I grew up in a loud home. Not the bad kind with arguments and screaming but the kind that invited midnight jam sessions and spontaneous singing. My parents were musicians; pops was a D.J. in the 90’s underground hip hop scene and my mom was a pianist. And my sister? Boy, my sister plays drums like Animal from the Muppets, her purple and blue dreads flying around. The music gene skipped me. All I knew how to play was Street Fighter and Battle Toads. My family never made me feel bad about my lack of musical talent. They never pressured me to take up an instrument. They were cool like that. They understood that I just liked quiet. Even though the noise I’m talking about was stuff like Mozart in the living room or Run DMC from the basement, it was still noise to me. Inescapable, loud noise. Until I found my refuge. The kitchen cupboards. I crawled inside one of the cupboards and discovered it was pretty much soundproof. We usually ordered takeout so there weren’t any pots and pans in the way. It gave me plenty of room to read comics, mess around on my GameBoy or just be alone with my thoughts. My parents were real cool with it. They got me a hand-crank camping lantern so I wouldn’t have to hold a flashlight while reading. They even put a sign on one of the doors that read “Luke’s Place”. Which is what it was; my happy place. But overtime I wouldn’t just go there to escape the sound of admittedly good music... I’d go there to escape the sound of kids calling me names or laughing at me. While I knew my family was cool as hell, kids thought they were weird for not having 9-5 office jobs like their boring ass parents. I’d defend my folks at first, protect their honor like in the comics. That may work for Wolverine and Batman but it didn’t work for the smallest kid in school. I soon learned that my best defense against bullying was to play dead. I don’t mean curl up on the floor and lie still, I mean play dead on the inside. I kept my head down, my mouth shut, and just gave in to the taunts and attacks. I let them tear my homework, steal my shoes, whatever, so long as I looked like it didn't bother me. Just a blank, numb reaction. It usually worked and kids would stop when they failed to get a rise out of me. Except for this one kid a year above me. Tom was his name and he was a cruel mother fucker. Tom would do things like push me into traffic if I was standing close the curb or choke me until I passed out. He’d laugh each time. Especially when he'd eventually make me cry or worse, I'd piss myself. My parents tried to help but Tom’s family was rich and big time PTA donors. No matter how many times my folks tried to have him punished no one did anything. Not Tom's parents, not the school, nobody. What it did do was make Tom angrier. I eventually told my parents that Tom had a turn of heart and had stopped messing with me just so they’d stop calling the principal. All that's to say, most of my early childhood was spent alone. Until I met Doobie. It was 1994, the middle of winter break. I was in my cupboard after the worst run in with Tom I’d ever had. He didn’t put his hands on me but what he did -- what he said -- hurt me worse than an elbow or slap. He called me and my family names that just... that just made me feel less than human. I felt so awful about myself that I couldn’t concentrate on reading my newest issue of Uncanny X-Men. I kept seeing the slurs written in ink. Instead, I sat there turning the handle on the electric lantern my parents had gotten me. The hand crank was what charged the batter. It made this electric whine -- *mmmreee... mmmmmreee... mmmreee* \-- with each rotation. The sound used to sooth me more than any piece of music I’d hear outside the cupboard door. But it wasn’t working that day. I was broken. So I took my notebook and started to write. *When Tom kills me, I want my sister to have...* It was my last will and testament. It wasn’t because I had plans to off myself -- I’d never do that to the people I loved -- but because I was convinced that Tom would kill me one day. I had gotten to bequeathing my Super Soaker to my Uncle Ron when my lantern went out. I reached for it, started cranking... *mmrreee...mmrreee*... and it'd take some time for it to be a steady light but it did start to flicker back to life. Like each crank would create this blink of light. It was in one of those flashes that I saw I wasn’t alone. It was someone in the far corner. I worked up the courage for one more turn of the handle. It granted me another second’s worth of light, enough to see a boy, huddled in the corner with his back to the wall. The lantern's light once again blinked out of existence. I froze, clutching my lantern in the cupboard's lightless interior. Then I heard the boy in the dark ask in a soft, sandy voice... “Whacha writing, pal?” I responded by freaking the fuck out. I dropped my lantern and scrambled to get out of there. The cupboard door wouldn’t budge. Stuck inside the pitch-black interior, I pounded on the door, kicking and screaming for my parents to rescue me from my special place. It was useless. “Hussshhhhhh... you know better than that.” said the boy in the dark. “Good boys are quiet. Aren’t you a good boy, Luke?” he asked. He made my name sound more like a croak than a word. Believe me, I still wanted to escape... but cowering in the dark like that made my survival instincts kicked in. I played dead inside. I said yes. “That makes me happy. I’m a good boy too.”, he responded. Then I heard my lantern... *mmmreee...mmmreee...mmmreee*... and its amber glow returned, giving me a better look at who was keeping me company. The boy in the corner hugged his legs, knees brought up to hide the lower part of his face. I could see just enough to notice that his cheeks were raw with pimples. He had a crewcut but patches of hair were missing. Otherwise, dressed in jeans and a Ghostbusters t-shirt, he looked somewhat ordinary. Ordinary enough for me to I ask him his name. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?” He asked, bashful. I promised. “My name is Doobie.” I was suddenly hit with this overwhelming sense of kinship. His name, his features, the way he looked at me, everything told me that this kid was bullied for the simple crime of existing. Like me. It made me forget how bizarre our meeting was. Me and Doobie quietly talked for hours. He knew all of the comics I was into, all the cartoons, he even told me cheat codes for Battle Toads. Conversation came easy... it came easy because of the way Doobie spoke and expressed himself. It was familiar. I could tell he was holding on to a lot of pain. Like me. The more we spoke -- the more relaxed he became -- the more I noticed things about Doobie that were... off. Cupping his knees, his flat hands were way too wide for a third grader. His fingers were too long for an adult, dangling like a willow’s branches. I noticed his waxy skin would crease in thick folds whenever he moved or spoke. It reminded me of a Stretch Armstrong -- that rubber doll from the 90’s with sand inside. I didn’t say anything about how he looked. I knew what it was like to be picked on for things you can’t control. Doobie finally asked, “Can I see what you're writing?” I showed him. I explained what it was and how Tom treated me. Doobie listened the same way my parents did. He cared. “Does he call you mean things, too?” I said yes. “Tell me.” I felt self-conscious but eventually told him. When I was done, I heard him giggle. I assumed he was laughing at me so I called him out, saying how I didn’t laugh at his name. “I don’t think what he called you is funny at all, Luke. No, no. Not at all.”, Doobie said. “I’m laughing because he’ll get what’s coming to him.” That’s when Doobie leaned forward and, for the first time, his face was fully illuminated by the lantern’s light. The whole time I had thought Doobie had dark eyes like me but, with his face fully lit, I realized his brow had been casting a shadow over green eyes peering from deep, deep sockets. I had never seen eyes set so deep in a person’s skull. What struck me the most, though, was his smile. It was wide with too many gray teeth bunched so tight that many overlapped. Like his eyes, they were also deep set, like an inch or two from where his lips began. It reminded me of a muppet. Again, I didn’t say anything about his appearance. It’s funny but I worried if I did that I'd scare away my new friend. I just asked what he meant by "He'll get what's coming to him". Doobie leaned closer, like he was letting me in on a secret. He smiled, gray teeth gleaming, as he whispered... *Bad comes back, round and round.* *Cupboard kids see you’re found.* *Even home, safe and sound.* *Cupboard kids don't mess around*. It was lyrical, Doobie’s sphere-shaped head bobbing in time with his sing-song tone. Knocking at the cupboard door startled us. It was mom. We were going to Pizza Hut for dinner and I had to get ready. Doobie made me promise to come back the next day. I said yes, forgetting that my plans to visit my aunt and uncle across town. I’d learn that Doobie didn’t like that. I’ve always had trouble sleeping in other people’s homes. My Auntie Mona and Uncle Ron’s was no exceptions. I was lying on the living room futon, playing on my Game Boy while the rest of my family slept. Then I heard something over the snoring. *Mmmmrrreeee...mmmrrreeee...mmmrrreeee.*.. It was my cupboard lantern. I hadn’t brought it with me. I rolled out of bed and followed the rhythmic cranking to the kitchen. I wasn’t scared. I knew it was Doobie coming to visit. I never had a friend visit me before. Auntie Mona's kitchen was tiny. There was no way my little ass could fit in any of those cupboards much less Doobie. But when I saw my lantern’s light flicker from behind one of the cupboard doors, I knew he could. I thought it was cool. For a moment. I opened the cupboard door and there he was, contorted with his knees up to his ears. He glared at me, with my lantern between his fingertips. His long fingers reminded me of daddy long legs. “You lied, Luke Puke.”, he hissed. More than Doobie being there, more than seeing him squashed into the cramped cupboard, it was him calling me one of the names my bullies used that surprised me. I asked him why he insulted me, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. “Bad comes back, round and round.” he snarled as he extended a long, lean arm from the cupboard, lifting the lantern close to my face. His eyes narrowed on my tears. “You lied about seeing me today. Lying is bad, Luke Crywalker.” I apologized. He asked if I meant it. I did. His smile returned. “I knew you were a good kid. Just like me and my friends.” Doobie craned his head and addressed the cupboard door beside his. “Right, Chi-chi?” The cupboard door opened. A girl in a Care Bears Christmas sweater poked her head out. “That’s right, Doobie. Cupboard kids see that you are found.”, she whispered with a slight squeak. Chi-chi had the same features as Doobie -- the deep-set eyes, the fingers -- but her hair was in sloppy braids and her pale, waxy skin hung loose from her face and neck. Like a bloodhound. I asked what they were doing there. Doobie said he liked me so much that he wanted me to meet his friends. Then the three remaining cupboard doors opened. A different cupboard kid poked their head out. These ones looked less like kids and more like toothed tadpoles in t-shirts. Their pit-like eyes on me made my scared. I pissed myself. It wasn’t the first time I’d pissed myself in front of other kids but it was the first time it wasn’t because of bullying... like the time Tom threatened me with a baseball bat with a nail in it. I was expecting Doobie’s buddies to do what all the other kids did; point and laugh. They didn’t. Instead they quietly told me how cool my Garfield pajamas were and how Doobie said I was awesome at Doctor Mario. Then they asked me about Tom. I was embarrassed to tell these new “friends” what I’d been through. “If you tell us you’ll feel better.” Squeaked Chi-chi, her smiling revealing dirty teeth and bleeding gums. “You can even say naughty words if that makes it easier.” Even though most of my dad’s music was full of curse words, our house had a strict no swearing policy. But I let it rip, whispering how much I hated Tom as I described every insult he’d called me, every slap to the back of the head, every rock that hit me. I had the cupboard kids’s full attention and, yeah, they smiled the whole time. I was too by the end. Chi-chi was right. It felt good to let all that out. When I’d finished, I noticed Doobie was stroking his chin with his spindly fingers... like he was toying with a thought. Then he said, “Tom needs to know he’s a bad kid.” I told him how me and my family tried. How it was pointless. “But you have us now.”, said a cupboard kid named Lefty, his skin so tight his mouth barely moved. “Bad kids listen to us.” he added with a thin lipped smile. I imagined what that would look like. Me and my new posse walking up to Tom at school, cursing him out, making him feel small and weak and dumb. Adrenaline pulsed through me. I wanted to do it. I asked when. “No time like the present, Luke.”, giggled Chi-chi. Then she shimmied backward, disappearing into the cupboard and gently closing the door behind her. I watched Lefty, Bingo, and Waddles -- the other two cupboard kids -- retreat into their cupboards the same way. It was just me and Doobie. I looked at him, confused. “It’s time we show him how bad comes round again.” Doobie reached his hand out to me. With it so close to my face, I could see how blue green veins pulsing beneath thick, callused skin. It was ghoulish. But I took it anyhow, my hand wrapped in a nest of five long fingers. He gently pulled me into the cupboard. I gently closed the door behind us. Doobie kept a firm grip on my hand, pulling me deeper inside the dark, musty space. My heart pounded, fearing I’d end up in the dark forever. But in seconds I heard door hinges creak. Suddenly I was stepping out of the cupboard in the biggest kitchen I’d ever seen. The lights were off but I saw that the other cupboard kids were there. In the little bit of light that entered through the kitchen windows, I saw how different they looked when no longer confined to the cupboard. It was awful. They were short, shorter than me, and stood on stubby legs. Even though they were shorter than me, their torsos were wider, bodies like pot-bellied tree trunks. Their arms also defied proper proportions, so long that they all rested their palms on the linoleum floor. Even while standing. “That him?”, asked Chi-chi. She had a twisted, branch-like finger pointed at a family portrait. It was of a dad, a mom with a baby in her arms, and Tom. I said yes. The cupboard kids hurried out of the kitchen. They walked on their hands, legs dangling. The only sound they made were whispers cloaked beneath their heavy breaths... *Bad comes back, round and round.* Doobie led me out of the kitchen down a long hallway. The cupboard kids were in front of us, quietly opening each door to see what was inside. They didn’t make a sound, not even the floorboards creaked beneath their weight. But I could still hear them whispering... *Cupboard kids see you’re found.* I had no idea what they were looking for but when they discovered the room they wanted, they quietly entered. Waddles smiled and waved at me as he carefully closed the door behind him. Doobie and I entered the last room. There, in a big bed beside a window with a view of the entire town, was Tom. Fast asleep... safe and sound. I felt a weight rest on my shoulder. It was Doobie’s malformed hand. “Ready, pal?”, he asked encouragingly. I said yes. Doobie pulled himself to Tom’s bed and pounced onto my bully’s chest. Tom woke up with a gasp, the wind knocked out of him from Doobie’s weight crashing onto him. Doobie covered his mouth with one shovel-like hand and lifted him up with the other. Tom tried to push Doobie off of him but the cupboard kid was too strong. “Go on, Luke. Go on.”, Doobie said as he effortlessly held Tom in place. I looked at Doobie’s face. His lips were curled over his swollen gums and gray teeth. It was a smile but without a hint of sinister intentions. In fact, he looked supportive... almost loving. It was a stark contrast to Tom’s look of bewildered terror. I whispered at first, remembering what Doobie had told me about staying quiet. “Speak up, Luke! It's okay for good kids to shout at bad kids!” Doobie barked. I did. I unleashed years of pent up anger and shame and sadness and hatred, calling Tom every name I could think of. I made sure to say how it affected me, how he hurt me and my family. Then I heard screaming from the hallway. It was a man begging for mercy. A woman’s screams soon followed. Then I heard Chi-chi shout... *Think he's good, mom and dad,* *Even though he acts real bad?* *Such a shame your kid's a rat,* *We cut your skin and eat your fat!* Tom heard it too. He started thrashing against Doobie’s powerful grip. It was useless. Tom quickly gave up, reduced to blubbering, tears streaming not the cupboard kid ringleader’s unnaturally large hand. My anger began to fade. “What’s wrong, Luke?” I asked Doobie the same thing, asking what was happening outside. Doobie told me not to worry, that it was part of teaching Tom what happens when bad comes back. Then I heard Lefty shout over the screams. Bingo joined in. Then I heard a baby cry. *Still think he's such a prize,* *Even when we take your eyes?* *Keep the egg but kill the flies,* *Teach him good with your cries!* I wanted to run. I wanted to call out for help. My legs wouldn’t let me. My voice was caught in my throat. “We brought you here for this, Luke. Don’t be ungrateful! Only bad kids are ungrateful!” It was the first time I’d heard Doobie raise his voice. It was halfway between a pig’s squeal and the roar of an enraged old man. It made my ears ring and my legs shake. I felt like I would whenever Tom cornered me, demanding I give him my lunch money. I was going to have to do what I was told. My forced tirade ended an hour later when Chi-chi entered. “Hi, Luke!”, she said as she dragged herself in on her long, sinewy arms. I was expecting to see her wool sweater soaked with blood. She looked no different than how I’d seen her earlier that evening. “How do ya feel? Better?” She asked as she approached. I tried to answer but couldn’t; my throat was too hoarse from shouting over the screams and the cupboard kids’s haunting rhymes. “I think he got him pretty good.”, said Doobie. “Let’s find out.” Tom had stopped crying a while ago, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me. I thought he was angry, biding his time to run and tackle me like so many times before. I even flinched when Doobie’s fingers unwrapped from around his mouth. All Tom did was cry and beg to be let go. Chi-chi whipped her head around to face me. Just her head, her neck cracking as it spun 180 degrees. She smiled, proudly displaying her infected gums. “Great work, Luke!” she squeaked. Chi-chi’s head returned to a “natural” position, her beady eyes focused on Tom as she stalked toward him. Tom whimpered as she leaned close to him, her unnaturally wide mouth near his ear. She whispered something that made Tom gasp. He turned to her, horrified as he stared into the black pits where her eyes presumably were. Then the other cupboard kids walked in. There wasn't a drop of blood on any of them. It made me question if they had hurt Tom’s family at all. I watched as one-by-one, they whispered something in Tom's ear. Tom grew quieter with each word, my bully’s affect sinking deeper and deeper into despair. I looked at Tom and in a moment of clarity understood what they meant. He was staring into nothingness, expressionless. No whimpering or whining, just a vacant stare. Tom was dead inside. Then we left. I silently followed the cupboard kids down the hall. I kept my eyes ahead, making sure not to look into any of the rooms on our way to the kitchen. The smell of blood was enough. “Same time tomorrow?”, asked Doobie as he helped me out of the cupboard back into my aunt and uncle’s kitchen. I said yes. My auntie found me in the kitchen the next morning, hugging my legs beside my lantern. I didn’t say anything about what had happened. My family and I returned home later that afternoon. I went straight to my dad’s tool box, grabbed a screwdriver, and removed all the doors from the kitchen cupboards. My family even helped -- like I said, they’re cool like that. I had fucking amazing parents. I spent the rest of winter break in what became the new “Luke’s Place”: my bedroom. I believed that at any minute the police would show up and arrest me for what had happened. They never came. Tom never came back to school. Rumor was that his family had abandoned him, just got up and left, leaving only him behind. His neighbors found him in his bed days later. No blood, no bodies, just Tom, catatonic and unresponsive in bed. He lives in a mental hospital now. If you're asking yourself why I'm telling you my story thirty years after it happened, it's because I have a kid of my own now. A nine-year-old girl. She's been a great kid up until my wife and I separated. Despite our best efforts, she hasn't been taking it well. Me and her mom were called into the principal's office today. She'd been ruthlessly picking on this one girl. Of course we're going to do something to try and get her back on the right track, starting with having our girl apologize to the girl she'd been bullying. This girl wasn't interested in an apology. Instead, she looked my daughter dead in the eyes and said, *Bad comes back, round and round.* *Cupboard kids see you’re found.* *Even home, safe and sound.* *Cupboard kids don't mess around*. There aren't any doors in my home's cupboards, I made sure of that long ago. But my wife's new place does. And they're staying there tonight.


“I’m home!” I dropped the keys into the dish. I expected an answer, a call in return that would tell me where my partner was. But there was nothing. I frowned and moved through the house, checking each room as I went. The lounge room was empty, the front window open and the curtains blowing in the breeze. The kitchen was silent also. Dishes didn’t clutter the bench and a freshly baked cake sat on the bench, still cooling. I took a drink from the fridge, cracking it open and letting the cool liquid roll down my throat. The back deck was filled with nothing but sunshine. The seats that usually sat in the sun were folded up and leaned against the wall. They must have been cleaning the deck today, it looked as new as the day it had been built. I trailed through the house, peering into the den. The computers were off, the windows and curtains closed. All of the books that I had left sprawled over my desk were put away on the shelves. I ran my fingers over the spines. I was lucky to have someone who cared so much about how our home looked. But where was that special someone? I frowned, setting my drink down on the edge of the bench as I walked back through the kitchen. There was really only one place left. I climbed the stairs, keeping to the edge so that the creaking wouldn’t give me away. If they were in bed, I didn’t want them to get up before I got there. I so rarely caught them in bed while the sun was still up. Even though I would really love to have a shower before I crawled in with them, I didn’t want to miss this chance. Silently, I eased open the door to the bedroom. There, with the blankets tucked under their chin, was my partner. I couldn’t help the smile that came to my face as I stalked towards them, shedding my clothes with as little noise as possible. Their face was peaceful, unmarred with the small frown they often wore when they were awake. It made them look much younger. I lifted the blanket on my side of the bed and slipped into the cool sheets. My arm wrapped around their waist and I pressed a kiss to their forehead. There was a wriggle, the small frown appearing on their forehead. Slowly, like I was watching a flower open, they came awake. They lay still for a moment, staring blankly in front of them. “Good morning, my sleepyhead.” I murmured. But they didn’t say anything back. Instead, they sat up, clutching the blanket to their chest. Their eyes swept over the room, a wobble in their downward turned lips. I sat up with them, worried as I saw the broken expression on their face. “My love?” “You have to let go.” They whispered to the room. “Please… stop haunting me. I can’t take it anymore. You have to let go. I miss you more than anything, but you’re gone. I love you so much. But I can’t love a ghost.


Geraldo, a 73-year-old man, decides to learn how to fight jiu-jitsu. For no particular reason, just out of curiosity. Geraldo believed he was still young enough to face physical challenges, so he thought of the first sport-related thing to practice: jiu-jitsu. Geraldo went directly to the first dojo he found. He enrolled on the spot and attended his first class. During class, all students, mostly children and teenagers, looked at him with curiosity. Was he an assistant to the master, they thought. Could it be that the master was actually the helper and this old man was actually the master? Or was he really a new student who had enrolled in junior high school? The master, a heavyset who in other times was the head of the drug trade and killed innocent people with his own hands, and now uses his fighting skills to kill even more, stared at him with a look that no one could tell what it meant. During the first practice, the students formed pairs where they practiced some moves, and Geraldo seemed to have difficulties. The master approached him and tried to explain in more detail the hip movements and so on. Geraldo, tried to do as the master explained, and then... The entire class was stunned by what they saw. Geraldo was doing breakdancing. - Not like that, Geraldo! - said the master, confused. Geraldo couldn't stop and could only scream in terror. - Aaaaaaaaaaah! The master tried to hold Geraldo's legs but was kicked away when he touched him, falling on top of one of the smaller students, who broke his arm. All the students who tried to stop him flew away when they were hit by Geraldo's spinning legs. The master returned very pissed, and tried to use a blow on the old man, but was killed instantly by a kick in the face. Within hours, the police had arrived at the scene and tried to apprehend Geraldo without success. Reinforcements were called in, and two police officers were wounded. Geraldo, from spinning around on the floor so much, ended up moving out of the dojo, and found himself in the street, surrounded by patrols, and a belt of television channels covering the news: "Old man takes the life of a jiu-jitsu teacher and does breakdancing non-stop. Two police officers injured." The news spread quickly over the internet and reached the world. On the same day, Geraldo went viral as the breakdancing grandpa. The absurd story that he killed a jiu-jitsu master, who had more than 30 years of experience, made his death a laughing stock. His family, even before receiving the news of his death, already received death threats, both from internet strangers and from loan sharks and enemies of the master's secret life. But things started to get serious when the number of injuries started to increase. And the number of bodies. Hours had passed and Geraldo hadn't stopped breakdancing. He didn't look tired either, as the pace of the turns never changed. It was the same movement where the dancer uses both hands to support the body while rotating the legs 360 degrees around the body. While screaming. Geraldo had taken the lives of five other police officers who had tried a heavy-handed approach to getting him off the ground. Two broke their necks in contact with his legs, one suffered trauma to the rib cage and did not survive, and two others were thrown violently away and suffered a head injury. They called negotiators to try to convince him to stop. One after another. And no answer other than "aaaaaah!" Nobody knew how to stop him. The TV News started to talk about the case as a constant event, always updating viewers about what happened between one news and another. The following dawn, Geraldo had traveled 100 meters and hit and shattered the edge of a building into several pieces. The city, upon learning of this, triggered an evacuation of the neighborhood, and then, the only inhabitants of that region became Geraldo and the authorities. There was an intense court case over the issue of using lethal force on the old man. It was finally decided that they would find a new way to end the situation, or public opinion would turn against this decision. After all, Geraldo was a worldwide sensation, and as far as everyone knew, the deaths were accidental, as he had no control over his body. Geraldo's case became the target of conspiracy theories, scientific debates and proof of divine forces. Nobody could explain how a 73-year-old man managed to breakdance so long and consistently, almost professionally, and have so much strength to be unstoppable and destroy everything in his path. The world only talked about Geraldo. A plan was soon formed to move Geraldo off the streets and into an area free of casualties. A helicopter would arrive with a metal plate measuring 5 meters each side in the direction where Geraldo would move, and then, when he climbed onto the plate, the helicopter would lift him up and take him to a field far from the city, where experts would do more in-depth studies with he is, who knows, more dangerous. Since Geraldo had no control of the direction he was going, his trajectory was unpredictable, and when the helicopter dropped the metal plate next to him, Geraldo changed course and hit one of the suspension cables, throwing the helicopter into a building like a whip. From then on, images were no longer broadcast to the public. The accident shocked the world. It soon became clear to everyone that Geraldo was a real danger, and public opinion allowed radical decisions to be taken. First, they tried to shoot him down with firearms. The military made a firing squad and unloaded everything on him: Nothing. They used rocket launchers: Geraldo kicked them away. Out there, no one knew exactly what was going on in the exclusion zone. Any information coming out of there was prohibited. People around the world were demanding news about Geraldo: If he was still dancing breakdancing, if anyone else had died... humanity was taken by a morbid curiosity. For a month, scientists from all corners of the world, the most brilliant minds of a generation, worked together to solve the Geraldo case. Tents were extended across the streets where laboratories were set up for analysis. They studied Geraldo as a being from another planet, with the sole purpose of saving the world from this indestructible and unstoppable being. They checked radiation levels and stuff. Nothing seemed abnormal apart from the obvious. Geraldo was neither hungry nor dehydrated. He neither urinated nor defecated. Didn't sleep, didn't stop. His breathing was steady, his muscles didn't tire, didn't break. It looked like a scratched disc, repeating the same movement over and over again. The greatest biologists were called in, the greatest physicists, chemists... Analyzed his heartbeat and nervous system with unprecedented long-distance equipment... No conclusions. During that one month of profound silence, the world changed radically. Extremist groups, who believed that Geraldo had detached from reality, and that the world was a simulation, started a wave of collective suicide. Others caused chaos and violence in the streets. Some thought it was all a lie invented by the government for whatever reason they came up with. But the real skeptics, the intellectuals, didn't know what to make of this story. It felt like everyone was caught in a cold shower. Cults were created around Geraldo. Religions were strengthened by the idea that Geraldo was proof of the supernatural, and superstition grew more than ever. Inevitably, Geraldo caused immense damage to buildings, shops, cars, houses... Wherever he went, destruction was certain. His legs went through concrete like water. Soon, the armed forces took over the situation again, and continued their war tests on Geraldo. It wasn't just the neighborhood that was evacuated anymore. The entire city had become an exclusion zone. And from far away, people saw mushroom clouds. After two atomic bombs failed their purpose, Geraldo started to get faster. His breakdance got faster, his displacement from one point to another got bigger... With every attempt to stop him, he accelerated. It got more frantic. Geraldo spun faster and faster, until he became a blur. In a flash, he crossed the ruins of the city and escaped the exclusion zone. It was carnage. Geraldo zigzagged through the streets, inside houses, inside malls, in parks, and killed and destroyed everything in his path. No matter what they did, Geraldo got faster and more died... Wherever they hid, Geraldo would kill them. He crossed continents taking cities with him. He destroyed nature wherever he went. And when there was nothing left to destroy, Geraldo continued dancing... The Breakdance of Death.


I live where the wind never stops blowing, where the rain never stops hammering, where the wolves howl in the middle of the day. I am as sleek as an otter, cunning as a crow, and as fierce as the black rat himself. But unlike these beasts I was not born to a mother. I was made from the silt in the stream and the spit of every animal in the wood. My maker mixed me up in a hollow tree, found red roan berries for my eyes and shards of flint for my teeth. Then he summoned a storm and made the lightning strike the hollow tree again and again, until fire lashed about me and baked me into something hard. When evening settled about us I awoke among the ashes. My maker led me through the woods on a rope because I was a wild and frightened thing. He showed me the untamed country, let all the animals inspect me in turn, taking little pieces of me into their mouths so they would recognise me when they met me again. He taught me how to speak and found me a home in the mountains. Then he left me there to live my own life. For the first few centuries I waited for my maker to come back. I was still a child then and hungered for his love and protection. But in time I became more resilient. I no longer needed anyone to care for me and, besides, everything else lived so briefly and died in so many clumsy ways. So perhaps my maker was already dead. At first I imagined that he would be as long-lived and canny as myself, but perhaps he is like the potter whose ceramics will stay whole and perfect long after he himself, the product of an inferior craftsmen, has crumbled into dust. No I do not miss my maker. I choose not to think of him. Besides I have not always been alone through the years. I have known many of *your* kind. Such clever beasts. If you come boldly into my cave and address me respectfully I will welcome you. I will make soup from the bones of field mice flavoured with wild garlic and let you sip the broth which will strengthen you and make your eyes as keen as mine. And we will go hunting in the forest. I will show you how to climb the tallest pine without bending its branches and we will gorge ourselves on the nesting birds. We will dive from the highest rock into the deepest pools and we will tease the monsters who dwell in its black depths. Then later I will take you to my bed of furs and feathers and we will make a perfect circle. But, if you skulk into my home, keep to the shadows and don’t properly announce yourself I will take you for a thief and an enemy and I will close up the mouth of my cave behind you. Then I will play games with you in the dark. And if I ever let you out your eyes will never be able to take the light again. The sun will burn and blind you, and you’ll be keeping to the shadows till the day you die. The people you loved will not recognise you, they will take you for a fiend or a spectre and they will hunt you with axes and burning branches for fear you’d hurt their children. There have been times in my solitude or when I have come across a former lover, grown old and near death, that I have thought about making a companion for myself, making a husband or a daughter. I would make them better than myself. Make a thing that didn’t feel my loneliness, that did not have my instinct for cruelty. I would not birth them out fire. I would shape them from the wind and the water. They would flow and dance with such grace and I would never be alone again.


Sunset Have you ever stared at the sky right before the sun began to set? Not in the direction that exists only as a distraction, pulling attention to its flaming brilliance, no, to the East. Where the colors change slowly and with intent. Where the blue in the sky gradually turns to pink, to purple, then black. Where the colors intersect in bands, pulling on each other in a calm yet fiery battle until both shrink away in defeat to the moon and stars. Well if you did you would notice something. Something only a few are chosen to see. How the blue and pink sky combine at the horizon line. How their shifting frequency morphs into a summit. Peaks dotting the eastern horizon as the sky quickly darkens. A magnificent mountain range that twinkles into the moonlight as quickly as it rose. Well, I observe this every night. And as I do I imagine myself, taller and stronger, scaling that range. Climbing further and further into the sky until I can’t see what I left behind. Holding the shimmering and cloudy snow in my hands as everything, including myself, fades into the night sky. Such a concept remains a fantasy. Something you can imagine yourself doing, but only with a resigned mind, not ever believing it could happen. I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong. That when I imagine myself in the clouds it’s not just make believe. I’m really there. I don’t know how to describe it, if it’s another time, another life, or even another field of existence but she’s not only in my mind. She’s there, on the mountains in the clouds. Sunrise Light. All I perceive is light as I slowly regain consciousness. The fog in my mind dissipates as I become aware of the gentle hum of the fan near my bed, the birds softly chirping outside, and the sound of water running somewhere in the house. It’s bright. I blink my eyes open and come face to face with the painful sphere outside my window. I let out a groan, shutting my eyes in agony, and roll to lay on my other side. After waking up for a bit, I swing my legs out from under me to the floor. I stretch my arms above my head and give a glance behind me, the sun still blazing into my room, and grudgingly get up. I wouldn’t be up at this hour if it wasn’t for my roommate. She’s been begging me to take a trip with her forever and I finally gave in to one. I had to be up at the break of dawn according to her, however according to my own health and well-being I convinced her to settle for a slightly delayed “break of dawn”. She has to be getting antsy in the kitchen though, I can hear water running and frantic scrubbing which must be from her breakfast. I pick out an outfit, nothing too fancy, just running shorts and a shirt, and swing my already packed duffle bag onto my shoulder. She made sure I packed according to her meticulously thought out list. If your roommate ever tries to specify how much underwear you should pack, run. Something that was too late for me at this point I think with a smile as I grab a pair of socks, turn off my fan, and head outside into the small common area we share. Her auburn hair bobs as she works in the sink, the curls grazing the tops of her shoulders. When she hears me she turns around with a wide smile that reaches all the way up to her eyes. “Carrie! I see you’re finally up, give me a hand?” She holds the frayed light blue towel in her hand, an invitation to help dry. “Good morning to you too.” I smile back as I snatch the towel from her and hold my hand out for a wet dish. We clean in silence for a bit, the sounds of the water pouring from the faucet and smacking the metal basin only interrupted by the squeak of wet cloth on porcelain. Standing on my toes I gingerly set the last plate on the stack and come back down to earth to see my roommate gleaming at me, anticipation in her eyes. “Thanks so much,” She turns and starts fiddling with a small bag on the counter. “I wanted to have something nice as we don’t always get to do this. I might’ve underestimated how many dishes I would go through in making it though.” At this closing sentence she again smiles and turns back to me, I can now smell the apples, fried crust, and other comforting odors as she picks up the bag and zips it shut. She didn’t mention this at all last night, I can’t imagine how early she must’ve had to wake up to get everything ready. She’s practically bouncing, obviously excited to see what I thought. “It smells delicious, Lilac, thank you.” I give her a gentle shove on the shoulder, making her laugh, “You should’ve woken me up to help.” She rights herself after the slight push and merely shrugs my concern off with a grin. “I know you would have rather stayed here anyway, I wanted to do this to thank you for going on the trip with me.” She pauses at this and blushes, glancing to the side. “And to be honest I really was craving pie.” I laugh and she begins to as well. I tell her I’ll be right back as I head into our shared bathroom and prepare for the trip. I run a comb through my hair and tie it up in a ponytail. I brush my teeth and then throw all my toiletries into a small bag which I deposit in my duffel when I return to the kitchen. Lilac is tying her running shoes at the door, dressed in a similar exercise outfit as me. As I approach I can hear her humming. I smile to myself. “Took you long enough to get ready.” I playfully chide as I let myself drop next to her, pulling my shoes from the door to me. I start to slide my feet in. “Says the one who woke up two hours after our initial departure time.” “Not my fault my body won’t let me goad it into waking up at unnatural hours, unlike yours.” “Ha ha.” Lilac mocks as she moves her head side to side with each “ha”. She ties her last knot and bounces up off the ground. In one clean motion she sweeps up both her duffel and the food bag and looks back down at me with another large grin. “Carolyn and Lilac on their next adventure.” She sweeps her hand out in front of her, now looking past me as I stifle a laugh. “Next stop, the moon.” With this her smile grows wider and with a 180 spin she unlocks the door. I believe she’s only half joking. “Meet you in the car!” A bang and bouncing footsteps follow as I smile and focus again on my shoes. After I finish I head out the door as well, making sure to lock it behind me. Lilac is already in the car, a small yellow buggy, parked parallel on the quiet street in front of our one story home. As I approach the car I see her tap the wheel in rhythm, and I can only guess she is still humming. The car ride followed similar antics. I’ve known Lilac since we were randomly paired as roommates freshman year, and ever since then she’s been a travel size sun. Spreading warmth everywhere she went, which was often on my heels whether I liked it or not. “So where do you think we’re going?” I’m snapped out of my daze with the expectant gaze of the girl next to me. She looks back at the road. “Well you made me pack multiple pairs of clothes, more than what we should need, so I’m guessing somewhere we could get dirty.” “Ding ding ding!” She pats the steering wheel with each word. “Anything else?” I see her holding back a grin, she really wants me to guess since she must be dying to tell me. I grin to myself, she’s the one who wanted it to be a surprise. “I can only guess, a hike? You’ve been super into fitness all of a sudden and have made me join you on your runs and whatnot. I’m guessing you’ve been trying to train me somehow. The only part I’m lost on is the fact we don’t have tents or really any outdoor gear.” I can tell by her sudden smile I must’ve been right. She glances in my direction then back at the road. “The hike we are doing won’t need any of that stuff.” Her smile fades at this and her eyes seem lost in thought. This isn’t unnatural for her, with her periods of blazing brightness she can just as easily retreat back into herself, I can only imagine thinking grand things. “Well whatever it is I can’t lie, I’m actually excited.” This prods her awake and her eyes widen at the road. “I mean I know you had to convince me but I think this will be good. You know, like what we used to do.” She nods and smiles, this time a small honest one. “That’s what I thought, I’m glad you think so too.” Her smile fades. Her eyes seem ages away. “It was time for another one I think.” I turn away from her back to the road. It’s laid out in front of us, the forest flanking on either side. We sit now in silence as Lilac begins to hum, this time a more solemn melody. Day The monotony of the straight road is suddenly broken as Lilac flicks on her turn signal. The soft clicks fade in and out, piercing the comfortable silence. “Almost there?” I look over at Lilac, her eyes shining in anticipation at the road. “Good guess, yeah almost.” The car slows and Lilac turns right onto a smaller road still lined with trees. Their branches overhang, letting the light catch them, scattering green across our path. I feel cozily enclosed by the brush and through the open windows I can hear it rustling in response. “It’s pretty back here.” I mention as I stare up at the sky, the brilliant blue flickering between the leaves. “Isn’t it? It gets better.” I immediately see what she means as we approach a small town, appearing in front of us as we climb up a small hill. I can see small cobblestone streets lined with quaint homes, and people milling about the main street, stopping at stalls and store front windows. “I wouldn’t have even known this was here, they’re perfectly situated.” I exclaim, gaping out the window. “Yeah, just look to your left.” And then I saw it. The forest surrounded us as we headed toward the town but opened up considerably when we entered. Hilly terrain replaced the trees, and straight out in front of us I could see small mountains rising in the distance. Looking to the left as Lily prodded I could see a glimmering sea of blue. The town was on the edge of cliffs that gracefully sloped into the waving ocean. “Don’t know if I’ve ever seen a town this beautiful.” Lilac grins at me and then back at the road as we finally enter the main street. We drive for a bit, past everyone enjoying the cool day before slowly stopping at the side of the road. I turn my head to see a hanging sign with the word “INN” carved into the wood. It’s another smaller building, only two stories, with a sloping grey roof and a brown cobble exterior. The door is a light brown wood with intricate metal work garnishing its surface, its handle a long ribbon of metal. “I thought we could drop our stuff here. Unless you want to carry it all on the climb.” I expected this to be sarcasm but when I looked over at Lilac I saw no trace of humor in her face. “No, no I think I’ll leave it.” “Alright then!” With a bit of a tone shift, Lilac quickly turns the key and the rumbling of the car stops. She slides it out and pops open her door. Grabbing her stuff out of the back seat she steps in front of the car and beckons at me through the window. I follow suit and when I turn around with bags in hand she’s already at the door, having a cheerful conversation with an older woman. The woman steps back into the home and holds the door open. My friend nods at her with a smile and continues inside. I stop at the bottom of the few steps leading straight up to the door. The woman looks at me and smiles but doesn’t beckon me inside. I tighten my grip on my bags and bound up the steps crossing into the home, smiling and thanking the woman. She closes the door behind us and waltzes to the low counter in the back of the small room we are standing in. Behind the counter are many small shelves and to the left of the counter I see an entrance into what looks like a dining room. A grand spiral staircase is to our right, made with intricate patterns of wrought iron, and somewhere above light filters through and bounces down its curves. “Here for a room dear?” My attention returns to the woman. Lilac looks back at me and patiently smiles. “Oh yes we are, if any are available,” I tell the innkeeper. “Of course sweetheart, you’re always welcome.” She turns around and picks up a large ornate bronze key off a hook and hands it to Lilac. “Third floor, room facing the ocean. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.” I smile again and follow Lilac up the stairs. Each step reverberates with a thud throughout the staircase. We finally arrive at the room and as the woman said, the ocean is clearly visible from the slightly ajar window. I can see the waves padding the beach from here. “Aww man, it’s so nice up here!” Lilac exhales loudly and plops back first onto the bed nearest the window, letting her bags hit the carpeted floor. There is another twin bed next to hers with a little table between them. They are the only furniture in the room barring a floor lamp in the opposite corner, emitting a golden glow. I join Lilac by sitting on the edge of my own bed. “Yeah I honestly wasn't expecting any of this at all. How did you hear about this place?” Lilac flips to the side facing me and rests her head on her palm, propping herself up by her elbow. “I heard about it from our neighbors, I’ve never been here myself. But I knew from how it was described it would be amazing.” “No kidding. It’s basically a paradise.” I let out a soft laugh. “This isn’t all, the rest doesn’t begin for a bit later though.” She closes her eyes again, still facing me. I linger on her use of the word begin but decide to move on. “So we aren’t going to hike right now?” Her eyes open slightly to respond, the exhaustion evident in them. “Not right now, we have time to rest.” At that she returns to her back, stretching her arms and legs out from her body like a snow angel. I don’t waste time in deciding to rest as well, especially if we will be hiking later. I can feel a breeze through the open window and hear the faint wash of water on sand intermingled with chatter and laughs from the street below. I let myself drift to sleep. Evening “Hey Lilac, it’s about time.” I feel the gentle brush of her fingertips against my shoulder as I come to. I open my eyes to see her eyes above me, a small smile already playing on her lips. “Quite a wake up call huh,” I groan as I gently push her arm away. She laughs. “Very funny, come on, get up.” I glance over to the window to see the sky a bit darker than when we had left it. It’s blue, just not as bright. I rise from the bed, still wearing my clothes and shoes, and join Lilac near the door. “Do I need to take anything?” She is bent over the small food bag, seemingly taking count of the items there as she answers me. “Only if you want to, but you don’t need anything. I’m just carrying the food.” I glance over at my bag and shrug. I don’t think extra pairs of underwear would come in handy anyway. “Alright! I think we are all ready.” Lilac swings the bag onto her shoulder and looks at me. “Yeah I’m all good. Let’s get going then.” “Great, just follow me, we are going to be heading over to the ocean.” I smile at this. Those cliffs were too pretty to ignore. I had been hoping we were going somewhere near there. I follow Lilac out the door, down the stairs, past the woman at the counter who waves and wishes us a good evening, and then outside. The air is considerably cooler but still a bit humid. Almost like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold night. Our feet hit the cobble in tune, not speaking only due to our observance of our surroundings. People are still out and about, I can see in the distance children playing in the trees, couples picnicking in the hills past the town, families down at the beach under the cliffs. We continued our stroll through the town and turned to head toward the water. The cliffs were magnificent, grassy and flowery with a fantastic view of the ocean below. Small sailboats glided across the water in the distance as I stared at the glossy surface. Lilac’s finger breaks my view. “We are going right up there.” She’s pointing past my face at the highest cliff, the base on level with us before it begins to climb upwards, stopping after about thirty feet, its edge resting right above the water. We reach the cliff and climb up near the edge, stopping a safe distance away, neither of us are fans of heights. Lilac swings the bag onto the ground and pulls out a soft blue blanket. She lays it on the ground before sitting down, gesturing to the space in front of her. I move around the blanket and sit too, just as she starts pulling multiple goods from her pack. She made my favorites and hers from college. Chicken and dumplings in a glass platter, potato salad and corn chowder in ornate little bowls with plastic covering the top, and finally a golden apple pie. She also pulls out two plates and silverware. “Oh Lilac, it's amazing! Thank you so much. I can’t remember the last time I had these.” She grins in response. “Me neither! That’s why I wanted to treat us. Dig in!” I needed no extra cues as I took my plate from Lilac and started placing servings on it. We sat, talked, and ate with the chorus of waves as the background. When we finished Lilac neatly gathered everything and placed it back in the box. I got up and she then folded the blanket and put that back as well. At this point the families had packed up from the beach and everyone was heading back to the town. I could still see lights on and people roaming about but it was quiet where we were. The sun had slid further down on the horizon and started to turn the sky orange. Lilac was standing on the edge of the cliff. I walk up to her side, she’s smiling with an all familiar glint in her eyes. “Remember when we first met Carrie?” At this she smiles in my direction. I exhale sharply and look out at the sea now. “Of course I do, how could I forget. I come in and you’re on your bed seemingly contemplating something awful. When you saw me you bounded up to me and immediately asked what I thought about the color of the walls. After that you regained composure and introduced yourself. I knew from that moment you would either always annoy me to no end or be the most interesting person I had ever met. I believe it turned out to be a mix in the end.” Lilac lets out another soft laugh and smiles at the ground. “I remember meeting you too. I abhorred those walls and wanted to know if you agreed. The surprise on your face instead took me back to reality. I’ve always appreciated your ability to do that.” I look over at her and she takes my hand in hers. “I’m glad I met you Carolyn.” I lean my head on her shoulder and look back out at the sea. “I’m glad I met you Lilac.” We stay like that as the sun further retreats behind us. The sky opens up in a multitude of colors. My eyes widen as the pink splotches darken, leaving ribbons of blue parading throughout the sky. Lilac releases a quiet exhale, she must’ve been holding her breath. There is a bottom band of royal blue on the horizon, directly above the ocean. From here it looks like mountains, its peaks dissolving into the pink that shrinks and grows as the sun shimmers on the opposite horizon. “Can you see it?” I somehow know she’s talking about the mountains so I nod in response. I lift my head and Lilac pulls her hand back. “Want to go back to the field? I don’t love being on the edge of a cliff so close to the water.” Lilac sheepishly looks down with this but I nod in agreement. “No, I feel the same way, especially as it’s getting dark.” We walk back toward the town, to more level ground. Lilac suddenly stops and turns back around. “Now we can hike.” This surprised me. I knew that Lilac wanted to hike but I thought maybe she just meant that short distance to the cliff. But now she looked up expectedly toward the sky so I turned and joined her. I can’t really explain what I saw next. From the sky down to our feet fell a glittering mountain. What I saw on the horizon suddenly seemed to connect right to the solid ground in front of us. Lilac turns toward me again. “This is it.” I look upwards. It stretches far into the sky, its peak only created by the pink surrounding it. I reach out my hand. I brush its surface. It feels like snow but it isn’t cold. I can easily grip it in my palm. I open my hand and the flakes sprinkle out. I look up again. “You mean, up there?” Lilac nods. “But it’s your decision.” I take turns looking at Lilac and looking at the mountain. I laugh. “You mean you drove me here to decide if I wanted to climb or not?” When I looked at Lilac there was no laughter in her eyes. “Yes.” I look again at the mountain. It’s shimmering peak is inviting. The colors spread across its surface like a watercolor painting. It’s not too steep and could easily be walked up. The only issue is the distance. “What do you want to do?” I glance at Lilac. At this she frowns. “I don’t know.” But I can see from her eyes she’s lying. To say they were longing would be an overstatement. It was more a look of belonging as she stared up at the summit. Not an urge to go up, yet still a gentle desire. She’s dependent on my answer. “If you don’t want to, we can go back to the inn, that’s why I had you pack everything, and then we can hike on the other mountains here. But if you want to…” She trails off. I join her in looking up again. The sun continues its descent and the mountain shimmers more and more. I believe my eyes would portray what Lilac’s did. When I look at the mountain I don’t feel it as a looming presence, more of an inviting one. I feel a patient pull from its peak. One that wouldn’t haunt me if I decided to walk away right now, but would welcome me if I did decide to make the ascent. I knew what my decision would be when I first set eyes on that sunset. “I want to go up,” I decide. Lilac smiles at me and wraps her arms around me. “Why haven’t you come here before?” I squeeze her tighter and feel her chest move against mine as she laughs gently. “I don’t know, I felt like you needed me to get here.” “You’re right. Thanks for waiting.” At this we pull apart. I start to walk up the shining surface laid out at my feet, I can still see the grass through it. Lilac follows me but soon overtakes me as we come up to the first peak, about twenty feet up from the ground. She scales it then turns and reaches her hand down for me. I grasp it. Night The sun left us long ago as we continued up the summit. All we can see now is the shimmering snow in the light from the rising moon and stars. We are very close to the highest peak at this point. Lilac is still in front of me. She makes it up there first and disappears from my view. I see her hand pop back into vision, so I take it in mine as she pulls me up. I feel solid ground beneath my feet and see nothing but darkness. Not an unfamiliar and frightening dark, more like closing your eyes at a party. Obviously you cannot see anything but you know you are surrounded by light, by everyone you love, and are safe. That’s what this darkness felt like as I stood there in silence. Then I felt warmth. Light. And I could hear someone humming nearby.


After another hour or so of trekking through the forest, we arrived at a clearing. For a brief moment, the dense foliage of trunks and vines gave way to compact brown dirt. And there, at the far side, there was a group of some twenty or so men, women and children - the rest of our captors’ group. “They back,” one small child screamed as he ran up to one of our captors, wrapping his arms around a leg the width of his body. The man leading the group turned to us. “You. That tree over there.” He pointed to a short, stout oak tree with the tip of the spear. “Go there. You try run. You die.” We obeyed the command and sat by the designated trunk. “You think spirits are hunting these people?” I asked. Alessia just tilted her head towards me, her eyes rolled upwards. I chuckled. “So how do we get out of this?” “Not sure. No weapons. No idea where we are.” “We need to know more. About this place? About where they’re taking us?” The man who led us here was sitting down with a few of the adults who had stayed at the clearing. They leaned in, listening closely to quiet words with their eyes glanced downwards. While elsewhere the returnees were running around with children or sharing jokes, that small group of three remained solemn. Alessia followed my gaze. “We can’t ask them. They believe any knowledge we share corrupts them. They’ll kill us if we try it again.” I thought on Alessia’s words for a second. “We can’t share knowledge *with them*…” I trailed off, pushing myself to my feet. “Where are you going?” Alessia said, placing her hands by her side, ready to follow. I held up my arm to stop her. “I’m going to ask some questions. But, stay here. They’ll be less jumpy with one of us.” Alessia relaxed against the trunk once more. “Just. Please Ferdinand.” She paused, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Please don’t do anything stupid. Be safe.” “I will,” I smiled. I walked towards the small huddle. As I approached I began to overhear their conversation. “Cold claimed three. At least winter stopped. But vargs took child last week. If we don’t have children soon…” The woman speaking stopped as she saw me approach. The leader turned to face me, but he remained sitting. “What?” “I wanted to ask you some questions-” “Each time you speak, and share knowledge, you make death on all of us.” He gave a dismissive wave of his arm. “The rules state that you must not be corrupted from nature. But that only happens if I share knowledge. You can share nature with me. Tell me. I will only ask questions. No sentences, no opinions, no facts, just questions. No corruption.” “Why I accept?” “It costs you nothing to tell me. And this way, you control what I say. In return, I stay quiet. Make sure not to say anything that corrupts you from here on out.” The man pondered my offer for a second, exchanging a quick glance with the others. “Come closer,” he said to me. I took a couple of paces forward. “No. Closer.” I obliged, closing the gap between us, so that I was only a metre or so away from him. The man raised a hand to let me know I could stop. The man quickly reached for his spear, and with one quick movement thrust it up to my gut, stopping mere centimeters away. “Ask questions. You share. I thrust.” I swallowed hard, feeling the movement of the air through my body, pushing my stomach that moment closer to the tip of the spear, the edge brushing against the fabric of my shirt. “Who were those people who attacked you?” I asked. “Another group,” the man said. He stared at me with unmoving eye contact. An intense, unaltered stare. “Why did they attack?” “Food.” “They thought you had food?” The man let out a small shake of his head, but the eyes remained glued to mine. “We were food. They hunt.” “And they are why you carry the spears?” “Them. Hunting. And the varg.” “Who are the varg?” “Monsters.” I took a moment to check the questions I wanted to ask, making sure that at no point would I share knowledge. Looking down, there was the smallest of spaces where I could make out the uneven brown dirt between the tip of the spear and my belly. That brief gap that kept me alive. “Who are the Leviathans?” “Don’t know.” “Then how will you take us to them?” “At four years Leviathans demand a child. The river enters a cave. The cave leads to Leviathans.” “So you’re going to make us swim down the cave?” “No. Your bodies will float. You are not a child. You don’t need life.” I instinctively took a half pace back. My right foot, resting a few inches behind me. The spear though remained far too close. “You’re going to kill us for the Leviathans.” The man simply nodded. “Then why not kill us already?” I hated saying the words, feeling as though I was daring him to thrust, to do it now instead of later. I closed my eyes as I continued to speak, waiting for the pain to erupt in my gut. “If we are to be offered dead, then why are we alive?” The man chuckled. I squinted as he finally broke eye contact from the ripple of laughter. Finally he turned to me, and smirked. “Dead don’t carry themselves.” My mouth opened. But no words came. The air had been sucked from my lungs, my voice stolen. “Done with questions?” The man asked. “Go. We leave soon.” I turned and walked back to Alessia, my mouth still open, my mind unable to process our fate. Alessia was already standing staring at the tree we’d been sent to. “How’d it go?.” I didn’t respond initially. I was unable to find words to tell someone I cared about that our bodies were due to be offered to make-believe ghosts. Instead, I stood, perfectly still; my nervous, shaky legs, planted to the spot, until the words made themselves apparent. “They’re going to sacrifice us. Kill us and throw us in a river that will take us to the Leviathans.” Alessia let out a wry smile. “I’m not surprised. What were you expecting?” “I don’t know,” I said, my hands raising to the sky. “Not to be murdered because some stupid people believe some fictional spirits might come and harm them.” “I wouldn’t say it’s all made up,” Alessia replied, her eyes returning to the tree. “What? There’s ghosts that come and kill them if they break nature? There’s no real threat-.” “Ghosts? No,” “What are you on about?” I said, my voice becoming increasingly terse as Alessia failed to meet my fears. “While you were gone, I was looking at this tree. It’s covered in these little scars, where something hacked at it years ago and it had grown over.” “Spears?” Alessia shook her head. “So I started looking on the ground near the tree. And...” She reached into her pocket and placed a small metal bullet in my pocket. “That tree isn’t hundreds of years old is it?” I said, rotating the bullet in my hand. “Fifty years at most,” Alessia replied. She turned to me, her gaze steady, but her eyes wide. “Someone on this island is a much bigger threat than anyone in this camp.” “What doing?” a voice barked from the clearing. We turned to see the leader of the group heading our way. I flung the small metal bullet out the back of my hand and into the forest. Removing the trace of something unnatural. “We’re ready to go,” Alessia replied. “When you are.” The man looked at us for a second, deciding how to proceed. He nodded. “Yes. Move. Let’s go.” He headed off and gathered the rest of his crew before marching us off once more into the woods. As we left, the sun was just lowering past the tops of the trees. Sunbeams clawed through the gaps between the trunks, as long shadows crawled across the ground. Pace by pace, the sun slipped further down, till the horizon swallowed it. Red light burnt across the sky, and the embers of the day began to die out, slowly fading into the dark blue of the night. My hearing began to take over as the primary sense as the forest around us took on a different voice. Songbirds chirped for territory, as owls whistled their arrival, ready to hunt the forest for mice or voles. I looked at Alessia. The last of the sun’s light reflected off the perspiration on her face, as her eyes were cast in shadow. “We’ve got to make a move soon,” I whispered. “We can’t just wait to die.” “I know. If need be, we wait till the last second and try to fight back. But, we could do with something changing our situation.” Our pace slowed as shrubs and leaves snared at our ankles, trying to hold us back. “I…” My mouth ran out of words. “I didn’t really want it to end with a death march.” Alessia let out the smallest chortle. “It wasn’t my plan either.” “I’m sorry I got you into this, but… I’m glad to have spent this time with you.” I muttered. “Shh,” Alessia replied. “Stop pretending you know how this ends.” I tried to force a smile, but it quickly melted. “It’s looking bad though.” “Yeah. I just don’t like giving up.” Alessia looked at me, head tilting forwardsl. “So don’t you give up. No matter what.” I nodded. The leader of the group grunted behind us, and pointed to the right. We turned and descended through a steep bank of trees. I held out my hands against the trunks for balance, as the bark scratched back at me. The twisted mess of ivy beneath my feet hissed as I dragged my feet through it, the brushing leaves threatening me. Then, as we reached the bottom of the bank, we came across a clearing. The forest abated and wild grasses, thigh high, instead covered our surroundings. The river descended down rapids and into a gorge, heading to a large cliff to our left. Then it hit me. This river. This is where we were due to meet our end. The water flew down a series of bony rocks. Gravity gave it a kick on the way down, and the water raced towards the cliff disappearing into a cave. However, the cave wasn’t filled with jagged shapes like you’d expect from erosion. Instead it was a perfect semi-circle. The kind of shape never seen in nature. It was man-made. Not a cave, but a tunnel. As I looked up at the cliff too, I noticed that behind the bushes and creeping vines, the steep slope was made of individual stones piled into a great mountain. Each rock, no doubt, carried to the top, and added to the pile by human hands. I had no idea who built this construction or when, but it wasn’t part of nature. Whether our captors knew it or not, man-made structures had always been with them. We began walking out into the clearing. The sun had gone, only twilight remained. The long shadows had withered, retreated to the earth. The tall grass shivered in the evening breeze as we marched across the clearing to the whispering leaves. My pace slowed, trying to delay the inevitable. I looked behind me. The group was getting closer, their spears prepped out in front of them. Ahead, I could hear the water churning over the rocks, beckoning us towards it. My mind was in a haze. A thousand, desperate screaming thoughts looking for an option. My feet slowly trudged as an automatic process, while my brain fought with itself, throwing accusations at past decisions, futilely pleading with the Gods for a route of escape. The world around me disappeared. The entire universe consumed by nothing but the fury inside my own head. The lights, the sounds, the sense of the breeze on my skin, all dissipated as I lost myself in the tumbling, frantic thinking. Then a howl. A high-pitched, but deep-throated whail into the nighttime air. That same howl I had heard on the clifftop the previous night. I turned to face our captors. They all stared at the forest, their bodies braced: back legs stretched out, spears by their side ready, eyes watching. I heard a growl. A rumbling snarl seeping through the woods. Then it stopped. Silence returned. Time stood still for a brief moment as no one moved, no one spoke, no one dared breathe. Then one of the group with a single exhale muttered. “The varg.” The bushes shook as great beasts leapt from the undergrowth. The animals looked like dogs, but their size was at least twice that of any I had seen. Huge, padded feet paced towards us. Black snouts sniffed the air, and the corners of lips raised, revealing jagged teeth. The varg charged at us. One spearman tried to swipe at it, but the varg was too quick, leaping up and latching onto the man’s arm. He screamed as he fell backwards. The great creature clenched its jaws around the man’s neck, as another of the group thrust a spear into the creature’s flank. The varg winced, retreating a couple of paces, but it didn’t fall. It stood, turning its attention to its attacker, the lance still sticking out of its hip. I tapped Alessia’s arm. “Quick, let’s go.” We ran towards the river - the only route available to us. We stopped at the edge of the rapids, the water swirling beneath us. Behind us, there was another scream. I saw a man being dragged back towards the forest, teeth firmly sunk into his shoulder. I looked at Alessia, her eyes caught by the slaughter behind us. I grabbed her arm, and her head whipped round to face me. Her mouth was open, her lungs gasping for air, as her wide eyes pleaded for sense. I nodded to her. She took a deep breath, and nodded back. Then, we turned to face the water, and jumped. \ Next chapter released 4th November.


Tearing asunder concrete jungles like cleavers through plastic, I ride with reckless abandon. I care not about the splattered flesh I leave in my wake - they don't even exist. I refuse to acknowledge them; I can't acknowledge them, literally. Where do they supplement their hubris, these humans, to defy me? I entangle myself through their ancient machinations; I run rampant through their olden civilizations; I give birth to colors among the sea of sandstone and concrete. I taste the blood of a trillion unnoticed cuts, thorns and jagged testaments. My sculptures lay defaced, lay stripped down and mocked. I give life and take it - they steal beauty, these humans. Monsters, the lot of them - a plague. I do what I can to recover, but I heal too slowly. My sundress is in tatters, and my tears dry faster than I produce them. I'm getting so warm. I am the progenitor of my downfall. I see humans tattoo me... scar me. The seek to replace me with them. Them! Them. They seek to replace what I've done. I am a monument of divinity; I am the seed and the egg. And my offspring is the matricide. I hear my oak fingers splinter. I smell the clouds parting overhead. I am no stranger to tragedy, but rarely am I the cause of my own. I see in the distance my wailing brothers and sisters, and our mother. They mourn their dichotomous sister. My adoption, just outside my reach, and which should also be out of reach to these humans, is also tainted. Impaled by brazen vendetta and pride. What have these humans done? My guardians lack the power to defend me. My beneficiaries are slaughtered and farmed. I wished not such torment, it is impossible. The humans will be my downfall, and thus, will be their downfall. They do not speak my language - only I do - but they don't have to. They see me wince and shiver as they poke and prod. I am not a factory. I am sustenance. They will see me roar, mark my silence. Each blink of my eyes lasts lifetimes, each heartbeat eons. Who do they think they are to resent me? My warnings - their warnings, they go unheeded. My retaliations go ignored. I am all but dominated. Soon we will all be barren rock. Dried oceans. Fruitless trees and meatless corpses. But I will live on past my own extinction, as I always have. I will have new, new and wonderous children. But this blight, this human curse, has reaped its harvest of misery. They think me silent, but my weapons are wordless - the devastation speaks for itself. I will be the ultimate champion of this war of attrition, but I will not be the victor. Nobody will be the victor. I am the ageless infinite. The temporary always. I am the seed and the egg. I am the solemn mother of life. I cannot forget, and I cannot forgive. I am the Earth, and I am undefeated.


The Chief Inspector glared at the man across from him, a ridiculous caricature of a tourist, so perfectly nondescript that he was absurdly easy to describe. And then there was that sweater. For some reason he found it all insulting. “Where is she, Wally?” he snapped. “I haven’t gone by that name in a long time,” the man replied as he sipped some of the steaming liquid from his cup. He sat comfortably and spoke calmly, as though he had invited a squad of police men into his home for a chat. “But it is your name! No matter how you change it you cannot escape your past. Except, you don’t want to. Look at you, the same as ever. She! She is a master of disguise and escape. She eludes even the finest minds in the finest forces in all the world,” the Inspector turned. “But you dress like a buffoon and parade around the world in plain view. You clearly want to be found.” “If you say so, Chief Inspector.” The policeman wheeled back to his captive. “Then let me help you! I can free you from her influence, from her scorn and abuse. What could she possibly see in you except a stooge to leave behind. Just tell me where she is!” The man smiled warmly but did not speak. In the silence, the Chief Inspector heard a sound he had missed over his own ranting and the tumult of the festival crowd only a few blocks away. “A helicopter?” he cried in alarm. His eyes cast about the studio with ignited interest. A disheveled bed. A warm fire. A setting of tea and treats, with one cup in the man’s hands and another on the table, steam rising from the brim. “She’s here!” the Inspector cried. “On the roof! She’s getting away!” “If you hurry, you can still catch her!” The laughter in the man’s voice peeled at the Inspector’s composure as he and his men fumbled the window open and scrambled out into the night and up the fire escape. Too late. By the time they clamored onto the roof an ultralight helicopter was thumping away, a carmine figure propped on the strut, looking back at him. He ran to the edge and clung to it as he watched his quarry escape. For a moment, before the helicopter tipped out of sight, he thought he saw her wave. Biting back a cry of frustration he moved to turn away, but a bright movement on the street below drew his gaze. The man strode out of the entrance, a pack on his back overloaded with ludicrous camping gear in the middle of one of the world’s most urbane cities. “No one stayed to watch him?” he shouted. His men wore expressions of stunned apprehension. “Get after him! He can’t get far!” They surged down the fire escape and into the street. Up ahead, he spotted the tall man’s hat bobbing up and down in the crowd, where it then turned down an alley. “He’s heading for the festival!” The inspector pushed and shoved through the crowd until he finally reached the alley, but he spotted no sign of the man. In a rush, he cajoled his way past drunken cavorters, pissing homeless and rancid garbage and burst into the square. Exactly as he did, he was deafened by the sound of a great gong ringing not more than a few yards from him. Instantly, the air was filled with color. Within seconds the Inspector was covered with rainbow powder. Everyone in the square was gleefully pelting one another with chalk of every hue imaginable. In the crowded furor, no one, even the Inspector and his men, weren’t covered from head to boot. “Spread out and find him!” he barked, his heart already sinking. They would look, but somehow the Inspector knew the man would not be found. In an alley only a few dozen yards away the man once called Wally finished his business and zipped his pants. He checked the collar of his plain brown jacket, turned up to his cheeks against cold and prying eyes. His pack was nearby, propped between the building and a dingy garbage can, but he left it there as he turned and headed for the train station. He’d find another. His hat, though, was tucked into his pocket with the tassel hanging out. Visible, as something always was. Just in case she was watching.


Jerry’s days were monotonous. Every day, every night, the same cycle. He thought this was what he wanted, after all this was the American dream right? He had graduated college, gotten a job at a law firm, and started a family. Although he loved his family something didn't seem right. Every morning his wife greeted him in the same way. “Hey honey, how'd you sleep?" his wife would ask. His two kids would exclaim, “Good morning Daddy!” in unison. Always this, nothing more nothing less. After, he would make 2 scrambled eggs, bacon, and some coffee. Then it was time to head to work. On his way to work, he would always be stopped at the same red light and a black Toyota Camry would give one senseless honk at him. When he got out of his car at the parking lot, a black lab on the sidewalk would bark three times. Once in his job, a man named Lorenzo would walk into his office exactly five minutes into his shift with a question about a civil dispute. Throughout the day the same clients he'd seen time and time again would stumble in. After 12 hours of this, he would go home. “Welcome, home Daddy,” his two kids would say in unison once again. After having meatloaf and potatoes for dinner with a glass of cheap wine, he’d head to the living room to watch T.V. As always, the Buccaneers were playing the 49ers and when he turned it on the score would be 21-21, 5 minutes into the second half. At exactly 11:30 he would head to bed and immediately fall asleep. The next morning the cycle would repeat. This continued to repeat until one day, an inconsistency happened. A man walked into the law firm Jerry had never seen before sporting a black leather jacket. He asked to speak with Jerry at the front and headed to his office. Without any greeting, the man prompted, “Aren’t you bored yet?”. For a brief moment, Jerry was confused about what he meant by bored, but within a few seconds, something clicked. Although he felt things had been off for a while it was as if a force in the air prevented him from doing anything about it, he was like a salmon flowing down an endless river, he lived an inescapable, monotonous existence. “Haven’t you noticed?" asked the man. "It's all the same Jerry," he said coldly. "Why don’t you go and feel your heartbeat for me,” he coerced with an eerie grin. To Jerry's horror, his heart was as still as a statue and he now noticed his skin was frigid as well. “You see Jerry you're already dead, you've been a corpse for many years now," the man stated dryly. "You’ve been repeating this day endlessly for quite some time, but in case you're wondering this is heaven nor hell, or even purgatory". "No, no, no, my dear friend this isn't a place for the good or bad, but instead for those who waste away their precious life. Those who were too scared to chase their dreams and chose to wallow in a miserable existence instead," stated the man. "You always wanted to be an actor Jerry, that was your only real passion in life, but you were too much of a coward to take the chance, too scared it would go wrong so you worked a job you despised and married a woman you didn't love until you died a lonely death, am I right?" asked the man callously. "However, I have a proposal for you," the man declared and began to smile. "I’ve chosen to give you one more chance. You will relive your life from when you were 18 and will have 10 years to change your fate and pursue your dreams". "If you manage to change, I'll let you live the rest of your life out. However, if you fail again, you won’t be going back to this place, oh no you'll be going someplace far, far worse, I’m sure you can imagine what I’m referring to," the man pressed. "Oh and if you choose not to accept you'll continue this day for all of eternity," he added. "Well, the decision's all yours Jerry, what will it be?" he asked with a nefarious smile. Face to face with the devil, Jerry reached out his hand….


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   *** #This week's theme is Adaptation! This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘adaptation’. As the world changes around us, we grow and learn to adapt to it. This can be something that happens behind the scenes, one we barely notice, or it can be a difficult process that we fight every step of the way. Adaptation might be something more literal in your story. Maybe a character is making a physical transformation in order to adapt to the things around them, for survival. Is this a good change? Do others notice? What do they think about it? How will these things affect the world and people going forward? How does this change the characters’ goals and driving forces? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. / | /   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!) * October 31 - Adaptation (this week) * November 7 - Vulnerability * November 14 - Heritage   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see point breakdown). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Last Week’s Rankings With another small week, we have just three top spots. But as always, everyone who wrote deserves a pat on the back! - - u/nobodysgeese   - - u/rainbow--penguin   - - u/ispotts   - - u/WorldOrphan   *** #Ranking System There is a new point system! Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above.Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out to learn more! - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts.


####Any feedback would be welcome. I'm trying to be less batshit insane in my writings.#### - Ard was told by Lord he could taste all that's of the land, with one exception. He must never, ever, eat the fruit of the great Xan Tree. Ard wandered the land, obeying Lord, sampling all it had to offer: Psychedelic mushrooms, stimulating leaves, appetite increasing herbs, pain killing poppies, fermented fruit, and much more. The natural world was at his disposal! He never considered the Xan Tree. However, one day, he found himself a bad bitch. Or a bad dick. He wasn't sure. They were in love and he didn't care if his partner was a bitchdick. Or a dickbitch. Unfortunately, it ended up being a bad bad. One day, his non-binary cohabitation partner came home with some xan fruit in hand. Xhe told Ard that a man, a cool man, convinced Zanzarella but a tiny pluck of the Xan Tree. Now, Zanantonio had handfuls of the things. Ard was bewildered. "What was that dude's name? How cool?" "Snake Serpent." "Dammit Zaneida! You know it's forbidden!" "Snake had a cool leather jacket." "Oh," replied Ard. Pop! And just like that Ard became Barrd. Ard soon saw shame in his clothes. He stripped, prancing nude about Eden, stealing as he saw fit. Chad Lord, appropriately named head of the homeless shelter, was enraged. Ard and his beloved Zanetioni.. <*Aw shit, who are we kidding? Ard never remembered her name. It's Zanny now, deal with it.*> Well, they were kicked the fuck out of Eden. "Who names a shitty homeless shelter 'Eden' anyway?" asked Zannie. There was a brief pause. "I mean, who names a shitty homeless shelter 'Eden' anyway?" asked Zannie, completely forgetting she had already asked that rhetorical question. Such is the way of alprazolam. "Who names -" Ard cut her off, likely the wheels spinning so slowly he was finally getting around to answering the first time the question was asked. "A Chad...A devious Chad. The Beta and the Zeta, a pussy. One who seflishly planted his xan shrub in the middle of his fortress paradise, all for himself!" Ard's mumble was barely audible. However, the way he clenched his fist, slowly swaying side to side, it showed shit was getting serious. With eyes half closed, he studied Eden. It wasn't good enough. He couldn't make out the proper reconnaissance details. In a gradual flash, his eye lids slowly widened at the speed of dumb. Zoom. Enhance. Zoom - no wait. Stop! He observed an imposing ring camera, some shoddy wifi, broken CCTV, and a daunting cast iron fence. Thin rods with tiny points at approximately chest height surrounded the perimeter. "Impenetrariation is impassible." Ard gasped. "You mean impossible?" asked Zannie. "No. Impassable. Like the speed of light. It's impassable to go faster than light, you'd always come in 2nd, never passing. Impassable." Zannie was glad to have such a smart BAE. What now? Ard had to science the shit out of it. Pencils? Check. Paper? Check. Calculator? Ard held up his fingers. Check. Most importantly, spectacles? A broken pair with no frames. *Bet these have transition lens, badass.* Ard thought. Check. Now he was ready. He needed Plan B, kids are a scourge of the earth. No wait. He needed his Plan A. A plan to defy the Chad Lord. He would break into the Shelter of Eden and steal the mighty Tree of Idiocy. *It's most displeasing to inform you that details concerning the grand adventure that followed is lost mostly to time. The participants in what was described as* ###"...The greatest heist of all time, with elements that made men ponder the true meaning of their existence...gave us the answers to life through vague platitudes...[love] solves all problems, including scarcity, world hunger, and rapidly decreasing biodiversity in the ecosystems."### *All involved are either dead or were too barred to bear the burden of remembering that fateful time. No insight could be extracted as to what happened.* What we do know is as follows. *Twist You Missed:* Eden is a shitty homeless shelter. It's not, in fact, the biblical paradise known as the Garden of Eden. (I know. Mind BLOWN). *Plot Twist:* The Tree of Idiocy ends up being a pill bottle, one with an everlasting script, a paradise of endless refills. *All is lost twist:* Masculine Chad Lord ends up not having a gender, enticing gender fluid Zannie, who leaves Ard. *Final Happy Ending Twist:* Luckily, Zannie and Chad suffer a poorly timed simultaneous seizure from xanax withdrawals that saves the day (How it saved the day is anybody's guess). Ard escaped with the bottle, avoiding indictments on a myriad of charges. Charges including breaking and entering, trespassing, attempted murder, first degree murder, desecration of a corpse, obstruction of justice, witness intimidation, destruction of evidence, and perhaps most baffling, conspiracy to over throw the United States. Officials refuse to comment on any of these related charges or why a grand jury dropped them. A spokesperson, notably swaying at the podium, stated, "Too be honest, we can't really remember." Ard, a free man, lives the rest of his days barred out and happily ever after.