It was impossible to tell the smoke from the dust, great plumes billowing into the sky above. The coal was burning in earnest now, consuming the oxygen in the shaft like the wick of a candle. It would burn for decades to come. The floor under my bare feet was hot to the touch. *Why would something be alive down there?* I stumbled. The cuts across the soles of my feet were too many to count now, and although the lightning pain begged me to tend to my wounds the little voice of fear in my heart pressed me onward*.* *Away, get away, get away from the mine!* it begged me. In that moment it was louder that the voice of pain but I suspected that – if I lived long enough – the opposite would become true. My legs ached from the climb, not just in my feet, and my shoulder felt like it might be broken from where an explosion had thrown me against the wall. *But something was alive down there.* I looked behind for survivors. All I’d seen were fingers moving amidst the coal. Maybe we’d dug too deep. Maybe it had been waiting for us. I was the only one left, but how could that be? Seventy were down there when the fires broke out. At least half of those managed to get to the emergency respirators before the lifts failed. Hell, even when the central shaft caved there were at least fifteen who avoided the worst of it. That felt like moments ago. How could I be the only one left? Moisture coated the inside of the respirator’s mask. Without thinking I reached up and drew my dirty fingers across the lense to try to wipe it away, leaving long smudge marks like runways along the visor. A dark shape stirred amongst the haze, beyond the runways. At first I thought it was a tree or a bush, but then it stumbled. A man. Another survivor. I nearly stumbled myself as I bolted towards him; the ground was uneven, and *hot.* So burning hot it felt like I was walking on the sun. There was a road somewhere around the mine but in the chaos I’d gotten turned around. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t found the others. A young face fell through the wisps of smoke towards me, landing cradled between my hands. I had often thought of Paolo as cherubic, even beautiful. Less so now, although there was something entirely messianic about him. Even in this state. Blood plastered his long hair to his face in dried rivers, and one of his handsome eyebrows was split in two. He wasn’t wearing a respirator, and his eyes seemed to focus on a point in the middle of nothing as he drew each laboured, rattling breath. Something clear and viscous was leaking from his eyes, bubbling away and rolling like thick tears to meet the corner of his mouth. “Paolo!” I cried, my voice strangled by the respirator. “Paolo, it’s Eduardo! Where is your respirator?” He stirred, dark pupils locking with mine as I cradled him on the ground. For a second there was something in them, some recognition of the person he was staring at. Then it was gone. “I saw,” he wheezed. I shook my head. “You’re delirious from hypoxia. Save your breath-” “I *saw,”* he pressed, as if the words carried something urgent. I nodded. He didn’t look well. These could have well been his final words. “Okay, what did you see?” For a second he just stared, transfixed on that point behind me as his lungs rattled for air. Bubbles formed in the corners of his eyes and between his lips and that stuff kept dripping and *dripping.* What was it? Liquid from his sinuses, or some effect from inhaling the burning particles of coal? I thought I was losing him as the colour drained away from his face. His eyes relaxed and his fingers uncurled, but then he locked his vision with mine and hissed a defiant intake of air. *“How long have we forgotten the nightmares that lie beneath our feet?”* The ground shook as he slipped from the world, his head rolling sideways at an angle that would have been too uncomfortable for a living man to maintain. I figured more of the mine was collapsing, but the way he lay there in my arms reminded me of our crucified lord as the earth rumbled and tore the temple in half. Slowly it dawned on me that my friend – a man to whom I had once drunkenly confessed attraction – was dead in my arms. Paolo, beautiful Paolo, was gone. And then something moved. My face whipped to where it had been, wisps of smoke curling in the empty space that it had left behind. Something had been standing there, watching me. I was sure of it. Something fast enough to disappear before I could lay eyes on it. Could a human do that? Or an animal, maybe a deer or a horse? I felt Paolo’s body twitching in my arms, his face smacking the stones beneath as I recoiled away from the fluid pouring from every orifice in his head. What the fuck was happening to him? He shook and convulsed but as if it weren’t his own muscles doing the moving. It was like something was *inside* of him trying to get out. I had to get away from this place. I had to find the others, and the emergency crews that had to at least be on their way. I turned and limped back in the direction I’d come from, tracing my own bloody footprints until I came to the shaft entrance, still billowing smoke like a volcano. Good. At least the building was still there, even if the fire had warped it beyond recognition. If I walked around the building like so, I might be able to… “There!” I exclaimed, pointing at my discovery of a sealed road. Who was I talking to? I shuffled forward, to where I imagined emergency crews were gathering to take us away from this hellhole. The bitumen was hot, even torrid, searing the exposed flesh in my cuts as I shambled but that little voice was still in my head. Go, it said. Go. *Run. Get away. Never come back. Don’t look behind you.* Somehow I knew that all hope was forsaken. I felt like I was stuck in one of those dreams you thank God for awakening you from, only somehow I knew there was no God to be found here. But I found the others. Fifteen, maybe twenty of them, crouched with their faces pressed to the ground. Why weren’t they fleeing or tending to the wounded? None of this made any fucking sense! When they rose, kneeling in formation, I noticed the bald head of my supervisor, a heavy man named Nicolás. Nobody looked at me as I scuttled towards him, skidding to my knees at his side before I even had a chance to count the others. There was something wrong with him but the mines were burning. There had to be something wrong with all of us. “Nicolás? Nicolás! It’s Eduardo! We have to get to safety. We can’t stop here to-” I fell backwards, jamming my feet underneath me as I threw myself away from him. The same viscous goo was pouring from his face, roiling and bubbling as it flowed down his chest and onto the ground. His mouth moved in the shape of words, but all that came out was more of that *stuff.* BREATHE. The word rang through my head like a struck gong. I looked up, to where something towered over us with arms outstretched. It was so big. It looked like the cross of our lord Himself. How had I not seen it? Had it always been there? BREATHE. My left hand reached up for the respirator before I realised what I was doing, my fingers pawing at the straps holding it to my head. Some disembodied voice sounded in my mind, commanding me to take it off. The air felt so hot, so claustrophobic. I longed to breathe the cool air outside my mask but it all felt so *wrong.* I scuttled to my feet with a roar, vaguely aware that something was trying to trick me. I didn’t get far. Hands closed around my shoulders before I had a chance to get more than a metre, and I saw the angelic face of Paolo and the viscous tears he wept for me. I wanted to embrace him, to wrap his arms around me and forget any of this had happened, and a dark cool settled over my mind as I watched his lips forming silent words. *Breathe,* he said. “Breathe,” I repeated, offering my head to him so he could undo the straps. The mask fell away, slapping my shins as it caught the line that attached it to my air supply, but it was not cool air that I inhaled. I was tricked. It was sickly, and warm with something acidic that assaulted the walls of my lungs. My body protested my decision with coughs, heaving and choking in its futile attempts to respire as the burning crept out of my chest and towards my limbs. Tears welled up in my eyes, but all I could think was that one, horrible word. BREATHE. It was not my voice, nor a voice of my subconscious. It was something else. Something *outside.* Not spoken with sounds but with some dark, guttural language of thoughts and impulses. In obedience, I drew deeply and ignored the urge to vomit. Eduardo reached down for me and I caressed his forearms as he pulled me to my feet. Finally, my love, we will be together. He led me to a place at the back of the formation, glyphs and nightmares forming in the back of my mind as if someone were reading a grimoire to me, and I saw that thing smile at me through the haze. I couldn’t see it through the dust but I knew that it was happy with me, and that made me *glad.* Smile at me, my Lord, for I am your willing sacrifice! SUCH LITTLE THINGS, the voice boomed. SUCH FRAIL, LITTLE BODIES YOU HAVE. My lips moved, though I knew not the words. Wetness formed in the corners of my eyes like spittle, and I could feel the fluid boiling up from the bottom of my lungs, forcing its way through my larynx as the nightmare became my reality. The ground rose up to meet me, and I realised in the shrinking parts of my free mind that I had bowed without intention. Again, that thing smiled. *Yes, Lord,* I thought. *I will obey.


Chapter 1: “I’d like to thank all of you for joining us today at this event.” Nicolas looked across the large, bright atrium. The crowd gathered was sparse. It was mostly family members of the technicians who would be working at the facility, and a couple of locals. A smattering of press. There ought to be a whole hell of a lot more of you here, if you ask me, he thought. “As many of you know, the Democratic Republic of the Congo was once one of the poorest nations on Earth. The Climate Trials of the 21st and 22nd centuries badly affected the entire world. More than half the world’s population died in the famine and wars that followed. The sea levels rose and farming became all but impossible in the intense heat and droughts. The DRC was in the worst shape to withstand it. Many people died as what was once verdant lands became dry savannah. The jungle dried up, the heat became unbearable. Food could not be grown, even as people from the coastlines poured in to escape the rising sea. Famine lead to war – not just here in Kinshasa, but around the globe.” Nicolas looked around the room. The faces that looked back at him seemed bored. They knew all this already, he thought. But it’s important to remember. “But today, I’m here at the latest Advanced Elemental Reactor facility to help usher in a new day. The power generated here, as well as the elemental output, will help bring life back to the DRC. We can begin to build greenhouses to feed the people of Africa. We can build roads to bring them to market, hospitals for the sick, schools for the children, and we can build homes. No longer will the people of the DRC have to scramble to find shelter from the heat, or food from the parched soil. With the energy from the AER, and it’s associated elemental output, we can solve these problems, and bring stability, peace, abundance, and joy back to the Democratic Republic of the Congo.” Some scattered applause. Nicolas went on to introduce the technicians who would be working at the facility, struggling with some of the names. After the technicians were introduced and a few of the managers had spoken, the event was over. Nicolas mingled with a few of the people and press, admiring the clean white facility, with a vaulted ceiling and large windows. The press were doing some interviews and taking a few pictures, but soon he noticed that a couple of the reporters had their communicators up to their ears, then they quickly left the building and got into their transports. We certainly didn’t hold their attention for very long, he thought, but then his own communicator chimed in his pocket. He held it up to see his wife’s hologram floating just above the screen. “Have you heard?” she asked. He could see that she was breathless. “No, I’m still at the reactor in Kinshasa. Is Hugh ok?” “Yes, he’s fine. They’ve found something in space. It’s sending signals to us!” Her face showed excitement and fear. “What are you talking about?” He asked, trying to remain patient. Now he could see other people in the foyer looking at their communicators, some of them talking animatedly. “There is an object in space transmitting to us, and it’s moving into our solar system!” She laughed breathlessly. “What is it? Do they know?”, he asked. “No. But I want you to come home.” She said, the fear winning over the excitement in her voice. Chapter 2: “It’s not transmitting data, just sort of pings. Like a fog horn from a ship in white-out conditions.” The Mars Global Administrator looked up from his desk to look into the camera directly. “And it’s moving quickly into our solar system.” “Why would it just send out a meaningless signal? Why wouldn’t it say something?”, said the United Earth Nations president. “Is it close enough to see it?” He squinted at one of the screens, as if trying to spot the object. He was seated at a large table, with a panel of screens behind him. Each of them showed different images – some were scientists and speculators talking to the camera, others showed pictures of the orbital satellite that picked up the signals. A stern looking man with silver hair and a black uniform sat next to him, his hands folded on the table. He was looking at the camera which connected them to the office on Mars. “We have sent signals back at the same frequency, but the probe hasn’t responded or changed behavior. And no – we don’t have any telescopes pointed at it that can show what it looks like, though we plan to move them into position as soon as we have a clear line of sight.” The MGA shook his head. “We have no way of knowing what it is or what it wants without more information.” “We need someone to get a closer look at it.” President Knowles looked down at the image displayed on his desktop monitor. The black uniformed man sitting next to him glanced at him sharply. His voice was deep. “Sir, the people best suited for a task like that would be the military, and I would not authorize such a mission until an unmanned vehicle has been sent that can determine the safety of the object.” “Its current trajectory will have it pass between Jupiter and Saturn, and Mars’ current orbit means we’re the closest to it”, said the MGA. “We have a probe that was outfitted for a trip to Jupiter. We can fit whatever sensors and camera’s you’d like on it. We should have the time to retrofit it, change its telemetry and send it before the object passes us by. Then we can determine if a manned mission is safe and needed.” “That sounds good to me. Mike?” The president looked at the man seated next to him. “The cat is already out of the bag with this.” He looked annoyed. “So there’s no point in trying to keep this quiet.” He looked up at the image of the MGA. “But David, I’d like one of my men at the controls.” “I’m sure we can arrange for your personnel to be present”, David said. “Gentlemen, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this is the single biggest human discovery since Dr. F invented the Advanced Elemental Reactor. Let’s be cautious.” President Knowles leaned back in his chair and crossed him arms. “Mankind survived a global climate meltdown, and we’ve only just begun to recover. Us and the planet. I want to be absolutely certain that this thing doesn’t pose a danger to Earth or the Mars colonies. David, please inform us when you’ve prepped the probe and it’s ready to launch. I’m sure any change in the objects behavior will be reported immediately to myself and General Ding. Thank you.” He turned off the link and looked at the General. “I’d like there to be an explosive on that probe. I Want to be able to blast that whatever-it-is to hell if needed. I want you to handle that.” “I will see to it,” said General Ding. Chapter 3: Francis walked quickly through the corridor that linked the reactor housing with the Elemental Output Distillation facility. He walked quickly. Not for any particular reason, he just liked to look busy to anyone who might be wanting help with something. He was not high on the organizational chart – just a distillation monitoring technician. He was responsible for monitoring the containment of elements that came out of the AER to make sure they went into the correct storage facility for cooling and storage. He knew that even if he wasn’t there, most of the elements that were expelled by the AER would proceed into their designated containers even without his intervention by virtue of their density or mass. His was mostly an ancillary position. This suited him well. Not particularly ambitious, Francis, or Frankie, as he was known to his friends and family, was a tall young man with a slight hunch in his back. People wondered if this was because he was born on Mars and moved back to Earth to work for the Institute. He didn’t know. He was lucky enough to get a job at the famous Bern AER. This was the very first AER brought online. This was where Dr. F had discovered a way to improve on nuclear fusion so that no fuel was needed, and energy was continually produced along with a steady stream of elements. The importance of the discovery, and its transformative effect on humanity was not lost on Frankie. He sometimes would marvel at the change from the near-apocalyptic state of human affairs just 90 years ago to the near-utopian society he currently lived in. But, like many people of his generation, this was a passing notion, and he often took for granted the abundance he currently experienced. He rounded the corner to one of the several control/monitoring stations. There were 5 stations with chairs in front of them in this small alcove. Each had several viewscreens with data about the temperature and velocity of the elements as they streamed into the distillation chambers in gaseous form, and more data about the capacity of the various holding tanks for the elements as they cooled. The 5 technicians were intently focused on their screens. They did not acknowledge Frankie’s presence. “What’s going on, people?” Frankie asked, glad to see all the chairs occupied. Someone would surely have time for a chat. Without looking away from her screen, one of the technicians said “For some reason the flow of elemental output has sped up. The distillation chambers are filling up too quickly and we’re running out of room.” No chat today, it seemed. “Can’t we slow down the reactor?” Frankie asked. He was now staring at data on the viewscreens as well. Warnings were being displayed on most of them. “That’s what we’re trying to do”, said the woman. Frankie looked at her. Her hands were shaking. “So this is pretty serious.” He said it mostly to himself. He heard footsteps behind him. Three executive level administrators for the facility were walking down the corridor towards the bank of monitors. One of them pointed his finger at Frankie. Frankie recognized Administrator Brevlin, the head of the facility. “Get back to your station!” He said. Frankie hurried back to his desk. When he got to his desk he could see that the information displayed on his screens was beginning to look alarming as well. He watched his screens for a while, making small adjustments to settings when he thought it would help. He saw that some of the heavier elements’ containers were filling up. The flow of elements from the reactor chamber was being disrupted, causing heat buildup. There was little he could do except watch. He glanced out the 3rd story window where his desk sat. He saw people piling into busses, and he heard the old sirens that were used during the wars. This was a massive exodus of people from Bern. “If this buildup of materials continues, there won’t be enough time to get everyone out of danger. Eventually the heat will cause a meltdown.” He murmured this as he watched the busses congest the roads. There would be enough heat built up in the reactor chamber to cause a massive explosion – enough to level Bern and a good portion of the surrounding countryside. The flow of material needed to be stopped before the buildup became critical. An idea blinked into existence. “An escape!” He lunged across his desk and grabbed his communicator. “Administrator Brevlin! I’m going to go into the distillation chamber and open the emergency relief valve. That’ll give you time to slow the reaction.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but immediately ran towards the part of the building that housed the output regulators. This was where the elements were gathered before being piped to the silos. It was a dangerous part of the building – during normal operation of the reactor, this room was off limits due to heat. The emergency vent Francis intended to open was only installed here at the Bern facility, before people understood the AER reaction to be foolproof and completely safe. Frank ran to the large steel door that housed the chamber. He entered his access code and waited for the huge steel door to unlock. It did, and as it swung open, the heat wave that hit him was tremendous. He involuntarily held his hands up to shield his face. He took a few deep breaths and walked through the door. Chapter 4: Nicolas looked out his window at the sky. From his house’s position on the side of the mountain, he was able to see quite far, when the clouds permitted. He could almost see to the edge of the city of Banff, where this portion of Canada’s AER was housed in a semi-subterranean facility. He knew it well – he had spent a good portion of time there during his initial employment with the Institute. His home, as well as much of the buildings in Banff (and the globe) were built using the elemental run-off from the AER’s around the world. He heard a thump from inside the house. Then footsteps. His wife came out of their son’s room, holding Hugh, his face full of mischief. “Go see dad.” Maria carried Hugh to the edge of the living room and put Hugh down. He stood unsteadily for a moment, then toddled up to his father. “I’ll go clean up.” She walked back down the hall. Nicolas didn’t ask what she needed to clean up. He didn’t want to know. “Hey little fellow!” Nicolas held Hugh up, then cradled him in the crook of his arm. He had been in Africa for a couple weeks, meeting with AER Institute executives and local press people. He had missed Hugh and his wife deeply. Central Africa had been among the last regions on earth to get AER’s to supply power. He had been happy to be part of the effort to bring this transformative technology to a part of the planet that so badly needed it. While the earth was healing from the Climate Trials, outdoor agriculture was still a fruitless effort. It was simply too hot to grow many of the staple diets that man relied on. Huge greenhouses were needed grow crops. Without the cooling made possible with the power from the AER, mankind could not live above ground. “Can you believe this child will grow up already knowing that there is life somewhere out in the galaxy, Maria?” He smiled at Hugh and put their faces close together. Hugh grabbed Nicolas’ beard and babbled. “Can you believe he broke another vase? I thought materials from the reactors were supposed to be flawless.” Maria came out of the room she had been in, holding pieces of glass. “Not flawless, just pure. Besides, glass isn’t an element.” The beard grip Hugh had on him was substantial. He grimaced and attempted to dislodge Hugh’s hand from his face. “Thank you for elucidating,” Maria said wryly. She glanced at the tablet on the table near the hallway. “I’m still not convinced they should bring that thing back here. I know they tested it and everything, but it seems dangerous to bring an alien piece of technology that close.” Nicolas had freed his beard from Hugh’s grip, but now was trying to avoid his son’s waving arms. “Well, the orbit of Mars isn’t too close. They say there’s pictures all over the outside of it.” “A space faring postcard. These aliens are kind of low-rent.” Maria had picked up the tablet and was scrolling through it. “I agree. Did you hear that the material the thing is made of pretty primitive? They tested some of the metal from it, and it seems to have been made using pretty primitive techniques, and lots of impurities.” “Are you going to have to go to Bern to talk about the meltdown?” Nicolas felt his stomach tighten. “Not a meltdown. They want that made clear. Thanks to that kid, Frankie is his name I think, they managed to vent the discharge underground. And no, I don’t think they’ll need me there. They have a public relations staff there. They’ll all gather under that statue of Dr F and talk about how safe the AER technology is. Which it is. This was just a one-off anomaly.” “I’m sure you’re right.” Maria had put down the tablet and now stood in front of Nicolas, who was still holding Hugh. She leaned in and said “Sandwich hug!” and squeezed Hugh until all three of them were laughing. Chapter 5 “Of course we can’t be sure what any of it means. But it seems to be a reasonable guess that the pictograms are depicting a civilization’s technological advance.” Jerome indicated a section of images projected onto the large screen at the head of the room. “So nothing your team of linguists have discovered indicates that this object is a weapon, or is intended as a threat?” General Ding’s voice filled the large conference room. “Not at all. Judging by the radio transmission the object was emitting, and the amount of wear we have seen on the exterior of the object, it seems to have been floating in space for quite some time.” Dava, the Global Space Exploration Organization’s director, ran her fingers through her hair. “Also, the object seems to have been made with what I would describe as primitive techniques. There are many impurities in the metal, and its propulsion is a very early version of ion drive technology. We could build something more advanced than this.” The room was crowded with scientists and government officials from both Earth and Mars. There was a large conference table arranged in a U shape with images of the object projected on the adjacent wall. It looked like a grey-black pentagonal pyramid. There was no obvious front or back to it; no outstanding features at all. It spun silently, the small white colonies of Mars visible as the planet rotated in the background. Occasionally the screen would show a close up of the symbols etched into the entire surface of the object. “Any ideas about where this thing came from?” David, the Mars Global Administrator was slouching in his chair. The extra gravity on Earth was a strain on him, but his voice was steady. “All we can do is plot backwards from its trajectory when we first noticed it. There’s nothing of interest in that direction that we have detected yet, although we have telescopes pointed in the direction it came from to see if can pick anything up”, Dava said. “You said it seemed it seemed to have been out in space for a while. Any estimates as to how long?” General Ding asked. “Judging by the amount of power left in the plutonium fuel cell, and the amount of pitting from micrometeroid impacts, our best guess is three thousand to six thousand years.” Dava couldn’t keep the awe from her voice. There were whispers in the crowded conference hall. President Knowles looked up at the image displayed on the wall. “So what else can you tell us about the symbols on the object, Jerome?” “Yes sir. As I said, it seems that the images depict the development of their society. They start with an image of what we assume to a member of their species. It shows their numbers growing, then the development of gatherings, or cities.” He hesitated. “Sir, some of the people on the team think that a few of the pictograms show AER type technology.” More whispering erupted in the room. President Knowles raised his eyebrows. “How could that be?” He looked down the table at the officials gathered in the room. “We only just discovered its use recently.” Dava spoke up: “Sir I might be able to answer that. I think we can assume that, like prime numbers and other mathematical principles, physics has certain rules and constants that can any sufficiently advanced civilization will eventually come across. It’s only a matter of time, once the basics of chemistry and physics are understood, that the AER technology will be uncovered.” She looked at the other attendees before focusing again on the president. “I think we have a more interesting question. If the pictogram does indeed show AER technology, then why wasn’t the probe itself built with it? The object was not powered by an AER reactor, even though it wouldn’t have needed to be much larger to accommodate one. The materials used to build it are impure, which is why it shows the amount of damage to its surface that it does. If it had been built with AER generate elements, it would be almost impervious to the type of micrometeroid damage we see on the object.” “Why show what we consider to be the pinnacle of technology on your spacecraft and not make your interstellar spacecraft using that technology?” General Ding looked at Jerome. “What do the rest of the symbols show?” Jerome looked uncomfortable. “Well General, the symbols get more difficult to interpret after the pictures of an AER reactor. There are no images of what we thought were the aliens themselves, or any other images we saw elsewhere in the pictograms. Most of the room left on the craft’s surface was taken up by the pictograms showing the civilization before the pictograms showing the AER.” President Knowles stood up. Everyone in the room stood as well. “It seems to me that what we have here is a message in a bottle. I’d like everyone to continue their hard work to determine what they are trying to tell us. Thank you all for coming.” He headed out the conference room double doors, followed by a cadre of advisors. Chapter 6: Frankie and Doctor Brevlin stood at the foot of the statue of Dr F, in the courtyard of the campus for the Bern AER reactor facility and looked out at the people gathered there. The mayor of Bern was speaking to the assembled people, praising Doctor Brevlin and Frankie for their tremendous bravery and hard work that saved the city from a complete shutdown of the reactor. Frankie felt as though if there were any hero here, it was him. After all, he was the one with bandages on his hand. Plus, he noted that the mayor only talked about the danger of a reactor shutdown, not a meltdown. He thought this was an odd omission. He remembered the heat and the light when he had stepped into the distillation chamber. He had had the good sense to grab some safety gear from the closet near the reinforced door, but he had only grabbed a mask and coat, not gloves. He looked down at his bandaged hands and attempted to flex them. The doctors at the Bern hospital had said he could have them off in a few weeks. The 2nd degree burns would have healed by then. The mayor was wrapping up his speech. The statue provided some shade for Frankie. They were under a massive dome that covered the entire campus. Much of the city, and most cities in the world, were mostly covered with similar transparent domes, as the heat was much too intense. But the sunlight still streamed in. Frankie felt uncomfortably warm, and was glad to have the shade from the statue. Doctor Brevlin was talking about the safety of all AER reactors, and how they saved the world. Frankie resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He talked about how this very statue was built using the first elements to be discharged when the great Dr F brought the reactor online. Frankie definitely felt worse. He was getting hotter and hotter, and now he felt dizzy too. He felt as though the ground was spinning, and the felt like the statue loomed over him, Dr F’s coppery gaze like a malevolent force. He reached out a hand toward the statue to steady himself. When his bandaged hand made contact with the metal, he could feel the heat right through the wrapping. He pulled his hand back and felt someone grab him under his arms and his knees buckled. He started to fall forward, then vomited. He worried briefly if it would get on whomever was holding him. He looked up blearily, and could have sworn the statue was glowing. Chapter 7: Nicolas wasn’t panicking. He read the statements in the press about the statue of Dr F melting into a glowing hot mass of radiation, emitting a dose strong enough to kill Dr Brevlin, Frankie, and many of the bystanders. He, being an employee of the AER Institute, was privy to the internal memo’s showing that the materials harvested from the reactors were all becoming unstable, and would soon all melt into highly radiative isotopes, shooting high doses of radiation out in all directions. He knew that soon enough, the very walls of his house would start to do the same. Nicolas wasn’t panicking. He read with detached interest that the linguistic team had determined, to the best of their ability, that the markings on the outside of the object depicted a society that had become reliant on the AER technology. Whether they were forced into reliance on it, as humanity was, or whether it was simply too good of a resource to pass up was unclear. That they had discovered, utilized, and ultimately were destroyed by it was evident in the etchings. The objects purpose was to be a warning. A species soon to perish had used ancient technology in a last-ditch effort to warn anyone who might find the object not to do what Earth had been doing for almost a hundred years. The AER technology had saved mankind from a self-made disaster. It had held the frayed society back from the edge. Now it was going to destroy them all. An image appeared on his tablet. A mushroom cloud where the city of Bern had been. Reports of imminent meltdowns at reactors, in the order in which they were brought online. Soon the tablet lost all external feeds. Nicolas knew his wife was in their bedroom with Hugh. He walked slowly to them and laid on the bed, Hugh between himself and Marie. He held them both tightly. The window blinds stopped their slow waving in the breeze from the air conditioner. Nicolas didn’t panic. He knew that the power from Banff’s AER had stopped flowing, which is why the blinds no longer moved. He knew that power only stopped flowing in dire circumstances. He waited. His wife was crying. He reached out a hand and rubbed her shoulder. He thanked god that Hugh was asleep. When the intensely bright flash lit up their home, he covered his son’s eyes.


Large clumps of some fluffy substance surrounded him. It felt like cotton candy in his hands and squished softly under his feet. One clump looked like a man playing the oboe. Another like a dog wrestling with a fire extinguisher. Yet another looked like the state of Louisiana. Strange. A large, pillowy cruise liner slowly floated by his face. They were what could only be described as well, clouds. Obvious yes. But it would take you a second to process too. The noise hit him next. It was deafening. Millions of people standing in line. Together they generated an unintelligible hum of multi-lingual murmur. Quite odd. The last thing Jake remembered was being at Conner Davis’s Halloween party. Melissa had been telling him about her plans to open a coffee shop downtown. They’d been laughing, or at least he’d been laughing, while absentmindedly twirling a hors d’oeuvre toothpick with his tongue. Then poof, he was here. With no idea where he was or how he’d arrived. The woman in front of him looked like she had problems of her own. Her head was no longer on her neck. Instead it was tucked under her arm like a sack of potatoes. Gushing blood. She pointed behind Jake, where he heard a throat being cleared. “Ahem.” Jake turned to see a massive set of gleaming gold gates. In front of them was a nine-foot-tall man with a twelve-foot beard, leaning over a seven foot, impossibly smooth marble podium. Broad, soaring wings protruded from the back of his cloak that would put any condor to shame. Yes, yes, this was the pearly gates and St. Peter. It takes a moment to fully comprehend these things when you first encounter them. “Name?” asked St. Peter. “Woah.” Jake said. “Name?” St. Peter repeated. He’d had a few “Woah’s” come through here, but it was best to double check. Jake stood there, mouth agape at the giant bird-man in front of him. St. Peter sighed. Atheists always took forever. He much preferred the religious ones. Not because they were right (they weren’t about any of the important stuff) but because they were ready. Always eager and convinced they were going to heaven. Even when the prospect was laughable, like if they’d killed six people or one time stolen grapes from the supermarket. St. Peter’s eyes darted behind Jake. He stood up and started yelling at someone in line, his voice booming across the sky like a jet-engine. “Wow, really? Cutting the line, on your way to final judgement? Great start man, really. Terrific.” St. Peter shook his head in frustration and directed his gaze back to Jake. “Name?” St. Peter repeated. “Jake.” “Full name, son.” “Jake Mast.” St. Peter nodded and took his name down in his leather-bound ledger. The pages were parchment and he wrote with a quill. Not that it mattered, it was all just symbolic. These records didn’t go anywhere. “So that’ll be hell then?” “What?” Jake felt his stomach drop, poetically over the thought of being plunged into the fiery bowels of hell. “You’ll be going to hell.” St. Peter said. He then smiled a little, in an attempt to be reassuring. “I, what? I don’t understand.” “You’re going to hell.” There really was no nicer way to put it. For the first time since he’d died Jake’s life flashed before his eyes. When had it all gone wrong? Sure, he wasn’t perfect. He didn’t always remember to call his parents. Admittedly he’d once broken up with an old girlfriend on her birthday. He also yelled at his dog too much. The poor guy didn’t know he was doing anything wrong when he pooped in the hallway. He didn’t even know what a hallway was. But it’s not like he’d ever killed anyone or gotten in any serious trouble. The worst trouble he’d ever been in was getting suspended from school in the 4th grade for punching his best friend in P.E class. The principal had also looked nine feet tall that day. “Son, it’s time to go.” St. Peter said. “But, but, why?” Jake asked. St. Peter arched his eyebrows quizzically. “Isn’t it obvious?” Jake shook his head. “No sir.” “You’re evil incarnate!” That felt a little harsh. He couldn’t be that bad, could he? He wasn’t a serial killer, a dictator or one of those manipulative psychics who pretended they could talk to your deceased loved ones. He wasn’t even as bad as his friend Gary. You want to talk about a real asshole spend an afternoon trying to get a word in edgewise with that self-centered prick. “Am I really that bad?” Jake asked. St. Peter waved his hands at Jake. “Look at you!” Jake looked down, past the blood-red toothpick protruding from his neck. His Halloween devil costume! Of all the days to wear a crimson spandex body suit, red face paint, fangs and a pair of horns. Jake gasped and threw down his small, plastic pitchfork. “No, it’s not real!” St. Peter shook his head and rubbed his temples. These atheists man. “I’m sorry, but I’m behind schedule as it is.” St. Peter said as he pulled a rope lever above his head. The clouds beneath Jake’s feet slowly parted. He tried to grab onto one clouds floating around him, but they were now nothing more than condensed water vapor that slipped through his fingers. His legs felt the cold night air. Wildly he reached for the hem of St. Peter’s cloak as he fell backwards into the starry sky. In moments, he’d crashed into the earth. Feeling nothing as he tore through soil, granite and mineral-rich deposits. He tore through it all, deeper and deeper, careening at the most terminal of velocities into the darkest depths of hell. He landed hard with a loud smack against a slab of flaming brimstone. Unsurprisingly, things hurt in hell. Too frightened to open his eyes, he involuntarily sniffed the overpowering stench of sulfur all around him. The heat was unimaginable, best described as extra-tropical. He heard the cackle of demons. The cries of the damned. The sound of a raging river of lava that ended in a torrential waterfall. And was that, organ music? A snake slithered into a leg of his spandex suit and out through a sleeve. Jake lay his face against the red-hot floor and cried. One more wail in a sea of them. It wasn’t long before he felt a claw poking him in the back. Admittedly, far more gingerly than he’d been led to expect by his one quick scan of the Old Testament in Sunday school. “My Liege.” Jake froze. “Awaken my liege!” The clawed hand softly patted him on the shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “My Liege. Is anything the matter?” Jake slowly turned his head. Afraid to fully open his eyes, he squinted upwards. Standing over him was a four-foot, peach colored imp. His pig snouted, Triassic face looked concerned. “My Liege!” the imp repeated. Jake slowly pointed at himself with a trembling arm. “Me?” “My Liege!” The imp shouted again, overjoyed at his response. Jake’s eyes widened as he looked around and saw that he was slowly being approached by an army of demonic creatures. A particularly large demon extended his muscular, boil-covered arm towards him. Jake grabbed it and carefully got to his feet, looking out at the hell-spawn that now surrounded him. They all slowly bowed in unison and cheered “My Liege!” Jake looked down at his costume. Oh right. First thing he’d be changing was the dress code.  If you made it this far, thanks for reading.


Slice of Life style OC Critiques are welcome “SAAAAM! Get ready! Everyone is going to be here soon.” “Relax mom, they are still an hour away!” It’s her who needs time to get ready. Well I can’t blame her, everyone just projects their experiences onto others. Strange thing this evening! I know another year has passed but I am excited about it, despite the firecracker ban. A large chunk of the family gets together at Diwali. Being an annual occasion, it gives them enough time to accumulate exciting stories. So many surprises. No awkward nod or blank stare this time of the year! “Oh wait it’s 10 minutes now. Thank god I already had a shower.” I am an atheist though. You see, I… NO. STOP… Imma get ready now. Well I enjoyed the evening. I wish I didn’t have to get an year older every time for this. I got a bit jealous when I found how mature my younger cousins have become after a year. I know, I know, I got mature too. But I don’t realize it. No shock value, you see… until someone prompts me to compare… which I just did… not jealous anymore… cool. I miss the cold climate of North India. Quilts are so snuggly. Tomorrow… is it post 12? yeah… tomorrow I’ll be in Bangalore. Same pleasant climate all round the year. The only variation past the round-robin of round-neck tees I need is a raincoat. Huh... Hmm… \*breathes in\* No matter which bedroom, ceilings are the same… staring into your soul... blank Memes… Hmm… Tomorrow I’ll lie the same… but on a different mattress… same ceiling… different feeling?? I wonder… \* \* \* At the airport, I was looking through some of the top pictures in various photography contests (Nat Geo, etc.). The shots were (and are) awe inspiring! On first sight, some of the pictures triggered a mix of emotions in proportions I had never felt before. “Weird.” How can something so real make me feel something so unreal?! This is probably the only time in my life I would feel this specific mixtures of feelings in tandem. Moments later, it was gone; and I had no memory of that exact feeling. I could remember that it felt really good, perhaps even ethereal. Even if I had the exact words to describe the emotions, they can’t make me feel them. I look at the picture again… mesmerizing! But no surprise. Everytime I look at the picture, it becomes more and more commonplace. I panicked and closed the tab. “It’s a goddamn paradox!”. Since I can’t store the feeling, I have an unfulfillable and unrealistic heavenly memory of it… but I can’t FEEL it! If I revisit to feel it, I don’t feel nearly as good, with the quality of feeling and its memory deteriorating after each visit. “What should I do to feel that way again?!”. Even waiting a year won’t work here! Apparently, sometimes, I think out loud without realizing it. The puzzled look on the lady’s face sitting beside me made it worth it though. I might only be able to wish for a level of control over my mind that I can experience feelings resembling surprise and happiness in the most commonplace of things. But I know it’s possible. Experiencing the moment without actively remembering what happened a few seconds ago or what’s gonna happen a second later… you know the herb. “Why do I want to feel that way again, and again, you ask?! It’s so that my day doesn’t feel like a couple of hours… so that I don’t make new year resolutions every month.” One more potential female partner… whoosh! But I know it’s possible... For instance, right now… right now… right now… I am enjoying my blank ceiling, listening to Lo-Fi, full of repetitions. Right now… The feeling of calm is similar to the calm during my previous noticing of the ceiling. Well...now, not the same calm. Youtube’s autoplay isn’t really reliable. It’s playing rock now.


I had thirteen missed calls from Trudy, and I had ignored all of them on purpose. My phone tumbled down from the couch as I pointed the remote control to my over-used television. I had canceled work today and had glued myself to the same spot on my couch. There was no one, not even Trudy, that would get me off. It was only minutes later though when she came barging in through my front door. “I told you those keys were for emergencies only.” I glared as she stood above me, raising her eyebrows disapprovingly. “This *is* an emergency, Layla.” She reached inside her backpack and pulled out a blue and pink box. I knew what it was right away. “I told you, I don’t need to take one.” I pushed her hand away as she handed me the tests and glanced over behind her at the TV. I regretted telling Trudy about my missed period and now it was the only thing she could talk about. This was the second time she brought me a pregnancy test and the second time I would deny it. Things were so great with Ed, and I wasn’t about to let anything ruin that. “You’re in denial.” She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “You can’t ignore this forever. Even Ed will start to notice.” “Ed won’t notice anything because there is nothing to notice.” I snapped at her. “He would be so mad if he knew what you were implying.” Ed never wanted to have children, and frankly, neither did I. This was definitely not happening to us. “Layla,” Trudy sat on the coffee table in front of me and reached over to grab my hand. “Do it for me. So I can breathe again.” I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes at her. I couldn’t believe she was making me do this. I glanced at her other hand holding the box. Its colors vibrated angrily at me and demanded my attention. I swallowed a stubborn lump in my throat and sighed again. I knew it wasn’t possible, but somehow my body was rattling with nerves. Ten minutes later, I was sitting on the cold bathroom floor next to Trudy. I could see the surface of the bathroom counter with a short peed-on stick. This whole week I had disconnected myself from any emotion and suddenly I could feel them rushing back in. Slowly, my heart began to speed up and I could feel sweaty drops at the palms of my hands. I wondered what my mother would say. I leaned my head back on the wall and closed my eyes. I could see her face, her long dark hair, and her kind eyes. I always saw her in red, probably because it was her favorite color and it was most of her wardrobe. She would say she loved the intensity of it, and that it was the only color that spoke to her in a language she could understand. A part of me likes to think she looks over me from above, or wherever she is. And if so, I pray she isn’t looking now. I opened my eyes to find Trudy standing over the counter. I could see her face in the reflection of the mirror as she stared down at the stick with wide eyes. “Oh no, Layla.” She whispered.  \  When Ed got home from work that day, Trudy had left and I was sitting on our dining table, staring blankly at the walls. The table sat right in between our couch and kitchen. We had chosen a tiny apartment in the basement of a neighbourhood house, mainly because it was just going to be the two of us and we didn’t need more space than that. The walls were short and the floor creaked with every step. I loved how cozy it was, and it never felt crowded with just Ed. Just Ed and me. No one else. “How was your day?” He said as he kissed my forehead and sat on the chair next to me. He immediately frowned at was probably a terrified expression on my face. I had no idea how this was going to go. I reached for my pocket and pulled out the pregnancy test. He watched my hand in confusion as I placed it on the table in front of him. We both sat there for a while, him staring at the stick and me staring at him. I waited for a reaction for what felt like years. I could just picture my mother behind him, tapping her foot expectantly. She had always been so impatient. She would have probably smacked him in the head by now, desperately demanding him to say something. “I know it’s crazy.” I broke the silence. “I didn’t even think it could be possible. Trudy just forced me to take one just in case. And when I saw that it was positive, I just –”. I stopped myself mid-sentence as he suddenly stood up from the table. I felt like it had been a long time since he had looked at me. He turned around and walked towards the door. I immediately stood up. I could hear my heart as it threatened to rip out of my ribs. “What are you doing?” My voice bounced off the walls as it came out much louder than I had expected. But the walls heard no response. Without even turning around, Ed reached for the door and quickly shut it closed behind him. I stood still. I could feel wet tears slowly trickle down my cheeks and my mother’s fingers gently brushing them away. She would tell me to breathe because answers only come when I let them in. I bit my shaking lip and closed my eyes. I imagined my young self with her in red vibrant dresses as we danced in our empty house. Her long hair swaying from side to side and her radiant smile that amplified our walls. I breathed in one more time, hoping it would be enough for any type of answer to reveal itself. But nothing came and my heart began to sting in pain. Although my body was not alone anymore, I somehow felt emptier than ever.


*I just wrote this relatively short short story, however I am not sure how I feel about it. I would really appreciate any input you might have! — “Don’t fucking go down there.” The man said to me. I ignored him as I opened the door. As I open the door I look down and see a rickety wooden staircase, going down into a black abyss. The only hope of light came from a bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. “Listen you little fuck, don’t take one step down those stairs or you will regret it.” He spat. I stared into his eyes. His eyes were angry, meanwhile mine were blank. HIs eyes had fire in them, a desire to stop me from going downstairs and ruining his life. “Look, I know you people don’t take bribes, but I have money. A lot of money.” The man bargained. They always bargain. One step down “You will regret this!” The man got up and reached for his gun he had tucked in his waistband. He walked to the top of the staircase and aimed the barrel of his pistol at my eyes. I continued to stare at him with my left foot about to fall onto the stair below the one I was on. If my intelligence is correct then there is no way I can let this man get away with whatever insidious crimes this man has been committing. Rumors have it that there are several children hidden in that basement. This man needs to come to justice and I will be the one to serve him that. “Please man. I’m begging you.” The man drew the hammer back on the gun, making that cliche gun sound you always hear in the movies. The man wasn’t going to shoot me, we both knew that. I walked down two more stairs when I heard the gunshot. That loud crack that leaves a ringing in your ears, making yourself wonder if you are still in reality or if that was the end. The same gunshot I hear just about everyday. I looked up at the man, who was lying in a pool of his own blood by now. I let a brief sigh of relief out as I continued down the steps. As I made it down to the bottom of the stairs I turned on a light to see something worse than I was expecting. Children. Dozens of them. All sitting down, some of them shaking, most of them crying. This is why I do this job, to get scum like this off of the streets. To cleanse the world of people like this. It is not a beautiful job, nor is it an easy job, but it is a job that has to be done. I continued to stare at the children, counting them, and then began to make my way to the top of the stairs. “Good shot, Dieter.” I said to the man who killed the damn swine that was hiding these despicable children, “We got a 22 children downstairs, all appear to be needing of cleansing.” I said with a smirk on my face. “I think we have room on the train for 22 more!” Dieter laughed.


To enter heaven, I need to face what I did 55 years back. She asked where I wanted to meet, and I let her pick out of guilt. Elenor chose our old apartment, and we both laugh when we look at the red walls and the wooden base boards. I finally decide to look at her, and I do. She looks exactly like I saw her when I was twenty five, the extra 7 years of age completely useless in stopping her from looking no older than twenty three. Her hair is in a bun with two sets of curls blocking her ears from view. The only thing that unsettles me about her is the gash in her neck, the slim hole just as visible as the day I lost my purpose. A drop of blood runs from the gash, and as she tilts her head, I jump from surprise at how the blood does moves with her, rooted in the exact same spot. She laughs. “Don’t worry” she says with a smile, “it’s just a tattoo. Everyone has one”. I look down through my shirt to see a broken heart in the middle of my chest. We both smile. “Well I’ll be damned”. We lock eyes and our smiles begin to fade as we know we need to get to the point. I try to figure out how to say it, but she reads my mind like she did 55 years back. “It’s okay. Your heart always worked slower than your brain” she taps my forehead with her friendly smile returning. “It didn’t matter...” I begin to break down into a sob and Elenor reaches across the table and hugs me, my mind immediately easing. She taps her tattoo. “How much worse would it have been if you didn’t give me this?”. I think about those kids in the warehouse and the gun pointed to their heads, the man’s malicious grin just barley barring his teeth at me under his thick beard. We lock eyes again, and I see the sad understanding in her eyes just before she breaks her gaze to look out the window at the Honolulu beaches. “You didn’t know.” She says. “There’s no way you could’ve.” I knew she didn’t hate me, but I didn’t know if she forgave me. There’s no reason she should’ve. So why would she? Yet here we are, in the same apartment as the night I cleaned of the kitchen knife, sitting at The same IKEA table she reluctantly agreed to. “Hey” I look up at Elenor as a mischievous grin appears along her face, and I understand where she stands. She knows I understand and grins wider. She loses her grin fast as she begins to understand. “What does it matter what lingers down there?” She says pointing to my chest. “I forgive you! You don’t need to dwell!” “I do.” I respond. “I took away your chances at raising children. I took away your chance of seeing the world. I took you away from your family. If that isn’t a reason to dwell, I don’t know what is!” “You clearly don’t!” She grabs my hands. “We can still have all that! Please, for the love of god, stay here!” I shake my head. “I’m sorry” I feel her soft touch turn into a fluffy sadness, one that I can’t hold onto as the world slips from under me and I fall. As I fall my young hands take back their wrinkles and coarseness. I close my eyes and wait to be greater with flame, but my fall is interrupted with a firm softness, like a storm cloud forgot its cruel visage and caught be on a bed of hail. And as it remembers the visage, I feel it’s lightning go into my chest. I open my eyes to find the storm cloud in a young woman’s hands, her hospital uniform matching the dull atmosphere. She couldn’t have been older than twenty two. “Oh thank god!” She sighs. “I thought you were a goner!” She stumbles out of the room, her brown curls bobbing up and down as she leaves. I look out the window at a cloud weeping, and the weeping causes rain to fall over the hospital. And I begin to weep, the first tear running down the valley of my wrinkled face, and I realizing that night 55 years ago was the first dance with the devil.


America’s only slapstick comedy themed restaurant. My name’s Buster and I’ll be your server today. Oh don’t mind him, he’s not hurt, it’s all part of the experience. Bet he wishes they hadn’t ordered the soup of the day though ha-ha! What do you say we start you off with some waters? I’ll grab some menus too. I’ll just be righ- WHO PUT THAT BANANA PEEL THERE? Ha-ha, just kidding. I knew it was there. In fact I’m in charge of laying down all the peels before we open. No, no please don’t help me up. It’s all part of the experience. Just think about my physical therapist and lack of health insurance come tip time. Ha-ha, ok, enough lounging, how about those waters and menus? Oh and of course a basket of slapsticks. Which is what we call breadsticks. So just give me a mi- Oop! Ok I’m back! Sorry for the wait. Didn’t notice Curly was mopping the floor right behind me. Would it have killed him to put out a “Wet floor” sign? Jeez! Oh, the window? Don’t worry that’s stunt glass. We have some very good relationships with a few window guys in the area. You have to in the restaurant business. The fire hydrant? No that wasn’t a stunt fire hydrant. That was a real Brinks truck too. Remember that come tip time. Ha-ha! Anyway, those waters, menus, and slapsticks. Again sorry for the delay, you guys must be starving. I’ll comp some apps for the table. Don’t even worry about it. Is that my tooth? Thank you I’ll take that. I’ll bring some napkins too. Well if you insist, maybe I will sit down for a second. That wasn’t me by the way, this chair has a whoopee cushion sown in. Look, I’ll do it again. Well ok it’s deflated now, but you get the idea. Alright, I’m up! Waters, menus, slapsticks, comped apps, napkins, some gauze and a splint, coming right up! I’ll just- Wooooahhhh momma! Abbott, buddy. When you’re bringing out that flaming Baked Alaska can you look where you’re going? And pick your pants up! Speaking of, how the heck did you get a lobster down your pants? Just get that dessert to table seven while it’s still hot will ya! I’ll get “pinchy” here back to his tank. Sorry I didn’t catch that. My sleeve? My arms on fire? So it is! Those waters would come in handy right about now ha-ha! Excuse me a second. Flames really picked up for a while there. You can thank management for these polymer-blend uniforms, always good for a couple hijinks. Oh did I seem scared? Had you going there for a second huh? Just another day down in the salt mines, ha-ha. And in case you’re still wondering we do all our own stunts. Remember that come tip time, ha-ha! Burnt hair, yeah, hate that smell. While I was looking for the fire extinguisher I checked in on the kitchen. Apparently the chef ran into a full-length mirror again. It might be a few minutes till he’s up and moving. But worth the wait! And besides it’s all part of the experience. Listen to me blab, getting sidetracked again. Let me get you those waters, menus and apps. You guys can dine on “pinchy” while you wait. He got pretty singed while I tried to put the flames out. No please, I’m fine. Your concern is appreciated but this is all just part of the experience. Is that my blood? My most sincere apologies. Ok I’m just gonna- AHHH! Hey Harold. Had to throw that key-lime pie in my face didn’t you? Very funny. Had to be me, huh? Oh yes, I’m sure you were just in a hurry and tripped.


“When life gives you lemons-” Yes, I know the fucking phrase. So help me Christ don’t finish it or I’ll snap your legs off and use them to stir a bathtub filled with your remains. As you can plainly see, I am in fact squeezing lemons to make lemonade. But it’ll take a damn eternity to squeeze them all. Why do I have a mountain of 26,687 mother fucking lemons on my front lawn? Couldn’t say. Woke up and there they fucking were. Only thing I know for certain is nobody asked me before they dumped all these stupid, shitty lemons here. Because believe you me, I woulda said “no.” Not just “no” but an emphatic “hell fucking no.” “Hell fucking no, I don’t want this avalanche of bitter scrotums. You massive dick.” Beautiful day too, perfect for a BBQ. But of course, my grill’s buried under heaps of lemons so high, they block out the goddamn sun. And of course, aforementioned goddamn sun is quickly ripening all these sickening lemons into a rancid mush that every insect in the country is flocking to. Because apparently insects are huge fucking assholes. So yes, I’m squeezing these sons of bitches. I’m squeezing these little bastards as fast as I fucking can. I’m about 863 lemons in, but who’s counting? Me, that’s who. I’m a prisoner marking his sentence, yearning to be free of this plague of lemons. This pox of lemons. This ebola-outbreak-in-a-major-urban-area of lemons. Jesus, just looking at all those flaxen sphincters is making me wish I died of scurvy. You ever had lemon juice squirted in you eyes? How about 863 times? Goddamit! Make that 864. Sure it stings like a bastard but at least each eyeful of this acid piss momentarily distracts me from the fact that I now have carpal tunnel in both wrists. Lemon induced carpal tunnel. Try explaining that one to your insurance provider. Not that I can go to the doctor anyway. Too many lemons to squeeze. Also, a freaking metric-ton of lemons crushed my car. Only had three payments left on that piece of shit too. Oh, not only that but my daughter hates me now. She walked onto the lawn this morning with this little cardboard sign. Apparently she’d independently decided to set up a lemonade stand today, selling it for fifty cents a glass. Well, she took one look at me and this yellow cesspool and quickly realized I’d flooded the market, drastically depreciating lemonade prices all down the block. She instantly burst into tears. It’s hard not to feel like a fucking prick about that. Which is also what she called me before digging her severely dented bike out of a mound of lemons and screaming that she was running away from home. I have no doubt that this supply-side trauma will lead her down a path of hard drugs. Because she mentioned that as well. So feel free to have a sip of this lemon discharge. Or a gulp. Or an IV drip. Just get rid of as much of this never-ending citrus nightmare as you can. Please I beg you. I’m running out of receptacles. I’ve used all my jugs, cups, bowls and have now resorted to filling hats with this sour urine. Cause you see, I may be squeezing these lemons but they’ve squeezed far more out of me than I ever could have imagined. My blood, my sweat, my tears. My dignity, my self-respect, my zest for life. I’m now nothing more than an empty rind of a man, waiting to be mashed into oblivion. Also, before you lift that cowboy hat, I should mention, this lemonade’s pretty fucking tart. Could probably use some sugar if you have any.  If you made it this far, thanks for reading.


Pigs in a Pen I was awoken by the ear-piercing screams of missiles soaring over my head. It was an alarm clock for me as a barrage of missiles flew by every morning at 7:30 am. Even though it was still pitch black outside due to the smoke covering the sun, I could tell that it was morning. I sluggishly shuffled down the stairs; there is nothing in this barren city to care about. Finding another human being in this devastated excuse of a town is as likely as seeing pigs fly. Daily, via television, the government briefly informs us that it is illegal to go out of our homes due to the danger the war poses. The houses all over the country are resistant to most forms of weapons, or so the government says. I open my computer and start trying to contact my friends since the only sources of entertainment nowadays are shows on the television coming from countries not involved in our affairs, and the other source of entertainment clearly being computers as I can access the Internet and contact others in the same situation as me, as I previously stated. Anyways, you are most likely somewhat confused about the current situation I am in, and I have not introduced myself yet either. My name is Samuel Haft and I am 54 years old, I lack friends in the sense that I do not have any friends in real life. My hobbies are eating and spending time on the Internet. Every home has a food generator that takes pictures of food from the Internet and produces it. I am not sure how it works since none of us are well educated due to the constant occurrence of wars. Within the 54 years, I have been alive, there has not been any excitement whatsoever. Every single foolish day I am on this planet I wake up, and by noon, the level of boredom I reach begins to hinder my ability to perform everyday tasks. I walk around my home every day contemplating my life decisions and simultaneously, I decide my next meal. After ages of mindlessly walking like a baby sheep following its herd, I found my desired meal; Eggs and bacon. I did not wish for a complicated meal; something as simple as eggs and bacon seemed fitting. I dragged my feet along the floor until I reached the food generator in the kitchen. I hooked my computer up to the generator and searched for “eggs and bacon”, I anticipated the arrival of my food and focused my gaze on the food generator until I hear the familiar “ding” come from the food generator signifying that the food was ready. By the time my meal was ready, I had already planned what I was going to eat for my next meal. I am never truly hungry and most of the time, I am just yearning for something to satisfy my taste buds. I always eat my meals before I am hungry, therefore, I never get hungry unless I eat too little in my previous meal. Food these days taste different from how they tasted when I was in my childhood, or at least that is what I recall. One of the reasons I like tasting different foods from all sorts of cultures is because about 20 years ago, when the war that is going on currently started, the food generators were introduced, and that is when my hobby of tasting foods from across the world started. Similar to the present, I had nothing to do at the time and I was still not accustomed to the boredom of staying home 24/7. Over the years, It slowly occurred to me that the food was starting to taste unusually similar and more and more tasteless. Earlier this year, I actually looked further into the predicament by conferencing with my online companions. It was not only me who found the food peculiar, one of my friends who claims to have aided in the creation of the food generators revealed that artificial flavours, colours, nutrients, and another ingredient he refused to disclose were mixed together in the machine and in a few short minutes, the food would be printed out onto the plate. I had no other information on the food, thus I had to trust this stranger who is technically my friend. 2 years later I continued my daily routine of waking up, eating, surfing the web, eating again, watching some television, eating on more time, and sleeping. It has been a whole 2 years since the last time I came upon interesting news, and for the past 2 years, it has felt like I was hypnotised by and was zoned out for all this time. I had stopped contemplating life and began to mindlessly entertain myself with whatever content was on the Internet; just like how the government wants us to do. Only now have I started to wonder if the government was lying to us the whole time and there was no war. What if all of the sounds coming from the outside were fake and the thick, reinforced windows were modified television screens? I seem to have broken out of the trance that I was put in for 2 whole years. Could it be that the government found out about the conversations I had with my online companions? I hoarded all my current knowledge and all my conspiracy theories I formulated, found the connection between them and thought about it. I layed there thinking about what all this could mean and in the end, I concluded that I should try going outside. I browsed the web for hours on end trying to locate others who had the same train of thought as me. Eventually, after searching for people, I found one person who wanted to explore the outside with me. He said that his webcam was shattered so I did not know of his appearance. We both had the same ideology on what we thought the government was doing and settled on roaming around the town until we met since we did not have any knowledge of our towns geography. This anonymous figure who I still barely knew told me that if I gouged the floorboard in front of my sink out of the ground, there would be a full body hazmat suit in a grey box. He then advised me to put it on when I headed out tomorrow in case the government was not deceiving us, it was simply a precaution. The very next morning, I woke up with a grin on my face for the first time in 22 years. I was going to set myself free from this accursed building that I was locked up in for 22 years. I bolted around my house searching for something to use to smash through the walls. Finally, I settled on a sledgehammer that rested behind the hazmat suit under the floorboards; I guess the man I spoke to yesterday forgot to inform me about the sledgehammer lock away in the ground. I pulled back and swung with all my strength; the force was enough to tear a jagged hole straight across the wall. After what I saw what I could do with the hammer, I proceeded to shred through my wall like a trigger-happy gunman in a swarm of people. A look of ecstasy flushed over my face as I looked outside through the now absent wall; The outdoors almost identical how I thought it would look like. I felt like I was reliving the faint memories of the outdoors from I was but a child. For the first time in all these years, I did not walk by dragging my feet across the ground, I did not feel any boredom on the inside, and I finally had something to do in life. I wandered around the town trying to remember the roads so I could return home when I needed to. The ground looked like not a single soul had set foot on it before, I continued my expedition to find this other man who had also found the darkest secret of our government. I continued my stroll till I noticed a sound, the sound was the missiles! I about to panic, but then I realised it wasn’t real and the government probably had speakers on the houses creating the sound. Slowly but surely, the sound of missiles was getting louder and my ears started to hurt. I plugged my ears with my hands and I collapsed and leaned against the wall of a house trying to prevent my ears from exploding. As the sound got louder, I noticed blue robot hovering towards me, that idiotic robot was generating all the commotion. The robot identified me as a human and turned off the sound and came over to me, stood there for about a minute or so, and out of nowhere it shot something through my chest, unbearable pain erupted throughout my body, my chest was burning and all my strength started fading away. I could not move a muscle; I felt paralyzed. But, for some reason, I did not feel any emotions, only pain. I accepted my fate and as soon as I thought I was about to die, the blade-like object inside me spun like a weed wacker and started moving. My flesh was being eaten by this robot, yet I no longer felt pain, I stopped paying attention to the robot and soon after my arm fell to the ground. A realization that the robot was cutting me up into pieces hit me strong, I was being cut into pieces like I was a pig at a slaughterhouse except I was still alive to witness myself be cut up starting with my limbs. I am now certain that the object that impaled me was laced with a painkiller and that the anonymous person who I spoke with was lying about shattering their webcam. That person was probably the government luring me out of my house to have me killed, and there are 3 reasons that the government would want to kill me for. Those reasons are either that I am now old and the government wants to kill me off, the government wants to kill me off due to my knowledge of what is actually going on, or because we are all like pigs being raised in a farm and I am now ready for consumption. That might explain why my online friend refused to disclose a certain ingredient that food generator uses to create food; it was most likely human remains. As I lay against the wall with a robot slowly dissecting me and removing my organs, I begin to lose consciousness, and due to the severe blood loss I suffered and am still suffering, I died the very next minute. At the age of 56, I died a pointless death, locked up in a house with no windows or doors my entire life like a pig in a pen raised, only to be eaten.


I let out a shaky breath, not quite willing to accept that I had gotten through this shopping trip without seeing another person. As I walk up to the cashier, my cart full of essentials, I make sure to keep my head down, silently putting my items on the conveyor belt. I heard the total distantly and carefully counted out the correct amount of change. Handing it over, I make sure to keep my eyes averted, but her sleeve rose up at the last second and I flinch as I catch a glimpse of her hand. Thoughts of age and fragility immediately speed through my head until at last, I feel my own heart quicken. And then, I feel nothing. I wince at the sudden nothingness and hurry out of the store. Throwing my groceries in the front seat, I sit for a few minutes, bracing myself for the drive home. I hate the task of driving, for it is near impossible to make an entire road trip without setting eyes on a single living thing. I pull out of the parking lot and start on the road, moving my eyes from landmark to landmark. I was approaching an intersection when an insistent honk of a horn caused me to fully look at what was going on - a mad man swerving his car through the intersection. The second I see him, an image flashes across my mind: engulfing fire… burning metal… the smell of gasoline… and then, just pain. I turn into a side alley as soon as it’s safe and park my car. I spend at least fifteen minutes just weeping, before building up enough strength to continue on. About an hour later, I am finally safe in my own home. My favorite place is my house. Residence of one, with no windows, and shelves stocked with non perishable foods - it was my safe place. It is the only place I can relax, or at least come close to relaxing. Although, ironically, my safe place was also my prison. Every day spent here, I feel more and more trapped. No companionship, no pets - there wasn’t even any plants. Not a living thing that could share a happy moment with me. Yet, even as I hate it, I knew that this was still better than what was outside the doors. One of my only constant human interactions was with the mailman. I open the door at 3:59, startling the mailman as he is still unused to me awaiting his presence. I force myself to meet his eyes and watch the scene play - the same scene I had seen yesterday, and the day before, and even the day before. I had seen it so often that I could recite it from memory. His climbing the stairs of the tallest building in town; his body falling story after story before he finally hit the ground and then, darkness. I am still unable to hide my flinch as I grab the paper from him. I’m sure that he joins the rest of this neighborhood in thinking that I’m mad, and who knows. Maybe I am. I just don’t understand. He seems so happy every time I see him. He greets me with the same smile and “How are you?”. Why does he do it? I’ve spent many an afternoon pondering over him and it may very well be the thing that kills me once and for all. I’ve cried over his death, knowing that I cannot fix his fate without ruining myself. The countless times I’ve tried to save people before him have proven that fact to me time after time, and maybe this time, I would finally learn my lesson and just let him die. I was still standing in the doorway, staring out at the empty street, letting myself slip into the familiar feelings of loneliness, when all too suddenly, a woman opens her curtain in her room and I catch a glimpse of her face. I immediately collapse against my door, the searing pain and blinding lights of a car crash flashing through my body. I manage to crawl back to my rocking chair, engulfing myself back into the solitude of my house. I wish I was dead. Yet, even as I try with all my might, I cannot see my own death; I cannot cause it, and I cannot fulfill my greatest wish. I can see death in everything around me: the mailman’s eyes, the neighbor’s cat, and even the trees hold glimpses of death. Yet in the one place I wish it to be, I only find its absence. And so, I spend my days sitting in this chair, trying to escape the world but becoming all the more trapped. I must remain optimistic, even though my hope is all but lost. I must stay here in this city of bustling people, in this neighborhood of happy lives, in this house of solitude with the knowledge that no man should bear. Knowing that every time I hear a knock at the door, although a breathing human stands on the other side, I am the last person on earth who is alive. Or rather, the last person who has not yet died.


I wrote this short story as a joke based on a funny dream my friend had. I'm genuinely curious for some feedback about the writing style though, any and all thoughts appreciated, thanks! John awoke with a stifled cry of terror, his brow doused in sweat, and his chest heaving anxious gasps of air. For several minutes, he sat upright in bed, attempting to recall the details of his nightmare, but failing. As he calmed down, he became aware of the starkness of the night air, which gave an unpleasant sensation, like that of oil on skin. Suddenly, a few feet to the left, his door knob began to rattle frantically back and forth. John's breathing became labored once more, as he nearly screamed in terror, only just managing to stay his base instincts of horror from betraying his desperate situation to whatever nocturnal interloper waited at the door. Then, from the hallway he sensed a presence so noisome and dreadful, he shuddered at the mere thought of its existence, and shuddered further to think of its proximity. For it was then that he knew, he must fight the ancient dream wolves. Taking a paper plate to hand, he leapt towards the door a cry that was equal parts fear and desperate fury. He flung the door open, revealing only an empty hallway. This brought him no comfort, and acting upon his rush of adrenaline, he pushed forwards into the hallway, raising his improvised weapon to strike whatever might offer itself to his vigilant hand. His heart raced, his body poured sweat into the night air, and he was once again struck with the smothering feeling of that oily night air. Making up his mind after a few moments to discover whatever disturbed him, and to find some resolution to his terror, even if it were a fate he dared not think of, he rounded the corner, and saw the grotesque thing that had haunted his dreams, and driven him from his nocturnal sanctuary to the brink of madness. He stopped cold as he saw the thing, a creature in the shape of a wolf was outlined against the dim rays cast by the moon as they trickled through a window. His eyes wide with terror as they passed over the it, with its putrescent and withered flesh, spotted with patches of matted hair, and eyes that should belong to no beast of the earth. Oh, those eyes, those terrible eyes. As he gazed upon them, he knew he could know no other night on earth, seeing in them the dreadful horror of a thousand souls tormented in the abyss, and twisted into the perverse designs of some daemon from beyond the veil of the physical world. But as suddenly as the horror had been revealed to him, it was gone. John awoke, crying out in terror once more. Frantically surveying the room, he saw no sign of the night visitor. As his terror began to subside, he fell backwards onto his mattress, feeling a cold draft waft over his skin, now without the suggestion of oppressive oiliness. Pondering however, that no source within the room could produce such a result, he turned to see: *the hallway door stood open.


I first heard the Whispers long ago, when I was just a young boy. I had been exploring a nearby forest, I a well renowned adventurer in this kingdom of imagination, when I heard them. They were distant, quiet, following the nature of a Whisper, which is what led me to title them as such, or perhaps it was because at such a young age I had not known what they truly were. For quite some time, I could never find out where the whispers came from, but nearing my 9th birthday celebration, they along with the winds grew louder, and more restless, almost beckoning me into the forest, calling me deep within. I resisted for some time, but childish curiosity eventually overpowered my wavering resolve. One morning, once my father had gone to the fields to plough, and my mother had begun her almost ritual-like tidying of the house, I ventured into the wood. My mother wished me luck on my “big adventure” and I was off. You see, she was quite used to me “Journeying” into the small wood, and she needn't worry about losing me, for it was entirely surrounded on all sides by golden, flowing fields of grain. One of the men working would sooner catch me before I would wander off. However, what she did not expect was that I would be venturing forth brandishing a small knife. I felt no need to tell her of this, for fear of my daily expeditions being severely limited, and of receiving a rather large reprimand from my father. Besides, I needed protection from the Whispers, or as I called them as a child, “The Whisper Monster”. It was nothing more than a figment of my childlike wonder and imagination, however. Those are very powerful things to young’uns. Thus, I ventured forth, my dagger clutched firmly in hand, a security line back to reality. As I entered the forest, my ear caught the sound of the whispers once more, every step ushering them slightly louder. As I bounced playfully from tree trunk to tree trunk, leaping over roots, and shifting aside fallen branches, I felt the undertones of the whispers telling me where to go. Eventually, I found myself in a small clearing, and the voices finally fell silent. In the center was the broken stump of a large, silver birch tree. It must have been felled during a recent storm, because the wood was still fresh. I stared at it, the white bark glittering in the few rays of sunlight that pierced the woods’ thick canopy. Finally the Whispers spoke again, or rather, I should say whisper, because there was only one voice now. It sounded ancient and raspy, yet it was kind and had undertones of softness. It said one word: “Create.” I didn’t know what else to do, but follow the odd and ambiguous command, in fact, I felt compelled to comply. So I did what little I could with my small knife, and childish imagination. I began by carving out a small hollow, maybe size of a small basket. To my surprise what I thought of as hard work at first became as easy as peeling a potato, before I knew it, I could hear my mother calling, and the last lights of sunset were just barely visible through the trunks of the trees. I left the knife and the shavings there, in the recess I had created, and headed on home. When I finally made it back, the sun was well past setting, and the cold of night was beginning to set in. “Did you enjoy your adventure, Dorai?” My mother asked. “I had lots of fun!” “So, did you discover anything new?” I hesitated a moment before answering. “No… But I did fight a toad monster!” In my mind, I apologized to mama for lying. I’d show her once I was done. That I promised myself. “Oh dear, how terrifying. I do hope you let it go in the end.” “Of course mama, like you said: ‘Treat life with respect, but not to your wallet’” It was a saying my grandmother had come up with. I’d heard much about my grandmother, but she had passed before I was born. She was allegedly one of the first settlers of the town, She and Pop-pop were disliked at first, but slowly, they won the townsfolk over with small talk, and the brutal way they dispatched of thieves and the uncouth. According to Mama, she had thrown a purse snatcher clear across town square when Mama was my age. The town became surprisingly peaceful after that. “That’s my cute little boy.” She said smiling, and ruffling my hair a bit. Then, we heard a knock on the door. *Rat tat . . . tat rat tat* That was Papa’s knock! My face must’ve lit up with joy, because mama said: “Go on... or are you going to make him come through the window?” I rushed over to the door, and struggled to pull the heavy oaken door open with my small frame. When I finally pulled it open, there he was, a full parcel of food in his hands. “Honey, I’m home! That’s odd, where’s Dorai?” Not realizing the joke, I called out. “I’m right here, papa!” “Dorai, is that you? Where’d you go?” “I’m down here!” Finally placing the ingredients on the table, he looked down at me again, now without anything to block his vision. “So that’s where you’ve gone, you little devil!” He lifted me into the air, beaming at me. “How’s my special one today?” “I’m feeling pretty high up, papa!” He chuckled, and put me down before breaking out laughing. “You know, he got his wit from you”, Mother interjected. “Aye, that he did, but let us hope he inherited your cooking. It’d be a shame if no one ate anything like you make ever again.” “Oh you... Speaking of, we have something special tonight, in lieu of little Dorai’s birthday.” “What is it mama?” “You’ll just have to wait until after dinner to see, won’t you?” She replied coyly, picking up the ingredients for tonight’s dinner from off the table, and moved them closer to the fire. I was clearly disappointed, but I knew nothing I could do would make mama tell me, so I sat down at the table with papa. There was a soft sizzle as mama put the meat in a pan to cook, and no one spoke for a while. I was the first to break the silence. “How was work, Papa?” “It was wonderful, Dorai. You’ve just got to see how much wheat you can fit onto a single cart. You know, we could use a pair of strong hands like yours.” “Really!?” Mama Spoke once more. “Now you know what we agreed on, Haelsich.” The atmosphere of the room grew deathly cold. She only ever called papa by his first name when she was especially serious, and I could feel the tension, at least until papa opened his mouth. “Yes ma'am. No working the fields together until he’s at least of 12 years.” “Good boy.” “Thank y- what am I, a dog!?” “At times, you might as well be.” “Hey, Muria, not in front of the kid.” papa said shyly, before laughing. I just laughed along, happy they both were there, happy that we were a family. I don’t remember much else from that night, other than the fact that I couldn’t sit still through dinner, anticipation had too much of a hold over me. When my long awaited “surprise” finally came, it was the best fruit tart I’d ever had, or have had since. The next morning I awoke to papa leaving, it was the crack of dawn, but I waved goodbye to him on his way out the door. I sat in bed groggily before reality hit me: My carving! That snapped me wide awake, and I leapt from my bed, quickly scarfed down a bread roll, and made my way out the door. Mama barely had time to wave goodbye before I was under the cover of treeline. It took me much less time to make it to the birch stump this time, I knew the path now. The whispers were still there, growing louder as I drew nearer. They weren’t necessarily scary anymore, I didn’t fear them, at least. They drew me in, pulling me back to the clearing I already knew. There it was, my hollow, with the knife, and shavings still there. It was time to finish my carving. I had an idea, abstract and almost unnoticed, yet as I worked, I almost could hear the material itself telling me where to cut, where to hack away at the material. It felt like such a short time, yet when I finally wiped my brow, the woods were dark, the sun had already set. I could hear mama calling ushering me back, yet I couldn’t find my way back. I didn’t know which way to go in the dark, so I called back “Mama! Help me!” and like that, she was there, holding a lantern, seeing me holding a knife, crying in the dark. At first she couldn’t hold her concern back. “Are you okay?” “Are you hurt?” “You poor thing.” Finally she saw the hollow. I could tell she was furious, but I couldn’t tell why. We had a moment of silence before she finally asked the dreaded question, her voice wavering. “Dorai, did you make this?” “Huh?” “Dorai, did you carve this?” It wasn’t necessarily a masterpiece, but I made it, so naturally I responded. “Yes mama. I was going to show you, I promise.” She looked back at me, tears streaming down her face. “How did you know… she always wanted to see faeries?” “Mama?” I didn’t hear anything else from her that night. She broke down crying right there. When we got back home, she rushed to papa as soon as she saw him, and hugged him tight. I could tell, even at such a young age, that it would be best not to say anything. That night we ate in silence. I didn’t go near the woods anytime soon, not until Mother and Father said we were going to a big city to talk trade at the guild. I walked through those woods, the wonders it once held, now gone to me, and I had only one destination in mind. I made my way to that very stump I had carved years ago, and as I knelt before my little carving, a tiny faerie only a child’s hands and mind could’ve made, I heard those ancient whispers once more. They spoke for the second, and last time in my life. “Thank you” The words made me shiver, not out of fright, but from pride. I had done this. I had been thanked for my work. “Goodbye, Grandma.” my voice was quiet, but I could tell that it had been heard. I lifted myself from the ground, and stood upright. As I left, my knife stayed behind, planted half blade deep in the soil, a headstone of my childhood, and the closing of the first act of my life.


This rope is irritating. The smallest of spines imperfecting through the remaining uniform coils. I tighten it regardless. It begins to feel as if it’s strangling the breath out of me…. No it’s choking the winds so desperate to relieve me. I gaze below and notice a chair. It’s thrown across my feet. Pathetically fallen to the support of its head instead of it’s four purposed stumps. The room begins spinning. Around my eyes I see the freezer… The refrigerator… The Camaro… No, I’m spinning. Tight circles and unsprung coils of emotions. My eyes are weak now; my mind hazy. Thousands of needles are stabbing at my brain; or are they piercing through my skin and skull? I do not know. My glasses remain athwarted the bridge of my nose yet my vision is now hazy, blurred from reality. My mind and body have become faded, numb to this idea, numb to this reality. Silence falls across the thought that plagued my dreams. Everything turns to emptiness. What is this? Is this nothingness? What is nothing? It is neither warm nor cold. Neither loud nor silent… No, it is silence. A deafening silence. It is silence so loud it pierces my eardrums. It sounds desperate. Sad and emotional. It sounds like my mother’s tears falling upon the ground of which imprisons her kindred spirit. It disgusts me. With one selfish act, I have caused so much pain. The thought of the terrible sensations, of the one who cares the most for me, is going through is enough to make me wish I could clutch my chest. My lungs are a tighter than my chest. My throat is a clogged drain. I was suffocating before but now I am choking. I try to open my eyes but all I see is black. My body is burning up yet I am so cold. Eyes so frantically darting side to side begging to see the light. A light of hope begins to appear in the distance taunting as if it were about to run. I begin to chase after the bright spec. My life depends on this light. The future of mother depends on this light. I want to sprint but I can’t for these is no ground upon which to set my feet. I try to swim but this is space isn’t liquid. I seem to be floating. I’m being taken towards the light. I want to reach this sense of hope so badly but in the back of my thoughts I know it to be a lie. Panic is starting to set in. This light isn’t my salvation; it is my destruction. I try to turn back but there I can’t turn away. I try harder and harder; the panic and anxiety is intense. I can feel nothing but total despair for I cannot turn away from what I now know to be my entrance to whatever afterlife awaits me. I feel even hotter now. I’m so hot I can feel my skin melting. I’m melting into a pool of cool. This heat is so cold it feels vulnerable. With eyes now shut so tight, I can feel the light enveloping me. It’s cold and wet. Why is it wet? Terror is my fate. I know this to be true yet curiosity is a cunning enemy. I open my eyes finally to see the ceiling of my bedroom. My chest is rapid. My body a pool of sweat. There’s barely a crack of light coming through the window of which my bed is pushed against. The curtain is rough and torn near the top. I tilt my head to see the glow of red. There are 17 bars of red arranged to read 5:58. An audible sigh is barely breathed but enough to inform me that this is in fact real. No longer dreaming or actually dead. Marth Cohen survived again. Another terror that dragged him through every puddle of mud ever to form in his mind. Constant thoughts of how worthless he perceives himself. Thoughts of suicide are common for this soul. His life a gift he wishes would be snuffed out. He doesn’t know why. No one can ever know exactly why. These thoughts have no reason. They just are. Marth struggles to regain comfort. He tosses and he turns. He finally rests on his side staring at the clock. Another Friday rears its head. For Marth his entire school life has been nothing but pain. Tales could be told of how vile this midwestern town has treated Marth. He never liked it but he never spoke up about his treatment either. He always thought it was better to accept his life without fight than trouble others around him. Being in the graduating class has been by far the worst yeah of torture for him to endure so far. Tears started to form near the ducts of his eyes. It was almost over. In two months Marth would be rid of that school and rid of this town. Marth held back the tears forming and closed his eyes again. He would soon be escaping from this torment. The only problem with this idea was that he was wrong. It is only getting worse. It’s only the start of how bad living in this place is going to get.