"Looks like it's going to rain, son." "Why do you say that?" It was a cloudless day and we were indoors. "I just have this feeling." Then he wet his pants. "Dad, do you have a change of clothes?" "No, but I've had a change of heart." And then he bet on red. *Children* It was prom and he handed me the keys to his car and he whistled. "Looking sharp, son." I took the keys and he said "Don't make any babies." And then he laughed. I returned the laughter and he grabbed me by the shoulder and whispered in my ear "I mean it." Then he showed me an itemized bill for my entire life that he had been calculating since I was conceived. Later on, at dinner, I took it out and glanced at it. "Being a dumb shit" is about $3.40 an hour. *Halloween* "Well, it's that time of year again." "What time?" "Halloween." "It's April." "We do Halloween on my time!" He said and walked out the door with a sheet on and didn't come back until October. But he was much scarier by the time the holiday was upon us. *College* "Son, I bet you think I've been saving money for your college." "No, the thought never occurred to me." I was about 25 at the time. "Well, I haven't. And do you know why?" He had been dropping clues with the alcoholism, drug abuse, and general dementia for about 15 years, but I didn't give it away. "No." "It's because I love you and I want you to try harder than I did. I don't want you to take hand outs. I want you to be your own man." Then he asked me for 50 dollars. *Good Values* "We need to talk about values, son. Do you know what values are?" "Sure, like being honest and treating people right." He looked at me confused and then he pulled out a coupon book and began counting all his values. He had tons. *Pets* "Here." He handed me a slug. "I caught it out in the yard. It almost got the best of me. Now, I'll tell you right now, I'm not gonna feed it. Or pay for the shots." I looked at the slug in my hand and thanked him. "His name is Peter." *Growth Hormones* "Son, have you been taking growth hormones?" "No, Dad. Why?" "You seem bigger than the last time I saw you." "Well, you've been away for a year. I'm 18 now." "Why, you could play baseball." "I do." "You gotta stop them growth hormones. They'll kill you." "Thanks, Dad." "Do you have any coke?" *America* "Son, you realize this is the best country in the world, right?" "Sure, Dad." "Why, you can't even vote in most countries. Like Russia. Or Canada. Or Billy's." "What's Billy's?" "It's a country right outside of Seattle. I was registered to vote there." He looked off in the distance. "But they wouldn't let me. Said I had to pay for the beer. I tried voting for it. It did no good." "Can I go ride bikes?" "Sure, go ride your communist bike. I'll sit here and live in the greatest nation in the world." And he sat there for 12 hours whistling. *Being Grateful* I remember he once gave me a bag of screws and I had trouble understanding what they were for and asked him "Are these in case something breaks?" He then initiated a staring contest and I immediately blinked to avoid it. Then he cleared his throat and said "You don't look a gift horse in the mouth." I asked him what that meant and he opened his mouth and pulled out a false tooth and told me it contained cyanide and that he would bite it the next time I asked him about those screws. I think it was my fourth birthday. *Run for President* "Son, I want you to run for President." "OK, Dad." "You'll need these." And he handed me a gun and a five dollar bill. *Movies* "You don't need movies. You have all the movies you could want right in your head. Look, watch me go to a movie." Then he sat there for two hours making different faces like he was watching a movie. Towards the end, he was crying. Then, he said "What a movie!" I asked him what it was about. "I don't know, but Burt Reynolds was in it. I've seen it like five times.


"You know why I eat bran, Son?" "It keeps you regular?" "No. The methadone does that. I like bran because it tastes like war." "How's that, Dad?" "Emptiness. The emptiness of sitting in the jungle and staring at the sun, hoping your eyes fry out and you can go home. But you go home and there's nothing there, either. Like you went to war just to get a key to reality and the reality that's all around us is absolutely nothing." He started to cry. "Dad, it's OK." "Anyway, Happy Seventh Birthday. Here's a box WITH NOTHING IN IT!" **Hobbies** "Son, you need a hobby." "OK, Dad. What's a good hobby?" "I can't tell you that. What are you interested in?" "I like to draw pictures." "That is a stupid, stupid, stupid hobby. What else do you got?" I started to cry. "Crying should be your hobby." **The War Part 2** "Don't ask me about the war." Father sat gripping his beer and staring at Who's The Boss. "OK, Dad. I'm just going over to Kevin's." "You know I don't like talking about the war." "I know, Dad." "You know why?" "Because you forgot what war you were in?" "That's one reason. But the other - I can't talk about that." "OK, Dad." "OK, I'll tell you. I was bitten by an elephant. There. It's out there now." "Were you hurt?" "No. It kinda stung. But it didn't hurt. But that's not the bad part." "What's the bad part?" "It was a pink elephant." Then he threw a Scotch bottle at the TV and yelled "Tony Danza fucked your mother!" **Wedding** "Son, I'm so proud of you. You found a great lady. Treat her right." Then he handed me a dildo. **Chores** "Son, you are getting to be old enough to mow the lawn." I was 36. "Yeah, do you need it mowed." "That's right, son. I need you to fix the garage door, the toilet, and the beer situation as well." "Anything else?" "Wipe that smile off your face and do your chores." "OK, Dad." Then he threw pine cones at me while I mowed the lawn. **Kindergarten** "Son, it's your first day of school. I want you to make me proud." I nodded and got on the bus. I opened my lunch pail and there was a beer and half a burrito. **18** "I can't believe it. You're a man now. I want you to have this." It was a bag of screws again. "Thanks." He began tearing up. "Finally, I can charge you rent." Then he did an inspection on my room and handed me a bunch of coloring books that he called "a lease". **21** "Suppose you're going to go out drinking." "No, Dad. I have to study for finals." "Suppose I'll go out drinking for you." "Sure, Dad." "Suppose I'll blackout behind the wheel again." "Not my problem, Dad." "Suppose I'll raise your rent." "OK, where do you want to go, Dad?" "Suppose you're paying." "OK. Where?" "Suppose you'll just give me the money and study your finals." "How much?" "You're in college - how much does a gram of coke and a case of Schlitz cost?" "I have no idea." "Suppose I'll get the calculator." **The Doors** "Son, you ever heard of The Doors?" He was wearing a blindfold and was balancing a martini glass on his head while doing Jiu Jitsu. "Yes. They are pretty good." "You know, I know them." "The Doors?" "Yes. I was buddies with Jim." "Wow. You must have some pretty good stories." "Yep. One time we you know'd a circus seal." "I don't know." "You know." "No. I don't." "Fed it tacos and then watched Gilligan's Island. You know." "No, I never heard of that." "It was the 60s, Son. It was different times." **Grape Soda** "Why isn't grape soda considered a distinguished drink?" We were at the hospital. He hit another shuttle bus with his Datsun. "I don't know, Dad." "I bet if you just charged 50 bucks a glass, people would start drinking it with dinner." "You're probably right." "And why don't more drinks come in pails?" "I don't know." "Like 'Hey, waiter, get me a pail of martini'." "It's something to think about." "What about this - you serve food in toilets, flush it, and then make customers plunge it out in order to eat it." "Why would anyone want to do that?" "I don't know. I guess I'm just a dreamer." **Fences** "Those neighbors are building a fence." "Well, they've been complaining about all the Datsuns you have on the side of the yard." "There's only five." "They are under the impression that one is too much." "Fences don't build good neighbors and neighbors don't build good fences." "Well, I don't know what to tell you." "I'm going to build a fence...around my heart." Then he started crying. "Dad, don't be like that." "Get my nail gun!" **Bad Checks** "Call me the Michael Jackson of check writing, son." **Juice Box** "What do you got there?" "It's a juice box." "Where'd you get it?" "The fridge." "Are there more?" "Yeah." "Hmmmm...." "You want one?" "No. I just want to know what the situation is." **Snakes** "One thing I'm afraid of besides your mother and talking about the war are snakes." "I am too, Dad." "Did I just hear that snake say 'me three'?" "What snake?" "We both know there's a snake in the room." "There is?" "Robbie! Come out!" "Who's Robbie?" "The snake." "You have a pet snake?" "I do now." **Beating a Dead Horse** There he was, out in the yard. I don't know where he got the dead horse, but... **Monopoly** "That Bell Phone - that's a monopoly. They're gonna break it up. That's America: finds a problem and fixes it. Like this room of yours - it's full of toys. That's a monopoly. A toy monopoly. Like that game there that says Monopoly. That's a monopoly. No competition. Toys take over the room. Make their own rules. Let the fat cat toys reign in blood. Blood. All over the room. All over the toys. Anyway, love you, goodnight." **Ringo** "Guess who my favorite Beatle is?" "Ringo." "Good guess." **Playing My Records** "I don't want you and your friends playing around the den when I'm playing my records. Kapish?" "OK, Dad." "It's when I like to think." "OK, Dad." "It's when I unwind." "OK, Dad." He turned and put a record on. Then he stared at me. I walked out of the room. Then he turned the record back off. "GET IN HERE!" I ran into the den. He started the record again. This went on all night. **Cat's Cradle** "The cat's in the cradle with some silver poon, Dad just drank himself right over the moon, when I'm coming back, I don't know when, but we'll get loaded on crack and hookers again, son, we're gonna have a good time then." "Dad. It's midnight and I'm not supposed to use the Dorm phone unless it's an emergency." "We're gonna have a good time then!" **Rap Battle** "Dimmie limmie jimmie jay" "What?" "Witchy what what?" "Dad, you OK?" "Kee kay ay day" "You want me to call a cab?" "Labby rab dab." "A cab." "Labby dab rab." "Dad, your pants are wet." "Witty wet wab." "I'm gonna call a cab." "Jabby wab dab." "Do you have a credit card?" "Frrrrrrrrrresshhhhhhhh." "We're at the mall." "Fresh for 89 ya'll.


I hear the insects chirping outside... Morning here is always enjoyable, beautiful even, yet it's never gets easier to wake up this early. Her hair was in my face all night, but it wasn't bothersome. It smelt like flowers, or a Sunday drive with the windows down - brisk, clean, refreshing. My arm had gone slightly numb from resting it under her neck. I swear... Normally, it seems that she has hollow bones. Her frame so delicate, like a bird, but her feathers are nowhere to be found. She can still fly circles around me, though. Today it's cold and I try not to wake her with my movement. She needs her sleep. She works hard and needs to stay focused when awake. My gear is tossed in the corner of her room, per usual. Quiet and clumsy, I get my running shoes and backpack. My wristwatch glows 6:16 a.m. We will reunite by the evening. I open the door, but not before gently kissing her forehead. She mutters something. I'm not quite sure what she said. I respond, "See you soon, beautiful.


Today I am a tiger. Running through the jungle. I am hungry. I come upon a beach. On the infinite shore is a woman and in the water are three kids having a time. The woman tans just on the edge of the wood. It is Mishi. I go up to say hi. She notices me and begins to panic. "Calm down... I mean you no harm... it is only me." But instead a monstrous roar comes out. She trembles in fear. She falls to her knees and she sobs. "What's wrong?" I say. It comes out as an even more ferocious roar. Off in the distance I hear children screaming. She notices them too and begins to sob even harder. Through her sobs she begins: "Please... for the love of God... do what you will to me... but leave my children alone." I am confused. I had no plans to harm her children. I just wish to eat. I fulfill Mishi's wish and my own in one action. I pounce on her. I tear her body to shreds with my claws and sink into her neck with my teeth. She is no where to be found. I am now a red tiger... dripping in blood but not satiated... still hungry. The kids are gone... no where to be seen. But I can smell them... I can see the path they took into the woods. I can hear their crying. They just want their mom. I panic. I begin to run into the woods aimlessly. As fast as I can. I just run and run and run... and then I sense it. A tiger. The most familiar tiger in the world. The most beautiful tiger in the world. My queen. She speaks. "Hey what's up? Why are you covered in blood." "I just ate Mishi." "Oh yeah?" She asks, and with a seductive glance she continues: "How did she taste?" And then I felt it. The greatest feeling in the world... that feeling deep down inside... that feeling only a man knows. And in an instant she is upon me. Holding me down with a force I cannot understand. "What are you waiting for?" She says through my core. And at that moment it happens. From the white furry nether regions it comes out. War drums. bum BUM bum BUM bum BUM "there's my man." She lets out with a joyous squeak I cannot believe what I am seeing. A huge purple penis... throbbing in unison to the drums. For a moment all I can see is this huge purple... purple... throbbing to the drums... dancing to the drums. And then she brings me out of it. "Hey now! I want some!" I hear her come through from no where in this dream within a dream. And I look at her. She presents herself in a way only a tiger can. And I do the only thing a tiger can do when presented with such sights. I pounce on her. And we dance that eternal dance. The divine waltz. The scene is just too much to take in. And I can hear her... "I'm... I'm... I'm" I cannot help but close my eyes. I open my eyes and look down. Everything has vanished... and floating in the clouds amidst a fantastically infinite colorful space there it rests. A huge purple penis. Nothing else. The penis absolutely still... as if frozen in time... the clouds and colors buzz around it in sync to a mysteriously divine sound... the ambiance radiates as the purple statue remains in absolute stillness. "Huh... would ya look at that", he thinks, "now that's new." And at the realization the immense statue began to shake. Slowly at first. But then faster. Now vibrating at a finer speed... resonating. And in its resonance a hum begins and the image blurs. WUUUUUUUUM-wuuuuuum-WUUUUM-wuum-WUM it is coming to a point... and at the moment of silence the blurred image solidifies and at the peak of the purple pyramid is a brilliant white orb... rotating ever so spectacularly Radiant... perfectly colorful... perfectly circular... perfectly new... perfect. I fly towards it with all I am and reach out for this artifact; I have it in my hands. And then it happens. The infinite purple plane I now stand upon begins to buzz. wum-WUUM-wuuuum-WUUUUUUM-wuuuuuuuum and as the tone speeds cracks flow into the plane from his feet. And in an instant cracks of light fracture the plane. Brighter and brighter the light between the cracks become. The resonance of the plane, the hum, the tone... becomes unbearable. "We gotta get out of here!" He screams out to the purple planar void as he launches into the infinite space beyond. And he runs and runs... he flys and flys... forever and ever he goes... and then he forgets where he is. He stops and thinks about why he moves. He cannot remember. He turns his head and looks back. And he begins to fall... at incredible speeds. All now in rewind. No idea why he's falling... he looks down into his hand. He clutches a white orb. He probes it... inspects it. Solid. Sturdy. He cannot remember what it is but it looks oh so pretty. He looks up. He can see the milky way now. And in the next moment he notices our solar system. And in the next moment the Earth comes into view... it's all moving way too fast. He closes his eyes and braces for impact. Darkness. Nothing. Then he feels it. This buzzing sensation. He has no body. No sense at all except for this vibration. It feels absolutely divine. Good vibrations... too good. And then above the heavenly vibrations and darkness he hears it. He hears crying. And it takes him away from this serene place. I open my eyes. I'm in a dark bedroom. There is this foreign woman going to town on my cock as mascara chases her tears. "WHAT THE FUCK!" I scream as I pull her by her hair and hold her in front of me with one arm as if she is a bucket of awful. She screams in pain. "PLEASE!" "Who are you and where is the Queen?!" I ask, as the echoes of libido turn to wrath. "PLEASE!" she sobs as she dangles. "Just please anything you want just don't hurt my children." And then it hits me—I am dreaming—And then I drop her. She collapses to the floor babbling... inconsolable. She rocks back and forth saying "please don't hurt my children." I get to my knees, stark naked and with my free hand I caress her shoulder. She instantly recoils and sobs harder. I decide to speak instead. I speak from the heart: "I didn't mean to hurt you... I'm sorry... don't cry. I won't do anything bad to your children. It's okay Mishi." And at that there is a sudden change in her demeanor. She is calm. She breathes. Slowly she collects herself. She wipes away the tears from her cheeks. She realizes what's going on. There is a strange naked man in her bedroom holding a pearlescent Christmas ornament. Calmly she asks: "What do you want?" Calmly I reply: "I want to know what is going on... how did I get here? What happened?" I can see the moonlight shine off her face. She looks at me blankly. Beautiful. I continue: "I know this is weird but I really don't know what the hell is going on... I mean I know where I was and what I was doing but the first thing I can remember here is you crying and sucking me off." She blinks a few times... incredulous she blurts out: "You raped me!" "I raped you?!", I reply incredulously. "I was sleeping and the next thing I know you have your hand over my mouth and you threatened my children. You said if I struggle you'd kill my children right in front of my eyes." Tears well up in my eyes. I look into hers. I say the only thing I can say: "I am so sorry... so so sorry." And she began to cry as well: "Why would you do that... why would you do that?" "I don't know. I honestly thought I was a tiger and I was hungry... and you said I could eat you... so I ate you. To be honest it was amazing... you were delicious. To be perfectly honest I am dreaming right now." And at that she started to laugh. Wild uncontrollable laughter. She is mad. Completely lost. "There it is!" I joyfully cry out. "Listen, Mishi, I know this doesn't make sense. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to go check on your kids. You'll find them sleeping. Then I want you to grab your phone and come back. If you trust me you'll do all these things." And mishi got up, threw on a shirt, and left the room. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. She grabbed her phone and went to dial the police. And then she noticed it... as the phone rang Her house is immaculate. Oddly clean. She did not do this. In panic she ran to check on her kids. Peacefully they slept. And then she heard it. "911 what's your emergency?" And she drops her phone with the knife and runs to her bedroom and flips on the light. Her bedroom is immaculate... and there is one other difference too. Her bed is covered in brilliantly lush purple linens. On the center of which a white pearlescent sphere lays. Mishi is confused. All of a sudden. She hears a voice come from within. "You should of trusted me Mishi. I did not say call the police. I said check on your kids and grab your phone." She cries out: "I didn't call the police, I hung up on them! Come back!" "You called them. They are on the way. They will wake up your kids. This is on you. You should of trusted me Mishii." "Where are you?!" "Why I'm right here on your bed. What are you going to tell the cops when they get here? That a Christmas ornament raped you? Who is going to believe that?" And at that she began to cry. "Ah Mishi, don't cry. I'm just fucking with ya. The cops aren't coming this is all a dream." "But you raped me!" "Yeah but look on the bright side. I cleaned your house and got you new linens. And to be perfectly honest I don't ever remember asking you to go down on me... that was all you. Bye now." And at that. Silence. No more voices in her head. Just her. She picks up the ornament. It's just a normal Christmas ornament... even has a hanger attached to it. She inspects it seemingly forever. And no one ever came back. And she cried and cried and cried. Until finally she tightened her grip and crushed the ornament. The shards slicing up her hand before they spilled onto the purple linens. She watches as her blood trickles onto the broken fragments of our hero. "You should not have done that." The voice catches Mishi by surprise. She looks up. Before her is a woman. She hovers slightly off the ground in a booming black dress that ripples in resonance with an invisible aura. Her blonde hair ripples in a curious synchronization with the dress. And her eyes... her eyes glow red... so red... pure red. They exude an aura... a blood red aura.. an aura that ripples out of sync with her dress and hair... a faint red haze that seems to envelop her entire being. In an instant the haze turns solid red—a new red—and in the next instant it vanishes. And Mishi cannot believe her eyes. In her bedroom is a tiger... with transcendentally red glowing eyes. And as the Queen pounces towards the bed she lets out not a roar but a banshee wail.


I'm not sure how active this sub is anymore, but I wanted to put this out there. I'm not a very frequent writer, but I felt I had to get this down, and get it out there. I do want to know what you think, so please be honest! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ *There's a certain amount of irony here,* I thought, in a moment of self-consciously dramatic pause. As familiar as this street was, I kept expecting someone I knew to be in one of the passing cars. Maybe they'd lend a hand. Give me a lift. Maybe they would notice something was off, and they'd ask if anything was wrong. But no; first it had been a taxi, a garish blur of yellow through the stale smoke I blew in front of me. Next, a pizza delivery car. More than unfamiliar, they seemed foreign, and inauthentic, on my well trodden path to the library. *Is that even ironic?* I still couldn't keep up with what irony was and wasn't. I was shaken out of my self-pity for just a moment when I realized I couldn't feel my fingers. I'd taken my gloves off to better double fist a coffee and a cigarette. Not the "I'm so sophisticated" kind of coffee and cigarette my British friends liked to very publicly have in front of the hip coffee shop while sporting designer sunglasses and a single earbud in, but the "I'm so fucked" kind of coffee and cigarette I liked to very privately have on my way to write a 25 page research paper I hadn't started yet for a class I haven't been to in a month. *And we're back,* I snidely remarked to myself, as my thoughts returned to self-pity. A college facilities truck rolled past, kicking up a frigid dust. I took a drag. I took a sip. I wondered why I'd dug myself this stupid, stupid hole. I took a drag. I took a sip. I wondered how close I could get to 25 pages in 15 hours. I took a very long drag, and a very long sip. *It's definitely something, if not ironic.* Am I thinking of symbolism? Does my lonely trip to campus represent something? Do those anonymous drivers hold some kind of deeper meaning? *Is that Ryan? Oh - no. Just a pickup.* I sighed deeply, and tapped my cigarette, knocking the ash off the end. I was being dramatic, and I knew it. *"What's the best way to get out of a field of shit?"* I heard him asking in my head. "Get up and start walking," I mumbled, the frozen air crystallizing my words as they left my lips. He'd always said that to me. *It's that "get up" part that's the problem.* What are you supposed to do when you can't bring yourself to care that you're lying in shit? I mean, I know it's shit, but if I close my eyes and hold my breath, I can pretend it's not. Fuck me, I thought. When did I get so dramatic? I took a drag. *What am I, a girl?* An image flashes in my head: I'm *dressed* as a girl, wearing some ridiculous flowery skirt I picked up from the Goodwill, and she's got on one of my shirts, with one of my baseball caps pulled over her bouncy curls. It was our first theme party: dress up as your date. We look goofy. I could see her so clearly; her cheeks rosy from the gin and tonics we thought we were fancy for drinking, her eyes shut tight and her face scrunched as she strikes a funny pose for a photo. I can feel her soft curves through the flannel of my shirt as I wrap my arm around her, and I can smell the perfume she wore. *Did she wear it for me?* I make eyes at her - for the photo of course - and the flash goes off. We smile, we laugh, and we go for another drink. I looked up from my feet, and I looked back. *Shit.* I'd walked right past the library. I groaned, kicking myself, took a drag, and almost turned around, when I remembered where I was. I faced forward again; I choked on the smoke. *That bridge.* It had been three months since I'd laid eyes on that pond, that bridge. That damned bridge. I remembered the morning after the theme party, walking past that pond, that bridge, wondering if what they said about it was true. That if you took a girl across it, you'd be destined to be together forever. *Of course it's not true,* I'd thought, but I couldn't help but imagine taking her there. Brushing strands of blonde hair out of her face as I kissed her at the crest of that bridge. That damned bridge. I found myself sitting on a bench near the edge of the pond, and my mind was stuck on blonde hair again. Not hers, though. His. *Fuck.* My chest tightened. I got up to leave, but I couldn't turn away. The clouds of my breath were more distinct here, near the water, floating out over the pond like ghosts. *Just look away. Please.* But I knew I wouldn't. I hadn't been able to three months prior. I wasn't able to in that moment either. *I have a fucking paper to write. I need to start this fucking paper.* My eyes were getting bleary, distorting the ghosts I couldn't tear my gaze from. What would he say if he saw me right now? I wondered. I heard him in my head again. *"You're being a bitch, Dean. You're being a total fucking bitch right now."* He said it with a laugh. I knew he was right. He was always fucking right. I was being a bitch. But it was his fault. And I tried to tell him so. "It's your fucking fault, John," I managed to whisper, weakly, with a shaky breath. I knew I was wrong. It was his fault he had killed himself, sure. But it wasn't his fault I was being a bitch. It just felt good to blame him. That selfish fuck. I felt a buzz in my pocket. I pulled out my phone. "How's your paper coming?" she'd texted me. "Great. Working hard. I'll text you in a bit." "<3." *Yeah right.* I pocketed my phone. She wouldn't come to get me, not like she'd done three months ago when I'd knelt for hours in the mud at the edge of the pond, staring at that bridge, crying, empty. If I told her where I was, she'd tell me to stop wallowing. She always said that. *Fucking wallowing. I hate that word.* That's why I'd stopped talking to her about it. That's why we'd been so distant recently. *This is your fault too, John,* I lied. *Goddamn it, my paper.* The paper just felt so worthless. It all felt worthless. Parties felt worthless. Eating felt worthless. Showering felt worthless. Getting up and going to class felt worthless. Hell, getting up at all felt worthless. I didn't see the point. All I could see was John hanging from that bridge, gently swinging, back and forth. That goddamned, fucking bridge. I flicked my cigarette into the pond. I set the cold dregs of my coffee down on the bench next to me. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. I sat there for a while, just breathing that bitingly cold air deep into my lungs. "Beautiful, huh?" A voice from behind the bench startled me. I opened my eyes, and turned around. Some short, brown-haired girl, wearing earmuffs and a black coat, both of which seemed comically large for her frame, stood hugging her arms around her torso. "What?" "That bridge. It's so pretty at night. When they light it up. Isn't it?" She glanced up, toward the bridge at my back. She glanced back at me; her eyes were a pure, icy blue in the light. Her smile turned up in one corner of her mouth, sort of half crooked. "Oh. Uh, yeah." I glanced away. My brow furrowed. "I'm... sorry to have bothered you. Have a good night." I'd been too gruff. She turned on her heels and left. First I cursed her, but then I cursed myself. *You ass. She just wanted to talk. She didn't know.* It was starting to snow gently. A delicate calm settled over the pond. I looked at the bridge again, watching shadows dance across it, and thought about how stupid I'd been to have hoped for a friend to appear on the road earlier. I wasn't even sure anyone would've stopped for me. I'd been so detached from the people I cared about. I felt so lonely, so desolate. I wondered, for a moment, if this was how John felt before he did it. *People don't just show up with free bundles of joy,* I thought. *No one just shows up with a smile -* In an instant, I looked up, away from the pond, away from the bridge. She was still in eyesight. Something took over me; I shouted, "Hey! Hey, wait up!" She stopped and turned around. She still had her arms wrapped around herself. She seemed confused. "What?" she asked, terse. *You know, that crooked smile was kind of charming.* "Just wait a second!" Paper be damned. I got up, and started walking.


I was cleaning out some old boxes today and found my notebook from jr. high English class. This short story was the best thing in it. Please note, original jr. high errors have been faithfully transcribed. It also looks like I was going through a comma stage: There once lived a mean king named Cygnon. All the towns people were his slaves. He forced them to work on his plantation for almost nothing. What little they got was taxed. Every day people thought of ways to overthrow him. His castle was virtually indestructible. No battering ram could smash its walls, and no one could tunnel under the moat, which was filled with deadly serpents. There was however, one thing that no one could protect you from. Outside the town lived a huge green Firebreathing dragon. Every time the huge beast walked, the earth trembled. How could they lure the dragon to the castle? Theres only one way, they thought, and that's to find out what it eats. So, one night, as the dragon slept, they went to the valley where it slept, and right away, it was evident that this dragon was very fond of young pine trees and people. It was a good thing the dragon didn't wake up. The townspeople filled their pockets with pine cones. Later they got out the seeds and planted pines all over the town, especially around the castle. One man, who experimented with alchemy in his spare time, came up with something that made them grow very quickly. Then, one day, it happened. The earth trembled, the castle shook. The king, halving never seen a dragon came out to look, not knowing better. With one mighty step, the dragon flattened the castle and the king. It ate the pine trees. The people knew well enough to get out of the way. When they came back, they rebuilt their houses out of oak and lived happily ever after. edit -- one letter.


There are far too many cameras and far too many people in this room. The flashing of the camera bulbs irritates my eyes. I suppose I'm ready to tell my story. My whole body aches but I think I can manage a few sentences. They want to know what I saw. There was a problem with the spacecraft. I got too close to a black hole... I don't think it was my fault. It's hard to say. My craft appeared light years upon light years away from the black hole. My sensors said I was at the edge of the known universe. I did the only thing I could. I turned the cryo-chamber on, turned my ship around, put her on full burn, and went to sleep. Apparently they sent a rescue team for me. Somehow they found me. It's been twenty years. Honestly not as long as I expected to be gone. It doesn't make any sense. That's okay, I accept it. "What did you see at the edge of the universe?" said one of the interviewers. I tried to reply without giving away how weak I felt. "Nothing," I said. "You are the only explorer to reach the edge of the universe. Is that all you saw? Nothing?" "When I say nothing... I mean nothing," I struggled to say. "Just an empty void of space. Blackness all around?" "No, no. I saw nothing." "Yes, exactly. It was all black?" "No. You misunderstand. I saw nothing." The man appeared to be getting agitated. He obviously just didn't understand. I sighed. "There was nothing. Let's think about this. What do you see out of your third eye?" The man chuckled. "I don't have a third eye." I nodded. "Of course. But what do you see? What do you see out of your elbow? The back of your head?" "I... I don't... nothing." "Is it black?" "No..." "Exactly... Just nothing." "That doesn't make any sense. You looked out the cockpit window of your craft and..." "There was absolutely nothing. I can't make it any easier than this." "That's... wow. Do you remember what you saw when you went into the black hole?" "I..." I couldn't find the words. "Anything at all?" The man asked. "Was it the same as the edge? Was there nothing?" "No..." I smiled. "I saw everything.


“You know what really boggles my mind?” “What’s that?” “The concept of this whole “beginning and ending” thing.” “What do you mean?” “What I mean is that the concept of beginnings and endings are all relative and when you really think about it, don’t stand up to reason.” “Ok.” “For example, let’s take Little Red Riding Hood. The story begins with Little Red Riding Hood being told to stay on the path and don’t stray, and ends with the wolf plan’s being foiled. Yet, what led us to that point? What came after?” “I guess another story?” “Exactly! Little Red Riding Hood lived a life before the famous story, and, hopefully, long after. These concepts of start and finish are bookmarks we have artificially created to tell a specific tale.” “All that seems like common sense though? Of course there is a start and finish. Things begin and then things end. Everyone knows that.” “Of course they do, it’s easy to apply those labels to a story that is broken down for you by the bindings of some hardcover or the tolerance of some bard. What I’m really trying to get at is the concept of life and death and our perception of loss and sorrow.” “John…I’m not ready to talk about this.” “Sam…It’s been three long years and I can count the amount of times I’ve seen you in that time on one hand. You are my brother and my best friend. I won’t give up on you and I want to help you.” “I’ve tried. I’ve done all I can and nothing will ease the pain. I’ve seen psychiatrists, talked to our family, and so much more and I keep getting taken back to that one moment…” “Sam. That’s the problem.” “Excuse me?” “You are trying to forget and move on. However, there is no way you will ever recover from the love of your life passing away.” “Are you fucking kidding me? What kind of game are you playing!?” “No game. All I’m trying to do is…” “I don’t need this shit. Fuck you and Fuck this. I’m out of here.” - What fucking nerve? Are you kidding me? Who does John think he is coming in here and talking to me about Little Red Riding Hood and wanting to make my life better? What has he ever lost in his life? How much pain could be earned from living off our parent’s money and smoking the days away? God Damnit. I’ve been doing so well too. - I leave the café and begin walking the same walk Claire and I used to walk before…well… Before… For the first time in…I can’t even remember…I think about before the accident. Before the phone call at 4:23am. Before all the sirens and questioning looks and the flat line of my wife’s now still heart. I see her face. I see her smiling beautiful face with her eyes that are slightly offset. I see her infamous top bun that she was so damn proud of. I look back to our engagement, the moment I knew my life was complete. I begin to look beyond the circumstances that shattered my very existence and begin to see the larger story. Damn, John, how did you do that? I was too blinded by rage to see what he was getting at. Life isn’t defined by a single story but an entire library. For these past three years, I’ve been reading the same book over and over again and have been missing out on all this world has to offer. I know what I need to do now. - “John?” “Hey Sam.” “I want to apologize for before. I was completely out of line and couldn’t see that you were just trying to help me.” “You have nothing to apologize for. I just care so much about you and hate seeing you like this. I’m just trying any and every angle I can.” “Our lives were so amazing together and there are so many incredible moments that will last with me forever. My life isn’t defined by her death, it’s just one story. It doesn’t end here.” “Exactly.” “All I’ve been seeing is her dying over and over again. It’s not a way to live. I’ve always assumed that was the end of her, but the truth is that she is always with me. From a walk we used to take in the park, to the dairy aisle where she was the sole suspect in the murder of 30-some milk jugs, her memories transcend her…her…” “They transcend all of us. Claire is not gone, she is all around us. Though we see death as an end, it is only another point in this crazy journey we are all taking. One that never truly ends. These stories of our lives are what WE make of them. They are not defined by simple boundaries but by ourselves. That’s all I was trying to get you to see. She may have passed on, but she is never gone, and her story never ends.” - I look at him in silence, fully grasping what his words mean. Her story is now my story. While her body couldn’t withstand the stress of a drugged out teenager behind a wheel, her soul always will. Her beautiful soul touched so many in this world and we all will take the torch to keep her fire alive. I will never move on from this or forget about her. She is, and forever will be, everything that I am and strive to be. She is my inspiration and the reason I wake every morning. There is no reason that should have ever changed. We are conditioned to believe that everything must start and stop, live and die, begin and end, but the truth is a much more wonderful thing. Time is relative and the constraints we place on ourselves arbitrary. We are the masters of our tale, and Claire, for me, the words.


It was dark. It was always dark, here in The Haven.   I could hear the voices of the others, all around me, a chorus of whispers that together created a sea of noise. We all stood before the Gate, waiting until the time came when it opened.   No one here knows where we are. We walk through the Passage without any memories. Are we in Purgatory? Does the Gate lead to Heaven? Does it lead to Hell?   I can sense the fear; all around me, people are scared. This sometimes happens. There are times when many of us have the courage to walk through together, and other times when only one will. I too am scared, but I have been here long enough.   Suddenly, the Gate opens, filling the cavern with blinding light. I see my people again, perhaps for the last time; their dark complexions and uneven surfaces seem abnormal to me, as though I can remember a time when we were supposed to look different. I can't though. This is all I've ever known.   The crowd is not moving. There will be no one who will step forth today.   I push past my people and make my way to the Gate. The light hurts to look at, though the beauty of it draws the eye back time and again. As I reach the Gate, I dare not look back. I jump.   I am falling. All around me, the world is white. I have never been this happy.   I hit water.   **********   “Ah, fuck.” I curse, under my breath, as I feel the cold water of the toilet splash up against my arse. With a sigh, I put my phone away, wipe, flush and leave.


"Another day of this and I will die" I mutter to myself. The reality of a man left to his own devices in a building with no outside reality. The beds are nice enough, the chairs comfy, but what I wouldn't give for a phone or even just a drink and a little company. Maybe that tall redhead I met in New Orleans, "What was her name again?" I think aloud. She had a set of tits you almost didn't want to squeeze they were so perfect, I can feel the touch of her skin as if it was yesterday. I feel my mind drifting into the past away from this purgatory. "Wah, wah, wah" an alarm sounds in the distance. "To hell with you" I scream aloud. I don't even know what it means. What was it again? It seems a lifetime that I've been here. Seen another face or even looked in a goddamn mirror to see my own. "Calm Down" I whisper to myself. I have to watch my anger, things tend to get hazy. I sit up on the bed and look back around the room. How long have I been here? I begin to think to myself. It's so hard to remember, I look at my hands and see the nubs of my fingernails, I see they have something under them. "What the fuck is this?" Someone must be fucking with me, they are trying to make me feel crazy again. "I know they are" who am I talking to. What am I doing here? Where am I? My thoughts blend then fade to black. I don't remember anything but that redhead and her fantastic tits. "Wah, Wah, Wah!" The alarm sounds again. "Shut the FUCK up" I scream as I rush toward the big yellow door. I reach for the handle, but I cannot open it! "Help Me!" I scream! "They are trying to fuck with me!" I kick and slam my fists into the door. I can hear a noise outside. "Help" I scream as I curl up on the floor. "I can hear the devil coming for me" I continue in haste "He is carrying chains for me" I can hear them rattling against the door. I hear the door swing open. A bright light flashes in my eyes. I see the dark figures, I reach and scratch, clawing furiously at my assailants. I feel the sting of the needle in my arm. I feel reality fade away.... "What happened to him?" The trainee asked his superior. "What's all that about the devil?" "Fucker lost it" the older man snorted! "Wife left him for another man, he drowned his kids and disappeared into a bottle. Hell, I don't think he even remembers the kids, just some redhead he left behind.


Everything started with her. She invited me to one of the biggest nights of the year, for a nerd anyway. It was N7, a convention where all of the biggest game developers came together to announce their upcoming games. There were giveaways and demos and specials, and it was especially difficult to get passes. Somehow, it doesn’t matter now; she got the passes for us to go. I was to go to her house, pick her up, and drive us there and have a good time. When I got to her house, I immediately noticed the shape it was in. broken down, gloomy, and just plain creepy. I decided to not mention it. She came outside, and I was stunned. She only wore her normal, everyday clothes, so did I, but she still looked beautiful. We went there, and I immediately saw a theater room for one of my favorite developers. I rushed inside, dragging her along beside me. The lights dimmed, and I saw a familiar face. It was the main protagonist of my favorite game as a kid. The name doesn’t really matter now, but I was excited. They were going to make another game! Throughout the rest of the night, I marveled at the new gaming systems and games that were coming out, but my mind still went back to that one game. I then took her home, and that is when it all started. I insisted on bringing her to the door, and saw her in. What’s important is what I saw. I decided to step in, maybe meet her parents. One step and I was knee-deep in water. I was paralyzed. I felt weaker and weaker at the moment, as if my life force was being drained away. Then, I felt tendrils of seaweed brushing against my legs. You know the feeling of touching seaweed in the water? It was like that, but I couldn’t move. I fell into the water, sinking as the last bit of my life was draining away. Then, one powerful tendril of seaweed shot up and knocked me out of the water and onto the front porch. I sat up, and saw her. But it wasn’t her; it was her, covered in seaweed, with a strange green aura around her. She was almost floating in the air. I sat there for quite a while, and she hovered there for quite a while, and then, for the first time all night, I built up the courage to speak to her. “So,” I said, “You’re seaweed.” She nodded, and came over to sit by me. She explained it all to me, and I understood. She fell in here as a little girl, and drowned. The magical properties of the swamp gave her life again, but as seaweed. The other human-seaweed hybrids took care of her, nurtured her, and protected her from predators. She was their child, in a way. Eventually she learned to morph between human and seaweed forms, but she had to be careful. The magic of the swamp was strong, and would pull her back to her seaweed form if she was gone too long. It was never explained to her why the swamp was in the house, or how the magic came to be, so don’t come asking for that. “It’s alright,” I said, still not sure what was real anymore, but I decided to just go with it, “I understand.” She pushed herself away from me and sobbed, “No, you don’t understand! I could die any day! I could get eaten by some fish or just of old age! I won’t know what life will be like! I won’t know love!” And she was right. I didn’t understand a bit. But I decided to try to make it better. I pulled her in my arms and just held her there, stayed throughout the night. I did not say a word. Neither did she. When day came, she whispered “thank you” before letting herself drop into the swamp. I went home, told no one about it. The next morning, I saw everything differently. There were fairies in the trees and music in the air. It was either my mind was opened to how the world really was, or the swamp water gave me hallucinations. Either way, I kept seeing them, and I talked to them now and then. Every day afterward, I went to the house. I looked in, relieved to find the swamp still there. I sat down, dipped my feet in. I felt my life draining instantly, but kept them there until I felt too weak. I looked down into the swamp, among the seaweed, and found one. I was certain it was her. I could always tell. After I was too weak, there was always a gentle nudge, pushing me back on to the porch. After my many other adventures, when I was old and grey and saw everything the world had to offer, I went back to the house. It was gone. Demolished. In front of me stood a large plain house. I knocked, and a man and his wife came to the door. I explained that an old friend used to live there and asked if I could come in. They accepted. The house was obviously new, and as I walked down the hall I saw a room. I peeked in, the owners of the house looked cautious, but they decided what could an old man like me do? There, in a crib, was a little baby girl, I looked at her, and saw her face. Her face. I told them she was beautiful, and then walked out without a word.


Jude made the final incision and sponged away some blood as the Cesarean Section made birth possible. Purple fluorescing lights strobed across the surgical site, cleansing it of anything dangerous as Jude set the force-fields to gently pull the baby from its dying mother. Following strict medical procedure, Jude severed the umbilical cord as Laura, the newborn boy's mother, died from her brutal injuries. Jude proffered the child to Laura on two slender manipulator arms, as she was programmed, but her subroutines, now noting the death of the mother, signaled her UltraCortex to refrain from making a verbal presentation. Instead, the baby was simply inserted into a life-sustaining cubicle and immediately sedated. Jude opened a channel to the bridge. "Laura's child has been delivered. It- It- It's a boy," the damaged robot stated flatly. "However, Laura has succumbed to her injuries and has passed away." Jude's word selection was careful to avoid undue distress. Captain Quain stared at the fiery wall on the main viewer. After a long silence, he managed, "acknowledged" and thumbed the button to sever the channel to the medical bay. "I'm open to ideas..." He looked around the control bridge at his officers and men. Frightened gazes met his and he did his best to look confident. One man spoke. "We can't break the star's gravity -but can we use it?" The wiry young man with his slicked-back blond hair and eager StellarCorps expression gave the Captain hope. "What if we push the engines to max and calculate a slingshot trajectory to get us to that small planetoid? If we can catch onto it and establish orbit, we may not be home but we won't be fried." The young fellow looked into the fires of the Zoroaster star with grave concern, his face illuminated by flickering orange sun-flame. The Captain listened to the gasps of approval from several officers and nodded soberly. If nothing else, it was something to try -and some sort of hope. He thought about the hundreds of lives aboard the UES Ptolemy and clung to any hope at hand. "Alright, then. Lt. Simms, I want you to handle the warp drive, make speed for 9 recursions. Commander Kelleway, make calculations for the maneuver. Take Carstairs and Tamaguchi with you. Everyone else, man your posts and prepare for warp. All stations report!" With practiced suave, the captain resumed his stalwart pose in his chair and exuded confidence to fuel the officers as they readied the ship for an escape from certain death. But it was all for naught. The calculations of the desperate men of the Ptolemy flung the crippled starship across space like a boomerang, first angling and then slingshotting around the star to the men's cheers. Unforseen variables wrestled with conjecture and programming to emerge the victor, however, and as cheers turned to cries of despair, the little ship from the faraway blue world slammed into the planetoid it had hoped to orbit with ferocious force. The great spine of the ship cracked in the silence of space and its rent skin ejected people into the freezing vacuum. From the Captain's eyes, it seemed to happen in slow-motion. First the walls buckled and cracked, and crewmen cried out or leaped to their feet. But as the force rippled through the ship, whole support beams undulated and the safety of walls became the vacuum of space and bulkheads were shorn and torn apart like tin-foil. For a few moments, the Captain, suddenly propelled into space and tumbling, managed to survive. As his face froze and his eyeballs bulged he saw his ship one last time. Crumpled in some places, exploding in others, the majority of it somehow remained intact, albeit embedded into the surface of a bleak and empty world and he thought of all the souls committed to the cold wastes of space under his command. And then he died along with everyone else. Well, almost everyone else. Deep within the protected heart of the ship, still mostly intact and even lit by back-up generators, the medical bay survived. Jude was barely functional but managed to run the few remaining sensors to gauge the situation. The crew was dead. All of them. The ship mostly powerless, totally defenseless, had 47 separate hull breaches and the engines were floating off somewhere near the port bow. The only life-sign came from the very room Jude was in; from the incubator. Jude swung her large, angular white arm laboriously around the thick anchor sticking up from her main console. Sensors at the end of the armature scanned the baby. Remarkably intact. Jude instructed the ship's computer, which was operating on generators and cut off from half of it's data-cores, that Jude was the only independent agency aboard and convinced it to slave all functions to her. Jude's "mind" was a complex quantum computer located within her armature base, separate from the ship's simple AI but Jude connected directly to the mainframe now and allocated all of the ship's resources to a few rooms including the medical bay. She reassigned the entire 4-year-mission's worth of food and water to the child, and made the requisite requisition forms out digitally to approve the transfer, even if she knew no one would ever read the logs. She was doing everything as she was programmed to. Jude would make food, education and eventually the entire ship's remains available to this lone surviving human child. She fed him with protein beams and replicated milk until he could eat rations. She used forcefields to guide him into walking upright. She taught him to speak, to read, and the critical thinking skills needed to master any subject in the databanks. At age 9 he learned how to repair and reconnect the rest of the data-cores. When he learned all he could about his lost home and the many people who died the day he was born, he wept bitterly. He knew he would never be found by Earth again, of course, as the chances of another deep space exploration vessel even deciding to visit this uncharted system were nil. He would never know another of his kind. He would know only what computer files could tell him. He would don a generation-old spacesuit to weld sections together over half a life time. He read every book on board the ship, even those he had to rescue by omnibot and vacc-suit, and dreamed of returning triumphantly to the planet Earth. He kept a meticulous log and diary, talked with Jude for hours every day, and named himself David. And one day, at the age of 41, he flew away. Jude's faltering mind was installed in the main computer slot of the makeshift starship David had cobbled together over 31 years, using a small section of the med bay as makeshift control room. Jude gently nudged the controls to power the engines he spent 9 years capturing and bringing in to the new Ptolemy. More of a raft in space than any starship Earth had ever made, the Ptolemy II roared to life and began a single warp recursion. It wasn't going to be fast, but the ship was on it's way to Earth. A repeating signal was the first vanguard of the P II to reach Earth outposts. "My name is David. I am the last survivor of the UES Ptolemy, lost in space in 2218. Please do not attack this ship, I am friendly. Repeat; My name is David. I am..." The media got ahold of it faster than David's engines and a host of starships and transports crowded the space lanes above the planet Earth to watch him arrive. Politicians and Commentators choked the communications channels as the Ptolemy II, looking for all the world like a derelict apartment building lashed to 2 engines, sputtered to a halt in Earth orbit. Medical and repair ships were immediately dispatched as government and public held their breaths in anticipation. Jude arthritically rotated it's single, dirt-smudged camera-stalk to look at David, sensor information filling the working sections of the screen. She examined his long-dead body, still resting in the control chair as it had for centuries, as David always knew it must, and her subroutines calculated that informing a dead person of their destination was illogical and unnecessary. "David, my son. You *made* it. You have come *home*" she said anyway.


It was quite a silent night. Usually, I could hear the engines of cars outside my apartment window, roaring down the street, trying to bustle off to a location unknown to my mind. I could still hear the cars, but tonight, it seemed as if it were more of background noise, instead of the nuisance it usually was during these late hours. I sighed, shaking my foot lightly as I read my book in the dim light of my bedside lamp. Suddenly, I felt a claw bat at my foot. I chuckled. It was most likely my cat, who was usually very energetic during the nighttime. Then again, she always has been this ball of spunk, but seemed to prove more so when the moon had shown. I put down my book for a moment, and looked at the end of the bed, her claws tickling my foot. I'd jerk from side to side of my bed, and occasionally sliding my foot down the entirety of the covers. She was so fast. I couldn't even see her in such dim light though. Then I hear the sound of my door creak open. Slowly, feeling a tinge of fear, I look to see what is causing the sound. It's my cat. I turn to look at the end of my bed. It's not my cat.


He waits outside, his breath short within his lungs and his hands constantly patting down his sides. It's cold outside, and he wore a heavy button up jacket he received from his mother for Christmas, though he had lost weight since he had last been home, and it was a little large. He seems to be a child dressing to play grown-up. The wind blows slow but steady, reaching his uncovered ears, but the blood stays settled throughout him. He refuses to give in to the cold and wait in the lobby. She'll be there soon anyways, he theorizes, as his heart pounds against his chest with the thought. He does not want to admit there is an inkling of doubt within the back of his mind. She walks out, and he acts like he wasn't watching the door. She smiles at him, though it seems out of place to him. She wears a bright red overcoat, with large buttons that remind of of a blood red moon he once saw when he was a young boy, on the farm. He smiles in exchange and opens the door to his car for her, trying his best to abide by the faltering rules of chivalry. The restaurant is quiet, and they sit at a table in an isolated corner, out of the sight of prying eyes. He orders quickly, not caring for the food here, but knowing she'll enjoy the atmosphere. She takes her time, politely chats with the waitress, an older lady who wishes she was anywhere else, but still smiles. They speak quietly, her eyes holding his attention more than he thought they would. Her eyes are a deep hazel, much deeper then his. He wishes his eyes were better suited to hers. Conversation is wide, with topics of family and life before the city drawing each others attention. He watches carefully as her lips form each word, the movement strangely mesmerizing him. The food arrives but neither takes notice, choosing to bid the waitress only a small smile and a passing "thank you". She has a salad, with all the parts looking as if the had just been freshly plucked from the garden, the greens being unnaturally tender and the tomatoes a full, bright red. They reflect up into her eyes, burning them brighter. His order is of less importance. The conversation continues, but slowly hollows out as he prefers just to watch her movements and subtilities that accompany her. He wishes he could be as attentive to the conversation as to her movements, but one must suffer, and her beauty is more engaging then his voice. He wishes his voice was more suitable. The meal passes as with the time, but he doesn't take any note of numbers. He notices her voice straining over the lack of response, and her eyes wishing for more then her own words, but he is unable to reciprocate. The red overcoat is put on, his over sized button up, and they head out the door. He positions himself to block her from the wind, but only by habit of attempted knightly practice, and she does not notice. The time is late, and she has to be off early the next day. The drive home is quiet, with conversation trickling out through obligation. His attempts to speak are obscured within his mind before given a chance to form. Her hands lay across her lap, and his thoughts of speech were sidetracked by the thoughts of holding those hands, and keeping her warm. They arrive at her place, and he leaves the car running. She undoes her seatbelt, and they bid farewells. She leans in, though it seems obligatory, and he follows her lead. Her lips are soft, and she tastes of nothing. They hold here, and he finds himself wishing to stay in this second. He pulls away, unsure why. She looks down, and exits the car. As she walks away, he watches. She does not notice. He pulls away from here grudgingly. Home is minutes away, but that does not matter. He continues to drive, constantly, throughout the night. There is no music or sound, just his thoughts. His thoughts are empty, thinking only of nothing. Thinking only of the unanticipated sweetness in nothing.


The refrigerator hummed a happy tune of efficiency. Its various fans and coolants maintained its twin core temperatures. The fridge's cameras scanned, collected data and its scales weighed and measured. The fridge, in super modern dark-blue, knew the members of the family by sight and vibration. The fridge knew that six year old Jason liked to eat hot dogs more than anyone else in the family. The fridge knew that Mark, a work from home lawyer, always drank a single beer with dinner. The females of the house were also tracked. The fridge knew that Dr. Susan Carson was always at home between six and nine but rarely home at any other predictable time. Abbey, the four year old, had only recently started opening the refrigerator doors. The fridge couldn't yet create a pattern for Abbey because she grabbed food items at random. The fridge tracked the current level of everyone’s favorite foods in the house. At least once a week the fridge would text the Carson parents with requests to replenish the fridge's contents. If one of the Carson parents accepted a shopping list complied by the fridge then an order would automatically be placed with the appropriate online vendors. A truck or bicycle would be dispatched to the house to deliver the groceries. Modern builders allowed for secured outward opening exterior fridge doors on the side of the house. Through these insulated doors vendors could replenish the dietary requirements of the Carson household from outside. Which is how the fridge ensured the Carsons always had their favorite foods available. When family members use the fridge it would take pictures of the family members, per its factory settings. Mark had yet to figure out how to change this setting. The fridge displayed these pictures on its external LED screen. Often the family laughed at pictures of their giant heads leaned into the fridge to grab a drink or leftovers. The four year old loved when her picture was displayed by the fridge and would giggle and laugh at herself. On Thursday morning on her way to daycare, Abbey managed to smear cottage cheese across the main external camera that the fridge used to identify family members. The fridge had been programmed for this contingency. Its scales had a decent success rate at identifying users based on vibrations. The fridge’s subroutines alternately ran pattern recognition software that allowed it to predict when various household members would be most likely to access its interior in search of calories. Thursday afternoon the computer used scale vibrations and predictive software to identify one of its users. Every Thursday at approximately 1:30, Debra, a next door neighbor, used the fridge to access external, cold water. The fridge posted a picture of welcome on its screen showing Debra a picture from the previous Thursday. In the picture, Debra was wearing a cute, delicate, red teddy. At 1:31 the fridge’s external screen was smashed in and its French doors were thrown open. Using its internal cameras the fridge was able to verify that it had made a mistake. The user wasn't Debra but was instead, Dr. Carson. The fridge snapped a picture of Dr. Carson yelling into her phone.


I walked outside into the bitter cold, slowly stripping off all of my clothes. I didn't look back or even care about the things going on behind me, I just looked ahead at the freezing water. My bare skin was being bitten by the cold, when I slowly pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Flicking it away after a few puffs, I took a deep breath and jumped into the pool, hoping to be free from the pain inside my chest. In the house behind me they talked and danced, oblivious to my suicide attempt. A girl, much younger and wiser then me, sat regretting the things she did with my heart and wishing that she had never gone so far. Meanwhile her friend had snuck into the upstairs bedroom with her boyfriend, hoping to share an intimacy that I would never have again. All the while I'm dying, and there is no one there to save me. Deep down I want to be saved or at least have someone tell me it's going to be alright. The cold and darkness consumed me. I felt the warm embers of the fire that kept me going slowly die out. The silence was oddly beautiful. In that moment all my worries and cares seemed so far away. Looking at them, I saw that they were almost laughable. It had been my fault after all. I should have known better than to believe the lies she constructed. Should have known that her love for me was none existent. Should have known I was just her new thrill. A toy so lightly cast aside. But love will do that to you. Love will blind you and you'll be happy about it. Happy and vulnerable. So when the knife that blinded you suddenly plunges into your heart, and you stare out into the heavens and cry out "Why?" you have no one to blame but yourself. I allowed this to happen. Maybe because I had the delusion I could be happy. Maybe because I was tired of being alone. The reason doesn't matter, because I let it happen. My body had gone numb and the cold no longer caused me great pain. The only pain I could feel was deep within my tormented soul. Memories. They came in as flashes. Flirtation. A gentle touch. A kiss. A bedroom. An endlessly continuing cycle. That was until I tried to break it. A confession of love. Rejection. Pain. This place. Me stripping. Me jumping. Me dying. That's when I heard the people above. Someone was screaming, others were yelling. I then felt arms pulling me up. I suddenly felt very sad. I knew that I'd have to go back to this cruel world. But as I lay on the cold concrete, hearing a couple talk about how they saw me from the upstairs window and the sound of approaching sirens, I saw her. There was no love in those eyes. Only regret. She regretted me. Good. I sure as Hell did. As the ambulance drove me to the hospital, this thought swam around my brain. Why her? What made her so special? The answer came flooding in. She made me feel special. Not anymore. I felt myself tearing up, and closed my eyes. I just hoped that the next year would be better than this one.


Someday I want to be able to walk the earth, just like the greatest minds through history have. Think about it, Albert Einstein, Julius Caesar, Isaac Newton and in the future, me, Mike the fish. It will happen, i am fully convinced it will. I just need to find out how to get up there. Some people might wonder why, but the answer is very simple... Fish, are not particulary smart. I have yet to meet a fish whom I can have an intellegent discussion with. It seems that noone possess a deeper mind, a more profound way of thinking. I have searched every corner of the Atlantic ocean for answers. I have talked to every kind of creature that exists in this otherwise marvelous place, only to be met with more questions. All they seem to care about is food and procreation, what about the big questions. What about the purpose of evolution. What about the fearful afterlife. To fish or not to fish? To me it is obvious that I need to find a way to get up there, with the land-fauna, or at least that is what I call them. Although, I'm sure they have a more sophisticated name for themselves. If you wonder how I know that they are smarter than fish, it is because I have seen it. I have seen their faces, their tall and not very fine prospected faces. Most of them have have big goggles surrounding their small marble eyes. Some have this big plastic gadget in their mouth that produces bubbles every once in a while. I'm certain that the goggles and the bubble-gizmo is of external constructions and not a natural part of their body, however I do not know what their purpose is. At first, I believed that the mouth-device was used for them to breathe under water. To my surprise, I some time later found out that they can indeed breathe in this, to them, foreign realm. I know because I have met a land-fauna who did not have a mouth-gizmo. It was somewhere in the southwest Atlantic, not too far from the shore. I was of course thrilled to see him, however as it seemed, unresponded. He was rather rude to me to be honest. I introduced myself but he did not respond. He just stared at me with his seemingly fearful eyes. His pale white face appeared to be apathetic to my presence. He was not moving a single limb, he was not responding to anything I did. He did not put an effort to communicate. Not even a single bubble. There was not much I could do, so I left. I suppose land-faunas can be as dumb as fish. I have a plan on how to reach the other realm. The only problem is that it is slightly, just slightly based on luck. The plan itself is rather simple, it does not require much of me. The plan is as follows: 1. Find the right land-fauna. 2. Get the land-fauna to pick me up. 3. Use land-faunas ship to travel to shore. 4. Find answers. See it is very simple. I have seen land-faunas use these lines with a shiny metal figure on the end of it. I reckon it is to give us fish opportunity to get to the upper realm. I need to search long enough and not give up. Tenacity is the key to success, is what my father used to say, he was great fish. Right there! My fate has finally crossed the path of the right land-fauna. He is the one. His line is right over there. I swim ferociously to it, I will not miss this opportunity. I examine the metal figure thoroughly. It is quite sharp and the only way to grip it is with my mouth. The metal figure pierce through my jaw. The excruciating pain that ensues is beyond comprehension, however not in vain. The line is rising, it is working. We are going towards the surface. I try to ignore the pain as much as possible, I drown the taste of blood with the soothing thought of lifelong fulfillment. Slowly but surely we reach above the surface. There he is, the land-fauna in his rightful realm. Majestic. My head is dizzy and it is getting darker. It must be from the pain and the loss of blood. I just hope he hurries to get aid. I will be greater than Mozart, Julius Caesar and Albert Einstein combined. I am Mike the fish, is the last thought before everything disappears.


Stories are written on these walls. Tales of triumph, failures, bonds, and sadness. It's dark in here, black that no light can render. Familiar. I've been here before, many times, not always by choice though. I'm in a prison with no bars, the door is unlocked and I can leave when I please, but I don't, I won't. I've got a sick feeling growing in my stomach. It could be from the other night when she laughed in my face, or when I took a pocket of cash and put it in my nose. But why does there have to be a reason? Why waste my time looking for answers? Maybe I deserve to feel like this. I'm safe in here, it's cold, but safe. I never have to explain myself here, it's nearly impossible if I were to even try. So why bother? You don't always know why you do the things you do, why does there always have to be a reason? This place is empty and lonely, yet it breathes life, creation and hope. Bad things come here to fester and to only be remembered. Why do I keep ending up here? What keeps bringing me to this hollow shell? Because its familiar. But why does there always have to be a reason? This place was molded for me. It doesn't have to be this way, things can change, change is good. Embrace it. Embrace everything. Say yes and open my arms to the world. Live. I will break these chains and walk out the door never to look back again. Yes. I want to live. "Cal? Eh, Calvin!!" "Hmm, wh.. what?" "You okay buddy?" "Uhm, yeah I think so, why do you ask?" "Looked like you were lost in a thought" "Shit, sorry man. I was just stuck in my head again" "All good, just deal the cards" But I know I'll be back. I always end up going back. So I go ahead and deal the cards.


I had just walked across the length of the room and sat down in those annoyingly squeak prone chairs, yet they had a sort of comforting reliability to them. They were those kind of chairs that you could lean all the way back in, it brings you back to when you were a child and you would lean all the way back and hold your head upside down, like some sort of persistent dog trying to accomplish a trick for a treat. However, amidst all the commotion in the room, I must have glanced upward. Perhaps there was a light attracting my attention, or maybe somehow my unconscious knew, and it was trying to force me to notice. Once I saw her though I didn't know what to think, I didn't know what to feel. Her eyes shined like two ancestral jewels, brighter than anything I have ever seen. They lit up her face, her smile, every feature of her was illuminated, and it was in that moment that time seemed to slow down. All the noise around me, all the noise of life and the conversations of others slowly dimmed, it was as if I was caught in a moment of silent serenity as I looked at her and she looked at me. She smiled... I smiled. I wanted to run over and push the person next to her 5 feet away and sit down and introduce myself, but I never had the courage to act like that. What would she have thought? How would she have acted? In those forty seconds my mind worked harder then it had my entire life, I questioned every movement I made, every expression, I quickly grew nervous. Yet she had smiled. She looked me in the eyes and she shared some of that light. Over the next couple months this would happen, I would enter the room and look at her and smile, or she would. I had thought that maybe this smile was just a friendly greeting, a quick moment of expression to greet another person. Yet every single time I would experience that moment. If someone was talking to me, if someone was showing me something, I always knew to look up when she was coming in. It was as if the room got brighter when she stepped through that door... but only I could see it. She changed my world, this was no crush, no fantasy, no dream. She was there, but I simply could not step forward. Maybe I wasn't ready, maybe I was young and now I have grown. Maybe she thinks about those moments, maybe she remembers the smile. If I could go back to that moment, if I could lean back and raise my head to see her... I would smile. But... I would get up and walk into her light.


Hi there, This story is by no means my best work, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! This is one of my first stories and is the first of them that I am posting. Feedback is much appreciated! Thanks! “Ow!” he exclaimed as he drove the needle’s cold point into his arm. This was his life as he knew it. His addiction had basically ruled him for as long as he could remember. Heroin was his drug of choice, but he had done every drug he could get his hands on since he was twelve. He loosened the belt around his arm and felt the warm embrace of the high as it overtook him. “No big deal,” he said to himself as he often did when he was coming up, “Just like a shot at the doctor’s.” In truth, he had no clue what he had just done to himself. He leaned back and tried to relax. His heart was pumping a mile a minute as his body tried to process the rather large dose of opioids now flowing through him. The alley he had chosen was not done so at random. He had observed it for weeks and knew enough about it to know it was safe for shooting up. It was in a relatively poorer neighborhood where people knew not to go out after the street lights were on. This meant little to no foot traffic and the police’s presence was almost nonexistent. For him, this was the most important part, as prison was the equivalent of death. Something wasn't right. He felt his muscles start to move as if they had a mind of their own, twitching and writhing violently as his body was overwhelmed by the massive amounts of heroin coursing through his veins. He was overdosing and he was very aware of it. In the midst of his violent seizures, his thoughts drifted back to the first time he tried shooting up. It was the most euphoric and relaxing experience he had ever had and he was instantly hooked. How can something that feels this good kill you? This was his last rational thought before he was completely gone. A rather foolish notion, but it had been his feeling his first time shooting heroine and ultimately his last time. His body shook even more violently as his mouth began to fill with a thick, frothy foam. He stopped moving rather abruptly as his heart finally stopped beating. He slumped over into a pile on the cold brick wall, another junkie murdered by The Shot.


Her Name Was Marine Sitting in the booth closest to the bathroom, I studied Marine with a squint in my eye. I liked the way she ate her ice cream. Anytime she'd take a bite she would flip the spoon upside down and lick the ice cream right off the spoon. We caught each other's eyes while I was observing. I saw a ring of light shimmer through her feathered brown eyes. She caught on that I was inspecting her, but she still continued eating. After I watched her pay the bill I walked out into the parking lot. Marine and her friend each parted ways, trickling back to their cars. I kept a close eye on Marine's car, the reverse lights lit up. I waited for her to turn out of the parking lot before I started following her. I knew her house was only a short drive. I liked looking into her car, I could see part of her face in her rear view mirror. She had on a pinkish-rose colored lipstick that complimented her angelic skin. I waited a couple minutes after she went inside her house before I got out of my van. I grabbed a blanket and my camera, then creeped my way to her backyard. I knew I'd probably be there for a while, so I was a little scared, but I liked the rush it gave me. The rush was kept me going. I sat outside her bathroom window with the camera placed off to the side just enough to catch her standing naked in front of the mirror. After about an hour of waiting she finally came into the bathroom. I peeked in her window to make sure she couldn't see me. She was still wearing the jeans and blouse she had on earlier. I inched closer to the window. I watched her stretch her arm at the shower knob. I started getting paranoid she might see me. I backed away from the window for a minute and just watched from the screen on my camera. My heart was my pounding, I could feel the blood rushing through my body. I reached down to grab my dick and it was swelling with blood. I slowly played with it until it got harder. I snuck my head back in the window. Marine had her top off. Her breasts were perfect, she had small pink nipples at the end of her perky tits. I started squeezing my penis, I began stroking it violently. The camera was recording video now, I would have all this material to go to later. She took off her pants, then her panties. I was going too fast, I didn't want to end this prematurely. Her pussy wasn't shaven but it was trimmed into a smaller patch. I never liked cleanly shaved pussy much. She started walking towards the shower so I knew I'd have to finish soon. She had voluptuous curves that my arms ached to caress. I got my last few seconds left and blew my load all over her window. She quick glanced out the window before stepping in. I really want to believe she knew I was out there the whole time. She was teasing me all night, making me wait for the big climax. I watch the film almost every night. I get to examine her whole body while I relive the moment. The thing I really wonder is, does she in some weird way, find it romantic that I devote myself to her physically without her even knowing.


I first saw him out the window, getting out of his car. He wore vibrant colors: A bright red sports jacket, bright green pants, and a bright purple hat. He had a pencil mustache, and looked too old to be looking as he looked. He walked up to my door and knocked. I looked through the keyhole just to see his eye looking through his end of the hole, right back at me. I opened the door. "Well howdy partner!" He said in a terrible imitation of a southern man. "How can I help you?" "Well, I heard you're an interesting guy to talk with." "From who?" "Well, from everyone around the block!" "I'm not sure what they're talking about, so I guess I'm going to have to--" He walked right in, gently shoving me aside. He walked up to one of my paintings, something I had painted a couple years back. It was of a naked man holding a cat, which covered up his genitals. The critics loved it and made all sorts of claims of what the whole thing was about, and they couldn't seem to agree on a single thing that the painting was about. A lot of people asked me about it, but I never had any answers: I didn't know what the damn thing was about either. "Well, this is interesting." He paused for a minute, "So, the cat is the man's coping system for the world, in this case it is most likely depression or schizophrenia, and without it he would be completely naked?" This struck me. I almost told him he was right, but then he walked over to the kitchen table, picked up a knife, and chopped his fingers off. Then, he ran over to the painting and waved his arm around, splattering blood onto it. I pulled out my phone and dialed 9-1-1, but when I looked up after dialing it I saw that he was running toward me. He tackled me and started beating me with his good hand as his other dripped blood onto my face and into my nose and mouth. Then, he dragged me by the collar over to my backyard and dumped me into my pool. He jumped in and pushed me down. I gasped for air, but only sucked in his bloody water.


Benji wasn’t like other dogs…oh, no…he wasn’t like other dogs. “Owner thought he was a mouse!” Benji, like a lot of dogs, had an owner. He’d dress ole Benji up like a mouse. “That dog killed my Chloe!” Dog got a bit…meeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnn….Boy, I’ll tell ya. “That dog makes Hilter look like a pitbull!” That dog was a shame. Benji the dog was not right. The owner got weird and dressed him up like a mouse. There’s nothing right about a dog that thinks it’s a mouse. There he’d be out on the lawn of your house. Dressed in fur and cheese and looking like a mouse. “But how does that fuck a dog up?” That can fuck a dog up good. You know that dog out on 42nd? “That dog all full of fleas? That dog that just goes for the knees?” Yeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh. That dog. “Benji was one of them?” Benji is one of these. See, you mess with an identity and you get a dog that just ain’t right. Ole Benji he was a fright. He’d go across town and kill a spaniel or a shepard, it didn’t matter, coulda been a leopard. “You saying that dog’s a killer?” I’m saying Benji went Old Yeller. “There ain’t no serial killin’ dogs!” You seen Lassie, Daisy, Shep, or Bo? They’re all laying out in the meadow, so the answer is “No! We got stop that ole Benji!” Dog thinks it’s a mouse, it don’t know if it’s swinging Lassie or Mickey. “We gotta hunt that dog down!” Be my guest, he’s around town. Some say in your home. Maybe you want to think a bit before you leave yourself alone.


(This is one of the beginnings of a story I've written in my spare time. It's intended to be funny and is somewhat inappropriate for certain readers. Since I don't really use reddit much, I'd also like to know if there is a better subreddit for a story like this. In adittion, the story is unfinished and barely started. This is my style of writing and if anyone wants I can try to write more or submit some of the other stories I began to write and didn't really do much after) PART 1 Why hello there dear friends and beloved acquaintances. We find ourselves immersed in the deepest Ebola-stricken jungles of the South African Amazon Rainforest. Under the fifty shades of grey of many a fern and palm tree, lays a small rock. The rock doth gently lay and gently lay it does as though it hath been frozen in the coma of time for centuries past. A small echidna, native to these parts of the forest trots near the pebble-like figure and sluggishly places its anterior on top of the rock in silence and leans on it in the most suggestive of suggestive stances. Accelerating swiftly it humps the rock with powerful might and pummels his front-facing nether regions against it. The spikey creature ejects its fluids onto the rock and waddles away, praying to god nobody has seen it commit such atrocities. Needless to say, the rock agonisingly bore this punishment as it now continues its eternal struggle of stillness in this ‘moist’ and temperate environment. Simultaneous to this event was the occurrence of one of the other most fascinating events in the history of mankind; the birth of Irl. Irl? Irl isn’t a name for fucksake. People please give your children proper names so they don’t end up like the protagonist of our story. Like fucking seriously just don’t give them these scrub names. Of course being called Irl gave me – I mean – fak… Ok fine. My name is Irl. Laugh all you fucking want because after I tell you my life story you will laugh no more.


He had not meant it to be this way. He adjusted his makeshift pillow, taking care to not get any sand onto the mattress he was sitting on. After much shuffling, he rested his head again, still uncomfortable. He wrinkled his toes in the cold sand, feeling the soft particles slide through the gaps and finding refuge under the nails. A fact he read the other day - something about the human finger being able to feel the difference between a car and a house if it were as big as the Earth. A sharp northerly wind cut across his face. Quickly, he fixed his hair. A futile effort, of course, but in such grey weather, it seems that even fixing one's hair can be addictive. One of the girls made a start to get up now. She didn't fix her hair. It was flowing behind her like the Star-Spangled Banner flying on Iwo Jima, feeding on the wind, growing curls as she manoeuvred her body into a kneeling position. Her slender figure blocked out much of the sky, and it was difficult for him to look away. He got up suddenly. He tried to find something to justify his movement and picked up a frisbee disc. Holding the prop, he looked up and smiled at the girl. Cue line. "Wanna play?" He asked with a shine in his voice. "Sure," she replied, smiling a brilliant smile without looking at him. She had a tendency to milk every drop of each vowel, collecting it all in a bucket and dumping it on the other side of the conversation with a splash. They found a perfect space on the beach and the dance began. As they threw the disc back and forth, he was acutely aware of the rhythm of everything: his swinging arms, her shapely legs, and the disc - gliding and crashing. He scoured anxiously for the next cue, running his mind through every crease and ridge, clawing through the void for something that might anchor him, but he found nothing. It was all too smooth, too flat, too even to be anything. The set piece fell, the audience gasped, and the fourth wall was broken. He jumped for the disc and caught it with one hand. The waves were getting closer. As he threw the disc he saw her fixing her hair. He had not meant it to be this way.


John sat in his booth, as he had done for the past year, watching the time creep by. He wasn’t happy in his job, but someone had to do it. Since the fall of the government the border had become a main priority for the rebels. They had tried multiple times to breach the divide, but to no avail. John sipped his coffee and played solitaire on the decrepit computer he had been given. A cool chill ran down his spine. There was something amiss. He was alone tonight. He didn’t like that. His partner Rosaline had asked for the night off, and John didn’t have the heart to say no. He reached for the cup of coffee again, and took another sip. He noticed a set of headlights approached from the northern side. He tensed up slightly but took some deep breaths and tried to relax himself. He heard the low beating of the engine as the car came into earshot. He couldn’t make out the model from where he was sitting. The black car rolled slowly towards the crossing. The brakes squeaked as the car came to a smooth stop. John peered into the black tinted windows but was met only by his own gaze. He signalled to the driver to lower the window. They obliged. The dimly lit interior made it difficult to distinguish the passengers of the car. He could only make out the silhouette of the drivers face under the bright halogen lamps overhead. But he didn’t see the handgun that the driver pulled from beneath his jacket. John’s head snapped back and his legs crumbled under his limp body’s weight. The driver placed the gun in the glove box of the car, and grabbed his radio. He grunted a command down to his accomplices. Suddenly from the hill that the gunman travelled from, a row of lights began to turn on. The rebels stormed towards the crossing. They had done it. They were in control now. The news reached the makeshift capital within hours. The rebels made sure that their presence was known, launching flares and firing bullets into the air. They could afford to do that. They had a plentiful supply of resources. William Cardinal, former Taoiseach, now leader of the resistance, had worked tirelessly for the past few months, but now his hard work had been undone in a matter of minutes. He had been asleep before the sound of gunshots had awoken him. A common sound in modern Ireland. It didn’t worry him anymore. It was the new recruits being trained. Even the youngest and weakest of soldiers were being readied for deployment only a few miles from where they had once lived, ate and played. In matter of months the whole democracy had been overturned. Although not complete anarchy, the only guidelines that the people followed now were determined by their own moral compass. Ireland had never been more dangerous. The country was in the midst of a civil war. William felt the warm tears flood his eyes and run down his face. He had laboured all his life to be in this position, now he would give anything to be out of it. He was interrupted by a knock to his office door. The door burst open before he had dried his face of the salty tears. He turned to face the window before he saw who had joined him. The familiar voice of Devin McKeown, his right hand man, greeted his ears. “It’s not good Bill, the rebel hordes are advancing quickly towards the capital.” William knew this would happen eventually. But he was prepared. He quickly cleared his face of tears and turned to face Devin. “Please sit.” He gestured towards the luxurious leather armchair that resided in his office. He reached for the file on his desk and threw it towards Devin. The file was mark classified and was virtually untouched. When Devin opened the file he was greeted by the title “The Exodus”. “The Exodus? What’s that supposed to mean?” “We’re getting out of here, I’ve got a man who can take us out under the cover of night. He’s got a boat and we can be in Liverpool by tomorrow.” “Tomorrow?” Devin asked. “I’m leaving tonight with or without you. I need to know where your loyalty lies.” “You’re asking me to abandon my country. What about the resistance. What about all of the soldiers that we’re training to die. Have you no morals? Have you no conscience? You honestly think I will commit treason for you, a snivelling, overwhelmed excuse for a leader.” “Watch your tongue. Just because you have served me well thus far, doesn’t mean that I can’t have you taken care of.” “So it has come to this. Threats. Abuse. You don’t understand what it’s like to serve for your country. You don’t know what it’s like to be thrown into battles you have no chance of winning. You don’t understand. You never will. I’m not like you. I’m not comfortable abandoning my country when it needs me most just to fade into obscurity. I don’t want to be remembered as the man that helped the cowering Taoiseach to his escape. I want to stand and fight. And if I die, so be it. I will leave behind a legacy. Years from now when our children’s children are learning about the Rebellion, I will be remembered, I will not be erased by death. My legacy shall be everlasting.” William regretted it immediately when his fist struck Devin’s chin. He collapsed. He was out. William grabbed his bag and fled the office. He took into a light jog through the damp and murky hallways trying to get to the nearest exit. One of the fire exits was left ajar, so William darted out the opening. He decided against taking the former government car as it would attract too much attention. He climbed inside Devin’s blue hatchback. Devin always left his keys on the back driver side wheel. William was in the clear for now. He reflected on what Devin had to say while he drove to the docks. His years in politics had made him tough-skinned to criticism. But this time it was personal. Someone that William had trusted so dearly had turned on him. It hurt. It was approaching four in the morning, dimly light and punctuated by the revolving yellow light of the nearby lighthouse when William had reached the docks. He left a small rucksack with a sum of money inside at the designated drop point. William approached a boat that resembled that of the one that had been described to him. He approached one of the men that stood at the stern of the boat. He shouted up to him, “I’m looking for Morpheus.” Morpheus was the codename that his assistant had given themselves. William boarded the boat and went down to the lower decks. He was instructed to stay in the engine room. He entered the room and closed the door behind him and breathed a sigh of relief. He had done it. He was free.


Excerpt from found journal at site 225-A9. Author identified as only Doctor S. PHD. Dated March 14th 2035 Noted location: "Old World," State-run Hospital VA-02295 "St. Francine's" ... As I read the chart I noticed the results of the State mandated Gen-PreF tests. It reported that my next patient couple was decidedly more comfortable with a "male" doctor. I was disappointed. I thought about how I would have to announce myself as "Mystr S., PHD." It just didn't roll of the tongue as well as "Miss" did, or even the more simple "Dr. S." and leave my gender neutral. I wasn't worried about passing off as a man though, I had just visited the barb-ilist. The thym that worked on me did a wonderful job, not too long, not too short. The perfect blend of "long-haired man" or "not too short-haired woman." My other traits have all been sculpted to be "visual kei." I still, to this day, swear the hip shrinking pelvis shaving surgery was far more painful than my breast reduction, counter to the common claims of my peers. The State supplied hormone pills took care of everything else. When I stepped into the room I took a quick measure of the persons in front of me. The "male" was decidedly trying to be neutral, but his haggard complexion and signs of stubble on his face, gave me the impression of "him" more than anything. I allowed him the improper variance given the womyn in the room. "She" was nervous, her eyes darted down from him to me as I walked in. She was several weeks pregnant, and starting to show. "Hello, Miss J. and Mystr K., my name is Docto- I mean Mystr S., PHD," I said, slipping. The man narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down, but kept his mouth shut. She was in a sitting position in the chair in the middle of the room, he was standing over her left shoulder, his hand on it. "I've been reading your chart, here... no family names?" I asked conversationally. The womyn looked up at him and squeezed his hand as he cringed, "I don't have a family." She looked back down to me and said, "I used to have a family name, but I went through a deerkin phase and had it legally changed. After I met K. here I changed it back to my given name but kept out my family name for hym." I noticed the inflection when she said "hym." Keeping up appearances I assumed. It was well enough, because I did have the power to incite sanctions against them for not keeping to the rules of neutrality. "Ah, so J and K it is then. Not Myssus hmm? You aren't legal life partners yet?" I quizzed sitting down in the swivel chair provided for me. The man stood taller and said almost monotonously, "No, but we have cohabited for two and a half years now." This response was acceptable, since the State funded OCare that was paying for this visit only allowed them to be here if they met certain criteria. Marriage is no longer a legal coupling, one of the few concessions the retro-conservs won from the peace talks after The Gender Wars, but cohabitation for a period longer than two years was. What I found most interesting was their nervousness in using the State funded care. Nearly everyone did now, and since the demand was so low, non-funded health care was pretty cheap. Heck, with nearly everything provided to me at my andro housing barracks, my stipend of 'fun' expenditures could easily afford the cost of a legally enforced gender checkup during pregnancy. Not that I would ever get pregnant, disgusting. Genetic tailoring and the use of synthetic wombs is such a cleaner option. "Very good. Let's take a look at your fetus shall we then?" I said as I down the chart, grabbed some latex gloves from the counter, wheeled closer, and pulled the ultrasound caddy closer. Everything checked out okay, with one exception. "Healthy, but sorry, it's a boy. As you know our current sector has too many male children. When would you like to schedule the termination, this afternoon, or sometime later this week?" The female unit started to cry.