(I mostly write NSFW stuff but occasionally I like to write family friend stuff like this attempt at a fable.) THE GIRL AND THE MULE Once upon a time, not so long ago, in a town much like yours, on a street you would be familiar with, there was a girl. This girl sat in the doorway of an old dilapidated shop. Very little of the worn facades revealed its once popular past. The name of the original proprietor faded and obscured by graffiti. There was nothing remarkable about this girl, indeed hardly anyone knew she was there. The girl just sat in the dimness of the doorway with her knees pulled up to her face, head bowed. No one knew if she had been there a day, a week, a month or even a year. In fact no one ever thought to ask her but then again no one thought to actually speak to her. They just simply went about their day without giving this girl a moment of thought. Then one day, a day much like the one you are having now, something curious happened. The girl was no longer alone in that dingy, dank doorway. She now had company, for laying next to her was a mule. Now the people of the town immediately noticed that there was a mule laying in the doorway of a shop. It is, after all, an unusual sight. "Where has that mule come from?" someone asked. "It must have escaped from the local farm." suggested another. The local farmer was called who declared that his mule was still very much at his farm. Such news panicked the town folk. "It's a wild mule!" "It may kick us!" "It'll bite the children!" Concerned for their safety and the havoc such a wild beast may cause a call went out to all manner of emergency services to remove this ferocious animal from their town. Yet no one seemed too concerned for the girl whom the mule lay next to. Soon, nearly all the town were surrounding this doorway. "A wild mule! In our town? We must get rid of it" The local fireman and vet were called upon to remove this creature from their town. The crowd were silent as they approached. The mule did not run away as they approached. Nor did he try to kick them or bite them. Instead, he did something rather strange. He danced. It was such an odd thing to see a mule dance that at first the townfolk thought their eyes were deceiving them. "Is that mule dancing?" they asked in unison. The mule had slowly lifted himself up on to his legs and proceeded to perform a merry jig. On seeing this the crowd forgot their previous fear that he may have a disease or might bite or kick them. "Oh! How unusual to see a dancing mule" they cheered and applauded along with the merry steps of the mule. When the mule had finished he gave a bow much to the warm hilarity of the crowd. "Have you ever seen something so magical?" the crowd exclaimed. It was settled. The town would not be removing this mule. How could anyone exile such a creature of talent? The mule slowly returned to the doorway and curled up next to the girl, who had not moved at all throughout the performance. "Such a majestic thing cannot stay there" someone said "You're right" agreed another "He can stay with me!" "I have a large stable he can stay in" a voice was heard to say. But the mule would not be moved. No amount of coaxing budged him from his spot next to the girl. Reluctantly, the town folk let him remain in that wet, uncomfortable doorway. By morning the crowd had gathered again and the mule was happy to perform another jovial dance. Then, as before, he would return to the doorway. This continued day after day and the people of the town grew fond of the mule. At night, many would bring it food, water and blankets commenting as they did as to why someone would chose to sleep in such an awful place. Before long news of this dancing mule spread to the neighbouring towns and many people came far and wide to see this amazing beast perform. The mule did not disappoint the eager onlookers and performed dances and tricks much to the delight of the ever growing number of people who came to watch. All eyes firmly on this funny dancing mule but never on the girl who sat still, head bowed as the crowd clapped and cheered along to the creature's antics. Then as suddenly as he had appeared the mule was gone. It happened on a fine spring morning and the crowd,as in previous days, had arrived eager for their daily show. Yet there was no mule in the doorway, just the girl. The crowd, of course, did not see the girl. They were too concerned with the absence of the mule to notice anything else. "Where has he gone?" they asked "Maybe he will be back soon" suggested someone, hopefully. Day after day the people of the town returned to doorway in the hope that the mule would be there. However like the day before and the day before that the only person who occupied the doorway was the girl. Before long, the people had given up hope of ever seeing the mule again. With a heavy heart they went about their normal daily life. Occasionally they would stop as they walked past the doorway, their eyes never on the girl but at the space where the mule used to sleep. One day, a Mother was walking down the street with her young son. Stopping at the doorway the mother sighed in remembrance of how fun the mule was and how she missed him. She allowed herself a moment to wish he was safe and well. She went to move off but her son did not follow. She tugged on his arm but he remained rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the doorway. "The mule isn't coming today. Let's go" the Mother said impatiently. Looking up at his Mother the boy asked "Do you think the mule belonged to the girl and she is missing him?" Puzzled the Mother replied "What girl? The boy stretched out his arm and pointed to the girl who sat in the doorway, her knees raised, head bowed. The Mother followed her son's finger and gasped with amazement as she saw the girl. She'd never noticed a girl in the doorway before. Where had she come from? Walking over to the girl, the Mother bent down and asked "Have you just got here? Are you waiting for the mule?" The girl slowly lifted her head, her skin a map of the extremities she had endured, her eyes swollen and red, her lips dry and cracked. "Oh My!" exclaimed the Mother. The Mother's actions had alerted the other townsfolk who had thought the mule had returned. They rushed over to the doorway to see the Mother knelt next to the girl. "Who is she?" someone asked "Careful she might bite" said another. "She looks dirty" "Well she can't stay here. This is where the mule sleeps. What if he comes back?" warned someone else. As the crowd argued as to who should remove the girl from the doorway no one noticed her leave. As she rose from the spot she had occupied for so long she was as invisible as she had always been. Indeed, it took a while before anyone noticed that the doorway was now empty. Yet the townfolk could vividly remember the mule being there but never the girl. It is a number of miles to the next town. A long road the only route between the two. Those travelling between the neighbouring towns often reported seeing the mule walking along the dusty track but they never saw the girl who walked beside him.


(Should've been marked \[HM\] Humor - whoops!) # My Favorite Things My favorite place to be is between two thighs. I can’t fully explain why. It’s warm. I feel secure. The sound is dampened from the outside world making my anxiety shakes not so bad. I moan every time I’m down there because it’s so comfortable, and anytime someone tries to move me, I moan even louder. I moan for comfort and discomfort alike! My favorite activity is peeing. Well, maybe it’s a tie for first, between peeing and chewing. Do you ever have something you’re gnawing on and there is something inside you that won’t let you stop? It’s almost like a special voice that only I can hear – “don’t you stop chewing damnit!” And so I listen and follow orders. I love to follow orders. Sit down. Stand up. Come here. Pretend you are dead. It doesn’t matter what it is, I just love it! And don’t even get me started on peeing. In the corner. On the grass. On the carpets. On the pee pad. In my crate. All those places are so fun to pee on. Sometimes mom yells loudly at me when I pee – especially when I pee in the corner. She’s always so encouraging. Sometimes I pee when she isn’t looking so she can come later and be surprised! I love surprises. Sometimes dad surprises me by making my ball disappear. He will throw the ball for me and it vanishes! Nowhere to be found; and then, out of thin air, he brings it back! He’s so impressive with his magical surprises. My favorite beverage is water! I usually have a little bowl that mom fills up for me, but sometimes I know she is busy so I go ahead and use the big bowl. The big bowl is where mom and dad go to sit and think. Sometimes they will be on there for 5 or 10 minutes looking at their glowy toys they hold. When they are not in there, sometimes I will go and try and figure out what they were doing in there for so long. I can never figure it out so I just take some water from the throne where they sat so that maybe I can figure out how they are so wise. Recently my favorite pastime has been finding the cloth mom and dad have for me to chew. Sometimes they try to play games with me and hide them. In a drawer. In the hamper. In a zipped up gym bag. But sometimes they are nice and just leave it out for me on the ground. It doesn't take long for me to chew and swallow all the cloth. So fun! One time after I chewed an entire thin lace cloth mommy left out for me, and because I did such a good job she took me to see our very good friend who lives in the small building and always wears a white coat. Sometimes I am nervous and shake when we go there, but our very dear friend is always so nice to me and asks me lots of questions. Okay. I hear mom coming home. I must go for now because I want to surprise her with a poop before she comes in the room.


# “Push! Push!” "It's not coming, call Dr. Sun." "Prep for C-section, make sure we keep the father out, I don't want another breech." "Sweety, everything is fine, we knew this was probably going to be the case and it's best for you and the baby.” “But, everything’s okay right? She’s going to be okay?” Sarah asked from the hospital bed, anxious but not worried. The nurse didn’t answer this time. Dr. Sun could be heard speed walking down the hall, yelling at someone, “I told you this was a bad idea, we can’t keep taking chances like this!” But the instant she rounded the corner to enter the room her face was the epitome of calm and focus. “Sarah, how are you doing?” She asked right away but didn’t wait for a verbal response, getting her answer by reading Sarah’s face. “This is gonna be like rolling out of bed in the morning. You just relax and Jackie will have you feeling nice and numb here.” Then to the nurse, “Why did you wait so long?” again not giving a chance to reply, “Doesn’t matter, she’s prepped? Were we able to get the *flavi* test back yet?” Jackie, “No, but, it’s pretty obvious isn’t it, I mean,” speaking quietly, “It’s 6 diviations above normal, I’ve never seen anything like this, have you?” “We’re gonna need to put Sarah under, the shock might be too much and I don’t want to have to foricalby sedate if it comes to that.” “Doctor, she’s, she’ll find out eventually,” but Dr. Sun cut the nurse off. “Just get Gabrial in here and make sure she's prepped in 5. I’m gonna check on that *flavi*.” Sarah strained to hear and was quickly moving from anxious to concerned, “Nurse, we okay right? She’s gonna be okay right?” Jackie spoke in her sweetest drawl, “Ah, sweety, you and baby are gonna be more than okay, you gonna be perfect. Now your **only** job is to get comfy and try to relax, the doctor is gonna have you under for this one, she thinks--” “Under? Like, like put under, why? I don’t need that, I need to be awake to, to see my baby. To make sure she’s okay.” Sarah pleaded. “Honey, it's for the best, doctor knows what she’s doing, it's just gonna feel like going to sleep and when you wake up your baby will be right here with you, just like magic.” Jackie tried. “That’s not what we talked about, that’s not what I want. Where’s Jim? I need to talk to my husband!” “Sweety, I’m sorry it’s too late, we already put the pento in your IV, you just need to try and take a deep breath--” “Jim! JIM!!! I need to see my husband. Jim!” Sarah’s breath was becoming larbord, her vision was going. On an exhale she managed to get out, in just above a whisper, “Evelyn.” She breathed in, then out, “Call.” In.


What... Huh? were my first thoughts as I felt myself take ahold of my consciousness. Where... Wh—No, where... The. What. I blinked a few times, slowly gaining control of my body's senses. Underneath me, I felt a scratchy but comfortable material supporting my body. My face felt numb and my nose picked up a number of unexplainably unpleasant smells. In my direct line of sight, there was a small television set a few feet away, blaring images my mind was too weak to comprehend. I attempted to move my head to get a more complete look of my surroundings, only to feel a sharp pain in my neck. It was stiff. Possibly from my awkward position while I slept. Where was I? Why was I asleep? Why don't I...? There was a throb in my skull—a signal from the brain that it was overexerted. The soreness in my eyes felt the same. What had I been doing? I recovered from the pain in my neck only for the sounds and bright lights coming from the television to overload my senses. Instinctively, I pressed down with a finger and the sounds suddenly stopped. The screen switched to black. I looked down—carefully because of the crick in my neck—to find my hand wrapped around a small battered device the size of a remote control. It was a remote control. My hand... How had I known to do that? I let go of the remote control and studied my hands, holding them up to my face. They were on the short side, with the nails overgrown and unclean, but otherwise, looking fine with all fingers I knew of accounted for. No scars. No marks. I used my hands to get a feel of myself. I needed to know more. Hanging loosely from my upper body was a blue t-shirt with small unidentifiable stains. My legs were lightly covered with pajama bottoms. My feet were bare. Feeling less light-headed and more in control of my self, I hoisted myself up—a challenging feat—to a standing position to get a better bearing of what other mysteries there were around me. Keeping my body standing took more effort than anticipated and I heard a low groan from my own throat as I forced my legs to adapt to the situation. They shook in resistance but the mind prevailed. I allowed myself an exhale when I finished making certain that I would stay upright. On to the next mission. I swiveled my head (ow) and took in everything I could see, smell, hear, and feel. I was in a room. It was of average size but barren save for the television set, a brown sofa meant for one (where I had woken up) and, of course, me. Me. Me... Who was I? Why can't I remember...? Since my thoughts still refused to cooperate, I grabbed at my body again for more identification. Two tender lumps on my chest. Female, I concluded. My glance at my reflection on the dark screen of the television proved that theory wrong and that I was not a woman. I was just fat. Squinting, I managed to make out a young man of moderate height, long light brown hair and plenty of excess weight. This was not much information. It also hurt a bit. Demoralized, I turned away from my image. I knew enough of how I looked. But my past... The walls of the room were a faded cream, lit only by a single fluorescent light, bathing everything its light touched in a sickly glow. There were no windows and no—Doorway! My eyes found a doorway, which lead somewhere. Somewhere other than here. But where is here? I asked myself, my teeth clenched and my breathing turned ragged. What happened to me? Why can't I... I calmed myself down. I was still in potential danger. I needed to know many things: who I was, what I had done and why I had done it, among many others. But at the moment, I only needed the answer to one question: What lies in the next room? I took a tentative step forward, only to instantly feel something cold under my naked feet. A knife. I hadn't noticed it before, but on the floor of the room was a small blunt knife, coated in a dark substance that resembled the stains on my shirt. I shuddered, wavering. I wanted to leave the knife. Leave it behind. But would that mean leaving behind my past? Would I even like who I was, if I ever did? I felt the air turn cold as the surface of the blade and I chose to pick it up, if ever I needed a weapon. Feeling more powerful with something to hold, I forged on, one foot at a time, taking in everything I could. The next room was dark. And cold. I preferred the other room, but there was nothing to learn there. I tried to see in the dark and failed, only noting that there was the sound of water. A bathroom? I was disoriented when I realized I didn't even know the time or date. It could have been night time or noon and I wouldn't know. Feeling with my hand and the knife, I felt a structure as cold as the floor, that purred quietly. I felt for a crack and found one. I almost jumped when cold air blasted across my body. It was a refrigerator. An empty one. The absence of food made my stomach grumble. I failed to realize I was in a kitchen and thought about when I had last eaten. Was it an hour ago? Weeks ago? It felt like I had been lying on the sofa for days, asleep. Was I a prisoner? A slave? Forced to stay in harsh conditions with nothing to keep me alive for long? If so, why? What had I done to deserve this? Had I done something for this? Had I committed some crime and am in a prison for it? Am I just waiting here for my punishment? Is this the punishment? Has trauma caused my mind to fail? What horrors have I witnessed so that I would want no memory of it anywhere—no trace to be found, even in my mind? Do I still want to know who I am? Do I have loved ones? Family? Anyone? Anything? Is this my hell? This gnawing uncertainty? This mystery that will remain unsolved? How am I sure that this is the first time this has happened? How long have I been here? How long have I been doing this? When— Knock, knock, knock! I got whiplash as I turned towards the end of the lightless room, where the sound came from. My heart convulsed in horror as I heard the sound of a door unlocking and being opened. Who is that? What is that? Is it—? And then, there was light. Blinding. * "Oh my GOD, Herbert!" said the man who came in, dropping the bags he had been holding. He sounded exasperated. He looked around as I blinked through the sudden light. I vaguely heard him move past me to the refrigerator. My eyes returned to normal as the man shoved a small cardboard box that rattled under my nose. "Did you take these while I was out?" he demanded. "...I dont—" "Of course you don't!" the man yelled, throwing his hands up. He set the box down and I saw that they read "Amnesia Pills! 20% Off!". "You were supposed to wait after I came back with snacks to drink the pills," the man said, pacing around the small kitchen. "We were gonna watch The Sixth Sense for the first time again, Herb, you idiot!" I nodded sagely. "Herb..." The name sounded familiar. The man stared at me furiously before muttering something about the price being too good to be true and how impatient Herb (I) could be. "...I mean, look at the place! Your dirty dishes are everywhere, and you're standing in the dark like a psycho, holding a knife with jam you probably tracked on the floors, and you don't even know who you are because you wanted to relive watching a dumb movie again!" "I see..." I kept nodding. It was all becoming clear now. The man gave me one last look of hot fury before turning on his heel and setting himself down on the couch, muttering about how I was the worst and how he even put up with me. I looked down at my feet and then back to him. There was one final question left...


Two hundred and fourty three. The number of hits I've carried out. From politicians, to business deals gone bad. I've seen it all. I've seen people pay my outrageous fee just to kill an ex who didnt deserve it, but if they'll pay it, I'll pull it. Normally I wouldn't' even rack a round for less than a hundred thousand dollars, i know it sounds high. But you have to take into account that I have to have those faces haunting me every night. Contrary to the popular stereotype, I don't enjoy killing, but it makes sure my daughter will have a roof over her head, food in her stomach, and will never want for anything in her life. Now that I think about it, there was one hit I did enjoy. I was sitting by the creek, fishing, when a small girl who had a black eye approached me. At first a paid no mind, until she spoke. Her voice timid, and terrified. "Are you Lizz's dad?" The young girl asked. Lizz is my daughter's name so I assumed they were friends from school or something. "I sure am, what's up?" I replied, trying to sound as friendly as possible. "Do you really make bad people go away?" My ex wife always told Lizz that I made bad people go away. That was our deal. I pay the bills, and she didnt drag my name though the mud. "I sure do sweetheart, why?" I replied "Will you make my daddy go away?" She asked, handing me a fist full of change. Upon counting it, it was about three dollars, hardly enough to kill a man for. "Why would I make him go away?" I inquired "He burns me with cigars, hits me and leaves dark bruises, he even hits my mom." the girl confided in me "Did he give you that black eye?" I asked, my blood beggining to boil. "Yeah" she nodded, and no sooner than she finished talking a man stumbled up to us and demanded the young girl go with him. He slurred his speech as though he had been drinking. As he got closer I could smell the bourbon on his breath. The little girl cowered behind my leg, as the man stumbled toward us. "Hide behind this tree and I'll make him go away forever, just dont look." I whispered to her as tears streamed down her face. She nodded and did as I had instructed. Remember how I said I don't rack a round for less than a hundred grand? I kept my policy because I chose to make this man feel the way he made his daughter feel. "Where's my daughter?" The drunk man shouted as I approached. I offered no reply, no excuse, nothing. I just grabbed the man by the throat and squeezed as hard as I could. I watched as his face began to turn purple, but before I finished his life, I decided to let him in on a little secret. As I saw the life in his eyes weaning away, I leaned in closer and whispered in his ear; "You'll never hurt them again.


The Moth I decided to lay down in my bed and just lay there not tired but also not energized. This state is described by me as the comfortation observation because it's comfortable and your mind is just very crispy in observing your surroundings. You can imagine me in this state laying on my left side on the couch bed in the middle of the room. It's one of the older flats in berlin. The wall reaches up pretty high. I m just laying there looking at the wall, then paintings I made then my actual bed. Nothing sparks any reaction in my brain. Then a moth flies into my field of vision and I fixate on it watching it fly through the room wondering what a moth’s life is like. We never know what another person’s life is like. I’ve thought about this many times. Even your siblings or parent’s life you never know how it is really like. Just how nobody knows how your life, your 24/7 perspective of things is like. And just like that, we don’t know how a moth's life is like. What struggles does it have where does it wanna fly how does flying feel for it? The moth almost flies out of my vision but my neck automatically enables my eyes to follow it. The interest in that insect which I would normally think of as annoying made me even lift my upper body up putting the weight on my left arm. It still flies around and occasionally it comes pretty close to me. I think about smacking it down but remind myself to chill. That poor moth is buzzing and flying around no place for this arbitrary need to feel powerful over an insect. It flies to the corner on the other side of the room and I lose it for some seconds and wonder where it went. It seems like it's hard for my eyes to follow it when it flying in a straight line away or towards me because its wings just have this blurry effect. I decided to organize my laptop a little bit since my brain is so bored its interested in studying the life of a moth. The moth approaches again as I have my laptop on my lap and since there is only one more light source it flies into my face area. When I decided to not chill anymore since the thought of it flying in my face and touching it is revolting so I slap after it halfheartedly. Not surprisingly it can Jackie can it's way out so I try the ninja slap but the moth just goes with the flow and glides past my hand and flies away. I look after it how it flies through the door to my kitchen where it will live its life and be my roommate and I decide to write a short story about this motherfucker. That’s all of the story that’s it. I just have to write more to get the 500 words in. ok but now.


“You really don’t want to buy this,” the teenage cashier of Jackpot’s Pawn said. “We looked into them; they weren’t any good. Just a Beetles wanna be band. They only ever got this record posted, not even sure how they pulled that off” he said. Bob glanced down at the vinyl, sliding his wrinkled fingers across the band’s name. Yellow and Blue, and odd name to be sure. “I think I do actually,” he said, pulling out his wallet and sliding out a crisp ten from it. He slid the money across the counter to the cashier but he didn’t take it. The teen sighed, glancing around nervously. “Listen, we’re really not supposed to do this, but ten bucks is way too much for that. If you really want it, just give me three and I’ll pay for the rest okay?” he said, pushing the money back to him, his antsy brown eyes finally meeting Bobs. Bob just smiled at him kindly. “That’s very kind of you, but I think I want to pay the full price,” he said. The kid sighed, taking the money, and typing something into the register. “Totals ten sixty-five,” he said. Ben went for his wallet, but the cashier already had slipped a dollar from his own. “I’ll let this place screw you over if you really want, but I’m not letting the government do it to” “Thank you, young man,” Ben said with the same kind smile as he held the record up. The cover art was faded, and even in the best of shape was clearly designed by someone who had little to no artistic talent. His smile widened, and he turned to leave the shop. “Have a nice day sir?” The cashier said, turning back to his computer. “Likewise,” Bob said as he pushed the door open. He walked to his bright red Chevrolet Corvair, its paint job looking brand new even though it was over half a decade old. He sat into the driver seat and gently laid the record next to him in the passenger seat. He slid the key into its slot and cranked it. The engine roared to life before calming to a soft purr. Even to this day, that sound made him smile. He pulled out of the parking lot, and into the road. The whole drive he drove five miles under the speed limit, the window down, and the radio off. He was the only one on the road, of course, so he could enjoy this simple pleasure without guilt. Finally, he reached his humble little home and pulled into the driveway which looked a little more homely now that a car was in it. For a moment longer Bob just sat in his car, enjoying the cool spring air. He picked up the vinyl careful to not bend or scratch it any further and walked inside. His armchair didn’t make a sound as he sat in it. It had none of the gadgets of a modern recliner, nor was at as fluffy as them. He found that most recliners looked uncomfortable, and depressing, and preferred a normal chair thank you very much. He admired the unsightly yellow and blue mesh that was the cover. He thought it looked good back in the day. Bob gently pulled the record from, careful not to smudge or scratch it, and placed it in the record player next to his chair. A scratchy sound emanated from the speaker as the record began to slowly spin. The scratchy sound faded, and his brother Bills' voice came through, singing a slow song. Moments later a younger version of Bob's voice joined Bills as the song sped up a little. And as their voices fell silent, the lovely voice of Lane Adams took their place. Bob closed his eyes and smiled as he was serenaded by her wonderful singing. She was good, too good to have any right to be singing with him and his brother. If she hadn’t insisted on sticking with his and his brothers little band she’d probably have made something of herself, but as the memory of her lips mouthing the words of their songs, and the way her blue eyes shone like glitter and confetti when she sang played before him, he found himself selfishly glad that his first love decided to stay with them.


I don’t like noise. For as long as I can remember I have found myself annoyed by them. From abhorrent noises of cars and jackhammers to the subtle ones of droplets and clock hands. Noise has been the endless irritation of my life. It’s not that my ears are sensitive, I just find them to be bothersome. I find it possible that some can understand me, it’s a relatable feeling. To not listen to noises we hate. But I don’t think people understand just how much I really hate noise. I wish I was deaf. I honestly envy them. Unable to hear any noise. *What a fantasy that must be.* I dislike noise so much that I go outside wearing earbuds. Although life hasn’t made it easy. I still have to talk to people, drive my car, go shopping, *and listen to so much more noise.* I work as a librarian. I would think this to be perfect work but it isn’t unfortunately. Whenever I hear someone sneeze, turn the page, move a chair, write, or walk I quietly tell them “Shh”. People don’t understand me. They don’t like me and that’s okay. The more they don’t talk to me the less noise I’ll hear. And that’s all I want really. I just wish they could do a better job at it. I live alone. But it’s not enough to escape from this insanity. So many little things just never seem to go away. The cars from outside, the flicker of my lights, the hum of my air conditioner, the cries of cicadas. I can hear them all and everything else. Living alone just wasn’t enough. I spent the next seven years soundproofing my home. Thick wide carpets everywhere. Curtains hanging on my seal tight windows and cushions doors. And bookshelves on practically every wall, as a librarian I found it easy to fill them with many things over the years. I used every trick I learned to absorb and cancel as much noise as possible both outside and inside my home. I top it off by always wearing noise cancelling earmuffs. It was all very expensive, but very well worth it. I woke up one day like no other, I got out of bed carefully and made my way to the kitchen. I quietly made some tea and began reading the morning paper. At first I was confused about what I was reading. But it didn’t take long for me to notice that I couldn’t hear the paper. “What?” I said to myself. I didn’t hear that either. I began reading even more yet not a single word from the paper sprung into my head. I wondered what was happening to me until I realized. *I couldn’t hear my thoughts.* I know *what* I was thinking and feeling, yet my mind was deaf to it. I sprung up from my chair and screamed at the top of my lungs “IT’S A MIRACLE!” “*Shh*,” was all I heard that morning.


(WP) I Will Survive They’d thought they’d killed her. They’d thought they’d eradicated the rest of her kind, and they would be right about that. She was the only one left. In space, it was impossible to track the passage of time. It had been years since Laika had even seen another life form, let alone someone like her. She hadn’t known how much time had passed, and her memories were foggy. All she remembered was her lover’s face, and the way that she had looked when she let Laika go. A fierce, almost predatory grin lit up her lovely face, and her laugh, sounding to Laika like birdsong, or what she remembered of it. But the betrayal had faded, leaving behind only her rage. It had grown inside of what was left of her heart, watered by her desperate need for vengeance. How odd, that the face she’d loved so dearly had been nearly erased by time. She might have been a cyborg, but even her memory was not infallible. The ruins of the ship around her had been the only thing to shield her from being blown to bits, once she’d hit the atmosphere. For a while, this dazzling new planet had dulled the agony of almost dying. It was like the earth she remembered in some ways, and in others it was totally different. The sky was a dark, rich purple, no matter what time of day or night it was. Laika couldn’t look at the sky anymore; she had a job to do. She would return to the colony and make certain that the people who betrayed her would pay. \*\* By the time Laika was through with the rest of her repairs, her entire body was aching, even the robot parts, and the sky turned from purple to a bright neon teal. She would allow herself a few hours of rest, a small meal, and then she would set out for Volterra, to the planet where her life had begun and ended. Laika didn’t like thinking about the past, about what came before. Even if she could remember it all, she didn’t want to. In those days, Callie had been all she had. Even when she’d lived on the streets, Callie always found her, usually with a sandwich, water. But she’d come back, again and again, no matter where Laika went. Somehow, she was always able to find her. And then one rainy night, Callie had stayed with her, and they’d kissed for the first time. From that point out, it hadn’t just been Laika, not anymore. It had been Laika and Callie, badass queer women who would take Earth, and the galaxies beyond it, by storm. What killed her most about Callie’s betrayal was that Laika had seen it coming. Callie’s father, a scientist, always had a scowl on his face whenever he saw Laika, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. She’d only learned of Callie’s true motives right before she’d abandoned ship: she and the rest of her kind were mistakes, results of a failed experiment, and they’d been taken into space not for a new life on a different planet, but to be erased, forgotten. Reborn. But she’d survived, and she was coming home to get even.


My name is Hank. Just Hank. Nothing special about me, just a guy. Just a normal guy. Look behind you! I was there. Guess where I am now. I'm behind you. Do you feel the urge to just check? Yeah you do. Come on, turn around again. It appears there is nothing there, right? Maybe it's just too dark to see? Or maybe an invisibility cloak was actually invented? Come on, feel around in the air and try to find me. I bet you didn't feel anything but air. Anyone else willing to take bets? No? That's sad, but it makes sense because I'm the only person who knows what's going on in your head and around you now. It doesn't matter when, but I know, and I'm the only one who does. When you're in the coffee place, no one knows. When you're in class, nobody knows. You're in bed, no one else knows, but me. It's a crazy thought, but look around, is anyone paying attention? No. Just me, but you can't see me. Because I'm behind you. Always. Every bad event that occurred gratuitously. It was me. My doing. It's all been me. It always will be. The littlest of itches on your neck. The sudden urge to swallow, you're now realizing how much saliva is in your mouth don't you, and how much you need to swallow, go ahead. Do it. That dreadful feeling of someone watching you. Do you feel it now? Maybe, maybe not. But I'm here, witnessing everything. Your first breath. Your first fall. Your first scar. Your first fight. Your first ex. You're first stillborn. Your death. It could be any minute now. Nobody will have any clue, it'll just happen. No clue, or evidence of it, besides the knowledge I have in my brain. There might be someone nearby, my friend. Look around a bit, I'd check the window first. Or don't. Just keep reading. Do you hear anything? The sound of the still air? The sound of someone typing this now as you read? That would be funny if you heard that. You'd be in real danger if you heard that right now, someone might be out to get you, friend. I'd tell you to keep looking around but then I'd only be causing you to be more anxious about all of this. So just keep reading. You're okay. Maybe you should take a shower, they're pretty relaxing, you smell bad too. Are you sweating... because of me? I'd hate to cause you such worry that you're sweating. Or would I? Let's go, follow me. Check around, and watch your step, you wouldn't want to die from bleeding out after stepping on something, would you? That would be terrible. So let's be careful. Are you coming? Or are you going to just sit there letting that bug crawl down your neck? Oh, God. There are a few of them, let's get those off. I'd hate if one of them was lethal. Don't let it bite you. Don't let the person here sneak up on you. It's hard to keep your mind set on two deadly things at once, isn't it? There isn't much chance for you my friend. You've been too slow. By now the bug has already implanted itself into your ribs. Itchy? Yeah, sorry for putting the bug there. I didn't mean for it to get inside. Wait, where did you go? Is there anyone else with you? Nevermind, I found you. Be careful. You need to watch that bite, it's small, but it will eat you quickly. Don't worry though, it shouldn't be too painful, just slow. It could take a few days, maybe months, or even years. You won't know, it is just going to creep up on you. Your organs will fail, you'll have no idea what just happened, and your life, it will be gone. Then maybe you can join me. Do you remember my name? You will soon. Time is ticking, my friend.


“These rich bastards moved this fuckin’ house all the way from England,” Jim said “Wow, wouldn’t it be cheaper just to build a new house?” I asked “Probably, but rich people are fuckin’ stupid. Don’t matter, though.” He smiled his wide, toothless smile “I get paid either way.” We sat on the ocean-front porch of an old Victorian home. It was the end of November in the town of Falmouth. Tourism had died on the Cape by this time of year. The town was only filled with what few locals lived there year round. Nothing better to do than get drunk and watch the ocean. Not that this mattered too much. We were both such losers that this is probably what we’d be doing anyway. We drank Pabst after Pabst and shared a bottle of Canadian Club whiskey. We had three cases of Pabst and a handle of whiskey. Not quite enough to kill ourselves, but enough to kill some time. Our drinking was only interrupted by our smoking and our frequent piss breaks. Eventually we stopped even walking away from the house and just started relieving ourselves on the floorboards of the porch. I was 19 years old, skinny and undernourished. I lived mostly off of alcohol and cigarettes at this point in my life. I ate mostly everyday during the school year. Working as a dishwasher at a college was a shit gig, but at least you ate for free. The hard thing is that you’d get laid off during the summer and winter breaks. No free food during those months. I’d mostly fill my stomach with cheap beer and cough syrup. Periodically one of my neighbors would be kind enough to stop over with some food and to smoke a joint with me. Jim was a 26 year old. He was missing most of his teeth from a car accident earlier in his life. He was rail thin. He always looked pasty, even during the summer time. He had scars and patches of rashes all over his face from psoriasis. He rarely showered, and seemed to show little to no interest in women. He identified himself as a white supremacist and Nazi sympathizer despite the fact that the best friend he had in the world was a black man. I guess that he’s what you’d call my friend. He worked with me at the college. He liked a lot of the same music that I did. He also, much like me, lacked any motivation or ambition to do anything greater with his life. He was fine with homelessness. He was fine with sleeping on floors and couches. He was fine with making no significant impact on any part of the world. More importantly, he was the only person that I knew who had as bad of a drinking problem as I did. We’d blend into a party crowd on a Friday or Saturday night. Plenty of people I knew would go out and drink a 30 rack a night. Most of those people wouldn’t be scraping together nickels on a Wednesday morning to score a cheap bottle of Vodka, though. People would think I was a party animal on Fridays and Saturdays. They’d think that I should slow down on Sundays. They’d think I’d have a problem on Mondays. They’d wonder what the fuck was wrong with me on Tuesdays. By Wednesday, any sensible person would decide that their time would be better spent with somebody else. The sad part was, I hardly even felt drunk anymore. Blackouts didn’t come as frequently, as it took more and more booze to get me to that point. A dishwasher’s salary didn’t buy the amount of booze I needed to get drunk enough. Anyway, we sat there threw back gulp after gulp of this cheap beer staring off into the distance. We weren’t above drinking alone, but having someone there to drink with and hurl abuses at was always welcome. That is, as long as they drank as heavy as we did. Or at the very least, would shut their fuckin’ mouths about our drinking. I was absentmindedly staring doing the beach far away from the house. It was absolutely silent out there except for the sound of the ocean crashing on the rocks and beach below us. I noticed what looked like a couple figures probably 300 yards down the beach. “Who the fuck would be on the beach this time of year” I said outloud. Jim just grunted and said “Some people got no sense” right as he gulped down the remainder of his current can of Pabst. He let out a comically loud belch. I shrugged it off and we went back to what we were doing. Drinking and smoking. Smoking and pissing. Yelling and fighting. Drinking and fighting. Drinking and pissing. A lesser man than me (or maybe a normal human being) would be lying on the floor about to succumb to alcohol poisoning. Jim and I, however, were still standing with most of our faculties still in place. In my drunken state, I had forgotten completely about the presence of the people on the beach. I turned to my left, and they were probably about 100 yards away now. Walking down the beach straight towards the house. I could barely make them out, they just appeared as white silhouettes moving in the distance. The only way I could still tell they were there was when they walked under the light coming from the few other houses on the beach. “Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?” I asked Jim. He turned to me, smiled his cold toothless grin and said “Well, I am. Fuck do I care if you are?” “Go fuck yourself,” I said as I lit up another Pall Mall “Gimme one, dickbag!” Jim demanded as he yanked the lit one out of my mouth and starting smoking it. I just shrugged it off and lit a new smoke, cracked open a new beer, and stood up to take a piss. The entire porch smelled overwhelmingly like beer, but I’m sure that smell would fade tomorrow. I’m betting the stench of the rotten piss of two young drunks will probably cling to the wood for a little bit longer, though. I zipped up and glanced down the beach again, and the figures continued moving closer. They seemed to disappear between the lights the houses were giving off. I was too drunk and it was too dark to really be sure. Before I knew it, they were probably only 50 feet away from the house. In unison, they both stopped. I thought my eyes-or the alcohol-were playing tricks on me. On the beach were two pale white women in old tattered dresses staring back at me. I could feel myself getting nervous. “Dude, are you seeing that?” I asked. Jim turned and looked. “Huh,” was all he muttered out. A hard wave crashed on the beach and washed up to the figures feet. As the water hit their feet, they disappeared into thin air. “What the fuck? Where’d they go?!” I said. My voice beginning to shake from my nerves. Jim looked over with his usual apathy. He muttered a phrase that I can’t quite spell. It sounded like he said “I don’t know” without pronouncing any of the consonants. Something like “I-uh-oh.” I flicked my cigarette and opened another beer. “Alright man, I think I’m gonna get going.” “Fuck you. Let me get a few beers before you leave, asshole.” As soon as he said that, I heard the wood on the porch creak behind me. I whipped around. My heart dropped as I saw what was behind me. The two women stood in their tattered dresses behind me. In the light, I could see their details more clearly. Their skin was bright white, almost translucent. Their had sores and cuts all over their bodies. Their hair was matted and beginning to knot together and turn to dreadlocks on the end. They stunk of rotting flesh and low tide. Their dresses were stained with dark red and moldy yellow stains. They had strands of seaweed draped over their shoulders and mixed into their hair. They looked as if they had just climbed out of the ocean. Their irises were blood red and the whites of their eyes were a light yellow color. Their lips were covered with cuts and deep scars. They looked similar, but not like twins. They looked as if they were sisters, though The women appeared to be in their early to mid 20’s I realized that I had just been staring at these women for several uncomfortable seconds. Unable to truly comprehend what I was actually seeing. I blurted out “What the fuck?!?!” as it seemed the only phrase to make sense in that moment. They took a step towards me in unison. I stumbled backwards, and they started to walk towards me in unison. I turned to look for Jim. He was already drunkenly stumbling into the woods. He really is a fucking asshole I thought to myself. I stumbled to my feet and started to run towards my car. I dug my hands into my pockets to search for my keys. I tried to pull them up, but they were stuck under everything else in my pocket. I gave a final yank and everything in my pocket flew out at once. My keys fell to the ground. I bent over to get my keys off the ground. As I stood up, I turned around and saw that they were still walking in unison after me. I could hear them speaking, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I half ran/half stumbled the rest of the way to my car. I unlocked the door and yanked the door handle. I yanked with such force that I ripped the door handle clear out of it. “FUCKING FORDS!” I screamed I turned and saw that they were still walking in unison towards me. I could hear what they were saying. What they were chanting. In unison, they were chanting “Our house, our house, our house.” Over and over and over again. I panicked as they were still getting closer. I started to drop kick into my window to try to break into my car. The kicks did nothing. I grabbed some rocks from my feet and hurled them at the window. I succeeded in breaking the glass, but not in any useful way. The crack just spidered across the glass, but the pane of glass remained in place. I ran over to the passenger side of my car, and threw open the door. The chant of “Our house, our house, our house….” was growing ever louder and louder. Their voices sounded dry as they chanted, like their throats were caked with dirt. It sounded like they had just woken up from a hard night of drinking, and had eaten nails and dirt for breakfast. It was unbelievable how loud they were able to chant with voices sounding like that. I leaped over my center console and struggled to get my keys in the ignition. “Our house, our house, our house…” growing louder and louder. I managed to get my keys into the ignition and start the car. I threw it into gear, and turned out of the driveway as quickly as I could. As my car turned, I could see the figures were no more than 5 feet away from my car as I whipped out of the driveway. I hadn’t been able to see them until my car turned around due to the broken passenger side window. I drove as fast as I could down the road staring in my rearview mirror the entire time. I could see them still walking towards my car. I sped down the dirt road. Rocks flew in every direction away from my car as I drove. I was too panicked to even truly consider what was actually happening. Were I able to even feel anything but fear, I don’t think that I could make sense of what was happening. How do you explain two antique sea hags chasing you? How would you even begin to comprehend that? I continued down the dirt road. My foot had the pedal all the way to the floor. I turned a corner, and a figure was standing in the middle of the narrow road. I looked down through my windshield and saw that the figure was Jim. I hit my brakes as hard as I could, but it was no use on the cold dirt road. I was going too fast. My car slid right into him. He fell forward onto the hood of my car, and rolled over the top. I got out of the car and ran over back to him, not even thinking of the sisters that were still walking down the road towards me. My mind was on a new set of panic. I just killed the only excuse for a friend that I had. I was going back to jail, for sure. Jim was lying on his face in the dirt road. I went over to him and said “Holy shit dude! I didn’t fuckin’ see you there at all! Are you okay?!?!” Jim didn’t move. I put my hands under him and flipped him onto his back. I started shaking him by his shoulders shouting his name over and over again. I looked down and noticed that carved into his chest in big letters was the phrase “OUR HOUSE” It was only at that moment that I realized the sisters were still after me. I turned my gaze up the road and saw them still walking in unbroken unison with each other chanting “our house, our house, our house.” I ran back to my car, got in, threw it into gear and slammed my foot on the gas pedal. I couldn’t see out my passenger window or my windshield at this point, but my concern was not with safety. My concern was getting as far away from the sisters as I could. I stared into my rearview mirror and watched the twins walking down the road in the distance. To my horror, I watched in my rearview mirror as Jim pushed himself off the ground and rose to his feet. He turned towards me and started limping after my car. His movements reminded of slowly witted zombies in movies. Whatever that was, it wasn’t Jim anymore. I made it to the main road and turned the corner hard into the street. I heard the screeching of tires and the blaring of a truck horn behind me. I had no time to be concerned with that, I just drove. My foot stayed firmly planted with the gas pedal to the floor. My speedometer climbed higher and higher. My little Ford Escort was screaming under the strain of the speed. I was paying very little attention to where I was going. All that I could think of was their grainy dirty voices saying “OUR HOUSE, OUR HOUSE OUR HOUSE” without respite. Each breath was heaving out of my mouth hard. I started to gradually gain some semblance of composure. At this point I realized that I couldn’t actually see out of my own windshield. When I hit Jim, his fall onto my car must have shattered it. I had been driving for what must have been 20 minutes at top speed. Without thinking to check my mirror, I turned the wheel hard and pulled over to the side of the road and onto the grass. I threw open my car door. I leapt out towards the road and stumbled out of my car. I stood waving my arms as the truck started catching up with me. I was screaming “Help! Help me please!” I could feel tears streaming down my face. My heart raced as the truck came closer and closer and closer on the road. It drove past me without even slowing down. I can’t even imagine what he thought was happening. I just watched his tail lights fade into the distance. I fell to my knees and felt hopeless. I looked up and down the road, but it was dead. There was not another single car around. I knelt there with my hands on my head pushing back my hair in frustration and then collapsed down to a sitting position. I couldn’t even comprehend what had just happened to me. I sat there dumbfounded listening to the wind howl. I listened for noise up and down the road, but heard nothing. I saw nothing. Nothing living was around anywhere. That was somewhat of a relief. I figured if those broads were still following me, I’d at least hear them. My breathing gradually slowed, and my tears stopped flowing with such intensity. Eventually my breathing slowed to a normal pace. I looked down and noticed that I had pissed myself at some point in the night. I’m not really sure if that was a result of drinking or my encounter with the twins. Neither would surprise me, but I suspected it was from the later. What the fuck were they? Demons? Ghosts? Sluts of a bygone era? I didn’t know. I slowly pushed myself to my feet and tried to gain my composure. Whatever the fuck they were, they were gone now. I got back into my car and shut the door. I looked down and saw a half empty pack of smokes in my cup holder. I grabbed a cigarette and pulled a lighter out from the glove box. I lit my cigarette and sat back. I took a long drag and exhaled. I tried to think if I had passed any stores, houses, or really anything on my way to the house. I really couldn’t remember. That’s the danger of constantly being in and out of drunken blackouts. The details just don’t stick with you. I didn’t know if I could drive this piece of shit much further. There was no window that I could see out of. My mind suddenly wandered to Ace Ventura and Jim Carrey driving with his head sticking out the door’s window. Well shit, I thought, It’s not ideal, but I guess it’s my only option. Just then, it started pouring rain outside. Thunder and lightning started to appear unreasonably early in this storm. “Well this is just fucking perfect,” I said in disbelief. I started pounding on the steering wheel. I looked into my rear mirror and my fucking heart dropped. I saw the twins walking in the road maybe a quarter mile down the road. Jim was nowhere to be seen. I felt myself pissing again. Tears started streaming down my face. “Shit, shit, shit, shit” I said as I turned to the steering wheel. My keys were still in the ignition from earlier. I tried to start the car. I turned the key forward and heard nothing. I tried again and again “NO...NO...NOOOOOOO” I said as I turned the keys in the ignition. Nothing. I pounded on the steering wheel and looked back in the rearview mirror, the twins were still walking towards me. “Fuck fuck fuck” I said as I threw open the door once more. I stared back in disbelief at the twins walking towards me for a moment. Then I started to stumble into a run with my head still facing the twins. I turned and started running full sprint in the other direction away from them. I kept glancing every second or so over my shoulder to check their progress. Every single time I glanced over, they were still holding a steady pace on me. They were closing in amazingly quick for a couple of dead broads that were walking at their own leisure. I could now hear them. “Our house, our house, our house…” Each round of their chant, the words got to be more and more rhythmic. It was almost like a drum beat at this point. I was sprinting with every ounce of drunken energy that I could muster. I kept running until I checked over my shoulder to see that they had stopped walking towards me. Now they just stood in the road staring at me. I stopped running and just turned to face them. “What the fuck do you want?!??!” I screamed at them “Huh?! What do you want from me?” They raised their hands in unison and pointed in my direction. “What the fuck ever,” I thought and turned to keep going in the other direction. Standing in my way was Jim. Or at least, standing in my way was something that at on point had been Jim. A Jimposter of sorts. Carved in his chest was still the phrase “OUR HOUSE.” I stared into his dead lifeless eyes as I backed away from him. I seemed to have forgotten that the twins were in that direction. He just stared at me with dead eyes as I backed away. I turned my body to run in the other direction with my head turned towards his. After a few seconds of delay, the Jimposter started running towards me too. I turned my head in the direction that I was running and realized that I was running right towards the twins. I skipped to slow my speed, and turned towards the woods to my left and started running. I ran deep into the woods. Much harder to do when you're drunk. Much easier to do when you’re drunk if you’re also terrified. I ran between trees and back and forth. Every few seconds I’d be looking over my shoulder to see if I was being followed. It was a pretty pointless effort, because those woods were so pitch black that I wouldn’t have been able to see had I not also been drinking all day. I fell to the ground hard on my chest. I felt all the wind get knocked out of me. I couldn’t breathe and I struggled to pick myself up to my feet. After a couple seconds, I gasped in a breath to relieve myself. The first thing I did was start to puke. No time for that, I had to get back to running. I ran and puked, and ran and puked all over myself. I started choking on each mouthful of vomit that came up and spilt over my lips and dripped down my chin onto my neck. I lost my footing on the leaves on the ground and fell onto a stump sideways. I tried to catch my balance by grabbing onto something as I fell. My entire body weight fell on my shoulder on the tree stump. I felt and heard a crunch as something in my arm and shoulder shattered. I screamed out in pain and grabbed at my arm. I managed to stumble to my feet, but felt disoriented. I couldn’t even remember which direction I had been running. As I was trying to gain my composure, I heard a tree branch snapped behind me. I whipped around and saw Jimposter behind me. “Ouur h-h-house” He sounded like he was gargling as he said that. “What do you want fr-” I started out to say. The moon light struck Jimposter’s face and I could see that now he had razor sharp teeth where his old teeth had been. They look inhuman, and almost cartoonish even. He had a wide smile, though I don’t think that was intentional. I think the number of teeth that he had simply necessitated that type of large mouth that only a smile can house. His teeth began to separate. It looked like he was unhinging his jaw like a snake. I stood in horror watching as he did this and I turned to try to run again. When I turned around I bumped into the twins and fell to the ground. “Our house, our house, our house.” I screamed as I looked up at them. Jimposter reached down and grabbed me by the throat. He brought my head to his mouth. I could feel him putting my head in his mouth again. I felt myself pissing again. How is that even possible? I could feel his mouth closing. Around my head. I felt his teeth touch the side of my neck. Their chanting had stopped. I looked up and their eyes had gone black. Their mouths were open, and it looked like they were inhaling something. I couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked black. It looked like they were inhaling...ash or something. I looked down and saw that the ash looking stuff was coming from my mouth. I shut my mouth immediately, and I could feel pressure pulling my lips forward.


I’m so cold. The empty corridors echo my name in the hush of the darkness. Everywhere I walk, there is frost. It sticks to the walls and floors and everything I can bear to see like a parasite. It bites away at my skin and sinks its merciless teeth deeper into my flesh and soul. I’m so cold. I miss her. However many layers of sweaters and gloves I may have equipped, my mind slips still into the cold void of the night. I cannot bear it any longer. I want to see her. I step quietly through the corridors. Not a single sound comes from me. I am a ghost mourning their own death. I’m not alive, I know I’m not, yet I’m here. My feet move still. My thoughts string still. My breath visible still. I’m so cold. I need to meet her. I reached her office. Her computer still sparks brilliantly. It feels so warm on my ghostly skin. My fingers tap on her keyboard as if a puppeteer stood above my head. I can’t make out what I typed in. It came so naturally I did not wish to cease this involuntary action. The screen changes. It’s a girl. She looks so colorful and full of life. Those eyes. She's looking at me. "It's me again! Uh, so… You don’t have to… What I mean is-” starts the video file. All the while her eyes flashed with content, then spite, then gloom. She’s crying. I whisper something but I cannot make out what it is I said. Suddenly, her voice goes soft. She’s smiling despite the tears. “I tried really hard to go my own way without looking back. I started walking, but the truth is… I’m not… feeling lonely. There is no sadness here. I-I’m not alone. You’re still here with me… Somewhere. I can feel it!” My freezing throat is starting to choke. I cannot begin to cry here, not while I can still see her this last time. “I promise… Nothing will ever tear us apart. Among countless stars, the person I met… Was you! And I will stay by your side, as your guiding light in the dark. Upon endless days and endless nights.” She reaches out for a small crystal shard. It glows a warm amber. She takes it and holds it dearly. “No…” I mutter in the silent static of the cold. “Perhaps tomorrow we’ll find each other. Until then…” Her eyes slowly fall onto the shard. “If you keep your promise…” She holds onto the shard tightly. “I’ll keep mine too.” -page break- The video file cuts. The computer goes black. Complete darkness consumes me whole again. I can still feel the warmth of the screen. It doesn’t seem to stop. Then I see a faint glow from within her desk. My eyes grow wide at the sight of it. The Shard lays carefully wrapped in a cloth in one of her cabinets. As I unravel it, my heart begins to beat again. My fingers lose their solidity and I can feel textures again. As if a flame had erupted, the shard radiates with warmth and life within me awakens. The overwhelming feeling is too much for me to bare. My legs give in and I collapse in awe. The loud thud of me crashing doesn’t phase me. I’m breathing heavily as I mouth “I promise” repeatedly with every struggling breath. “I promise… I promise,” I whisper into the endless night. Disclaimer: I'm likely not going to make this into an official story. This was written shortly after I had awoken from a dream where I accidentally left my earphones on and heard the dialogue of a girl play as part of the song. Everything written here is what my mind imagined when the song played.


Laramie sat on a tree stump. Laramie looked at the ground. Oh look, there's a spider, and there's a wasp, oh and some ants. Why did other people get to be so smart when all he got was stupid? Laramie didn’t recognize that he had a gift, being stupid. Laramie had the gift of seeing things for how they were. Laramie was a genius, but he didn’t know it because he was too stupid. That, however, was his genius. The insects crawling on his bare feet didn’t scare Leramy, Leramy didn’t really understand what they were. Laramie knew they were bugs, is a spider a bug? Yeah it’s small and it looks like a bug, so it must be a bug. Laramie didn’t see the danger in letting them move across his body like any other patch of earth. At some deeper level beyond Leramy’s understanding, he was a sailboat, but Leramy’s sailboat couldn’t turn its sail. It was being pushed along however the wind wanted. Everybody else's sailboat had a sail, some were bigger than others, faster than others, twisting and turning to a destination of their choice. Laramie didn’t know what his destination was, which made Leramy sad. This was how Leramy was created. What is the definition of this? Laramie was sick of the tree stump. Laramie stood up and crushed some ants. The wasp flew off his feet and so did the spider. Spiders can’t fly. What if they could? That would be funny, can you imagine a spider flying. Laramie walked back to town. Laramie had to cross a big road, with fast cars. Laramie looked both ways, nothing was coming. Laramie walked across the street and found a penny heads up. That’s supposed to be good luck, isn’t it? Laramie was hit by a truck. Laramie broke every bone in his body. Tall men, fat men, short men, all came to Leramy in the hospital dressed in fancy suits and asked if Leramy wanted a suit. Laramie told them he didn’t want a suit, Leramy said he couldn’t put on a suit if he tried anyway, at least until Leramy’s bones were fixed. But they told Leramy no, this isn't just any suit, it’s called a lawsuit and you have to be in a special situation to get one. Laramie got a suit, but all it got Leramy was into a stupid room with other people wearing suits and talking all smart and stuff. Since it was so boring Leramy guessed that was the reason, they gave him five million dollars. It was nice to have and all but Laramie didn’t want to sit in that room again. Laramie didn’t know what to do with so much money. Laramie bought a house, with a swimming pool, but Leramy didn’t know how to swim, so Leramy bought a raft. Laramie didn’t like getting wet so Leramy didn’t sit on the raft. Instead, Leramy paid to fill in the pool. They wanted to use concrete but Leramy wanted it to be filled in with dirt. So they did. Laramie wanted a tree put in there. So they did. When the tree was big enough Leramy chopped it down and it fell on his house. Laramie paid to fix the house. People told Leramy that it was stupid to chop down the tree. People really seem to like trees. Laramie sat on the stump but it didn’t feel like that other stump. There were no bugs crawling on his feet. Laramie went to the woods and found a wasp nest, some spiders, and some ants. Laramie put them in a bag but the wasps didn’t like that so much. They stung Leramy on his lip and his arm, and Leramy thought one got his leg, but Leramy wouldn’t know because Leramy couldn’t see the back of his leg. When Laramie got home he put the bugs on the ground. They were still angry and took out their frustration on his feet. Things seem to hurt less when they’re just a bump on a one-way road.


I run up the stairs, dizzy and out of breath, while at the same time the adrenaline rushes through my body. This is the last chance. “I cannot mess up this time” is all I think about. I reach to the top of the stairs, and the I can see the sturdy metal door slightly ajar. “This has to be it. She couldn’t be anywhere else”. I checked every single door looking for her, and now that I’ve reached the top, with only one door left, I am suddenly filled with excitement and uncertainty. “What if she’s not here?” “What if it’s not her?” “What if she’s with someone here already?”. These thoughts spin in my head, faster and faster. I walk closer to the door, and push it. A chilly breeze welcomes me, and I feel the cold January afternoon. I instantly feel proud of myself for wearing the coat and scarf, for once. I look around. Ahead of me is a medium balcony with a simple, gray concrete fence. It’s cracked over the edges. To my left is a small round outdoor table with three plastic chairs around it. One of them is missing a leg. And there she was, at last. Who even cares about the plain, ugly rooftop. All I can think about right now is her. She stands with her back at me, leaning on the fence. She is shivering, and she isn’t dressed properly for a cold day such as that one. She doesn’t notice me, and probably didn’t hear the door either. Her breathes are heavy, and each time she breathes out, small white clouds leave her mouth, creating an aura around her. A raindrop falls down on my cheek, and another one. Gentle raindrops. I breathe sharply, trying to ease the pain in my chest. She tenses up but doesn’t move from where she stands, which probably means that she finally realized I’m here. A raindrop falls of from her cheek as well. And another one. I step closer to her, only a meter separating us now. I gently put my hands on her arms and suddenly she’s facing me. My hands are moving slowly, gently from her arms to her shoulders, slightly up to her neck I pause. At this point, both of us are already wet from the raindrops who became heavier and bigger. She opens her mouth, then closes it. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t know what to say either, if I were here. I take off my scarf and wrap it around her frozen shoulders and neck, even though she tries to argue. I don’t care if I get sick at this point. Her gaze is locked in mine. The world slows down and the wind calms down a bit. She holds my coat sleeves and clenches her small fists against my chest, leaning against me while she buries her had in my chest. I hold her, scared to break her. Again. I’m afraid. I’m so, so scared of hurting her. My shirt gets wet from the drops on her face and I my eyes are blurry. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” I whisper to her. I look up to the sky, only to see the clear blue skies up above. Not a cloud. We both knew it wasn’t raining.


No one knew the woman that accompanied Finn Dralor through the dimly lit corridors of the trader’s deck, but everyone knew enough about Dralor to realize that whatever business she was conducting with him, it was sure to be bad. Dralor was well known to be a slaver, smuggler, pimp ...and worse. If this were anywhere but the pirate-run Salvation Station, he’d have a dozen or more Inter-Sol bounty hunters already taking aim on him. His rakish good looks and unusually tall frame, in addition to his penchant for rich, colorful clothing, made him quite recognizable for those looking to cash in on the sizable reward offered for his capture. Fortunately for him, it was Salvation, the only space station in the entire solar system where the laws of the Inter-Solar Union didn’t hold sway. Those who came here knew that while they might look and listen, they had better keep their mouths firmly shut and mind to their own affairs. The woman herself was anything but attractive. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, but her scowling face and the fierce glances she cast about made her seem older than her years. One cheek was badly scarred, perhaps from a serious burn, and her left arm, from the elbow down, was a cybernetic replacement, steel and plexicon grafted to living flesh. Her dark hair was cropped short and her clothing, in contrast to Dralor’s rich finery, was made of a course black fabric, sleeveless and unadorned. Usually, no one would have taken notice of her, save for one glaring detail; she wore no weapon. On Salvation, a lawless bastion of murderers and thieves, everyone was expected to provide their own protection. The fact that the woman in Dralor’s company didn’t feel the need to carry any form of protection led to one of only two possible assumptions. Either she believed that Finn Dralor would keep her safe (which would make her a fool) or, there was much more to this young woman than her appearance suggested. All eyes watched as the pair made their way to Garl Varo’s shop, The Wicked Way. A run-down, rusted corner of the deck where illicit drugs, synth-whores, and other forms of debased entertainment could be easily purchased. As the sliding steel door of the store closed behind them, the onlookers turned back to their own business, secure in the knowledge that whatever happened inside Varo’s store, the less they knew about it, the better. Inside, the shop was a cacophony of lights, music, and perversion. The walls were covered with monitrons displaying images of nude synthetic prostitutes, both male and female, dancing and offering their customizable bodies to those that had the currency to buy them. One simply had to select the features and attributes they desired from the touch menu on the screen, pay the required fee, and the synth-whore would be ready and willing in seconds in one of several rooms below the shop. Directly across from the entrance sat several counters, each with a selection of holographic images showing various wares the store had to offer. Pharmaceuticals, pornographic holovids, and the latest in recreational bio-mods were on sale. The dancing colors coming from the multitude of strobing light emitters, coupled with the sound of Martian jazz, was enough to make a customer brain-dead within minutes from sensory overload, which was probably the intent. The worst salesman in the galaxy could make easy money off a zombie. At the back of the building sitting on a hover chair was the proprietor, Garl Varo himself. A bloated, greasy lump of pale, pasty flesh, Garl was not someone most people enjoyed being around. A stinking miasma hung in the air around him at all times, a result of his addiction to muru, an extract from the root of the Venusian Orchid that put the user into a state of relaxed euphoria. His bald head and pig-like face were covered in wart-like growths, a side effect of the drug, and his wide mouth resembled nothing so much as two slabs of raw liver, gone bad. His hairless torso was bare, and sweat ran down in rivulets over his sickly-looking skin, even though the room was quite cool. He was the picture of over-indulgence and gluttony. However, anyone who drew their conclusions about Garl from his appearance alone would soon be dismayed by any business dealings they might have with him. His mind was as sharp as a razor, and his greed knew no bounds. Those two traits, along with the selection of wares he chose to sell, made him one of the most ruthless and under-handed traders on the station. He glanced up as the two entered the shop and his face broke into a wide, stained-tooth grin. Removing his muru pipe from his lips, he beckoned to them. “Finn, my boy!” He exclaimed throwing his gelatinous arms wide in greeting, “What brings the dirtiest scoundrel in the nine quadrants to my humble little corner of space?” Finn grinned back at the fat blob as he strolled towards him. “Oh, you know,” He said with a casual wave of his hand, “business as usual.” “Oh?” Garl replied, his eyebrows arching. “Well, let’s see if I can help you out then, alright?” Suddenly, Garl’s hover chair spun around one hundred eighty degrees. From the back a series of panels dropped open and half a dozen tubes extended out. Finn dove to one side as the tubes began discharging ion rounds, all of them aimed squarely for the young woman still standing near the front of the room. The entire store turned into a blaze of screaming energy eruptions, the charges detonating on impact and incinerating anything they came in contact with. After a few seconds, the firing stopped and the chair spun back around. Garl looked around at the damage to his store. The blackened monitrons filled the air with the stench of burnt ozone, and the music that had been playing was reduced to a quiet garble. The shelves with the built in holographic projectors fizzed and sparked, while puddles of melted plexicon congealed and solidified on the floor. Of the woman, there was no sign. “Well, it looks like you owe me quite a bit of money, Finn,” He said while still surveying the destruction, “I’d say about ten thousand cred’s worth.” He finished smugly. He drew deeply from his pipe as he catalogued everything that would need to be replaced. “Who was that slut, anyway?” He asked, finally turning to look at Finn, still lying on the floor. “She wasn’t much of a looker, if ya…” Garl’s voice trailed off as he looked at the man on the floor. Finn Dralor wasn’t paying attention to Garl. His eyes were turned upward, with a look in them that Garl didn’t like at all. Just as he turned to see what had Finn’s attention, he felt a sudden burst of pain as the woman, whom moments before he had assumed vaporized, leaped down from the ceiling she had been clinging to and caught him in the side of his bulbous, warty head with a hard kick that sent him flying from the hover chair and crashing down to the floor next to Finn. He barely had time to realize he might be in real trouble before a cybernetic hand closed on his throat and yanked him to an almost standing position. Trying to focus his vision, he looked into the eyes of the woman who now held his immense weight up with what appeared to be very little effort on her part. “That was a really cute trick.” She said calmly, drawing her face closer to his. “Tell me, was it the phrase ‘business as usual’ or the wave of the hand that signaled you?” She asked. “Look, miss, I …” Garl began. The steel grasp around his throat closed tighter, restricting the flow of oxygen. She held him like that for a few moments, emotionlessly watching him to struggle to breathe. He was almost to the point of passing out when she finally loosened her hold enough for air to pass through to his lungs. His vision fading in and out, Garl heard the woman speak again. “I don’t want to hear anything from you, beyond the answers to my questions.” She stated flatly. “Do you understand?” Garl nodded weakly, his jowls quivering. Almost contemptuously, the woman tossed him back to the floor to once again lie next to Dralor, who hadn’t moved during their brief conversation. Looking down on both of them, the woman asked, “You deal in the drug, Irellion-9?” It was more of a statement than a question. Propping himself up on one elbow and massaging his throat, Garl nodded. “It’s an inhibitor class stimulant, used mostly by rift pilots traveling beyond the Plutonian quadrant.” He responded. “It alleviates the symptoms of void sickness while allowing the pilots to stay conscious for months at a time.” The woman nodded, then asked, “Do you know of anyone other than a freighter pilot who has purchased it from you in the last six months?” Garl glanced over at Finn, his eyes questioning. Finn slowly nodded his head, not saying a word. The woman kneeled down in front of Garl, her fierce eyes boring into his. “I’m not given to asking questions a second time, Garl.” She intoned. Garl swallowed hard, his whole body now soaked in a cold sweat. “This is Salvation, miss.“ He explained, “Someone who goes around talking too much about other people’s business don’t last very long here.” “Oh, is that so?” The woman asked. Reaching down with the prosthetic appendage, the woman gripped a handful of the fat man’s belly and clenched her fist. Garl began to scream, but the sound was cut short by the woman’s other hand forcing its way into his mouth, and down his throat. “I know ways to make you suffer for days without dying, Garl.” The woman calmly assured him. Suddenly a burning, ripping pain exploded in Garl’s chest, crawling through his abdomen and worming through his extremities. The pain grew and expanded until his entire body felt as if it were imploding in on itself. Squirming on the floor, he began wishing he would die, that he would give in to the pain and horror and simply cease to be. It felt like hours passed, all the while Garl could do nothing but suffer and hope for oblivion. Then, when he was beginning to feel what may have been the first stirrings of death, the pain ceased, and the hand was drawn out of his mouth. Gasping and vomiting, he rolled to one side, fear and dread washing over him. To hell with the code of Salvation, he thought. He had never felt such pain! He would tell this woman whatever she wanted to hear, so long as it would get her out of his shop. “Now, I hope we have a new understanding of one another, Garl. You’re going to tell me what I want to know, or I’ll begin to get creative. Understand?” The woman said, in that eerie calm voice. Rolling back over to face her, Garl nodded his head vigorously in answer. After a moment or two of silence, Garl remembered that she was awaiting an answer to her earlier question. As the woman’s eyebrow raised, a possible sign of impatience, Garl sputtered forth a response. “There was a woman that came here about four or five weeks ago.” He said, “She purchased a large quantity of I-9.” “How much is a ‘large quantity’?” The woman asked. “Three liters.” Garl replied quickly. “She cleared out my entire stock.” “How do you know she wasn’t a pilot?” The woman asked intently. “I’ve been in business a long time, miss, and I know the look of a long trek pilot.” He assured her. “They get a real spacy and distant look in their eyes.” He said, partly smiling, as if it were an inside joke between them. When the woman didn’t smile in return, he hastily continued, “Oh, and she wasn’t armed, just like you.” He added. “Nobody comes to Salvation unarmed.” He looked nervously at her for a moment. “Well, at least, not usually.” “Describe her.” The woman ordered. “What did she look like?” Garl licked his quivering lips. He tried to call up the image of the woman in his mind, but he couldn’t remember what she looked like, and that bothered him. He had an unusually good memory. Years of being in the business of selling to people who might come back with buyer’s remorse had sharpened his powers of observation considerably. For him to not be able to remember a customer, especially one as unique as the one in question …it just didn’t add up. After a few moments, he saw the woman’s eyebrow rise again. “I’m sorry, miss!” He wailed, terrified at what new torment might be forthcoming. “I can’t remember what she looked like!” He began to blubber, “I know it was a woman, but I can’t remember anything about her beyond that.” The woman seemed to ponder this for a moment, her eyes studying his for any sign of deception. Then she asked, “Do you know where she went, after making her purchase?” Garl was on the verge of telling the woman ‘No’ out of force of habit, when he remembered the pain from only moments ago. It went against the grain to tell someone about someone else’s affairs, but this was no ordinary someone. He had no doubts this woman was being nothing less than truthful when she said she could put him through the most excruciating torture for days before allowing him the luxury of dying. He also had no doubts she would follow through on her word without hesitation if he gave her an unfavorable response. “Yeah,” He nodded, “Word got back to me that she made straight for the docking ports.” He said. “She got on a transport bound for Xanadu.” Xanadu was the largest colony on the moon Titan, orbiting Saturn. It would only take a few hours to get there by ship. “You’re sure it was Xanadu?” The woman pressed him. “Absolutely, miss.” Garl answered. The woman stood up slowly and looked over at Finn Dralor. “We’ll be leaving now.” She said. Suddenly, the fabric of reality seemed to shift in front of Garl Varo’s eyes. One moment he was lying on the floor of his ruined shop, looking up at the woman who had caused him so much pain and misery. The next, he was seated in his hover chair, looking across the unmarred shop at the woman and Finn Dralor standing just inside the door. He stared in dumbfounded amazement at the displays and monitrons, all undamaged and just as they were before the two had entered his store. Finally his gaze settled back on the woman, who was looking at him with a hint of veiled amusement. Dralor was standing at her side, a somewhat regretful look on his face. Then, it suddenly came clear. “Bloody shite,” He swore. “You’re a Dah’shia!” The Dah’shia was a sect of assassins known throughout the entire solar system as powerful psionicists, beings able to manipulate the thoughts of others with their minds. Many considered them to be a legend or myth, due to the rarity of survived encounters. It was said a Dah’shia assassin could turn a person’s own mind into a weapon against them. Based upon his recent experience, Garl could personally vouch for it. “You’ve been very helpful, Garl.” The woman told him in a matter-of-fact manner. “But I’m afraid I can’t leave you alive to tell others about this meeting.” “Wait …please …I won’t …” Garl stammered, before his consciousness abruptly shut off forever. Turning to her companion, who was still staring at the twitching corpse floating in the hover chair, the woman spoke. “We will return to your ship now.” She said. “I want to depart for Xanadu as soon as possible.” With that, she moved towards the door. Finn turned to leave, following the woman, and then glanced back at the body of Garl Varo. They had only stepped inside the store for a few moments, and though Finn had no way of knowing what had passed between the mind-assassin and the smut-peddler, he knew it had to have been horrifying. Exiting the shop, he and the woman, whose name he didn’t even know, made their way back to his ship.


I get my bag packed and drive to the station, my mind racing as to what is about to happen. The last few years have been highly uneventful but ever since mankind discovered immortality I had been envious of the people in those expensive tests, for a good 4 years I’ve been saving for the chance to enter a test, ‘it’s been fun see you guys on the flip!’ I post on my twitter account, and today is the day I start. I have been constantly researching for info about the legitimacy and the safety of these tests but today I take the plunge, I will become immortal, or so I hope… I arrive at the building about 2 hours later, the lab facility is exactly 2 hours out from Remote, yes my town is called ‘remote’ and it is quite remote, I open the creepily futuristic doors and I am greeted by a man in a suit and tie, he introduces himself as Andrew Sullingham. “You must be Elijah, come in!” he exclaims with a hint of monotone delight. I walk down a stairwell for what seemed to be 30 minutes at least and we arrive in the room that I will spend the rest of my unending life for, he points to a bus that is in the middle of the room surrounded by tarps, white tarps, they give an awfully Utopian and cliché feel to the whole lab setup, but what strikes me as irregular is that there is no control room or monitoring at all throughout the basement of the huge facility. I make the conclusion that the room must just be upstairs. Andrew directs me into the bus and yells “have a nice trip!”, and pushes me over, I get up from the black floor of the bus and murmur, “good pun.” He looks slightly discontent with the reaction I gave but he’ll recover. I find my way to the back of the bus and see a power point, ‘huh guess I paid a price of 40 thousand dollars, good thing they delivered a good product. I plug my phone charger in and my phone instantly reaches 100%, Andrew catches my reaction from the very front of the bus and shouts bemused “whaddya expect Elijah? You paid a stack of cash for this it’s the least we can do.” “Anyway, enough chit chat, you ready?” I look at him with a nervous anticipation on my face, “ok, I’m ready.” I get out my earphones and prepare Spotify for the journey, Andrew hands me a syringe that has what I assume is the immortality juice, as it is commonly referred to as. He explains to me that it won’t work if there is another person in the same vehicle and that it needs to be applied to the blue vein in my right arm. After that He promptly leaves. I inject myself and feel a tinge of pain and then nothing, I feel enlightened, as if nothing matters anymore, and I plug my earphones in as well as turn on Spotify, and my journey begins. It’s been 3 months and I am super lucky I paid for an infinite data plan on my phone because I would’ve run out on about day 15, I think that I’ve listened to nearly a 15th of all the songs on Spotify so far, I don’t have anyone that I miss and I can’t contact the outside world so I will enjoy my solitude forever. I haven’t thought about my family in about 7 years, but now I have, just now, I forgot to mention how beautiful the stars are around my space bus, they remind me of a Spotify playlist I made, it’s called stars. After being on the ride for 200 years I can’t remember my previous being, that’s what I call my life before immortality, kind of cool don’t you think? I want to get off, Where are my parents? What did I do? Where is Andrew? Why do I exist? Can I get off? What have I done? I have spent the last 3 years trying to answer these questions, there are now etchings on the walls, and they read ‘time is a concept, existing is reality’ they remind me of really cringe ‘deep’ Instagram accounts. Not sure how I will spend the rest of time, but hey maybe I will find somebody to pick up on the way, I will see so many things, the beginning, the end, the middle, and more stars. Year 83573814091848198473184731746217948137431998888821321874. I’m going to do it, I have seen all there is to see. Goodbye god, if you exist, maybe I’m a god with no power… I am going to end it all, I packed a rope, and I wonder who I’ll see on the flip? If there is one.


The CDC told us that since there is no cure for this virus. The government told us that we have to kill all of those that are infected. The only way to kill the virus is to kill the carriers. I still feel it gnaw at my insides when I have to strap down strangers and take the most precious gift that any of us have been given. It’s hard to describe the guilt that I feel knowing that I get to live, and they’re doomed to face an early death. A positive test is an immediate death sentence. Our testing has gotten so efficient that we can actually get results almost instantly as to whether someone is infected. My lab actually has the testing strips within it. If someone is suspected of carrying the disease, or if they made contact with someone who had it, they are taken to our lab to be tested. If they test positive, they are killed immediately. Not all of the infected show symptoms of the disease. Rather, some are simply carriers. The carriers still need to be euthanized, though. The government says that we need to contain the outbreak. Those that aren’t just walking carriers die from the virus within a couple days. In those that are just carriers seem to act as a perfect breeding ground for the virus just serve to make it stronger. It’s amazing how many of my coworkers ended up dying from this disease or testing positive in the past few weeks. I walk out of the vacuum sealed room where we put down the infected, and I begin my decontamination phase. A chemical shower, my clothes are then put into the incinerator, and I open up a new package of clothes. I walk back to my living quarters, and collapse on the bed. I think about how tomorrow, and how I have leave to go home. I can’t wait to be able to go home and see my family. I haven’t seen them in several months, as I’ve been set in the quarantine here. I think of my son, living with his mother, and how I didn’t have custody of him anyway. “It’s better for him to have it this way,” she’d say to me in front of Jack, her new husband. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the course of my time here about the divorce and the custody battle. I decided that I’ll embrace my ex-wife and her husband as soon as I get out of here. A smile comes across my face. I pulled out a new testing strip and tested myself again. “Negative,” it reads. I reach into my bedside table and pull out the syringe. I inject myself with the serum inside of the syringe. I pulled out another testing strip. “Positive,” it reads. I smile and start to fall asleep as I think about how much I can’t wait to hug my ex wife and her new fucking husband.


Andries cried in pain as he fell to his knees, coughing and flinging blood from his mouth onto the cold stone floor. Hot tears welled in his eyes as blood oozed from the scratches, cuts, and gashes. Many would have considered the magic that strengthened his body to be a blessing, it was the only reason he was alive after all. But to Andries, it simply was an excuse for more pain, a reason the world gave him that he simply couldn’t die and have it over with. He should have died when the thing that lay dead before him slammed its tentacle-like appendages into him, sending him crashing into the stone dungeon wall, he should have when he had been poisoned, he shouldn’t have lived when he was flung through buildings, he shouldn’t have survived the first time he had a sword rammed through his gut, much less the third, fourth, or fifth time. But there, there far below the ground the sun touched, far from the arms of those who loved him, there Andries breathed wearing wounds only befitting of a corpse. He tried to get back on his weary legs but slipped in the poodle of his blood that surrounded him, his face hitting the floor wet with his gore. For a moment he just laid there, but slowly he pulled his arms back towards his face. He pressed his fingers, each having been snapped at one point or another, against the stone. Carefully as to avoid slipping on the blood, he pushed himself up to his knees. Finally, as he got to his feet, he stifled a yelp as the powdered bone and meat held together by magic that he called a leg was forced to hold up his weight. He limped towards the thing he had slain, trying to put more weight on his less broken leg, and leaving a trail of crimson behind him. Its fleshy body was bulbous with barbed tentacles protruding from it. Two sickeningly person like legs stuck out at one end of it, and a head with two many teeth on the other. A sword was embedded in its stomach, the hilt simple white, and the blade silver. His crocked, swollen fingers slowly wrapped around the hilt. When he had first held this weapon, he had felt honored. It had been the first time he had ever been chosen for anything. That memory of honor and pride did go some ways in strengthening his spirit, but not far. He went to lift his “good” leg but found the pain that flared through what remained of his other leg unbearable, so he stepped back on the floor. Instead, he slowly, and gently placed his bad leg on the monster’s stomach and gripped the hilt of the sword. His fingers cried out in rebellion, and as he pressed his foot against the dead things gut his legs joined them. It was still more bearable than forcing all his weight on it, however. Gradually the blade began to slide free, the deep purple ichor that covered it gushing out of the monster's wound. There was a splash of monster blood as the tip of the blade was pulled free, and Andries stumbled backward, pain filling his body with each step. The tears began to run down his face, but he began to walk forward, towards the door that led deeper into the dungeon.