“I thought you said this island was uninhabited!?” “It is,” Alessia squawked back at me. “Then what the fuck was that?” Alessia let a beat pass. “By the looks of it a bunch of murderous naked people that we don’t want to be heard by.” I paused. Taking a moment to breathe and lower my volume. “Okay. But… shit.” I could feel myself shaking, my heart punching against the bottom of my throat. My eyes were both drawn towards and disgusted by the red stains on the beach. “You okay?” Alessia asked. “No.” Alessia flinched slightly at the venom in my voice, and I took another few seconds to compose myself. “But I will be. How are you?” “Honestly? A little relieved I didn’t have to do it.” She looked down at the detonator by her feet. “I would’ve but… didn’t want to.” I nodded, looking around at the island. To my right a straight plunge down to the ocean and a series of ragged rocks. To the left, nothing but dense forest. I stepped up to the ledge, looking down the cliff. “We can probably get down again.” “Even if we get down right now, the tide’s not coming back for hours. We’d be sitting on the beach hoping those bastards didn’t come exploring. And if they see us clambering down…” I sucked air between my teeth, imagining being halfway down the cliff face with those baying bodies beneath me. “So what do we do instead?” Alessia eyed the path along the top of the cliff leading into the forest. “It’s not too bad through there. Wait till nightfall, go through the forest, get down to the beach that way. Meanwhile, find some shelter at the edge of the trees.” We detached the wires from the detonator and let them fall down the side of the cliff, before carefully dropping the plunger into a bush so we could get through the forest unencumbered. I followed Alessia’s lead and we walked down the gentle sloping path towards the forest, camping out by resting against the first row of trees. I watched the day wane slowly in the west, the sky turning from blue to orange as the sun dipped across the horizon. When the protection of darkness arrived, we ventured into the woods. As soon as we passed through the first few layers of trees, it quickly became a near pitch black. Above me, I could see occasional glimpses of stars, but the canopy was thick, and little light penetrated. I could see movement; make out Alessia shifting against the background in front of me, but all else remained a mystery. We moved in silence, trying to avoid detection. Still, we couldn’t help the noise of our steps crushing twigs, or errant arms brushing against branches. Every few paces we stopped, listening to the forest around us. Each time there was silence. Though after a while the darkness began to play tricks on us. The branch snapping beneath my feet became a shout from across the forest, the shifting soil, the growl of a would-be attacker. Then I heard what sounded like a distant whistle. It was faint. I shook my head, dismissing it, telling my ears to focus and not lose myself in fantasy. The sound came again, this time a decibel louder. I could feel a slight hesitation in Alessia’s step. But she kept walking. Then a howl. A loud, high-pitched, trill sung out into the night air. We both stopped on the spot. Another howl called back. A message sent across the forest. The noise was like no other I had heard. It was a high key but it resonated deeply, the sound forced out across the dense woodland. I tried to imagine my own body making the noise, stretching my throat in some way to create such a shriek. It wasn’t possible. All I knew is that whatever made that noise, wasn’t human. “What was that?” I whispered as loudly as I dare. “I… have… no idea.” I had never heard such unsteadiness in Alessia’s voice before. I could hear her swallow, as she dared to move a pace forward. “It sounded far away. Let’s hope it stays like that.” Step by step we regained the confidence to move, wearily putting one foot in front of the other as the hill began to level out. Another couple of minutes and gaps began to appear between the trees as the soil became looser and dryer, unable to support the packed foliage. Moonlight could be seen hitting the ground, a faint grey tint illuminating what was previously void of light. Ahead of us, the trees continued like this for another hundred metres or so, before the treeline stopped. The edge of the forest. The start of the beach. Our pace increased, the promise of freedom drawing us towards it. Our heavy footsteps grew louder as we pushed towards the sanctuary of Alessia’s boat. And it was too late when the dreadful realization hit me that the noise of feet against the ground was too loud to just be our own. “Stop!” Everything beneath my neck turned to ice. My head merely slumped against my chest. We were caught. We would have to fight, and maybe die. “Who you?” I turned slowly to find five men and women staring at me. However, they weren’t naked like the attackers on the beach. They wore simple furs around their waists and torsos. Some were clearly deer, others were a shaggier fur, a pale color indistinguishable in the limited light. “Who you?” the one at the front repeated. “We’re leaving,” I said slowly. One of the other members of the group stepped forward, patting the front one with the side of a long, pointed stick. “Look. Klader,” he said, pinching his furs and pointing to us. The first man, the leader of the group, nodded. “We’re no one. You can let us go,” I said slowly. “You are trouble. Corruption.” The leader readied the wooden spear in his hand. “You vapen?” I looked at the man confused. “Vapen!?” he barked. Realizing we didn’t understand, he reached over and tapped the end of his stick. Making a small thrusting motion. “Weapon.” I muttered. Alessia nodded, reaching into her belt and pulling out her knife. The man pointed to the ground and Alessia dropped it by her feet. “What do?” one of the other islanders asked. “Kill them,” a second replied. The leader shook his head. “Leviathans find out, then we dead too. Think we skadad.” “Befri?” “Leviathans likely know. They alltid know. We befri, we guilty. We take them to the river,” the leader said, his eyes still locked onto mine. “Then Leviathians definite know.” “Our best hope. Give avsta. Show fortrond. Leviathans forgive.” “Admit tech to Leviathans?” One of the group said, walking in front of the leader. “Yes.” “And if Leviathans kill us anyway?” “Why would? We show commitment to nature. Offered avsta.” Silence returned to the group. Happy there were no further protestations, the leader turned to us. “Okay. You with us.” He pointed to the forest. I looked over to Alessia, wondering if we should run. She gave the smallest shake of her head and walked in the direction we were told to go. The man looked up to the sky. “Too dangerous at night. Varg. Ovan. Wait by the water for morning.” At a small stream the leader walked over to a tree and pointed to it with the spear. I walked slowly, delaying putting myself between the pointed end and the trunk. I shuffled up slowly against the tree as Alessia leaned against the other side. The man nodded downwards. I interpreted the gesture and began sliding down the tree, staring at the man’s face as I inched down the trunk in case I had not understood the gesture. As I reached the floor, I could feel the cold forest earth press against my thighs, the moisture of a night’s dew seeping through the trousers. The man walked over, standing mere inches from us, looking straight down. I craned my neck up to look at the giant looming over me, wide pupils framed by an unruly beard. “You move. You die.” I nodded. The man walked over to the others and muttered something. After they were done a woman walked over and sat down at right angles to us both, ready to keep watch. I felt a rustling as Alessia shimmied against the trunk behind me. I turned my head to the right, whispering away from our watcher. “You got another knife or something?” “Nope,” Alessia said. “What then?” “Getting comfy. Might as well try and sleep.” “What?” The words came a bit too loudly, and I could sense the eyes of our watcher narrow. I faced forward, allowing the suspicion to dwindle. Only once it felt safe to do so, did I turn back. “Sleep?” “We ain’t escaping. Not now. If we get a chance to make a move, it’ll be tomorrow and we’ll need energy.” “So you’re going to sleep while they could kill us any second.” “If you’re quiet I will.” I took a deep breath in, resisting the urge to argue. Instead I joined Alessia in her plan, slouching against the tree, getting as comfy as possible. Sleep came in small spurts - a brief thirty-minute cycle here and there before the discomfort or the realisation of my jeopardy hit me. Between the moments of shuteye, I watched the stars through the gaps in the trees as the celestial bodies made their journey across the earth. The final sleep was interrupted by a loud cry of “Wake” from the man leading the group. My eyes opened slowly to the dawn. I peeled my back away from the trunk, the vertebrae burning as they were ripped from the bark and curled back into their regular position. “Wake. Time to move,” the man shouted once more. I nodded that I understood. However, he was uninterested in giving me time, moving the spear to his front. “Move,” he barked, teeth bared. I jolted myself forward, letting out a small groan as my body clicked into place. I pulled myself to my feet and brushed off the remnants of the forest floor from my clothes as Alessia appeared from the other side of the tree. “How’d you sleep?” “I’ve had better,” Alessia said, crooking her neck. “Quiet,” the man said. “You front.” The man pointed to his left with the spear. We walked a few metres in front of the men and women, the spears pointed at our back. I kept looking over my shoulder, wondering if they were likely to charge and end us at any given second. I began to feel my spine twitch, small points on my back becoming warm with the anticipation of being pierced by the sharp pieces of wood. There were no true paths here. Navigation came from finding the largest gap between the trees and listening to the instructions given by our captors. After a few hours of trudging, we were completely disorientated. The low spring sun couldn’t be seen through the tall pines around us, and the constant shifting from left to right meant I had no idea which direction we were heading, or where the beach would even be were we to escape. However, as the trek continued, our captors seemed less immediately concerned with us. And I took the opportunity to take half a step closer to Alessia, now narrow enough for a whisper to carry. “Where are they taking us?” “No idea.” I let out a small huff and looked over my shoulder. A brief thought flashed across my face, and Alessia seemed to catch it. “Don’t…” she said, rolling her eyes. “What?” “You’re going to try and talk your way out of this aren’t you?” I refused to respond. Instead I paused, counted to five, and turned to face our captors. “Where are you taking us?” I saw Alessia’s head fall backwards, her gaze pointed to the heavens. “Leviathans.” “Who?” “Leviathans watch over the island. Keep connection with nature. You ruin that.” “We’re not here to ruin anything-” “Your klader. Your knowledge. Your hair. Your words. All corruption from nature. If we not give you to Leviathans we at risk. Keep walking.” The man jolted his spear an inch forward, just enough for me to turn and scurry a few steps. “What would they even do? These… *Leviathans*… if they knew you spoke to us and let us go.” “Kill us.” “What?” I said, spitting out the words. “You cannot return to nature once it is corrupted. Only solution? Clear earth and let something else grow.” The man’s words were plain and unemotive. “What are these Leviathans like? Who are they?” “Don’t know. No one does. Leviathans only appear if nature is broken.” “But how do they know if you have?” “Leviathans alltid know” the man huffed. “Leviathans are spirits,” said a woman from the group. “Fly above us. Watching over us.” I caught Alessia’s side-eyeing me as we walked between the trunks. “Sorry?” I asked. The woman continued. “Two years past. Group was cleansed by Leviathans for building homes. One woman survived. Said Leviathans floated above ground. Coloured pure white. And can kill by looking and pointing at you. Leviathans gudars. Spirits.” I saw Alessia wince, trying to keep her mouth shut. “So if you break from nature, spirits of the forest come for you?” I turned to ask, facing my captors once more. “Shut,” the leader barked. “I’m only asking-” “Shut.” The man halted. The others did too, their spears readied. I looked at them, waiting for more information. My heart began picking up pace, preparing itself for whatever was about to unfold. The steady beat became a kick against the inside of my ribs. Then I heard it. The rustling from the forest to my right. Another beat. Another second of silence. Then they came. Four of the attackers we’d seen earlier on the beach ran at us, nude flesh charging towards us with stones raised, jagged ends pointed down. They hit one of our captors first. Rolling with them onto the ground. With the man subdued, they raised the stone high in the air. However, before hell could be unleashed, a wooden spear was thrust into their side, piercing the abdomen. The stone dropped to the floor in reflexive agony. The woman withdrew her lance and its blood tipped end. She turned to face the man on the ground as another of the naked attackers approached from behind. She dodged the first swipe, but the jagged stone glanced off her hip and thigh, tearing deep into the flesh. The woman screamed, holding her left hand to her leg, and reaching wildly with the spear in her right. She got lucky, piercing her attacker by the collar bone. The javelin cut through the shoulder, breaking the skin on exit. The wooden tip protruding into a small dome, as blood pooled around the space. The assailant jolted, and the spear snapped, the wood still embedded in them. They swiped with the stone. The rock caught the same leg. Another bit of flesh torn out. Seeing the danger another spear carrier stepped in, this time dealing a more decisive thrust to the neck. A desperate gurgle escaped the attacker’s mouth as he fell to the ground, liquid life pouring from his lips. I turned to my left as the other attackers were dealt with. Spears snapped against rib cages. So our captors took to using their attackers' weapons against them. Stones rammed into skulls until there was no resistance left. With one final grunt, the last of the attackers was dispatched. The screams ended. Silence returned save for labored breathing. “How you?” the leader called out, turning and examining the group. The others nodded a confirmation they were okay. “All ovan dead?” he asked. Once more, confirmatory nods. “We go, before the varg smell it.” “The varg?” I asked. The man ignored me. “Leave broken spears. More at camp.” Everyone turned to walk. Everyone except the woman with the gash to her leg. She was knelt on her right knee, her left leg bent. However, as she tried to push up to stand, her left leg buckled. She pushed again, this time nearly fully upright, before a yelp left her mouth and she fell to the floor, her outstretched arms cushioning her fall. I looked at her hand, streaks of ruby leaking between the knuckles. I took a step to my right so that I could see her thigh. It looked like it had been ripped away, the muscles and tissues replaced by nothing but blood oozing from shredded arteries. “Can’t walk can you?” the leader asked. “I can try,” the woman muttered, looking up to meet his eyes. The man walked over to her side, looking closer at the wound. He shook his head. “Can’t keep up, can’t come.” He stood up and turned to the others. “Go.” “What?” Alessia blurted out. “We can carry her, easily.” The man’s face tensed as he walked over to Alessia., standing mere centimeters away. “The wound is bleeding. Either bleed out or die from infection.” “That wound is healable. It needs to be cleaned and cauterized-” “Shut!” the man screamed. He threw a fist, hitting Alexia in the abdomen with one sharp movement. She keeled over, the wind knocked out of her. But she didn’t whimper. “Do not speak. Your knowledge damn us all. We leave. We leave now. Move.” I walked over to Alessia and placed an arm around her shoulder, picking her up. “You okay?” She nodded, but with a small wince that she tried to hide. Somehow our situation seemed graver than ever. Never before had I seen Alessia be anything but the most sure person in the room. But in one moment she had been silenced. Perhaps up until that moment, despite all the violence I had seen on Outer Fastanet and elsewhere, I felt some comfort in knowing Alessia was by my side - a calm guide in the roughest storms. It was a comfort that had now been shattered. As we walked off into the forest once more, I looked back at the woman. She held back spluttered tears that knew too well of her fate. Yet the instinct remained. And even as we disappeared among the leaves, she would push off with her leg, crawling a few inches before collapsing again. Eventually the trunks grew too many, and I lost sight of her. She was alone, left to the forest. I turned to Alessia, now standing stronger, but still with a hand held over her stomach. And I wondered how long it would be till we were claimed too. \ Next chapter published 28th October.


He often found that bus rides were oddly conducive to a particular kind of reminiscence. Sitting in his little row, with eyes glazed over, he reached back into his prepubescent self. He was at the kitchen counter, grueling over math homework. Intro to fractions: a real killer. None of the questions actually involved a fraction, and he’d completed most of the sheet without much trouble, yet there was one extra credit question on the back that he wanted to get right. Thinking back, he couldn’t be sure why he wanted to solve it so bad. It was elementary school, he couldn’t have cared much about his “grades.” Maybe it was a sense of perfectionism instilled in him by his upbringing, but he never much cared about that as much as he probably should have. In all likelihood, he surmised, he had probably wanted to simply prove that he could, most likely out of simple, run-of-the-mill childhood insecurity. He asked Mom for help. This was the only time he could ever remember asking her for help with homework. She always seemed too busy, and he always thought he could do these things on his own. Still, this time she helped. He refrained from trying to psychoanalyze his mother at this moment. The question that had stumped him was generously simple in hindsight. It was only asking how you would represent three of something out of a group of four. The problem was, he had never seen a fraction before. When he explained his issue to Mom, she pulled out four cookies from the cookie jar. She had baked them the day previous. Mom always liked to bake. Mom always had an unhealthy relationship with food. She laid the cookies in front of him and said, “You have three of these cookies. So, how many of the cookies do you have?” As an adult, he could see that she worded this extremely vaguely. He replied, “Three.” For what felt like hours, she kept repeating those same two sentences to him, and everytime he’d say “Three.” She’d group off the three cookies and he’d say “Three.” She’d raise her voice and he’d say “Three.” He had started crying. Mom looked very frustrated. Scoffing, she grabbed the paper from him, wrote three fourths, and walked away. He felt very fragile in that moment. Mom wasn't a great teacher. His stop came too quickly. He was surprised at how far ahead in time he’d managed to travel with that little sequence. The walk home was comparatively thoughtless. It was just the same procedure of motions - steps, turns, doors opening - that he’d gone through most other days. That sense of unimportance seemed dully significant to some recess of him. The apartment extended no greeting, and his bed found him in record time. He didn’t bother getting under the covers. He lay there for what felt like too long, then checked the time. 7:34 PM. The day was still young. He thought about all the things he could do, maybe should do with all this time on his hands. Read something, listen to music, work out, go for a walk, meet new people, watch a movie, play some video games maybe. He juggled the idea of these things in his head and decided that yeah, maybe he should do something, yet he knew that the second he moved his chest would be crushed by the lead ball that was laying on it. He was never much for parties. He’d made a fool of himself at enough of them. This one seemed to carry on far too long. The swirl of people and voices became dizzying if he focused on it for too long. He hugged the wall like he did the first time he went ice skating. He could feel the life of the room echoing through him. He didn’t like the feeling. It used to be that when he felt like this at parties, he’d go off by himself for long enough that all the holes in his body would close up again, and he could have another drink and maybe talk to someone after. Now, he knew that someone was bound to notice, especially in a cramped space like this, and leaving now would be especially dramatic. He resigned himself to getting comfortable and hoping no one struck up conversation. When he finally deemed it socially acceptable to leave, he did with only marginal deliberation. He would’ve said bye to the people he knew there, but then again, would he have? Walking out into the night air was at first a relief. The first few steps felt like a consolation, and the cool air cleared the dust out of his lungs, but then the air started to stream into him so fast he felt like he was being played like a harmonica. He was leaking all over. The walk back to his car became more hurried than he’d intended, and he made sure to expunge what was left of that foreign invader in his rib cage before getting in. The thought of music at a time like this seemed contrived, and more than a little childish. He put music on anyway - something with no words. As he drove, he imagined himself in a movie. What would he look like? How would the writers and producers deem fit to package him? What parts of him would be cast aside first in pursuit of digestibility? He imagined to an outsider the thought might seem vaguely anti-consumerist, but really it was nothing so high concept. It was an honest consideration. The streets were mostly empty, which was good. The thought of sharing the road right now made him feel strangely sick. He didn’t know what he’d do when he got home. The apartment complex was quiet enough. He parked where he found a spot; he never much cared about things like getting good parking. He thought about that tendency as he walked, and he realized how alienated that made him feel from the people around him. Everyone he talked to always had some kind of mundane complaint. Their food had to be fresh. They couldn’t drink Pepsi products. They didn’t like this or that actor. The temperature was too much this or that way. He had always resigned himself to these things. There wasn’t much point in agonizing over things like that, right? As he was unlocking his door, he saw a woman coming down the opposite end of the hallway. He looked at her for a second. She was pretty enough. He stopped looking. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. He knew how easy it was to make the people around him uncomfortable. The thought made him want to cry. He wouldn’t. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. As the door shut, he looked into the pitch black of the apartment. There was one dull, silver streak tearing through the living room. He seized. He stood enveloped by that darkness for a time. He felt like if he were to move, the space around him would collapse in on itself and splinter into a billion tiny fragments that could never be pieced together again. Not because it would be impossible really, but because he lacked the grace, patience and inclination to put any of it back together. He flipped the light on. The room maintained. He considered what his first move should be, and resolved that he’d eat something. He had some microwave food, and the experience was pleasant enough. Really, it was just an attempt to delay the inevitable. He would eventually lay down in bed, with that same sensation of a snake coiling around his lungs and he wouldn’t know what to do about it. Some of his coworkers were really nice. He was friends with some of them. They were something of a group. They’d go out to bars together and drink and smoke and watch movies and do whatever they felt like. He hadn’t expected to spend as much time with these people as he had recently, but that wasn’t a bad thing. He had been enjoying himself. There was a lot of fun to be had with them. Still, there was really one reason more than any other for his continued participation. He’d liked her for about a year now. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d “liked” someone. In all honesty, he wasn’t quite sure what that meant anymore, all he knew was that he felt it for her. Still, he had no intention of doing anything about it. Friday, they would all go together on a little pub crawl, and eventually get really high. Those nights always came and went in a bit of a blur, but that was the fun of it all. The week was a continuous stream of mostly undefined impressions, but the weekend was virile and fatalistic. It felt like there were stakes, even if he made sure there really weren’t any. This Friday would be no different. Somehow, he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The music seemed louder than usual tonight. He’d had his fair share to drink, yet he couldn’t shake this feeling of cold lucidity that held him. It wasn’t the ideal mindset when you’re in the middle of a dance hall. He found himself idling again. That fact made him uncomfortable. If he didn’t get up to something soon, then he’d be in for it. When he saw her friend coming over, he knew it was too late. “Go ask her to dance.” He hated the lecturing, but it was only fair. Everyone knew what was going on, and everyone could see he was doing nothing about it. He thought on some level that their goading was a little unfair, because they didn’t know his reason for inactivity, but at the same time he knew that he really didn’t either. He looked at her friend with playful disdain. “What, are you calling me pussy?” “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Go.” She was being a good friend to him for this, yet at the same time he couldn’t help but feel a little resentful. Prodding him into action meant prodding the source of his inaction, and that was something that no one was supposed to even be aware of. Of course, she wasn’t aware of it directly, but even being able to touch it tangentially felt like an assault. He gathered that he really didn’t have much of a choice. It was time to stop pussying out. He walked up to her, and found that he couldn’t think in that moment, which was for the best. If he could, he’d just think about what he was about to say and it would tumble out of his mouth completely twisted. “Hey, are we gonna dance?” He was relieved at how casual it sounded. He knew her well enough now to know that they were somewhat alike in their anxiety, and because of that she was eerily in tune with the insecurities at bare in him at any given moment. The grace with which he executed the line was like a verbal suit of armor. “Yes, but I can’t dance.” He figured she’d say something of the sort. “That’s great!” he said as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor, “Neither can I.” He’d love to have been able to say that the dance was evidently special to any onlooker, but in all actuality it wasn’t. It was actually a bit awkward. Neither of them, in reality, were very good at dancing. More than once they lost rhythm, or bumped into someone else. He spun her around a few times and even dipped her. The whole time they danced they just made comments about how off-beat they were, yet he couldn’t help but feel like it meant something. Being so close to her in that moment, feeling the skin of her hand against his, and the way their bodies moved together. It was the first time that night that his lucidity counted for something. He felt fortunate that this feeling would be hard to forget. After their dance was over, he felt like he came away with something. Looking at her then, as they made their way off the dancefloor, her face bathed in flickering and flaring multicolored lights, he understood that she probably didn’t feel the same way, and while that knowledge made him feel raw, naked, and vulnerable, he was okay with it. At least he got to make her happy, even if for a moment. After all the dancing was over, and the hall emptied, they made pilgrimage back to her friend's apartment. The weed gave way to a new, uncomfortable dimension of social awareness, but that was unavoidable. They watched a stupid comedy, and then proceeded to watch the whole series. Of course, he was forced to sit next to her on the couch. He’d expected as much. It made everyone giddy to see him squirm. So he sat next to her and watched. He knew her penchant for early nights, so he figured she’d go up to her room soon. That’s exactly the reason he was so shocked when she laid across his lap. An hour must have passed before he built up the courage to touch her. He felt conflicted for being so hesitant, but also couldn’t shake the feeling that if he did touch her something terrible would happen. As the night went on, and each movie blended into the next, came to hold her as she drifted off to sleep. He still felt that same sense of uneasiness, that same edge, but the scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin made those feelings unimportant. He’d bathe in this feeling for now, and not think about anything else. He’d invited her over to his place to watch some movies. He felt nervous. At this point they’d gone out on a few undeniable dates. He was getting more and more comfortable around her, but still, having her at his place, just the two of them, it felt like he was showing too much of his hand. When she came, he decided he’d skip the game of pretending like they weren’t going to end up laying together, pressed as close as they could be. All of his doubt started to fade when he held her again, and he could be in that moment, drowning in her presence. They watched one movie, and then put on another. The movie stopped being so important. Where they’d actively been watching, commenting, joking, and laughing through the first one, the second was met with silence. They laid facing each other, legs intertwined. His cheek was pressed against hers, and his hand was buried in her hair, cradling the back of her head. He felt frozen in time, like his slightest move could cause her to shatter. He wanted to hold her so close that she would sink into him and they’d become one, so that he’d be able to feel her fingers, arms, and legs under his skin. He moved his face so that he could press his forehead against hers. As he did, their corners of their lips brushed. His heart punched him in the chest. He found himself surprisingly short of breath. He froze there, with their faces an inch away from each other. The time that passed like that had no concern for punctuality. He felt his arms contract, pulling her in, a fraction of an inch a second. He was helpless. She was everything in that moment. When their lips finally met, his chest caved inward and blew out of his back, leaving a hole where his solar plexus would have been, and the violence of the situation was unspeakable. He said goodbye to every solitary vestige that clung to him and the spaces he’d occupied in the days he’d walked the Earth. His bedsheets. His car. His books. His mom. The cookies. Fractions. Jealousy. Intimacy. The feeling of being slowly strangled. The poison in his veins. The fact that he’d wanted to make something special. The fact that he’d never known he was disabled, maybe? He’d never be able to paint his life on canvas. He’d never be able to embellish his death with words. He’d never truly face himself. He’d never see her again. All was as it was meant to be. Maybe one day he’d find the bones of the person he once was and build a house with them. He could only dream.


“What are you doing?” The little boy asked. The old man seemed startled, how did he not see him? “I’m sweeping the train tracks.” The old man replied. “Why?” “Well… they don’t have the money to keep the track clean like they used to. It wouldn’t do for the tracks to get cluttered.” He said, brushing aside some rocks on the tracks. “Can I help?” The little boy asked, picking up a branch to use like a broom. “Where’s your mama? Won’t she be worried about you?” “No. I just have to be back for dinner. I play in the woods a lot. Do you ever play mister? My daddy says grownups don’t play but I think that’s boring.” “I used to play in these woods every day when I was your size…” more debris was swept away. “Here, why don’t you help clean the outside of the tracks? There like that, good. Careful now, always keep your eye out for the train a comin’.” “Why? I’ll hear it. I’ve got the best ears around!..” The boy proudly proclaimed. “I can hear anything!” The old man chuckled. “Oh yeah? What’s that squirrel doin?” “That’s easy, he’s chewing on a nut! Gimme something harder.” “Oh ho, well then can you hear that chickadee off in the distance?” The boy went quiet for a while, trying to listen to the woods around him. Finally his shoulders slumped and he shook his head no. “That’s because there isn’t one there.” The old man said with a mischievous grin. “No fair you cheated! You cheated!” The boy complained. “Alright, you got me. I can’t compete with the best I see. Here boy, will you help me move this big branch here?” “I can do it myself, watch!” The boy ran around and started to tug on the fallen branch. After a little effort from both of them they were able to pull it mostly off the tracks, and the little boy broke off some of the smaller ends. The sun was getting low in the sky at this point; they’d been walking and talking most of the afternoon. They were in the middle of singing a song from the old mans childhood when the little boy felt a shove and landed in the dirt. “Oww. Why’d you… oh no!” The little boy turned around to see the train rolling by. Why hadn’t he heard it? He didn’t see his new friend. That meant… Tears filled his eyes, his new friend was gone. He should have been listening! He should have… “Ta daa.” The old man said with a smile. He was standing on the train tracks completely fine. “What? But… where did you?” The asked in between sniffles. “Magic…” the old man said with a wink, “and a magician never reveals his secrets.” “I’m glad you’re okay.” The little boy said, running up and hugging his knees. The old man wobbled for a moment unsteady. “Whoa there, I’m not as sturdy as I used to be. I’m glad you’re okay too.” “Is my husband bothering you?” A voice said with mock frustration. It belonged to an old woman who was walking towards them from the train station they had reached. “No. I was helping him today. We cleaned the train tracks.” The boy said proudly. “And you were an excellent helper, now do you know how to get home? Don’t want to be late for supper.” “Aww do I have to?” The boy complained. “I’m afraid so dearie, you don’t want your mother to worry do you?” The old woman said. “Okay. Can I come back again?” “Well I don’t know…” the man pretended to think about it. “Please?” The boy begged. “I suppose so. As long as you promise to be careful. You know where to find me.” “Okay. Bye!” The boy said as he ran off. The couple stood there for a while, hand in hand. “You almost had to take him with you today.” The old man said. “But I didn’t, thanks to you. The rest of us miss you, you know.” “I know, but I can’t…” “We know. We’re proud of what you’re doing. I’m proud of what you’re doing.” “I don’t want somebody else to end up the way we did.” “I know. I love you.” “I love you too.” The two shared a long embrace as another train passed through them, never knowing they were there. Once it was gone the old woman turned and faded away, and the man set off once again down the tracks.


Case 1724.9 is now being presented to Prefect Charpentier. Brad Bentley, Prosecuting: *Prefect Charpentier, this matter brought before you today concerns a most peculiar crime indeed, one that obviously requires the audience of this special court.* Prefect Charpentier looks at his watch. Prefect Charpentier: *Go ahead. I break for second supper soon and wish to finish my meal before the second sets.* Bentley, Prosecuting: *Of course, Prefect. The State of Upton wishes to bring attempted homicide charges against the defendant and request that bail be set at two million dollars, as per the guidelines set out in the Upton Criminal Code.* Prefect Charpentier frowns, squiting down at the case notes in front of him. He looks up and stares at Brad Bentley. Prefect Charpentier: *Explain to me how the defendant went from cooking to being arrested on attempted homicide charges.* Bentley, Prosecuting: *Of course, Prefect. Well, you see, first of all, the defendant is no normal defendant; he is an alien, a shapehshifting alien wearing somebody else's face and skin.* Prefect Charpentier: I...see. Bentley, Prosecuting: *And I will now go on to explain how The State determined this. You see, on the night of the 3rd, last year, the defendant - an alien shapeshifter - began cooking a meal on an electric stove. The defendant then left the cooking unattended. A short while later, the cooking burnt and the entire property was filled with smoke, setting off detectors. At the time, there was only one other inhabitant in the property at the time.* Perfect Charpentier: *Mhmm.* Bentley, Prosecuting: *The State argues that there is clear evidence that the defendant - an alien shapeshifter in disguise - wrongly believed that the other inhabitant had asthma and with this belief in mind, maliciously intended to cause a fatal asthma attack by deliberately leaving the cooking unattended, thereby causing it to burn and smoke. The inhabitant's relatives are well aware that none of them have asthma, ergo, The State proved that the defendant was in fact an alien shapeshifter in disguise, given that were he not an alien shapeshifter in disguise, then he would know that none of his relatives actually have asthma.* Prefect Charpentier nods enthusiastically. Prefect Charpentier: *Go on, go on.* Bentley, Prosecuting: *So, the defendant - an alien shapeshifter in disguise - acting on the belief that the other inhabitant had severe asthma, set out to cause a fatal asthma attack. In the State's eyes, this would be akin to somebody sprinkling large amounts of nuts over food in the belief that the food is meant for somebody with a serious nut allergy which could kill them when nuts are consumed; or, pulling the trigger of a firearm with the intent to kill. Furthermore, albeit a little premature, The State would also like to make known its intent to pursue the death penalty.* Prefect Charpentier nods. Prefect Charpentier: *Okay, I have heard prosecuting. Would the defendant's attorney like to say anything?* Reece Fallows, Defending: *Nothing to say at this time, Prefect.* Prefect Charpentier: *Okay, in light of the above, this court will accept the charges of attempted homicide which have been put forward and I am remanding the defendant in custody and bail is set at two point seven five million dollars. The court accepts the Prosecution's arguments and the rather colorful analogies put forward today.


I was alone in the library when I heard the first scream. I had snuck off to take my own tour of the museum. Don’t get me wrong, the teachers were doing great--it was the students who were driving me insane. Sure, field trips and museum tours were probably lame for a senior in high school, but I was loving it. The museum made me feel like I was in Europe, and since I’d been dreaming to get out of Oklahoma my entire life, I was soaking it up. I had left my group and made my way to the ancient library when it all started. I was browsing through the shelves and admiring the heavy leather texts when I heard the sound that made everything go cold. Quietly but quickly, I made my way out of the library and toward the cafeteria. There hadn’t been any more screams. Is that a good or bad sign? I forced myself to go down the stairwell instead of running away. Everything in my body wanted to sprint the opposite way, but something in my gut was telling me to figure this out. Again, good or bad sign? I had to see where the scream came from. It wasn’t a playful scream like you’d be unsurprised to hear from high school students having a day away from classrooms. It was a scream of pain that slipped into a guttural cry by the end. I’d never heard anything like it, but I imagined it’s what dying animals sounded like. When I found the cafeteria, everything was quiet. Maybe the scream hadn’t come from here? Or maybe I’d imagined it? Maybe it *was* a dying animal- something had probably made its way into the museum from the outside and gotten itself trapped. I almost convinced myself, but that same gut feeling from before told me I needed to stay and watch this unfold. That’s when I understood the danger. There was no screaming, but it was completely silent. When I had walked past the cafeteria on my way to the library, I’d heard the usual sounds of students and friend groups as they ate and hung out during the lunch break. Now there was nothing. I made myself control my breathing as I felt my stomach making its way into my throat. I wanted to throw up, something was terribly wrong, but I couldn’t move from this spot. I had pressed myself against the wall and now I slowly moved to look around the corner into the cafeteria. The adrenaline pulsing through me got stronger and I felt like my entire body was moving with it. I moved until I had the cafeteria in full view. At first, it looked empty, but then I realized that all the students were in the wrong places--under the tables. Except for two. Two students were slowly walking down the center aisle of the room. They seemed...off. They were walking too slow, too calculated. There was something else too, but I couldn’t place it. I looked at the students under the table closest to me. One of them was staring at the two walking students, but the other was looking at me with wide, fearful eyes. I think she was shaking her head at me. *Was this a horror movie?* Suddenly, noise and movement erupted from the center of the room. One of the walking students had flipped a table with incredible ease. The other reached out and grabbed one of the hiding students and lifted him off the floor. Then, as easily as you’d move a bite of food to your mouth to eat it, he brought the student closer. And ripped his throat open. Now it was color’s turn to erupt. Bright red flashed almost instantaneously over the boy’s body. Everything moved in slow motion as I watched the liquid flow over his clothes and onto the floor. I looked up at his face. In the slowest moments in time, it changed from confused and panicked to completely empty. The blood stopped flowing from his throat and his body drooped, only held up by the arm of the attacker. Without so much as a breath, the attacker dropped the boy and his body hit the floor with a thud. Somehow, no one was screaming. The students under the tables weren’t moving. They were staring at the lifeless body of their classmate as it lay in the puddle of blood on the linoleum. I think we were all waiting for what was going to happen next, even though there’s no way any of us saw it coming. The two walking students hadn’t moved since the attack. The one who had flipped the table was standing cooly and looking around, except his eyes didn’t really seem like they were seeing anything. The other student was staring down at the pool of blood on the floor, his eyes also slightly out of focus. There was something extremely off about them, and I was clenching my jaw in an attempt to get my brain to work faster. I know I had noticed something, I just needed to make it clear. Then three things happened in the same instant. The lifeless body on the floor twitched. The attacker’s eyes came sharply into focus. And I realized a piece of what was happening.


This is what she wants more than anything in the world. I just can’t give it to her. God, what’s wrong with me? I felt like I could, at the start of our relationship I was smitten. I tried to be everything she wanted. She opened up to me so much back then, and…yeah, I felt like I could get there, too. But I can’t, I know I can’t She’s been asking about it a lot lately. I have to be honest with her. It will break her. It’s time to let her know. She’s been in a good mood today but this conversation will change everything. She was cleaning up in the bathroom when I knocked on the door frame and asked if we could talk “Yeah, just give me a minute, cleaning up in here a bit” she said as she was gathering up wet towels. She was wearing cleaning gloves as she walked past and handed me the load that I took instinctively. The pile was heavy. I looked down at it. There was an axe wrapped up in there. The towels were blood soaked. I dropped them and ran to the bath. Turning on the lights, I saw him immediately. He was in the tub, partially decapitated. Dead. I fingered the broken razor blade before I realized what I was doing and pulled back, dropping it into the crimson red water. The water that had already gone cold. “LILLY, what did you do?” I cried out She was standing right behind me “Surprise” she yelled. She was beaming. “Lily, no, God, what have you done?” “I knew you were having trouble with it. You’ve been distant lately. I thought you might back down” She responded “You know how bad I wanted this, for us” Fuck. “Lily, no. I came here to tell you that I couldn’t do it, that I didn’t want this” I said as I stared down at the blood on my hands and shirt “I know you didn’t” She smiled as she spoke “so I took matters into my own hands” “We have to tell someone” I said “I’m sorry…I…I..just can’t do this and we have to be honest about it” She looked at me quizzically. She was pristine. No blood on her anywhere. “Well” she said “I mean, I guess we could tell someone. But it looks you’re the one covered in blood, and I think you touched the razor blades and the axe” She bit her bottom lip “It’s not a good look for you” I started to feel woozy. She was right. And this was blackmail. She took her phone out of her pocket and dialed 9-1 and then she held it up to me and asked “Should I call? Should I call and cry? Should I tell them that I came home to this” She wailed, crying and faking a scream. She turned off the phone and laughed.


Eighth Grade was a really tough time for me. One of the reasons was during this time my parents split apart and by the time I was fourteen I had to choose who I wanted to live with. I chose my mother and she ended up moving to Arizona and that meant Chicago was no more and I had to find another school. All the schools that we looked at were already in the middle of the school year and my mom wanted me to do an online school but fortunately I was able to find one. I took about a week to prepare myself for this new school even though I knew I wasn't going to be able to fit in. Eventually the time came around to go to my new school. I remember the first day being actually quite easy. I realized that I wasn't the only student on his first day. This kid named Gregory was also on his first day. I quickly befriended him and we helped each other find our classes and since he was really good at science and I wasn't he would help me out with homework too. But unfortunately, there was something really wrong about him. Everyday, it didn't matter where he was, he would get bullied to death. Kids all over the school were shouting hurtful words and terrible things at him. Everyday kids would call him, freak, loser, the reason his parents divorced. He said it didn't let it get to him but the demons were building up inside him. Gregory was a really smart kid but his one weakness was his feelings. He said his parents divorced about a month before school started and he decided to live with his dad who is known for having gambling and alcohol addictions. His mother left his dad and ended up taking her own life after realizing she was living like hell. His parents were both sick and honestly I couldn't believe he was able to keep up with both of them. A Lot of the kids at our school said he was adopted but I knew not to believe them since it was another tease. Soon his head was not in the right place after about a month of being bullied. One day after our history class, we were sitting outside in a secret place we shared when he told me something that made me question if he was still himself. “I can't hold on anymore,” Gregory told me, “my eyes are filled with smoke, I feel like I can't breathe no more. I think I might give up.” After the day he told me that, he had only gotten worse. His grades began to slip and he started lashing out on himself. He would cut his hands open and try to turn the mental pain into physical pain. I kept saying to myself “he’ll be fine, he can make it through this” but I knew he might not. It hurt like a blade in my chest that I couldn't help him and I really tried to give him all the advice I could give, but he still had demons inside him. Later on, he started not talking to me at school. I would wait for him in our secret lunch spot but he never came. The only time I got to see him was when I would sit right next to him in a few of my classes. After more and more weeks of him being like this, I think he may have snapped. I checked his notebook one day and I found a list of names. The names were people I knew and they were also people who bullied and picked on him. I spotted a total of 5 names written on the pages. The names were Johnny, who is one of the most annoying kids in the school so I wasn't surprised. Then I saw Tanner and Adam, who are also people who tease him a little bit but I'm sure they don't mean anything bad. The one name that scared me was the name Andrew. To make it worse the name was crossed out in red pen. I've been around the school and I know who everyone is and I can guarantee there is no Andrew in this school. I thought for a minute on who could ruin his life outside of school. Gregory was a really sheltered kid so that narrowed it down to one answer, his dad. The more I thought, the more it seemed to be true. His dad is the reason his mother is dead and his dad is also a sinner, it all lined up. I assumed the worst and began to think this was a death note, he’s keeping track of his targets. I kept thinking and thinking but then I heard something coming from outside. Our teacher stopped to go look outside the window and a few kids followed her. I put Gregory's notebook back and ran to see what the noise was. I looked out the window and I couldn't believe what I was staring at. I felt like I couldn't move and couldn't breathe and I couldn't look away. There was blood on the ground, shaped in a way where I couldn't read unless I got closer. Then I saw Gregory, he was standing right next to the blood with a rainbow bloody knife in his hand. I saw people coming out of their classes looking at Gregory as he stood above the blood. He had a smile on his face and blood spots on his shirt. “Don't come close to me.” Gregory said giggling. Gregory killed 3 kids and a father that day, and there was no coming back from it. When Gregory was there on that day, he never did anything when the police came and took him away, he just watched us. He was taken to a mental hospital and when he was asked why he did it he simply replied, “for the fun” and wouldn't say anything else. The school was never the same. It changed in a small way by getting rid of bullies in our school but some people still bully. Gregory became a name feared by everyone who ever went to that school. Even new staff are warned about Gregory. Things only got worse when people found out Gregory escaped that mental hospital. People feared him, people still poked fun at him, and some even adored him and what he did. I'm now 25 years old, and Gregory I assume is the same age. Eventually Gregory roamed the streets of our town once again. People who used to go to the school claim they see him stalking their lives. They say Gregory dawns a Plague Doctor mask to keep himself hidden but he rarely takes his mask off. From what I've learned, they say he walks at night so his black clothes can blend in. Newspaper articles claim he's killed more people but nobody has ever found him. He watches people at night then he strikes. I've been studying Gregory ever since I found out he broke out of the mental hospital. I'm just waiting for the day for him to come after me.


I worked as a Disneyland employee for 30 years. Disney is a pretty good employer, giving me a retirement package that’ll take care of me for the rest of my twilight years. It’s been many seasons since I pulled my last shift. They even had a retirement party for me at Club 33, which was very special. I started off as a suit back in the 70s, doing insurance adjustments for the park and all its new rides. It was a pretty good gig, but I barely got to spend any time in the park itself. I ended up taking a major pay cut when I saw that a Ride Operator position opened up for my favorite attraction: The Haunted Mansion. I walk my dog Pluto by those gates nearly every morning. We go up and down these streets for hours, taking in the familiar sights and smells of Anaheim. Sometimes I’ll see other retired members of the old guard and we’ll exchange some old stories. I like getting coffee at that mexican joint, they put cinnamon in it and don’t overcharge. Even with a nice pension, you gotta find all the good deals, you know? After coffee and walking Pluto around I’ll go home and open a clamshell or two, maybe heat up one of those TV dinners. That’s pretty much how the days go for me. The nights on the other hand, well, that’s a whole different story. For a guy whos worked in a Haunted Mansion his whole life, you’d think he’d get used to all the ghosts. Take it from me, you never do. I know the names and faces of all of them. I thought they’d start to go away over time, like memories. I can’t seem to shake them. You know the mirror bit with the hitchhikers? Its kinda like that. But when you’re a normal park guest, you just get these nice funny memories. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen, those ghosts ride with you all the way home. The first time I ever saw a dead body was on the job. Real religious guy had his ticker stop after seeing Madam Leota’s head talking to him in that crystal ball. I mean, normal people like you and I know this stuff aint real. But I think these old timers who get talked into it by their grandkids, I mean, they got scared of the mummy and the wolf guy in those black and white movies. Maybe it was just his time to go? He had slumped over in his pod, and I noticed pretty instantly on the cameras that he was in distress. I hit the kill switch, which stops the entire ride. From there, I exited the control booth and made my way into the ride. I was able to free him and lay him on his side. You see, back then we didn’t do CPR or any of that. I knew to check his breathing and his pulse, but I couldn’t really tell whether the old guy was still among the living. Turns out he wasn’t, and the doctors said he died pretty much instantly. The whole thing gave me quite the fright, and I was pretty jumpy for a couple of weeks there. One of my buddies from the insurance department got ahold of me one night and said that the old guy’s family was really putting the park through the wringer. I’m talking a damn near seven figure settlement. They paid it though, because if there’s anything the Disney company has, it’s a bottomless pit of dough. They’re used to throwing huge chunks of the stuff at every problem they encounter. Need a hard to get permit to expand the park into public property? Bam, done. Need to pay off a boatload of people who got sick during the Country Bear salmonella fiasco? Cha Ching, everyone’s happy. You get the picture. Money fixes everything... but you’d probably be shocked to find out the lengths Disney will go to save a buck. There was a kid who fell off Splash Mountain and got injured pretty badly. Like, the kinds of injuries that entire generations of Walt’s family would have to pay for. Treatments, surgeries, medications, all of it... and that’s AFTER the seven figure settlement. It really spooked my old department, as well as the shareholders. Who would’ve thought one lousy kid could cause such a fuss? I mean, at this point Disney was the largest and most successful company in the world. You’d think that they’d find some way to keep this sort of thing from happening again. Well, turns out they did. They called all of us loyal long haulers into a meeting one day. I thought the whole thing was a joke, like a prank or something. They were rolling out this parkwide program called “The Sleeping Beauty Protocol”. It was a type of contingency to make sure there weren’t any more situations which would cost the park any extra money. As it turns out, a dead guest is much more inexpensive than an injured guest. Well, despite my better judgement, I agreed to this whole Sleeping Beauty Protocol. This is what it entailed: Each ride and park section had a team of three Fairy Godmothers. I guess in my case, I’d be a Godfather. These were normal employees, like ride operators or cast members. They each had a key to a mini-fridge hidden in their section. Within this mini fridge were a series of discreet looking syringes, which we would administer to the occasional severely injured guest. We called this deadly injection the “Witches Apple”. I heard it didn’t hurt or nothing, it just put them to sleep. Pretty crazy, huh? We all had to sign nondisclosure agreements, but the pay increase was incredible. I was wearing a custom Rolex watch after my first year of being part of the Sleeping Beauty Protocol Team. Luckily I only had to give out three Witches Apples during my entire tenure at the park. The first one went pretty swell. A lighting fixture had come loose and fell on one of the guests in the Graveyard Jamboree section of the Haunted Mansion. I, of course, was working the booth. I hit the kill switch, but decided to leave the lights off. The insurance guys made the call within a minute or so, and they called a Code Sleeping Beauty on him. I grabbed my key, unlocked the fridge and shagged ass. We had to make sure to do this quick and efficiently, and make sure there were no witnesses. I was able to reach the guest, whose head looked like a split cantaloupe. I’ll never forget the gurgling sound they made as the blood ran out their mouth and nose. I pulled the cap off of the syringe, located their AC vein in their forearm, and then performed my first successful euthanasia. The gurgling stopped, and voila! Old man Walt Disney was smiling down on me that day, that’s for sure. The second time was when I was on my break outside Thunder Mountain Railroad, tucking into a delicious caramel covered apple. I like standing by the tracks and listening to the rail car roll by overhead. Its such a satisfying sound--so powerful. Well, as luck would have it, there was a loud mechanical snap that happened just as the train car sped by, and a piece of metal from the track came loose. Nobody on the ride itself got injured, but the metal shard plunged into a ladies chest right across from me. I mean, this thing hit her with so much force she slid across the ground several feet. My pager began buzzing immediately. I knew what the numbers stood for. It was time for us to clear the scene and let loose the Sleeping Beauty Protocol. We quickly ushered everyone out of the area, and I waited for the Adventure Land team to show up with the damn apple. They were taking too long, and I was starting to get nervous. They finally showed up after three minutes. The poor kid’s hands were shaking, looking at this barely alive woman with a metal shard stickin out of her chest. At this rate he was gonna drop the damn syringe, so I grabbed it and plunged it into the womans jugular. Another day, another dollar saved. The third one was the worst though, and I really didn’t get all the credit for it. Right before I retired this big fat guy fell out of the car on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. The car kept going, but he stayed there laying on the track. You see, those older rides don’t have such good cameras. I happened to be covering a shift that day, and I was dozing off at the controls. I woke up to a scream, which I found out came from the fat sonofabitch who got ran over by the next two cars. People were screaming to stop the ride, but the button was stuck. By the time I was able to unstick the piece of crap, all hell had broken loose. People were running, screaming, filming it all on their nifty new smartphones. I pushed my way through the many colorful sets which made up the frog ride, and the blood trail led me right to the guy. His legs were twisted in all sorts of mangled directions, chunks of flesh stuck in the chains and gears in the track. He was sitting up against a 2D cutout of wooden crates, looking at me with desperate eyes. He was wide awake and talking. “My legs! My goddamn legs! Look at them! Oh my god please help me!” he yelled. The code was called and my coworker came in with the magical cocktail that’d make this big fellas dreams come true. They let me do the honors. I pulled off the cap and stood over him. “What the hell is that thing? What are you giving me?!” He shouted accusingly. I told him it was for the pain while we waited for the EMTs. Well, I was half right. I administered the Witches Apple into his blood speckled arm, and he immediately started seizing. He didn’t die though. He just breathed hard, occasionally thrashing around and moaning. I got a call from the shot callers upstairs and they said videos from the smartphones had gained such attention on social media that the EMTs were actually on their way. This was bad. We had to improvise on this one. There was a new hire who wasn’t on the Sleeping Beauty Protocol team per se, but he was a suited cast member. Nobody would be able to really identify him coming in or out of the Mr. Toads ride. I knew he was on shift as Donald Duck, and I quickly coordinated with the suits to pull him aside for a favor. You see, there was one thing I knew about this new recruit. He was big, strong, and trained in brazilian jiu jitsu. I knew he would have what it takes to finish the job. Time was running out, and we got a suit on site to get the kid up to speed. They offered him a “Dreams Come True” package, which was a serious amount of up-front money, a pay raise, and of course, a nondisclosure agreement. The kid signed, pen held in his big white donald duck hand. They escorted him into the ride, and over to the portly liability, sitting up again wide awake. “What the hell? Donald Duck? Whats going on here? What did you shoot me up with? That stuff almost killed me! You’re all gonna pay for what you’re doing here!” He shouted, pointing at us accusingly with his weak semi-mangled gesture. Donald looked over at me, and I nodded approvingly. Donald moved in quick, positioning himself behind the fat man. He placed him in a rear naked chokehold, squeezing with all of his might. He even started singing in a perfect duck voice “A dream is a wish your heart makes... when you’re fast asleep” from Cinderella. He sang so gently and soothingly while he drained the life from the man’s body. His rubbery, brokens legs stopped thrashing and went limp. I’d like to say that the guest died with a smile on their face, given that they were gifted a top notch Disney quality experience in their last moments. But nope, it was a twisted, oxygen deprived grimace, frozen forever in my memory. His loss though, Disney really goes out of their way to deliver one-of-a-kind custom tailored experiences for all their guests. Especially special ones like this now blob of lifeless grey flesh. That was the last one I was ever part of. I don’t regret being part of the Sleeping Beauty Protocol. Disney was a good employer and they took great care of me. People die all the time, but how many people can say that they died at the Magic Kingdom? I’ll tell you, only the ones that wake me up at night. Only the ones who ride in the back seat of my car. Only the ones who look at me from behind the closed gates every morning. It’s not just the ones that I gave the Apple to; It’s all of them. To my understanding, the Apple has been given to more than a hundred guests over the years. I think one day I’ll end up joining them. Maybe someday when Pluto’s gone and my legs cant carry me through my daily walks anymore, I’ll have myself a little accident on my favorite ride. Maybe then you might find me dancing with all my friends in the ballroom, flying around the graveyard, or maybe even riding home with a guest in the backseat of a car.


So most days she doesn't even recognize me. And most days that's fine. It's fine because as hard as all this is, it only gets harder if she sees me as who I am—her son— and she's made aware of the fact that the person laboring over her, feeding her, wiping away the spare soup from the corner of her mouth, listening to her mad ravings, and having to hold her and rock her in his arms until she finally calms enough to sleep, is someone she cares about; someone she loves. And other days, on the good days, I am nothing short of destroyed when she fails to recognize me; when her eyes look directly into mine while she's telling me some happy story from my *own* childhood and I think I see in her a spark of recognition only to be let down when she calls me by my father's name or, worse yet, asks me who I am. She needs more help than what I give her. She needs help dressing herself, washing herself, going to the bathroom, and I cannot help her in these ways so she has a live-in nurse to do these things for her. But in all the areas that I am qualified and capable and emotionally able to care for her, I do. I do because those exceedingly rare moments when she is both in a good mood and able to remember me make the other shitty times mostly worth it. *Mostly*. But if I don't help her as often as possible, even through the awful, gut-wrenching and heart-breaking moments, then I'll miss those rare good moments, and I know she has a very limited supply of good moments left. And in this fact there is a strange and uncomfortable reversal of life. When we're young, our parents spend as much time as they can spare watching us and interacting with us so that they can catch all of our joyous first moments. They lose their minds at our first steps, they shed tears of elation when we utter our first 'momma' or 'dadda,' they clap and cheer the first time we ride a bike without training wheels, and they cry along with us when the world first breaks our heart. We mark all of these firsts in life because as a species we value people entering the world and coming to experience all that it has to offer. We find our joy in watching a new life become a thriving member of our shared world, and we all aspire to leave our own marks in that virgin clay, to help shape a child into an adult so that some small part of who we are will live on in them. But what we almost never acknowledge is that for every first there is a last. And we never mark these events because it’s too depressing to think about. And even if we wanted to mark these occasions, we can’t because we can never know which otherwise routine moment will be the last of its kind. Still, you’ll experience exactly as many lasts as firsts in your life. It’s an unavoidable, mathematical certainty. There will be a last time you'll ride a bike, a last time you'll fall in love and a last time your heart will break. There will be a last time you'll use the words 'mom' or 'dad' out loud, a last time you talk to the people to whom those labels apply. And as I approach the limit of my mother's ability to share any sort of meaningful moments with me or anyone else, and realizing that all of her firsts are behind her, I do my best to celebrate her lasts with her in a grim and depressing way. Maybe celebrate isn't the right word ... commemorate maybe? Or simply to commiserate. I never got to share my father's lasts with him, and he hardly got to share in any of my firsts. He was taken by cancer when I was only four years old. In the many years since, everyone in my life has asked me if I remember him. All I can say is that I've always tried to. I have memories that I'm almost sure are real, but I can never be truly certain if I'm remembering events as they actually occurred or if I'm just creating an image of them based on stories that my mom has told me. But in any case, almost everything I know about my father comes from other people. I'm told he was a good man. I'm told he loved my mother and me more than anything in the world. I'm told by some people that he's watching over me from heaven. I’ve never been sure if I believe this last thing. At any rate, my mother was the only one who shared all of the firsts of my childhood with me. And together we shared many last moments, too. I actually remember the last time she ever picked me up and carried me around. I remember distinctly that she told me I was getting too heavy for her, and that soon I’d have to walk everywhere on my own, and she was right. And that was it; a last moment that no one marked or recognized or even realized until after the fact. "Daniel," her voice calls me, feebly. I look up, torn from the endless and self sustaining cycle of cynical thought that pervades my day to day existence and for a moment a smile cracks my lips. "Hey, mom," I say, "How are you feeling?" "Oh, I'm fine. How are you?" she asks, as if we're just two old friends catching up, as if this is all routine, and in a way it kind of is. I can tell she's only about halfway here, but then, so preoccupied am I with my musings and reflections on the ancient past and the near future, I'm not much more than halfway here either, I guess. Her eyes look into mine and there is a connection there. Some part of her understands that this lucidity she's experiencing is only a temporary state. There is a darkness etched into the shadows of her face by this understanding, and I can tell she longs to make some deeper connection before the ephemeral awareness passes. I know what the look on her face right now means because this has happened several times before, and it will probably happen again. But I can't *know* that. I can't know this won't be the last time she’ll be here and aware enough to know who I am. "Daniel, my baby, my boy. I love you so, so much." She has said these words or some variation of them many times before in these fleeting moments of near consciousness. "I'm going to see your father soon, you know," she says, wisely, smiling. These words she has never spoken before. At least not out loud. At least not to me. I wasn't planning on telling her that Jamie is pregnant. I couldn't see the point in it. But her mentioning my father has brought a completely unexpected emotion to the surface. "I know, mom," I say, "You know I'm going to be a dad soon, too? You're going to be a grandma." She smiles at me warmly as the recognition and the lucidity fade from her face and once again her mind recedes behind that curtain of fog beyond which I cannot hope to reach it. If this is the last time she's ever truly awake and aware again, I'm glad to have left her with something to smile about. And at the thought of never speaking to my mother again, I am suddenly and undeniably broken. I pick myself up and get all the way to the front hallway before I cannot contain the tears any longer and I let them flow. And flow. And flow. I have had endless arguments with Jamie lately about how much time I'm spending with my mom while I have a pregnant girlfriend to look after. It's not that Jamie is unsympathetic, but she grew up in foster care and has never really felt towards anyone what I feel towards my mother. And she's not wrong, either. If I'm being truly honest with myself, my mom has been gone for months already. She's still breathing, but she isn't living. I am trading feeling my child's first kicks from within my girlfriend's womb for watching my mother shed her last tears in a home she no longer knows. I am trading being a father to a child for trying to parent a parent. But this is my obligation, I tell myself, this is my duty. But now I am choosing to interpret my mother's smile as her consciousness fades away as a blessing. I believe if she could, she would say "go and be a father, you've already been a good son." But I'll never hear her say that. I'll never know if she really feels that way. I just have to trust that I knew her well enough to guess what she would want. And I suppose my guesses as to how she might interpret any given situation is all I’ll have of her going forward. I leave my mother in the nurse's care and I drive home to my girlfriend and my future child. I am leaving behind a few last moments with my mother to ensure that I don't miss too many with my child.


#Welcome to the Spooky Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **“Death was at the door.”** *Bonus Constraint: Death is personified. (everyone gets the bonus points this week for a wonderful month of spooky and creative stories. You all earned it! The bonus is just for fun this week)* As we enter into our fifth and last week of the Spooktober Challenge, I encourage each of you to step out of your comfort zones! Try something new. And for those who live and breathe horror, or want to give it a shot, this is your chance! Keep in mind you are not bound to write horror. If the prompt inspires you to write something different, go for it! This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, but the original sentence should stay intact. *Changing POV and/or tense is acceptable.* Stories without the sentence will be disqualified from rankings and campfire readings. The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied I have made some significant changes in the ranking system. We’ll see how this works over the next few weeks and make adjustments where necessary. Here is a current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/C_Wendt   - - Submitted by u/rainbow--penguin   - - Submitted by u/Major-Tradition-8037   *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Up until a few days ago I was steadily employed as a laboratory technician at one of the cancer hospitals in my city. Now, for those of you not in the know, lab techs get paid jack shit even after getting a science degree. If you ever spend any time on r/labrats then you’d know what I mean. Even worse, the pay scales in academia are a joke compared to industry. Luckily for me I somehow worked my way into a decent paying lab tech job in one of the research groups at the hospital. My boss (whose name I can’t say, I’ll explain later) was probably the most successful and well-funded researcher in the entire research division. Our group would crank out several publications in a single year in Nature, Cell, New England Journal of Medicine you name it. (Not bragging but I made co-author on one of the papers!). My job as a lab tech was actually pretty easy. A lot of it was the usual lab stuff that no one here would care about but where I really excelled was apparently my ability to grow tumours. I never understood how I did it but my boss and some of the other post docs would grow tumours on me and somehow I could grow them faster than the other techs. The solid tumours were the easiest like melanoma and lung cancer, even some of the rarer ones like bone cancers. I would consider those an easy project. For obvious reasons I absolutely drew the line at testicular cancer. My boss and I had a long discussion about it but even he knew I wasn’t budging on that one. The worst was leukaemia. I hated it and so did the other techs. If you’ve ever had a bone marrow biopsy you’d know what I was talking about. That hurt like a son of a bitch! So as a rule you’d only have to do a leukaemia project once a year. Anyway, after they, or I should say I, had grown the tumour my boss or some of the other post docs would then either excise the tumour or give me a drug to try and reduce it in size. From this we would get some of the most amazing and ground-breaking data in the field. My boss would give these talks at conferences and I’m not kidding, other prominent researchers would lose their shit! But here’s what happened and this is how I lost my job. Goddam OHS. Two weeks ago some OHS representatives came to give a talk to our lab. Turns out, my boss hadn’t been filling out the proper paperwork to be working on human subjects. The ethics committee were losing their minds and we had to stop research on humans immediately. They were however allowed to continue their research but only using mice. And that’s how I lost my job to goddam mouse! Me and the other lab techs were pretty much sent packing that day. We had to sign an NDA, which is why I can’t mention my boss’ name. I’ve tried contacting the other techs to see how they’re going but it seems like they’ve all ghosted me and I can’t get in touch with any of them. I’ve started looking for other work in the meantime. We got a decent payout which should keep me afloat while I look for another job. But I am *definitely* moving into industry.