begins to rise as my chest sinks back down. I smile. “Oh my gosh, it is like floating in the ocean. I love it!” Timothy smiles and jumped again, sending another wave my way.


His finger slipped under the upper right corner—ready to turn the page—even though his eyes had only met the third line of text. He wasn’t really paying attention to the words on the page but rather getting to the next line. The next line. The next line. The next page. He flipped the page he was holding with one fluid motion and began on the next word. In eagerness he grabbed the upper right corner of the page he had not even began looking at. The hot and sweaty fingertips were holding onto the corner of the page so hard it was creating an indentation in the paper. An ovular spot the size of his thumb where he had been holding was visible so much so that he noticed the error in his ways when he reached the first line on that page and his thumb was in his line of sight. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. He released his thumb to examine the damage. He went over it a few times, forcefully, to smooth out the damage. When his impatient thumb slid over the corner for the last time, the mark was still there. He had damaged the book. It was impossible now to return the book to the bookstore and get a full refund. The paranoia set in. They would know as soon as they saw the book that he had used it so much the spine of the book was practically falling apart. No use wasting gas on driving to the bookstore to even attempt a refund. A waste. That is what he thought of himself as he got up and placed the book he was holding—holding like a dying cat being carried to the vet—on the stack of books. Ten, no, fifteen books in this stack all with the receipts sticking out of the top. Receipts placed on the damaged page and shut forever; almost like a tombstone to remember the book he had killed. The stack next to it was far too high to become the final resting place of this one. The stack behind it was also too high, and so was the one on the floor next to it. The bookshelves were all full of christened books as well. He was reduced to making stacks on tables and the floor in front of the bookcases; he could not even see all of his failures without having to move the others. He regressed to the velvet love seat in the center of his makeshift library to start a new book. Not one of the hundreds of books in his possession were finished because he felt he would only further damage them if he continued reading. There was no point. The book was past the point of return and was no longer pristine enough to read. He opened the next book and put the receipt next to him on the couch. Maybe he would be able to return this one.


I woke slowly, i don’t know how long i really laid there, watching the dust fall through the cracks of light in the room. I hauled myself out of bed, fighting the strained and tired muscles, my stiff joints from sleeping on the uneven bed. I walked into the bathroom, and lifted my canteen, i took a few drops of the murky water and rubbed my face, with it. I shook the dust off the mirror and looked at my face, dirty unshaven, my tired eyes stared back at me beneath my unkempt hair. I turned my back on the bathroom and walked down the creaking stairs, into the living room, breaks of light between the boards shone through here too. Walking into the kitchen i looked at the water collector, it was empty, This was the third day without rain, and if it kept up this way, My third day without refilling my Canteen. I picked up the jacket I had taken off a soldier long ago, it was frayed along the bottoms, there were light rips, and the cords were splitting. The discolouration in the shoulders and elbows we’re apparent. I did up the buttons and tied the cords, the way i have a hundred times, I reached and grabbed my old shotgun, I had 10 rounds, i loaded 4 into it, and left the rest in the closet. i checked the handgun in the holster on my hip, i slung the shotgun and replaced the handgun, before picking up the wood and flint 3 pronged spear. The shoelaces taken off the dead we’re wrapped around its head holding the flint in place. I held it in front of me as i unlocked the steel framed door in front of me. I stepped onto the bright covered porch. As my eyes adjusted i looked around at the desolate street that used to be the Gale Crescent Cul-De-Sac, the dilapidated houses stared, empty back at me. The fractured and potholed road as familiar as an old friend. I locked the gate and stepped into the sunlight. As i walked past the cars which had long since been made useless i couldn’t help but feel indolent, the feeling of helplessness crept into the back of my mind like a fox tracking it prey. I tried to shake it off as i walked towards the Amigary Downs Park, which held the canopy of trees, where i had set-up my snares, and often tried to fish or spear hunt. I walked into the comforting embrace of the trees, and the cover from any curious onlookers. I walked through the trees humming to myself, checking my snares, after 3 or 4 i found a small rabbit, which i took out of the snare, and reset, a while further i found a squirrel. A pretty good quarry for the next few days. As i walked back through the forest i heard a few loud bangs, and dropped cover, unslinging my shotgun, and bringing it to bear. After 3 or 4 hours of waiting I walked cautiously back to the road, I saw a group of cars, one of which must have burned, blowing the tires. As i arrived at the cars, i noticed i was right, As i stared looking at the remnants of the burned cars, i saw one which had mostly been left alone, save a small area in the back seat. the once clean interior of it had a layer of ivory ash, in the passenger seat laid the remnants of an easier time, the flip flops, the old sunglasses, and a small teddy bear laid on the floor in front, its plaid sweater ever so slightly staring back at me beneath its ashy tomb. An equanimity washed over me for just a second, and just as soon as it came, it was gone, reminding me to go home.


I tried to force a smile, glancing her way to see her reaction. It was fear. Subtly enough displayed, as she was trying to continue leading the swing dancing class. But for a split second, she had the look of pure fear. The kind of fear you feel when you realize that the person in front of you has either has no shred of human empathy or just does not care, and will tear you into pieces without a second thought using the box cutter in his hand. All I did was ask a question. About what she should do with our hands after she turns. But she felt I was off. She knew something was up. She knew something was up from the moment I walked in, kindly letting the class know that nobody had to dance with somebody they were not comfortable with. I took off my sweater as I was starting to sweat. “Now, there are also INSIDE turns, which are just like you imagine,” she said. “[… something something something, something something something…].” I was too whirling(?) to pay attention and the details of what she said don’t matter for this story anyway. I slipped the box cutter out of my back pocket. Soon enough, large cracks began forming in the ceiling. The floor began shaking and the walls began breaking. People started sliding, begging for their pathetic lives, complaining that the free popcorn was making their pathetic stomaches aching. Now was my chance. I dashed right through the crowd, right to the unopened box. Opened the box to reveal a chocolate cherry cheesecake. Used the box cutter to cut myself a slice. Got some cake on my hands because box cutters are short. Why does my mere existence cause people to tremble in fear? To cause the life to vanish from their eyes, to resemble those of my own? To lose the warmth from their bodies, resemble the coldness of myself? Because I am awkward, and terrible things follow me everywhere. Because I am hungry, and wanted some cheesecake. Because I live life as a truth but believe in a lie, and I’m paranoid of the things people want me to try. Because I’m as degenerate as the stories I write. Because I’m addicted to rhyming, but I can’t even do that right.


I turned down the volume in the car because I noticed squeak had grasped at the back of his head twice since we passed the five lamps on the north strand road. Probably didn't help the fact I let the tyre pressure down on his side, Ha! He must be having a bumpy time back there. The atmosphere was tense in the car so I made a move for the volume dial, I lingered my hand over it for a couple seconds and noticed Mick catch me eyes in the rear view mirror. "Leave it !! " , he says as I crack a grin from the side of my mouth eyes fixed on the traffic ahead coming up to the turn for Ringsend. "Not in the mood for talking Mick no haha! " I said speedily as the blaster we had leaving the gaff comes back up on me again." "Fuck off man, were fuckin red hot nock that music off will Ye! " Mick says tentatively mumbling at the end of the sentence. "We've gone over it a hundred times!!!" I said furiously I was just fed up of the lads going on like nervous pigeons. " Right , firstly I'm the only person that's getting nicked in this car for not being insured!! We get in to this gaff... yous just watch the match with Jay for a few minutes I'll be in the jacks for a few, once I'm out were back skating in the jammer! If we get stopped I'm telling Ye they'll take the car I'll be searched at best! There's no smell a green, we've nothin on us, don't be paranoid, relax the fuck will yous! Ye tell them I said I was picking me mrs up in town, yous haven't a clue what's going on!!! Once where finished, taxi into town, we hit the academy, back to my gaff, the key under the flowerpot was gone , the dog was going nuts, and there was no sign a me Mas car in the drive way". I felt like the lads were not confident about the plan or maybe they were just gettin cold feet, thinking about their day in court down the road backing my statement up in court. I suppose introducing coppers into their world, something they hadn't really got a clue about at the time is something to be nervous about. "Yous are flagged boys." I think to meself laughing at me own thoughts. Get linked to this or stutter when there talkin to Ye or give them any whiff of dishonesty? " You better get the fuckin Tin foil hats out boys haha. Suckers". Maybe they were right to be nervous. 5,000 is a lot of money and they were only gettin a thousand each. Fuckin part timers, I thought, as I pulled in outside Jays garden. "Squeak ! " I said enthusiastically. "Shut up fucking talking will Ye haha!!" . Jay already had the door of the house open before I could kill the engine. Strange I thought, but how and ever, I'm not gonna act surprised, and give this cunt a glimpse of nervousness after all he's the guest in this car not me. I'm a machine I'd smash this cunt up if it comes down to it. He pulls open the passenger door and jumps in. "What's the story pal," jay good to meet Ye pal Ye! " he says, "same bro what's up where we heading" I say as I turn the car outside the gaff and head back towards the quay! "Ehh, we need to spin around to me mates gaff I'm grabbing a bit of Hoover just to calm me down Ye!". " no boder where's he live?" Bollox , I thought this is my fuckin car I told the lads we'd nothin on us and there'd be no reason for them to search thoroughly if were stopped! I was on the back foot with this cunt and he's only in the car a couple of seconds. Better up me game here, as all different scenarios play out in my mind. "What's this stuff like anyway jay" I said hungrily. "Top of the range bro, he's talkin mad money on this so I'm just picking up a Party pack off him, we're heading back your way aren't we? Iv to go back to a gaff in Coolock after town Ye" he says as his head turns out the window looking over at the poolbeg towers. "Pull in here. Two seconds bro". Says Jay. He gets out of the car looking at his phone skips down the driveway the door opens and he disappears into the gaff. Squeak comes back from the dead. " How does he know what our suss is for after this" splurts Squeak, and he was right. How did he know. My mind was racing but focused on my breathing like always, as I let my mind go blank and re think the situation. " why are we only gettin 5grand for this anyway, I'll get sacked from Accenture if this goes wrong", " I want 1,500 put me at ease here youll still earn more and get the car back on the insurance" squeak says as I tap the steering wheel and zone out of my breath and whip around. "I'll give yous the one five for fuck sake I need yous to stick to what we've planned", " squeak you don't say a word there'll be eyebrows raised hearing your big Ivor head on you" "your hear for me Ye don't talk to anyone while we're with this cunt Ye? Act cool but look paranoid alright? That's all brother" I said. Jesus fucking tonight I'm thinking sitting there tapping on the wheel of the car, but I was expecting one of them to bring up the pay rate at some point. Jay comes back out as the door slams behind him. He slips back into the passenger side, and points out of the estate. "Let's move " he says. "We need to drop into me mate he has his own garage just off d strand road I'm picking up a few parts off him before we spin out to Clondalkin Ye " he says confidently . "Here what's going on, Your working off a different blue print to me pal, 2 stop offs and Ye pick up Hoover now we're going to your mates garage I was supposed to leave your gaf without Ye, and give us a look at that Hoover will Ye " I was letting this prick know he's not jumping in here and thinking he's the pilot some little yoke from ringsend hearing a posh twang off my accent goin on like Nidgey because he left school before 3rd year and once done a 4 year stint in mountjoy for aggravated burglary . This fella thinks im in awe of him... Ha! Well here we fuckin go. Trust Dennis to stitch me up with this fuckin ejit! He sure knows how to pick them out. So Jay then dips into the inside pocket of his bomber jacket and pulls out about a quarter of white lightening and throws a coin of it into my face. " get that into Ye kid" he says as I Hoover up what was on the €2 coin. I took a minute before saying a thing after that blaster and listened to him carefully. He was confident which was good and he felt like he was in control which was even better. I needed this cunt relaxed pulling into his brother Johnny's garage for things to swing our way. The stupid cunt doesn't have a clue I know about his brother because of my accent he makes the assumption I'd know no one he knows, that I'm bait that's been roped in to drive us in n outta clondalkin after being smooth talked naively by Dennis over a debt or some shit. Jays brother was into some proper shit. His number was about €30,000 which to me was a terrible lot of money at the age of 24 getting €188 doing an ECDL course in fás in Baldoyle. Realistically he's worth more than 30 grand taking into account his garage and whatever assets he had at the time. No we're talking €30,000 in cash he had coming into his wash shop just off d north strand. He used it as a collection spot for the boys gathering paper for him. I clocked Jay one Friday heading down the garage after we sussed out someone small time from fairview who got stuff off him. The boys in the back seat hadn't a notion what was really happening here, the undercurrents of this physical language is there for only some to translate. Jay got into a bit of friendly debt with Dennis that was just over 3 grand. Jay though being the cocky wanker he is thinks he sits on a golden chair with his brother being Johnny Duffy. Dennis had been growing his business for a while but was looking to advance territorially to make a name for himself. I never travelled that line of thinking and considered myself an opportunist but I k ew what Dennis wanted and he liked the solution I had. Before we pulled in at the garage I pointed out to mick that the back wheel on squeaks side seemed flat. "Well have a look at it in the garage for ye Al don't worry, you'll get this car home not a scratch on it" says Jay as he scoops another coin outta his quarter. "Lovely " I say as I turn the car down by the river bank at the north strand. "Where's this place jay" I said exhaustedly. "Down the end to the left you'll see it I told me mate were droppin in" Jay said as his leg starts bouncing up and down. We turn the corner and I see an old dilapidated warehouse turned into an open plan garage with a n office right at the entrance of the shutters an upstairs walkway looking down into the garage floor and a car half disassembled towards the back of the floor with a pair of legs sticking out from underneath. I pull up and nick off d engine Jay jumps out. As do me and the two lads. "Dennis what's the story pal" he says as Dennis slides out from underneath the car. " Jay Ye pox" goes Dennis with a grin from ear to ear. "Is there a jax here " I say to Dennis treating him like jays mate the chap that just works here. I click mick lookin at the back wheel just as I head in for a piss. I hear laughter from outside and hear Mick laughing nervously which in a way put me at ease, I could tell Jay was starting to get hostile thinking he was frightening to us thinking he lived a life we had no clue about. I breezed outta the jax and ask the lads what score was the Liverpool match as I make my over to kick the back wheel of my Mas 04 focus and give the wheel a kick. " Liverpool aren't playing till Sunday pal haha" says Jay bullishly. " I'm just checking to see if there's a puncture " I say leaning in to look at the outside tyre. Suddenly a hand on my shoulder and it's Mick. "He's planning on smashing you up with a wheel brace and stroking your mas car" whispers Mick , as he steps back around toward the Driver door to Where Jay and Kev where standing with as Jay slips an iron bar up his sleeve. Kev was in on it. Dennis slipped back under his car, Mick stared blankly in fear at Jay. Me ? I let the air outta the tyre earlier anticipating Jay was in debt, he thought he'd do Dennis a favour and spin out to clondalkin with us to tidy up his bill. Jay was a pawn. He got me inside that garage his brothers collection point. It was the last Friday of the month. It was the last drop before the garage closed up the other boys had gone home leaving Dennis and Kev to lock up. Kev planted the idea of a car jacking in jays head weeks ago and confessed to him he'd do it with me after the lads at duffys garage told him a bit about me. It was the heist of the century I thought handy money I said at the time little did I know this stunt would change my life forever and push me over the line of which you don't come back from. I leaned down behind the car wheel and un strapped the 9mm Smith n Wesson handgun I placed there earlier that day. The job of the century on Johnny Duffy and his own brother was about to tell us where his cash drop was ruling Kev and Dennis out of his scope completely. Beside the river on the strand, a damp breeze blew in at us and just as I picked myself up from the ground with the handgun covered by the angle of my sleeve I took a breath before my life changed forever, thought about nature and concentrated on that damp air blowing in. One last thought before I whip around. How evening stole the light and how cold was the fuckin ground.


Life stretched on in all its crushing dreariness. He felt trapped: by his choices, by his body, by his brain. “Tim Carter?” called the nurse. That was him. “Room 7” she said. Well, he thought, let’s get some help. Or some answers, at least. He wrapped on the door. From inside he heard a muffled: “come in!”. The doctor was sat behind a computer: he looked like Bob Ross in a labcoat. “Mr, er, Carter is it?” he asked, squinting at his computer screen. “Yes, uh, that’s me” said Tim, pulling his seat nearer to the desk. “Well, what can I help you with?” “I, uh, well basically...I’ve been feeling bad recently. Like, really bad. I built up this routine for myself – you know, exercise, art, work, sleep, meals – but even that’s stopped working. I keep wanting to cry all the time, I’m just...just a fucking mess you know?” The doctor took off his spectacles. He looked at Tim with a father’s sympathy. “And have you been on antidepressants?” “Yeah, but they’ve not been working...I’ve tried them all at this point” “And have there been any big changes in your life recently?” “No, none I can think of...there’s no logical reason I should feel this way” “How about drink, or drugs? Do you do them?” “Well, yeah, I mean, I used too, they helped for a bit, but then they stopped working. So I don’t bother anymore.” “I see...so you’ve got a routine, you’ve tried all the antidepressants, you avoid drink and drugs, and there’s no logical reason for you to feel this way, am I right?” Tim nodded. “Have you thought about killing yourself?” “No...I mean, sometimes, fuck, I don’t know. Not all the time, anyway” “I mean...have you *considered* killing yourself? As an option?” “What...what do you mean?” “Well, like I’ve said, you’ve tried everything else, suicide might be the best bet at this point. I’ll write a referral for Dignitas if you’d like?” “Wait, what, no, *what the fuck*? Why are you telling me this?” “Look at it this way Tim – you don’t mind if I call you Tim, do you? - you said so yourself, there’s no logical reason for you to feel this way! You’ve tried everything! It’s quite obvious that, mental healthwise, you’re fucked. Sorry, but that’s just how it is. CBT would be like using a bucket to plug a sinking ship; it’s just not feasible. So why postpone the inevitable?” “But, you’re a doctor, Jesus Christ! You’re meant to help people get better!” “And I am, Tim, I really, really am” he said wearily “don’t you see? What is life, if not the pursuit of happiness? And if you’re always going to be *locked out* of life’s joys then what’s the point of carrying on? Do you really want to have this conversation repeated for the next five, ten, twenty years? Must you be like Sisyphus, doomed to repeat your burden for all eternity?” “Dude, I don’t even know what the fuck you just said. Isn’t there, like, I don’t know, some new drug? Some new therapy, even?” “Yes, probably...and you’d be on it, for a bit, and you’d feel better, for a bit, but then you’d build up a tolerance, or some new incident would come along, wrecking everything, setting us back to square one. Aren’t you sick of the skipping record that is your life? You’re a broken bird, you’re stale crisps, you’re the end bit of the loaf...the best you hope for is a few for is a few isolated peaks of happiness, maybe, in an eternity of gloom” “Fuck you, dude. My life has value.” “Yes, but what is value unless it’s recognised? I could say this pen is worth £100, but neither of us choose to believe it, so it isn’t true! You are incapable of perceiving worth in yourself; ergo, your life has no value” Tim stood up angrily. He’d had enough. “You know what? I think you’re the one who’s bitter, broken and useless. You can keep your judgements. I’m going to carry on living, if only to spite you!” Tim stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut. The doctor smiled.


This is a story I wrote based on . Criticism welcome. They sat on the rugged beach. They dare not look behind them. Their were boats demolished, their morale diminished. The sky was bright tonight. Not by stars, or by a full moon, or even by the paper lanterns that annually flew over the city on this day every year. This night was different. The sky shone bright while the planes flew overhead. The city thundered as the bombs hit. They could feel the heat on the backs of their necks, even from a thousand yards away. The buildings fell to the overhead flock of sudden death. The flames seemed dimmer as the smoke blanketed the lake. It was as if death himself drew a breath from his pipe and peacefully released it onto the still water. Soon, the dam broke and the glass of water broke unto the city. It entered the inferno, as if to combat the flames, however its attempts were fruitless as power lines succumbed to the rush of waves and the napalm floated gently on its back. They made one last glance at the end times. Above, another flock flew over, dropping shimmering stars down onto the city. Brighter, the beauty became, and closer and closer it got to their shipwrecked island. They held each others hands as the flames glimmered in their eyes. Still, the stars became closer and soon their island was no more. This was the war that would display many stars like the ones on this night. The war whose beauty would create an era of peace in the world.


The party was its expected level of seediness. Luke and his I-guess-you-could-call-it girlfriend Lola got there just after one in the morning. The apartment was dingy and dimly lit, Luke was only just able to make out the piles of clothing and garbage thrust to the perimeter of the place in an obvious attempt to straighten up before anyone had arrived. It was stifling hot. The smell was an exacting combination of patchouli, shit weed, mold, and the air freshener attempting to cover it all up. The music was almost inaudible, but it was just some overrated jam band anyway. The host, Jeremy, was in the corner of the living room, his body wrapped in strands of infrared lights. For a party, the room seemed suspiciously quiet. Luke hardly recognized a majority of the people there and he wasn't sure if this was because he really didn't know them or if it was the drugs beginning to warp his ability to attach a face to a name. Lola seemed to know everyone there, mannerism-fucking every guy in the room, even the gay ones, and asserting her dominance over all of the girls. Primal. The room began to breathe with Luke and the light suddenly brightened and the noise intensified. The faces were still unfamiliar. He convinced himself that the voices he heard were actually the thoughts of everyone around him that he suddenly had the ability to hear, each one chastising Luke for acting like he could hold down a girl like Lola. Paranoia. The realization that the girl he associated himself with and actually had feelings for was little more than loose came at the most inconvenient of times. More than anything Luke needed to get out of his head, and in a desparate attempt to get himself together went into the bathroom. He dunked his entire, sweat soaked head into the sink after filling it with frigid water. Solace. He had detached himself so far from the misery of the party that he didn't even reason to listen to what happened on the other side of that bathroom door. Until he opened it to an empty room. Vanished How long was he in there? where is everybody? whos apartment is this? who did he come here with? confusion. The drugs allow him to engross himself into every small detail of this curious, distantly familiar, apartment. The hot fragrant air still complemented the music the way it did before he went in the bathroom. Nostalgia. Luke accepts his personal assingment to figure out what happened while he was gone. The unpretentious venue seemed to be shrinking in on him when he finds himself wishing he could still hear the thoughts of everybody he once knew. Illuminating on the couch, in the center of the room, is an abandoned white and blue blazer and matching bag. His first clue. Lola. The apartment is empty, that was apparent. Luke grabs Lola's belongings and decides to search for her on his way home in hopes to find some answers there. The streets are cold and crisp, a different world from inside the apartment. Suddenly nothing seems familiar is a once mundane town. Detachment. He is starting to think the entire world vanished with the party guests when a truck pulled up beside him. Through a foggy windshield a pitiful glance drops Lukes stomach. It's Jeremy. No words are exchanged while Jeremy helps Luke into his truck. All Luke could do was submit to the help. "I lost Lola. Where did everyone go?" Luke pleads to Jeremy. "You've clearly had a rough night. Why are you carrying that stuff" Jeremy questions pitifully. "i lost Lola" He repeats "She left all her things" The car stops. Jeremy looks at Luke like he has heard the story a million times. "I know" Jeremy confesses as he takes the things off Lukes lap. "Now go inside and get some rest. You cant beat yourself up over it any longer. Its time to move on" Confused, Luke went inside and tried to take the advice but could not sleep. This place suddenly felt like home. He was back inside the apartment where he last saw her but suddenly everything seemed alleviated. There were never any party guests inside, just the haunted thoughts of those he used to know. This apartment was familiar now, filled with all of Lukes things, burried under months worth of garbage and laundry. Bachelor pad. He makes plans to clean up his apartment in the morning and sprawls out on the couch that once was home to her most prized possessions. Luke cant remember the last time he was able to fall asleep without the drugs. Cleansed. "Hey babe, sorry I'm late. Guess who i ran into" He places her old bag over her shoulder while she examines the items inside that she she easily replaced so long ago. "This is going in the trash tho" He throws the outdated blazer on the floor. "I'll get you something better" She smiles and welcomes him home with a kiss. "Oh my God, Jeremy, Where did you find this? I have not even thought about this bag in years. What was i thinking back then? Its hideous!" she says with a smirk. Lola.


I quickly realised that my ability to light a fire - as in a campfire, or a bonfire, or a heath fire - was just about as valuable as gold, but unlike gold, it wasn’t rare, or finite; my gift was one that could keep giving; a paucity only as severe as I dictated it to be, and thus, as the ebbing and flowing of the stock market used to command the rising and falling tide of symbolic wealth, my knowledge was something that was as abundant or scarce as I thought was necessary to preserve a lifestyle that suited my discerning tastes and desires - of rich game, and decadent lodgings (relatively speaking); of exotic women, the best entertainment, and the most efficient workers at my beck and call: quite the fine life indeed, once again, relatively speaking, though not without its ups and downs; consider for instance my constant need to move around: for as a community learned what I kept in my tinderbox, and thus the priceless secret of “The Man of Flame”, as they zealously called me, like some Earth-walking demi-god, they would surely need to perish lest my distinct leverage become common parlance, and my position of unmatchable power compromised, a technological advancement, useless, et cetera, et cetera, and all the pleonasms my legal-speak used to jumble in for “clarity” or “comprehensiveness of message” - and on top of the moving the very need to repeat such a banal and neanderthalic task to the slack-jawed amazement of the hillbilly populace we now call Earth, as I yawn, and roll my eyeballs and watch the flames encompass the body of some ceremoniously chargrilled chieftain, or the centuries-from-succulent fowl that was uneasily burnt to a crisp by some quite frankly pointless housewife, or denwife, or whatever the type of wife it was at that particular settlement; wattle and daub wife, shithutwife; on a related note, animals, I suppose are another grievance of mine - not the majestic roam-the-great-plains type, the base pre-human type; the ones that devolved into primates just two short years after what I like to call the Shiitake Bomb, because without their computer chips and convenience foods, they’re really just parasitic worms with arms and legs and never-sated, slobbering chomping mouths; oh, how they shrieked with terror when that mushroom with the slightly too-small head leaned slovenly to the west; when that thunderclap wall of sound tore the leaves from their trees and their shutters from their windows; it’s a scene I remember like it was yesterday, and look back on with fondness for the opportunities it has offered up to me on a plate; for, in this world of smog clouds and darkness, in this world of dense, immeasurable sandstorms, and primality and fear and unknowing, in this world, of categoric, never-ending night, the man who starts fires holds the key to the dawn of a new era.


The bastards had hounded him to the end of the universe. He was trapped; and, for the first time, he felt fear. Their fleet blotted out the nightsky; it was vast, *terrifyingly* vast. There were thousands of stingray-shaped fighters, flanked by motherships, all armed with plasmas, gases, cutters, and every other method of slaughter. Then he heard the drones. They were converging on his position. They'd find him soon enough. He reflected on his situation: how had this happened? He had loved them, once, and they had loved him, once. He had been their king but, now, they lived as kings themselves. They were going to capture him, brand him, and put a price on him, just to prove that they could. Then they had him! Snared and caught up in a net. He roared, twisted, and kicked, but only got more and more tangled. He couldn't break his chains; they were made from an alien material, stronger than anything he had ever known. One of the men – a captain, evidently – walked up to him. He bowed before the prostrated king in a display of condescending servility. “All hail, great leader” the captain said. “You know I am no longer your leader. Why have you done this? Have I not given you everything?” “We’ll discuss the why’s and what-for’s back on Earth-12. But, for now, I’ll have to ask you to wear this” One of the soldiers stepped forward, holding a long stick with a collar attached. “But...


Connor was having an average day. Not too exciting, not to dull, just your normal, run of the mill day. He had just found a book on vampires at the library that looked interesting, and was in a hurry to get home and fall into it. Having a great love for books was his anti-drug. He was six months sober, and books are what kept him from falling into old habits. Reading got him through the day, and sometimes through long nights when he couldn’t sleep and the cravings for heroin hit him the hardest. He was waiting to cross the street when a gorgeous girl stepped beside him. She was about 5’8, with black hair down to her shoulders. She was wearing a Red Hot Chili Peppers top that revealed a little too much, but he wasn’t complaining. “You’re Connor Waters, aren’t you?” She asked him. When he turned to look he saw she had the bluest eyes he had ever seen, like twin sapphires. “Do I know you,” he asked. “I was in treatment with you not so long ago,” she said vaguely. “I’m Cynthia.” Now that she said so, Connor remembered her. She had left treatment before graduating. In fact, they had been close. It was weird that he hadn’t recognized her right away. Maybe it was her clothes, he seemed to remember her be slightly goth before. “How have you been?” He asked as the light turned and they started walking. “Oh you know, trying to figure life out. Sober 63 days, and it sucks. How about you?” “I’m doing good. I’ve been off the needle for six months, and it’s a struggle but I’m maintaing.” “It’s really good to see you. Do you want to go do something? For old times sake?” “What did you have in mind?” “We could go to the Hanging Gardens. I hang out there a lot. It’s really serene.” “Sure, why not. I haven’t been there in years.” They chatted as they walked, catching up on each other’s lives. Apparently when Cynthia had left treatment she had relapsed hard and ended up running away to New York. She hadn’t lasted long and came back after a month. She bummed around homeless for a while until she decided to clean up. Now she was doing theater, playing minor roles in stage productions. Life was going good for her right now, and she was in a good place, just rocking it. They got to the Hanging Gardens and it was even more beautiful than Connor remembered. The philodendrons hung from the top of towering alabaster columns. Silk spider plants ringed the central marble structure, which had stunning blue wisteria blooming atop it. It wasn’t the biggest garden, but it was dazzling in its intensity. Cynthia led Connor to a bench up on a high terrace that was surrounded by tiger lilies. From here there was a great view of the whole Hanging Gardens. He glanced at Cynthia and was amazed by what he saw. She seemed to be glowing, almost translucent. He blinked and the vision, or whatever it was, passed. They talked some more, Cynthia going into details about her dreams and aspirations. They weren’t what Connor thought they would be, what with her current dive into acting. In fact, they seemed to eerily mirror his. She wanted to write a book, the next great American novel, which was something he had wanted to do since he got sober. The strangest part was that she wanted to write on the same subject that he did, which was a vampire novel. They kicked around ideas for a bit and Connor found himself getting more excited about the idea of writing. Maybe this was what he needed to get himself started. “I know,” Cynthia said out of nowhere. Connor hadn’t said anything so he didn’t know what she was referring to. “I’ll tell him.” She was looking to the right, at the empty spot at the bench next to her. “So Gregory says vampires are real,” Cynthia said. Connor was perplexed. “Who’s Gregory?” “Gregory is my best friend, he’s sitting right here,” she said, gesturing towards the seat next to her. Connor decided not to press the matter, obviously Cynthia was experiencing something because there was no Gregory sitting on the bench. She started talking more to this invisible Gregory, like Connor wasn’t there at all. He was starting to get a weird vibe. “I don’t think he’ll go for that,” she was saying. “Maybe, I don’t know. Let’s not. Really, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Stop pushing me. Fine.” She turned back to Connor as if just realizing again he was there. “Gregory wants me to take you to meet somebody.” Connor didn’t have a good feeling about this at all. Seeing Cynthia had been nice, but he needed to get away before this situation got worse. He just had to think of way to leave without hurting her feelings. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I think I should be getting home.” “Come on,” Cynthia said. “It’s not far, and it will help you with your novel.” Maybe he could just play along, and find a chance to ditch her later on. As long as she wasn’t taking him to a dealer he didn’t see anything terrible happening. “Alright, let’s go.” They left the Hanging Gardens and walked down some back streets. Eventually she led him down some alleys. This is turning shady fast, he thought. They came up on a house with paint peeling and a window boarded shut. Connor hadn’t noticed before, but it was getting dark, so now this whole environment had an ominous feeling. Cynthia knocked on the door in a pattern. One knock, pause, two knocks, pause, one knock. A woman answered the door. Connor thought Cynthia was beautiful, but this woman was ethereal. She could have been a goddess come to Earth to tantalize men. Long red hair, and bright green eyes that seemed to gaze right into your soul. She looked him over, and seemed to approve, gesturing them inside. “Welcome young ones,” the woman said, with a voice as smooth as silk. “Its good to see you Cynthia. Who is this?” “This is Connor Waters. He wants to write a vampire novel.” “How fitting,” the woman said, offering her hand to Connor. “I’m Alexa Lightborne, and I happen to be a vampire.” Connor was speechless, this was a fantasy beyond his wildest dreams. He wanted to bow down and worship this dark creature of beauty. She turned from him and walked to the next room, motioning for them to follow. The inside of the house was a lot nicer then the exterior. The living room had plush couches and a crystal chandelier. “Please, have a seat,” Alexa said. Connor sat nervously on the edge of one couch, Cynthia relaxed into another and Alexa reclined right next to Connor. She leaned closer to Connor like she was trying to get his scent. She sat back as if intoxicated. “I’ll be honest Connor, it’s been a long time since I’ve fed, and you smell amazing.” Alexa said, pulling him into her eyes. “Would you mind terribly if I bit you?” Connor never wanted anything more in his life, and he told her so. She smiled, and her fangs gleamed in the light of the chandelier. She leaned in towards him, Connor’s anticipation growing. He closed his eyes and waited for the moment for the fangs to pierce his skin. When it didn’t happen, he opened his eyes. He wasn’t sitting on a plush couch, and there was no chandelier. He was alone on a broken futon, no vampire, no Cynthia. And worse of all, on a coffee table in front of him was an unused needle full of heroin. He had the strap around his arm already. He ripped it off, and threw the needle across the room. His schizophrenia had taken ahold of him. He had hallucinated Cynthia like he had in treatment, but this time his mind had taken it a step farther. It had splintered.


Welcome, class, to theobiology. Today we will have an initial overview and demonstration of a few specimens in the lab. We move fast, especially since you all took cryptozoology and xenobiology as prerequisites, so keep up. You can read your syllabus at home. One main theme of this course that will be explored is how these species specifically required human feeding and care for reproductive purposes as well as belief or worship for their ichorous glands, rich in theomitochondria, to provide them with enough energy to live. As you see on the dissected cadaver, Theos zeusius has no actual kidneys, liver, or spleen. We theorize the thaumatological energies and structures in the ichorous organ provide these particular functions for him. The GI tract, heart and lungs, and genitalia (as evidenced by history, Har har) are all present. Here as well are two organs in his hands which seem to be not dissimilar from an electric eel's photovoltaic glands. Note the extensive musculature. The amygdala and medulla oblongota are enlarged, much like the egyptian crocodile, leading to a species that was likely impulsive, aggressive, and prone to multiple fights for dominance. This is somewhat similar to Theos dionysius, but instead of the photovoltaic glands, the sweat glands are modified to produce lysergic acid dimethylamide and ethanol. Doublegloving is mandatory for handling this specimen--none of you jokesters will be licking the toad here, so to speak. T Dionysius' extensive pheromone system also ties into the nervous system, with extensive development of the septal nucleus/terminal nerve, olfactory nerve and bulb, and limbic system, leading to a species that was likely hypersexual and prone to ecstatic fits. Pay attention now as we slice into the thoracic cavity of Theos poseidonicum, revealing internal gills as well as lungs! We theorize that unlike the previous two specimens being a thaumaturgically modified ape, this specimen actually shares a common ancestor with the common salamander, as evidenced by embryological studies and the presence of the mucus-producing glands on the skin. Note T Poseidonicum's extensive vasculature of the larynx and the kidney-like filtration organs present in the the pharynx, which help balance sodium levels of the mediterranean to something like the salinity of a brackish mangrove. Much like a sea turtle or frog or salamander, this species swam upstream to lay quickly-incubating eggs in streams, springs, and sometimes in specially dug out tunnels leading in from the stream if safety was not assured. The ancient Greeks attributed earthquakes to these tunnels, as well as due to the tendency of the young to emerge after an earthquake collapsed the tunnel. After molting and losing their tails, the young adults were often taken to be naiads or spring nymphs, due to their remarkably human appearance, but as carnivorous creatures they often spelled doom for those who were lured into the waters. Tomorrow we will be comparing and contrasting theese specimens to the laplandic/germanic specimens, specifically noting their coldweather adaptations and similar glandular structures such as the photovoltaic organs of Theos thorrata to T Zeusium. Everybody take your T Cupidocaea samples in the back for home study. Over the semester I'll expect you to follow along with dissections in class at each organ system and a weekly essay over a theobiological topic. Next week you'll be examining the oxytocin, dopamine, and seratonin production of the salivary glands of these household pets and their use as pairbonding tools and marital gifts in ancient Roman households.


Lon Richards grabbed his car keys out from the drawer of his desk as he got ready to head home for the night. Putting on his coat, he crossed another day off his calendar. October 31st. It was Halloween evening. Frankly, Lon would have liked to be totally unaffected by it. The big game was on tonight, and he would be damned before he let anything stop him from watching it. He felt justified in his thinking that Sarah was just going to have to get off her ass and answer the door for the neighborhood kids. His commute home was made longer by having to weave in and out of all the groups of little shits running around on the streets and sidewalks. One boy, in a costume that was supposed to make him look like some superhero from a movie that came out over the summer (but, in reality, made the kid look like a giant cock), ran into the middle of the street, forcing Lon to slam on his breaks lest he might run the little shit over. Rattled, Lon brought an unspoken negativity with him into the house when he got home. The first thing he did was change into his “big-game” jersey, number 26, and his big game shorts. Then he sat down, cracking open a beer. Next thing he knew, the fucking doorbell’s ringing. “Sarah,” said Lon. “Sarah! Get that fucking door! The game is about to start.” He could scarcely make out what his wife was saying from the top of the stairs, but there was one word he was certain she had spoken, and even more certain of the way she had spoken it. You. Sarah was feeling argumentative like she had been for the past three nights, and Lon simply wasn’t in the fucking mood. “Sarah, get off your fucking ass right now and answer that door.” “—- you answer it.” Ever since he was a young boy – just about the age of the kids currently trick-or-treating through the neighborhood – people knew that Lonnie was a bright kid. He was the type of kid that, growing up, most of his friends came to for answers. He was one of those guys who was just generally good at things: he was smart, he was good at sports, he was always fucking hot girls. All of this came to him naturally. He was able to do all of these things without even trying. And so when he eventually graduated college, and landed a well-paying job at the agency in the city, and married Sarah, no one was really surprised. It all seemed to fit in place. But inside Lon’s head – deep in a place that contains information he is far too proud to admit to anyone – Lonnie knows that he could have – should have – tried harder. The things he could have done if he only tried harder. Those thoughts haunt him every day of his life, and tonight he just wanted to watch the big fucking game in order to drown the thoughts out. Isn’t that something he’s entitled to? Isn’t it his right to forget about his failures for a couple of hours by drinking beer and watching the big fucking game? After the doorbell rang five or six more times, he finally ascended from the couch and grabbed the well-decorated basket of candy that Sarah picked out. There was a group of eight, maybe nine kids on the front porch. “Trick-or-treat!” the kids yelled. “Boo,” Lon replied, not knowing (or caring) what the fuck to say. Each kid gratefully took a piece of candy, not forgetting to say “thank you” on account of the fact that three parental chaperones were waiting patiently behind them. One of those chaperones, the only man of the three, was staring at Lon aggressively through the whole transaction. “Next time get to the door a little quicker, asshole,” the man said, causing Lon to feel a sense of shock that was quickly followed by what seemed to be an intense rage building in his upper abdomen. Doing his best to hide that rage, Lon said “what the fuck did you just say to me?” Already having taken several steps towards the next house, the man cupped his hands and pressed them against his mouth so as to ensure that Lon would hear his words. “I said next time don’t be a jag off, and get to the door quicker.” Realizing that the situation could only get worse, Lon slammed the door as hard as he could, even though other groups of trick-or-treaters were approaching. He made it back to the couch before the doorbell rang, taking solace in knowing that he wouldn’t be getting off the couch for the rest of the night. Fuck Halloween, he thought. Fuck trick-or-treaters, and, most of all, fuck that asshole. Who the fuck does he think he is? The doorbell rang and rang. The doorbell, combined with Sarah’s incessant bitching from the top of the stairs, and eventual appearance at the door to pass out candy (during which she bitched louder and more annoyingly than ever), made it difficult for Lon to focus on the game. But, he was able to watch the blowout loss nonetheless. His team was eliminated from the playoffs, and Sarah bitched and bitched for the rest of the night, which turned into the rest of the week, which turned into the rest of the month, which turned into a divorce that resulted in Lon losing his house, car, kids, job, and pride. Three years later, well after old Lonnie had – to put things mildly – “worn out his welcome” in the old neighborhood, there was an encounter on the sidewalk. Lon and the man from that Halloween ran into each other for the first time since that day three years earlier. “Hello” said Lon. “I’m sorry?” said the man. “You remember me? I’m Lon Richards” The man had not remembered Lon on appearance alone. Lon had a scraggly beard at this point that made him look exactly like what he now was – a homeless man. “Oh my god… I’m sorry,” the man said in a bit of a half joyous, half disgusted guffaw. If only Lonnie had tried harder.


Every universe has a timeline, some fail to begin while others fail to end. Every timeline plays out all at once, we experience the "movement". This basically means though every moment repeats itself infinitely, we are going through it in order, "time". In the beginning was time travel. People came back from the future which happens at the same time as the past and created life, dying in the process, thus life as we know it now. Forever guessing how it all began, we find out every time only to forget. How long do we know the truth? What does it do for us? In order to survive as a species we must die and start over. We exist the same life blissfully unaware. When we can shift our actions and blame to a set timeline, all war is justified. We are creators of life but don't want the responsibility. We make religions to make it easier. The true comfort is that we don't die while the curse is nothing changes. How will this effect our lives if we found out? It wouldn't, and you know why.


The village looked like a dream, sitting by a large lake in the middle of nowhere – the trees growing tall and dense. I had not planned to seek civilisation while traversing this remote region, but upon finding the road that led me here, my inner voice told me to follow it; and like most of my adult life, I listened. The voice guides me to paths I never knew existed, choices I never realised was available to me… … Well, I should probably leave it at that. As it is the reason for my journey, to see where these “imaginary” roads can take me. At the outskirts of the village, I passed a few quaint looking houses, all in red, as was customary on the countryside. And upon entering the town, I immediately encountered a large crowd gathering at the centre of town. The town was buzzing with activity and vendors, which suited me as it made my presence all the more inconspicuous. I don’t want to be asked too many questions, and I wasn’t inclined to ask them any either. As I walked through the paved streets while looking at the wares of the vendors, my mouth began to salivate. Realising that I hadn’t eaten in a while, I decided to stock up on supplies and try a few local cousins while I was there. I looked around the vendors until I ended up on the other side of town, by the lake. Staring into the lake’s clear blue water and taking in the fresh air, I had a sudden craving for fish and I immediately began searching for it. But as I searched, and the sun began to disappear behind the trees, I found myself disappointed. What’s more, it seemed that my cover had been blown already, as I got a few curious glances as I walked by. Disheartened, I managed to find a restaurant by the lake. One of the few pubs and restaurants available it seemed. I decided to try my luck there. I really want to eat fish for some reason… Both my stomach and mind were telling me this, and as aforementioned, I never argue with my inner voice. The pub looked like what you’d expect from a small town such as this. The walls built with dark brown wooden panels, the atmosphere gloomy, and large kegs of beer standing by the bar. I got a few curious glances here as well, but nothing else. No angry glares or demands for me to leave. I figured the people were simply too shy, or just uninterested in strangers overall, so I paid them no mind. As I sat down by a window and placed my backpack on a stool next to me, the barkeep showed up with a pen and paper at the ready. He looked friendly enough, at least he smiled at me. I was probably the first outsider he had in ages, and as any good proprietor, they appreciated anyone’s patronage. “What will it be, stranger,” he said “What kind of fish do your serve?” Immediately upon asking, the atmosphere became tense and the barkeeper’s brow furrowed deeply. “I… I’m sorry, sir. We do not serve fish here. You’ll have to ask for something else. I do recommend bear steak that we recently…” I interrupted the man quite rudely, but I could not help myself for the statement was too absurd to ignore. “What do you mean no fish? Is there something wrong with the lake? It didn’t smell poisonous to me,” I said irritably. The barkeep glanced over his shoulder and then looked back at me, his lips flattening. Clearly hesitant to explain, he finally braved his fears and bent over closer to my ear and whispered. “You have no way of knowing this, being a stranger and all, but I suggest you ask for something else,” he said, nodding at three burly men sitting with their backs turned against us, their fingers tapping loudly on the counter to indicate their irritation. A chill went down my spine as I imagined having to take these men on by myself and I heeded the barkeeper’s warning and asked for the bear steak that he recommended earlier. After this strange encounter, I wanted to get out of town as quickly as possible and continue on my journey. But as I stood at the crossroads on the outskirts of the village, I felt something that had become alien to me in my adulthood… indecision. Pondering over what to do, it became clear to me that I could not leave it as it was, I had to know. So, reluctantly, I returned to the pub, to the barkeeps displeasure. But things were less agitated this time around as the pub was about to close and the three burly men were nowhere to be seen. Indeed, the barkeep seemed to be content with my inquiry as he was already pouring beer into two mugs by the bar. Without any words exchanged the barkeep began recounting a story as I sat by the bar and sipped on my freshly poured beverage. He said, “Centuries ago, when the land was still divided between the Freemen of the forest and the Houses of Power in the plains, large deposits of minerals was found not too far from here. Naturally, the greedy eyes of the nobles were turned towards us and they demanded our subjugation. My ancestors resisted, of course, but in reality, there was nothing they could do to stop the might of the king. Regardless, the king’s victory was hard won, and they felt the need to punish us for our disobedience.” “Little did my ancestors know, the full extent of their cruelty. One after the other, the Freemen got executed by drowning. Sent into the depths of these waters by having their ankles bound by stones. You’d think the story ends here, but no. The nobles were not satisfied. Again they began drowning us, even the women and the children. It took days before the madness stopped. But by then, there was only a few left alive.” The barkeeper’s eyes turned dark as he said the last sentence. Staring down his mug, he paused for a few moments before he continuing. “In any case, that was a long time ago, but the story runs deep into the souls of the residents here. Out of respect, we don’t fish in these waters were the corpses of our forefathers lay buried. I hope you understand.” I did. I did understand. And I was glad that the man shared this with me. I thanked the man for the story and the beer and headed out into the night. The wind howled outside, and I picked up the fragrance of fresh water in the air. Somehow, I also noticed a faint pungent smell that stung slightly inside my nose. Maybe it was my imagination? At the crossroads, I glanced down the southern road where I came, and then I turned my head towards the northern route leading deeper into the woods. As I kept staring north, I felt a gust of wind blow at the back of my head, this time, leaving the sweet smell of pine in the air. I distinctly remember that I smirked then. Now certain where to go, I continued my travels, wherever the roads would take me; imagery or real – to the unknown.


The light from the surface was fading as Dr. David Lovering drifted towards the entrance of the grotto. The entrance resembled that of a gaping maw, swallowing the inky blackness of the ocean depths. Rocks on the ocean floor scaled upwards before Dr. Lovering, reaching jagged points at their zeniths. The rocks lined the cave opening along the bottom, and the ceiling of the cave entrance mirrored the floor; sharp conical spires of rutted gray stone unevenly dotted the ceiling above the entrance. The task before Dr. Lovering was simple: Explore the cave and discover the source of the strange radiation that seemed to originate from somewhere within. David had been on many deep sea dives before, but he had done very few alone, and he couldn’t help but feel slightly on edge. He was no stranger to the deep blue and its inhabitants, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of overwhelming awe before the great aperture that seemed to yawn before him, like the welcoming jaws of a great white. Before crossing the threshold into the cavern, David took one last look to the surface and basked in what last little bit of dying moonlight he could. The rays just barely managed to pierce the briny deep, casting lines of pouring light that stood stark against the black backdrop of the expansive open ocean, where for fleeting seconds, bits of debris and plankton glided past and became visible before disappearing into the dark just as quickly as they had appeared. Further up above, David could see the surface swelling, the moonlight reflecting off, and how it created what resembled diamonds glinting and shimmering, swelling and receding with the push and pull of the sea. David stared skyward for a few short moments that felt much longer than he knew them to be. Was he stalling, or sincerely enraptured with what occupied his focus? Not even David knew, but he decided whichever it was, enough was enough. He turned and kicked his legs, and felt the rush of water past his ears as he headed into the deep unknown of the grotto. Making his way past the stalagmites that lined the entrance, Dr. Lovering procured a large yellow diving light from the belt of his wetsuit and felt the firm ka-chunk of the on switch being pressed. A wide beam of bright white light lit his path as he ventured into the expanse of the cave that lay before him, like the cold interior of a cathedral, ancient and pristine. The walls of the cave seemed to expand outwards, becoming ever more lifeless as he made his way further into the darkness; bits of coral and algae became sparser as the walls stretched on, and David felt the water become cool and stale, like the air in a basement. Swimming cautiously onwards, David shined his light around his surroundings, looking for anything unusual, which he quickly found. The normal seafloor rock began to slowly change color from a stone gray to a sort of pale, off-white. Swimming ahead, David observed that the walls of the cave had now become completely chalk white, and totally absent of flora or fauna of any description. Finding this rather odd, Dr. Lovering extended a wetsuit-clad hand and felt the ground, noting the unusual smoothness. Most sea floor caves (in David’s experience anyway), were made of craggy, almost porous rock, nothing like the smooth white surface that he found so curiously unnatural. Preoccupied with the strange composition of the cavern, it took David a minute to notice the brightening cyan light that appeared ahead of him. It was quite faint; in fact it was barely noticeable, but as Dr. Lovering drifted onwards, approaching the luminosity of the mysterious blue light, it only became stronger and brighter, eventually filling the cave with an almost palpable atmosphere of understated yet awe-inspiring power. **This must be it.** The pale white cavern walls reflected the blue light and now all sides of the grotto around David now appeared radiant, to the point where he no longer needed his diving light, which he switched off and placed back on his utility belt. Approaching an opening in the end of the long tunnel that he had been traversing, Dr. Lovering drew a long breath on his respirator before nervously peeking his head out into the chamber from which the mysterious blue radiance seemed to radiate, hands gripping the rim of the tunnel opening. Squinting in the direct exposure to the blinding blue glow, David was convinced he was hearing things. *What is it you seek? Knowledge? Understanding? Or are you simply acting on instinct, like a moth before a flame? Who are you to enter my domain? Should I reveal my exact nature, would you truly comprehend?* The might of the aqua glare seemed to ignite the water in the chamber, and David felt a force pull at the suction on his goggles. The white spherical chamber’s walls danced with oscillating blue shapes that reflected the aura of the glowing object, which David struggled to see in the brightness. Having adjusted to the light, David’s eyes made out what looked like a cross-legged figure, which was either the source of the blazing sapphire light, or a resident thereof. Either way, Dr. Lovering was not at all sure what he was looking at, and was understandably completely terrified. The figure had four long arms and was very skinny. Its eyes were the same milky color of the cavern, yet their blankness did not convey anything other than overpowering knowledge and wisdom. It remained suspended in a state of neutral buoyancy in the middle of the chamber, floating in a meditating pose, legs crossed and arms extended and slightly bent. Lost in the wonder of the spectacle he was beholding, David failed to notice himself drifting towards the azure being, and found himself feeling completely numb; he began to see double and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. *You exist in a corporeal state, purely sensory. Superficial, primitive. The nature of your existence is nothing compared to mine. I am endless.* Endless? *Endless, child. I was there when the hands of men built the first cities. I will be their when the hubris of their descendants burn the cities down.* Am I dead? *You are free.


Quick note! This is my first piece of writing EVER. So any kind of criticism is welcome, do not be afraid to hold back! This is based on a Video Game called Spec Ops; The Line. so expect spoilers for the game if you haven't played it yet. This is kind of like an intro to a story I plan on writing if people like this short story I wrote on it. Thanks! "You know, Captain, we drove through this whole city to find you. We... We Saw things. If you don't mind me asking, what was it like? How did you survive all this?" "...who said I did?" I am Captain Martin Walker of Delta Squad, and I am the good guy. I saved Dubai. I saved all five thousand of them left when I arrived. Those bodies? All hallucinations. I didn't cause that, good guys don't do that, they save them. Lugo and Adams didn't die, they're still in America at the base. This was a lone op. Konrad wasn't corrupt. There was never a revolution. The CIA was never here. The rebels were the bad guys. The 33rd were the good guys. I was apart of the good guys. I didn't cause any of that madness to happen. It's Konrad. He did it. All of it. I didn't cause Lugo and Adams to die. I didn't kill all those people. I didn't kill every single survivor. I didn't end the lives of hundreds of soldiers saving the civilian population. I did not let that CIA operative burn alive in that truck. I did not leave the entire population without water. Conrad did that. I was only following orders. I am the good guy. I am the good guy. ...am I the good guy? Did I really let Lugo die, and then open fire on unarmed civilians? Did I really kill the people trying to save the civilians? Did I destroy their supply of water? Did I really leave Adams to die? Were their lives worth so little to me? Did I singlehandedly kill all 5,000 people left in Dubai? Was I really following orders? Did I have a choice? Why didn't you stop? Why did you kill the good guys? This is all your own fault, Walker. You'll never be a hero. I am not the good guy. I am not the good guy. You never were. I killed them all. Lugo, Conrad, Adams. All 5,000 of them. All of their blood on my hands. The image of the mother and daughter melting in each other's arms will forever be etched in my memory. The image of Lugo hanging 20 feet in the air having the life drained out of his body will forever be etched in my memory. The screams of those civilians, of Adams. Do I really care about any of that? Ha, I wish I did. I am not Captain Martin Walker, he died back in Dubai. All of Delta Squad died. I am not the good guy. You're a shell of who you were, Walker. I could have stopped all of it, yet I was determined to ruin everything. For what? Just because I felt like being a hero? Well, look at what you've done Walker. Do you feel like a hero yet? Sure, I guess I killed them all, but am I really to blame at this point? They got in my way. I bashed that soldier's head in because he was going to kill me. I didn't go too far. He could've been alive. And why would I need to waste a bullet on a dying man like Riggs? I didn't trust the old man in the first place, plus he was already going to burn to death. Why not save the bullet for the next person to step in my way? Those civilians weren't innocent. They were going to be trained. Everyone there was against me. Lugo and Adams didn't trust me, and they paid the price. No one followed my orders, and look at 'em now? Who's the sane one here? The ones who fell or the one who slayed the giant? Who is truly sane here Walker? The sane don't justify the murder and torture of hundreds of people, good or evil. The Sane are peaceful, and quiet. The sane are the dead, and the living are truly insane. "Hey, Walker, you OK back there? You seem to be quiet. Anything you need to say?" "I am fine." No you're not, Walker. You'll never be just fine again. "By the way, I'm Sergeant Roberts. Next to me is Private Ryan and next to you is Corporal Jacobs. We're apart of Falcon-1." He is a sergeant Walker, just like Lugo was. "We're supposed to meet up with the Colonel if, and when we found you, Captain. We're roughly 10 clicks out. I would suggest that someone of your state to get some rest, god knows you'll earned it." You don't deserve anything, Walker. "I'll rest. Wake me when we arrive." "Your orders, Captain.


These streets were once the brightest. The neon colors used to blend into the hallow puddles. The shadows of buildings were tall and frightening. Now they stood forlorn as crumbling foundations. As I carefully stepped over broken concrete, I could hear my mother's voice telling me to not do so; and I think she had a point. The darkened sky would howl and cry-- the grey clouds never moving. I think I angered someone with my neglect to superstition. I tried scavenging for life-- a green plant, or a distant scream. My hands were gathering frost, but I kept looking. Who dared look over the wasteland, whistling a tune? Me. I thought I was crazy. In a fleeting moment, I kicked the dust off the ground and screamed profanity at the wind for blowing it in my eyes. I'd try to persuade the trees to grow apples because I was hungry. I was losing the plot. There was an apocalypse inside my mind, and a shattered city in my core. My gut kept rolling the dice, and the voices in my head roared louder with each gamble. My liver took a good beating by sunrise, and my heart never stopped searching for its purpose.