He may be dying, but the boy never felt more alive. Voices, loud and blaring, echoing through the brain late in the night are not the kind of thing you'd expect to enjoy, but the boy found an almost serene solace in listening to them. They berated him, making mountains of every small mistake from the hours prior, and yet the boy felt that no one else could even begin to understand him more. He felt powerless to stop the Voices, sure, but never really paid any mind to that. Misery was his home, and the Voices were the toads croaking him to sleep. The Voices, as it turned out, would eventually consume the boy. Night after night, they rang out like the dripping of a faucet, their words slowly chipping away at the boy. By the time he had an inkling of understanding as to their true intentions, it was already too late. The Voices had become the boy and the boy a single voice. While the Voices themselves rang out like an orchestra, the boy's Voice was quiet, a single wavering flame in a sea of darkness. The boy could do naught but watch in horror as the Voices took the control away. The Voices would harm the boy in numerous ways, whether it was neglecting to care for his health, refusing to communicate with his friends and family, or even slicing away at the boy's armor in the dark of the night. Yet, the boy held steadfast. He hadn't the strength to overcome the Voices, but he wasn't about to let himself fade away in the ether. It was his body, his life, after all, and if there was anything to be done, the boy was going to find it. There were days where the Voices seemingly relinquished control. The boy would awake midday, as was the Voice's usual schedule, but would find that instead of being trapped in his head, he was able to move his own body, to make his own decisions. Of course, the constant fear of the Voices' return paralyzed him. He knew they'd be back, they always came back, so the boy could do nothing but breathe and wait. The boy and the Voices performed this macabre dance for years, varying in complexity and severity. There were times where the boy felt as though he were close to fading away, like a candle in a hurricane. Even still, there were days where the Voices never made an appearance, days where the boy could feel the warmth of the sun and smell the aromas of the flowers around him. The boy yearned for those days, prayed loudly to any deity that would listen for just one more day like those. The Voices would always say that this was the last day, but the boy knew better. He knew that the Voices would work to keep those days away from him, so he needed to work even harder to keep the Voices away from those days. The boy devised a plan. He'd always been smart, almost to a fault, attempting to find the logic in even the most minutiae of details. He patiently waited for that next day of control, for the Voices to return to whatever Circle of Hell they came from, and got to work. He wrote a letter to his family, and the few remaining friends he still had, and placed them in the mailbox. He paid his bills and took a long, hot shower. He grabbed a large knife from the kitchen. Then, he locked the door, sat in his recliner and waited. Hours passed until the boy could feel the Voices bubbling up again. They begain to sneer at him, attempting to make light of the day's progress. He paid them no mind. He was about to discover whether or not the day he'd been planning forever would end as he wished it would. The boy stood from his chair, fighting an internal struggle for control, and walked towards the center of the room. There, inside a circle of candles, the boy began to chant, softly at first, then louder. And louder. And louder still. There was a loud flash, then nothing. When the boy awoke, he found himself staring at himself. This version of himself was a fraud, a compilation of all the things the Voices had tried to convince the boy were true. The plan had worked, but now was not the time for celebration. The boy rushes to pick up the blade he had dropped. The Voices, realizing the plan the boy had hatched, struggled to stop the boy by any means necessary. The Voices berated the boy, accusing him of awful, heinous things, screaming in the boy's voice to put the knife down, that he'll never accomplish anything, that he'll always be under their control. The boy had had enough. No more talking. He thrust the blade into his doppelganger's chest and twisted. The Voices howled in pain, screaming as the body fell to the floor, rapidly convulsed, and then...nothing. The boy had done it. The Voices were no more. The boy looks down at his chest, noticing his own large, wet spot developing, and smiles. He may be dying, but the boy never felt more alive.


**Sneakers and Keys**  "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times... You need new sneakers! These ones are just hanging together with smiles and hope!", Linda said, holding a disheveled shoe up with two fingers, arm fully outstretched as if the thing might give her rabies if it got too close.  Max turned his body slightly, so he was now fully facing away from the kitchen behind, where Linda sat smoking. He slunk down further into the couch and refocused on the story he was reading. The room was dark except for the dim yellow light of a lamp in the corner. It was hazy with Linda's slowly dispersing smoke.  She's right, he thought. The shoes are terrible, but dammit he loved that pair of Nikes, and he wasn't about to throw them away yet. Also, they seemed to annoy her, so there's another win! He smiled a secret little half-smile in the half-darkness.  Linda continued, "And have you put the spare key case back under the car yet?" "You haven't, have you Maximillian? Get off your lazy ass and go do it right now, before you forget again." "The rain will do you good! Wash some grime off your bones." "Get off my back Linda! I don't even know where the spare is." "I'm going to work now. Back ... late."  Max opened the door, pulled his jacket up over his head, and ran out to the car, through heavy rain. As he ran, Linda opened the door behind him and called out sarcastically: "Have a nice niiiiight..." "You too, bitch", he muttered under his breath. "I heard tha.." - he slammed the door shut, drowning her out.  Sighing heavily, Max put his phone on the mount, started up the Uber Driver app, spun his wheels and drove off into the rainy night.   **Four McLaren Drive**  "Hi there ... Xavier?", Max asked, as the man got into the back seat. "Yes." "Okay buddy .... going to Four McLaren Drive?" "That's right." Max waited for the man to put his seat-belt on and pulled out into the flow of traffic. Another rainy Uber night. Max turned the windscreen wipers up to the next speed, and peered ahead through the rain. He sighed.  "Pretty crappy weather hey,'' Max said. "Mmm.", the man grunted. "So what are you up to tonight?", Max asked. "Nothing.", he said. "Hoookaaaaay thennn....", Max mouthed silently.  He felt for the volume control on the steering wheel and turned the radio up one click. He snuck a quick look in the rear-vision mirror. The man was tall, with a lean face. He had on a black hooded poncho and had left the hood on, even though he was now out of the rain. Straggly wisps of wet dark hair were poking out of the front of the hood.  Max felt a vague uneasiness when he glanced back at the man, but he couldn't quite put his finger on the reason. He looked back at the dark wet road ahead. He made a few turns before getting onto Magilvray Road. The road started to rise slowly, as they moved towards the hills. They reached the edge of the suburbs, where Magilvray turned into McLaren Drive. Still rising, the road continued ahead, straight as an arrow.  Through the rain, Max made out the first letterbox, and a big white "1". The properties were large around here, and streetlights were few. It took another few minutes before they finally came to a driveway, with the number "4" on a post. Max slowed the car down, but not quite to a stop.  "Just here", the man in the trenchcoat said. "Are you sure? Looks like a long walk up to..." The man cut him off: "Just drop me here, I said!"  Max stopped suddenly, flinching slightly at the man's words. The man got out, slamming the door behind him, and started striding off through the rain. Max cracked his window open a fraction and called after him: "Have a nice waaaaalk..."  What an asshole, thought Max. Through the darkness and the rain he thought he saw yellow light dancing in two windows in the distance. Good night for an open fire, Max thought. He hit the second star out of five on the rider-score selector, and chose the reason “Attitude”. He scoffed “Some people!”, turned the car around, and headed back down McLaren Drive, towards the city.   **Valerie**  The rain stopped briefly, as Max reached the edge of the suburbs. The road turned back into Magilvray, and a few seconds later the four rising chimes of the “Trip Found” indicator sounded. Max hit the “Accept” button, and started following the blue line on screen, to pick up “Valerie M”.  “2.7 km”, the indicator showed. After about the first kilometer the rain started up again. Max continued following the map, and eventually pulled up to the curb outside 29 Drivat Lane.  After a few seconds there was the sound of little feet running up to the car. Max hit the ‘unlock’ button, and a girl got into the front seat alongside him.  “Hellooooo”, she said musically, smiling at Max, then reaching to put her seatbelt on. “Oh! Hello there!” said Max, thinking to himself wow she’s just a kid. She couldn’t be more than 10 years old. There was an Uber rule about picking up minors without an adult, but other drivers had told him they just pick them up anyway, and he needed the money tonight, more than he needed to kick up a fuss about it.  “Valerie M.?”he asked. “Yes, I’m Valerie Margolis, nice to meet you!”, the little girl answered. “Oh, well you probably shouldn’t tell drivers your surname, but nice to meet you too! I’m Max.” “Why shouldn’t I? I’ve got nothing to hide!”, Valerie chirped. “Oh, indeed.” said Max, deciding to leave the point at that. “Can we hurry a little?”, Valerie asked. “I’m late going to my uncle’s.” “Well, I can’t break the speed limit, but I’ll do what I can.”, Max answered.  He looked at the address on the screen and wondered if he’d forgotten to hit the “Complete Trip?” button on the previous job. The address still said “4 McLaren Drive”. But no, he must have completed the last job, else he wouldn’t have been able to start this one. What the hell?, he said to himself.  “Are you going to 4 McLaren Drive?”he asked her, puzzled. “Yes, that’s my uncle’s place”, Valerie answered, beaming at him. “Wow, I just dropped a man there a little while ago!”, Max told her. “Oh cool!”, Valerie said, seemingly missing the enormous coincidence “Umm could we start going please? I’m late!” “Oh, right!”, said Max, spinning the wheels slightly on the wet road and heading off.  The rain was still falling heavily, and there were few cars around as he made his way through the backstreets, and eventually onto Magilvray for the second time that night. The road was dark between streetlights, with only the Skoda’s headlights to light the way. Valerie was turning some little furry object over in her fingers, and singing quietly to herself, over-and-over:  “Eckery, ackary, you care-an, Fillisin, follasy, Nicholas jan”  They reached the edge of the suburbs, and just as the road changed into McLaren Drive, something small and dark ran out in front of them.  There was a low double-banging sound, as the car hit the thing. It went under them, with a horrible scraping sound.  “Shit!” exclaimed Max, braking and looking over at Valerie, who had braced herself with both arms on the dashboard. She looked back at him calmly, with a half-smile on her face. Max pulled the car over to the side of the road quickly. He was breathing fast, still holding the wheel with both hands.  “I’d better get out.”, Max said, reaching for his little umbrella and opening the door. He quickly went around to the back of the car, and a few meters behind, there was a horrible moaning sound coming from what looked to be a black cat, lying broken on the wet road.  Suddenly Valerie was there too, with no umbrella. Before Max could protest, she ran to the cat, saying “I’ll take care of it, poor thing!”.  And with that, the little girl scooped up the cat, with its neck in one hand, head in the other. She twisted her hands sharply, and there was an audible snapping sound.  Max lost his dinner in a pool on the road. He wiped his bottom lip and watched as Valerie smiled and went to drop the dead cat by the side of the road. She trotted back quickly to the car, getting in and closing the door.  “Bloody hell…”, was all Max could say. He was shaking. He took a couple of deep breaths and joined Valerie inside the car. “Are … are you okay?”, Max asked the girl. “Here, dry your hair,'' he said, handing her the little towel he kept in the console. “Oh yes I’m fine!” she said, smiling. “I’ve killed lots of animals before.”  She dried herself off, wiped her hands and handed back the towel to Max. “Thank you.”, she said, still smiling. Max took the towel and placed it back in the console. He wondered why she had “killed lots of animals”, but was still shaking, and didn’t ask any more.  “Okay, I’d better get you to number 4,'' Max said. “Oh yes, I’m very late now!”, Valerie replied.  Taking another deep breath in and out, Max put the car in ‘drive’ and pulled back out onto the road. A few minutes later they reached the post with the number “4” on it. “Shall I take you up to the house?”, Max asked. “Yes please.” Max drove slowly up the muddy, bumpy driveway. The house was set back on the hill, and there were stone steps leading down to a parking area. As the car approached the parking area, a man was running down the steps. Several more umbrella-clutching people stood under a light at the top of the steps, looking down at them.  The man was the same one Max had dropped off earlier. As Valerie stepped out of the car, the man ran across and wrapped his arm around her neck, covering her with his poncho.  “Where have you been? Everyone is waiting!” he snapped, as he led her up the steps. Max listened for Valerie’s answer, but they were getting further away, and the sound of the rain drowned it out. The man in the poncho looked back over his shoulder at the car, and gave a shooing gesture in Max’s direction.  Max hit the five stars button (it wasn’t Valerie’s fault he had hit the cat, and she had taken care of the situation for him). He turned the car around, and started heading slowly back down the driveway. As he drove, he turned for one last look in the direction of the people. Valerie and the man were at the top of the steps now, and Max thought he saw the man shoot one last look in his direction before they disappeared into the darkness, in the direction of the house.  Pulling gently to a stop near the end of the driveway, Max strummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He still felt uneasy, and he felt a gnawing pull, stopping him from just driving away like he should. He drove the car down the road fifty metres or so, and parked it behind some big bushes on the side of the road.    **Smiles and hope**  W*hat are you doing??* he thought, as he grabbed his umbrella and got out of the car. He felt there were a number of odd things about the man and girl he’d taken to number “4” that evening, and he just wanted to make sure she was alright, he told himself.  His old Nikes were fully waterlogged by now. “Held together with smiles and hope”, Linda had said. They made a loud, high-pitched squelching noise as he walked up the muddy drive towards the parking area. *So much for stealth*, he thought. His collapsible umbrella did little to keep him dry, as the angled rain hit his legs and back.  Finally Max reached the bottom of the stone steps. He stood under the stone archway for a few moments. He took a deep breath .. *Come on man, just get back in the car and go to the next job*, he said to himself, and yet he couldn’t make himself turn around. Taking one last deep breath, he passed under the stone arch and walked up the steps.  Max just wanted to make sure that Valerie was alright, but he wanted to do that undetected, with no fuss. When he’d done that, he would quietly sneak back to his car and head off into the night. The old Nikes were making the “quietly” part difficult, so he walked extra slow, on tip-toes, trying to minimize the noise. The rain had stopped now, so at least there was that, he thought. He collapsed his umbrella and dropped it on the ground.  Max approached the house, keeping low as he crept. In the darkness, he could barely see the ground under his feet. There were two windows at the front of the house, lit with a dim dancing yellow light. He was sure now that the light was from an open fire. Stepping ever so slowly and carefully, he went over to the wall of the house, next to one of the windows. He slowly leaned over and peeked in the edge of the window, hoping to see Valerie. What he saw froze the blood in his veins.  It was a large room with a fireplace at the far end, and in the middle of the room, a group of people stood around a long dining table. The people wore black hooded-cloaks, with the hoods up, such that their faces could not be seen. The cloaks were hemmed with bright crimson. Some of the figures were very short - they must be children, Max thought. In the gaps between some of them, lying on the table, Max could make out the shape of a woman, lying face-up, naked on the table. "*What the fuck… "* Max whispered. He could hear a low rhythmic chanting sound coming from the cloaked figures. Standing at the head of the table, a tall figure stood with his hands raised. They were bony, but clearly a man’s hands, and Max knew that this was the man he had dropped off earlier in the evening, “Xavier”.  The man’s hands were level with his shoulders. He slowly raised them higher in the air, and as he did so, the chanting became louder. The man reached into one of the sleeves of his robe and drew out a dagger. Max’s mouth dropped open and he thought he felt his heart stop. *He’s going to KILL her,* he thought.  Without thinking, Max started banging on the window with his open palm. Immediately the chanting stopped and every hood in the room turned towards the window. The man with the dagger pointed at Max, shouting something to the group of cloaked figures. They sprang into action, and so did Max.  He sprinted away from the house, back into the darkness towards the steps. He could hear the front door open and people shouting, as they started chasing after him.  One of Max’s Nike’s was losing a sole, making it hard to run. He slipped on the muddy ground and fell. He cursed and sprang back up, ripping off his shoes. He made it to the steps and started running down them, trying his hardest not to slip again. The first of his pursuers had reached the top of the steps. Max jumped the last two steps in panic, landing hard on the ground and falling. He groaned in pain but sprang back up, just as the rain started again.  Max started running towards the road. His feet were landing on stones, but with the adrenalin surging through his system, he barely felt them. He made it back to the road, and started running down McLaren Drive towards his car. The dark figures were not far behind him. He reached his car and felt for his keys.  Again his blood went cold, as the realisation hit him. His keys were not in his pockets. He fumbled, checking his pockets again, madly, while at the same time looking back at his pursuers. *Shit, shit shit,* he thought, before having a sudden brainwave. “Spare keys!”, he said, dropping to the ground and reaching under the back of the car. The container wasn’t there. “Oh shi-”, he started cursing, just as something hit him hard in the back of the head.  Then there was just blackness and silence.    **If your Snark be a Boojum…..**  Max wondered what that strange sound was, why this bed was so hard, why the light was dancing on the ceiling. And his arms - he couldn’t move them. His head was hurting. In a flash, it all came back to him. He realised he was inside the house now. He looked about, and saw the cloaked figures standing around him. They were chanting rhythmically like before. He was manacled to the table.  “What are you doing - let me go!!”, Max screamed at them.  A man stepped forward and stuffed a gag in his mouth, tying it around his head.  “You do it,” the man said, pointing to the shorter figure at his side. A girl’s hands emerged from the long sleeves and reached for the dagger that was sitting on the table. Max knew who it was. He screamed at her to stop, but only muffled sounds came.  “Let him see your face.” the man said.  Valerie pushed back the hood of her robe and beamed, raising the dagger with both hands. The man was also raising his hands, and as he did so, the chanting got louder and faster. By the time his hands were right above his head, the chanting had become frenetic.  Valerie looked into Max’s terrified eyes and sang, smiling, “Enjoy your riiiiide!!”.  She swung the dagger down hard.  Outside in the darkness, a cat’s scream echoed loud in the distance, then there was silence.


Here's a really bizarre short story I've been working on. Will post part 2 later this week or next! # The Arm Farm # Part 1 The roar of the car’s engine cut clear across the open fields of the farm. Chris looked out the passenger window, wishing that he was the one behind the wheel. It was his car after all, but after the accident, it wasn’t safe for him to drive stick shift anymore. Fields of low plants passed by in a blur as they approached a large farmhouse in the middle of the property. “You sure this is the place famous for bioengineering?” From his observation, it looked like any other farm in the area. “Maybe we took a wrong turn.” “Nope, there’s the sign,” answered Megan, pointing toward the barn. A large canvas banner had been hung over the side of the building and painted to read: ‘Art’s Arm Farm’. Chris looked down at what remained of his right arm and back to the sign. “What the hell is an arm farm anyway?” “I’m sure it’s just some silly gimmick,” she replied. “There’s probably a lab under the farm for developing prosthetics. It looks like he grows other crops too. These days, it’s good to be diversified.” “I guess you’re right.” Chris looked out at the rows of short plants that stretched out in every direction. They were all covered by opaque plastic bags. “Must have a problem with pests out here,” he commented. Megan nodded and pulled the car up to a series of painted parking spaces next to the barn. A wooden sign read ‘Visitors enter through the big door’. Megan cut the ignition and the air conditioner eked out a final breeze of crisp, cool air. The sun shone through the window and quickly filled the car with an oppressive heat. Chris remained rooted to his chair. Before the accident, he had hated relying on others, and a prosthetic felt like the ultimate submission to his newfound disability. Megan put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Chris, we can’t stay in here much longer. Let’s see what he’s got to offer. If you don’t like it, we’ll leave, simple as that.” Chris sighed and opened the car door. Heat rolled off the farm in a wave, carrying with it a strange smell he couldn’t quite place. There was fertilizer, yes, but something else as well. “You smell that?” he asked. “Yeah.” Megan wrinkled her nose. “Smells like baby powder?” He smelled the air and nodded. “I think you might be right.” More specifically, he thought it just smelled like newborn, but he kept that to himself. “Which one do you think is the big door?” he asked, grinning. “I don’t know, Sherlock.” She pointed toward the large barn door in front of them. “Think it’s that one?” “Only one way to find out.” Chris pushed open the door to the barn and was immediately struck by the loud disco music playing from inside. Bright, fluorescent lights illuminated the length of the structure, and steel tables with various medical equipment ran in a line down the center. “Told you.” Chris barely heard her. He was more focused on the older man with a nearly wizard-like beard dancing to the music the center of the barn. He wore a dirt-stained lab-coat and his eyes were closed as he swayed back and forth. Megan laughed out loud and the older man heard her. He held up a remote in his hand and the music stopped immediately. “Sorry about that,” he said, setting the remote down on one of the lab tables. “It seems I never have time to enjoy a good song anymore.” The man walked briskly through the barn, running his hand along the lab tables as he went. “Business is booming, as they say.” Chris recoiled slightly as the man walked right up to him, getting uncomfortably close. “Oh, no need for that, my boy.” The man held out his right hand. “Name’s Art, pleasure to meet you.” Chris grimaced, reaching out to shake Art’s hand awkwardly with his left. “Chris.” Art shook his hand and looked to Chris’s stump. “Don’t worry, Chris, we’re going to fix that. Do you mind?” he motioned to Chris’s arm. Chris did mind, but Megan squeezed his shoulder. “No, not at all.” Art grabbed Chris’s right arm and examined it. With his left hand, he pulled out a tape recorder. “Three quarters of the right arm is missing.” He squinted at the skin. “Pigmentation is white, probably a three or a four.” Art looked to Chris’s good arm. “Light freckling on the remaining limb. Is that something you’re looking to keep?” “I’m sorry?” asked Chris. Art removed his hands. “You’ve got some freckles on your left arm, would you like them on your new arm as well?” Chris looked mildly confused and remained silent. “That’s alright, I’ll show you some options.” Art noticed Megan and jumped as if electrified. “You must be Megan. Pardon my rudeness, I’m Art.” He shook her hand. She shook Art’s hand and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Art. Between you and I, I like his freckles.” Art gave her a comical wink. “Well, we’ll see what we can do about that. No time to waste, let’s get going and see what the Arm Farm is all about.” Art led them towards the far end of the barn. They passed by several lab tables, each containing a different arrangement of potting soils, grow lights, and strange flesh-like pods suspended in liquid. Chris wanted to stop and get a closer look, but Art was a man on a mission and walked at a quick clip for his age. “Started this business about five years back,” he called as they walked. “Back then, it was one lab table and a small plot for growing the prototypes.” He reached the end of the barn and flung open a large door leading outside to the fields. Sun rushed in, illuminating him as a black silhouette on a backdrop of dazzling light. “It’s a beautiful day for it.” Art inhaled deeply and stepped outside. Megan shot Chris a smirk and followed. Chris was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. “What exactly is it you grow out here?” he asked, stepping onto the dirt path that ran into the fields. He could see the rows of plastic bags stretching out as far as the eye could see. They didn’t look like any crops he was familiar with. “Didn’t you read the sign, son?” Art laughed. “You’re here looking for a new arm, well, here’s my stock.” He made a sweeping gesture to the field. Chris’s confusion didn’t abate, but there was a sickening turn in his stomach. Looking at Megan, she showed no signs of misgiving, and seemed perfectly comfortable. “Now, let’s see…” Art stopped at one of the plots and checked a note sheet that had been pinned to a wooden post. “White, three or a four for pigment, some freckling. Let’s check out row three.” Art led them into the fields. “Step carefully now, if you can help it, don’t touch the bags.” Chris was already keeping a healthy distance from them. The crops sent chills up his spine, almost like they were watching him. Eventually, Art stopped and bent down to check a few of the bags. “Ah, here we go.” With a flourish, he removed three plastic bags in a row. Chris’s heart raced as he looked down. “Are those?” Art nodded with a grin. Poking out of the dirt were three human arms, fingers outstretched toward the sun like something out of an old movie about the living dead. Art ran his fingers along the wrist of one and the fingers flexed.


A little back story, I hated my creative writing teacher in highschool because she wouldn't let us be creative. As a result I would write really stupid stories that made no sense just to piss her off. I found this old assignment in my Google doc's today. Without further delay I present Howard's New Shoes Howard was a young boy who lived in poland, in the year of 1926. He lived in the city of Radomsko with his Mother, Father, and beloved pet tortoise named Kip. Ever since he burst from his mothers loins Howard had stinky feet, the local children and adults took to calling him "Stankfoot". No doctors could Diagnose the cause of his stinky feet, he was told his feet would always stink. Years passed and Howard had gotten used to the name stankfoot, he thought about changing his name perminately to stank foot. When Howard was about 12 years old a wizard came to the town of Radomsko, although he looked more like a bum everyone had a gut feeling he was a wizard. The wizard was named DeMarcus he claimed to be from the country of Jamaica. DeMarcus spotted Howard walking along the street one day, and he knew he was "The one". DeMarcus thought of a plan to lure Howard into talking to him, after a week of brainstorming DeMarcus decided that he would hit Howard in his van. DeMarcus hid in the weeds of a vacant lot across the street from Howards home, DeMarcus sat in the weeds for so long he started to feel funny. The weeds he was sitting in released a spore when disturbed and he had been breathing in the spores for so long he didnt get enough oxygen to his brain. DeMarcus spotted Howard and his beloved Kip out for a walk. DeMarcus got into his van and took off towards Howard and Kip, It hadn't occured to DeMarcus that walking Kip was quite the task given that he was a tortoise. DeMarcus did a lap of the block to give them time to get farther away from home, as he rounded the corner to get back onto Howards street he spyed Howard, and Kip who had only moved a few inches. DeMarcus did many more laps to pass the time. Howard had noticed the van with the seahorse on the side pass him many times and became frightened, he picked up Kip and took off running. DeMarcus saw his opporotunity and took it, he sped up and hit Howard head on, Howard flew up in the air and landed in a bush nearby. DeMarcus hopped out of the van to finish his plans with Howard, as DeMarcus approached he tried to act worried. Howard was left unharmed but convinced he needed to call the police, DeMarcus insisted he didn't need the police involved, because of his many misdemeanors. After a long and drawn out argument DeMarcus's plan had worked, DeMarcus was elated. DeMarcus Recovered a box from his van, he presented it to Howard. In the box was a pair of shoes that would cure Howard of his smelly feet. Demarcus had generously offered them to Howard for the price of 185 Zloty's which equals 50 dollars and 21 cents in U.S. Dollars. Howard was oblivious to the scam because of his desire to not smell. He foolishly accepted DeMarcus's offer. Howard went home to his worried parents and explained how he bought new shoes that would cure his stinky feet. His parents asked where they were and he pointed to his feet. The shoes did not cure Howard, but made him smell worse. That was the day Howard was known as "Stanky Howard" and the day DeMaracus Johnson became the most succesful con-man in the Polish and Jamaican wizard community.


"Your name?" “Margarete." “Last name as well ma’am." "Excuse me. Margarete Bjornson." “Mhm, Occupation?" “Birther." “Valiant occupation ma’am. Just valiant." “Yes, it was." “Date of birth." “01/12/2195." “Ok good. Then we will proceed." “Aren’t you going to ask for my consent?" “Oh Margarete, of course you know you gave us your consent when you signed your pledge. Everyone did. Myself included." Margarete's eyes went dim. Her mind delving through her memory to the moment, proud parents to either side, she signed her *Pledge to Community* form that was apart of her work assignment ceremony. “How certain I was the future was so far away. Don’t believe that deception for a second. You hear me?” Her eyes now focused on the second nurse with the IV in her hand. Without a reply and eyes darting down, the associate nurse slid the IV into Margarete’s left forearm. The lead nurse, recognizing doubt being introduced into the room quickly intercepted the moment. “Ok, are you ready Margarete?" Margarete nodded without lifting her head up again. The lead nurse shot a glance to his associate who in turn flipped a large red dial on the machine connected to Margarete’s IV. Two vials, one green, one blue flowed into the singular tube leading to her arm. “Thank you for your service, Margarete." “*Here to serve. For benefit of all.*" “*And this community forever.*” At once, her body became rigid, as if suddenly filled to capacity with air and just as quickly went limp, silent, still. “Hmm.” “That’s a new reaction.” “We may have to report that to the Board.” The lead nurse checked for a pulse on Margarete’s wrist. “Didn’t change the result, however. Another successful release Sam.” “Another mouth we don’t need to support you mean.” “You know that is not what this is about." “Tell that to the Principle." “You are going to get yourself released with statements like that.” “Pft, well let’s see. Would that qualify as a pro-social action?" Sam, now thinking back to her own *Pledge to Community* that she signed. “Enough, that is enough. Did you take your emotion suppressor today?" “As always." “Maybe you need to up your dose." “Maybe." “You know emotion leads to confusion, confusion to delusion, delusion to chaos, and what comes after chaos?” “Destruction. I know. I know. Just a weird day I guess.” “Mhmm. Best not have many more of those.” “What was her occupation again?” “Birther." “Valiant occupation." “Mhm." The two nurses opened the hatch that led to nowhere and pushed the bed where the now released laid. The front of the bed, clearing the hatch, gave way. The released slid and was gone. “Another successful release." Sam, muttered under her breath, “God help us.” “What was that?” “Another successful release, I agree. I agree.” “Mhm.” Hunter, opening the door to the room adjacent theirs, announced loudly. “NEXT.” The Principle, pausing the video and turning to the board announced somewhat hurriedly, “This is exactly why we need to introduce a sedative before release. Look how this birther introduced subversive thoughts into the mind of our Dear Sam. Chaos. CHAOS is what these ideas lead to. Get an action plan on my desk by the end of the week on how we will limit exposure to conversation between our nurses and the soon-to-be-released. End of life, it’s a makes people revert back to our… primitive ways.” “Yes ma’am. We will begin immed—“ “And release Sam. We do not need this doubt to spread. And find out for the love of community where she heard the word, God.” "Also, before I forget, let's all give Hunter a round of applause for bringing this to the attention of the board and myself." "*Here to serve. For benefit of all.*" Hunter recited proudly. "*And this community forever.*" All together they responded.


The truth is we were meant to be together, but I always preferred choice. It gives you the ability to snub anything resembling destiny. I spat in the face of destiny when I met you. My heart aches in a way that reminds me I can feel. I crave an interaction with you like the drugs I used to love. You are better. You are real.  It all began with a delightful conversation. How wonderfully free it was. Life and art, existential angst. It was never easy with you. Not from the beginning. Oh my god.  I happened into you again. Months later at a restaurant. You ignored the man I was with and bought my entire meal. Your long message was received in secret from the person that had claim over me. I remember that day you said. I remember you too. Meet tomorrow? Okay...  I told you not to fall in love as I straddled your broad, muscled chest. My beaten down heart laughed delightfully at the idea that I would break yours. My heart can't break you said. It is already broken. I'll never love you. That is what you said. I said I'd never love you either. We didn't fuck. I felt you as we moved against one another, our clothes not quite containing us. I'd made a pact with myself not to have sex. I wanted to feel temptation.  You asked me out with your friends not knowing how dangerous I was with playthings. All it took was a quick compliment, an honest observation of two others. Three pieces to make you feel pain and anger. One more would come later. The idea of others to follow.  I was friends with your friends from that day. A little too charming for one who became your enemy, later your best friend. Perfectly charming for a happy little couple, open to a visitor to join them in a tiny little home. You fucked me before it happened because you saw the invitation coming. It was an angry painful fuck. I liked the feeling of your strong arms grabbing me. The quick angry pumping as a result of you trying to lay claim over the one who had laughed about your feelings. I put your hands against my throat and you applied practiced pressure. The room blurred just the right amount. You don't hold anything sacred you said. I agreed even though I wasn't sure. I didn't know myself as well back then. You had a way of making me feel... so small and deadly. I was a secret monster determined to make you unsatisfied. You were determined to never be satisfied. We played a little game of tug o'war. We made a perfectly terrible couple. Your roommate hated me. Why are you here? He'd ask. I just smiled and shrugged. Hope your day was nice I'd say sugary.  You yelled at me when you found out about the couple. I showed up to apologize even though I wasn't sorry. I told you I wasn't. You don't understand I said. I had a relationship end that day, but it wasn't the one with you. I told you I enjoyed their cramped bed, eating and fucking and smoking and licking. We all moved together. We didn't talk. I didn't want to. You forgave me, but also did not. I was this evil you disliked. I was this evil you wanted to speak with. The temptation and mischief clearly sparkling in my eyes when I spoke to you. There was no one but us. Even as the small pools filled up with the bodies of stand in characters. I felt you. We looked at one another in comfort as a clown performed bad rap and I gave a knowing look that chided appropriation. The years that separated us glowed in your eyes with a "kids these days" look but it didn't matter as I knew I'd see you later. It had been a month or so since we last spoke. You picked me up when I saw you, scooping my thin but tall body up in a way that only a tall, muscular man can. I felt so tiny. Taken.  I did more bad. I liked to do that to you. I didn't trust you or your fucking broken heart. That stupid girl you loved in the past I didn't care for. I didn't do what you wanted. You hated my blatant disrespect. I hung out with your former acquaintance. Crashing at his place. He fell in love with me while I dated half the town. I didn't love him back. I loved him. I didn't want to fuck him. I fucked him. He was a virgin. It made things complicated. I didn't care about anyone. I didn't want to. I saw you off and on. Whenever we saw one another we were in each other. Taken over by something deeper than mere desire. I never texted you after if I could help it. You were always mad at me. I felt my addiction to you. I cried over it as your friend comforted me begrudgingly. Fuck I craved you. I sweated with desire with the hot sun reflecting on that stupid white fence.  I don't know when we stopped. It wasn't for awhile. I remember laying in your arms. We didn't fuck that night. I was upset. I'd found someone else while you were traveling Europe with a poor excuse for me. I told that man that I may not see him again. He cried. I thought it was strange. I had never seen you cry. This creature who didn't know me like you did was crying. I'd made other men cry, but this was different. He wasn't trying to control me. He was feeling. He thought I was good. You knew I was not. I chose him to make me better, but he annoyed me the way they always do. So I went to see you because I couldn't think of where else to go. Of course it had been months and many men and women between the two of us. Still, I felt so comfortable with you. I'd see you sometimes in a way that I attempted to make platonic. You were always trying to convince me to marry you. To leave him. I wanted you to show up with a ring. I wanted you to tell me we were leaving to go elsewhere. You never did. To be fair I never said yes. I made fun of you even while my heart beat with excitement. Don't be dumb I'd say. Don't.  He gave me a ring. It had been a long time since I'd seen you, but suddenly you were there. I felt my throat close up in a way that he never made it close. God I've never wanted anyone as much as I wanted you. All at once the time felt like no time at all. We stood in a crowded room alone pleasantly catching up. I felt your eyes devouring me. I felt my eyes asking them to. I thought we must have looked obscene to everyone fucking each other that way. My friends had not noticed. I realized that people were more blind that I thought. How could they not see us burning there. How was my secret still safe? We parted ways. You were working. I was happy. I told myself. I'm happy. I dreamt of you again. Woke up in a cold sweat of longing. I saw my rock sleeping peacefully beside me. How sweet he looked. How simple his love was. I swallowed the scream inside and burned for a week while I tried to forget.  They told me you had a baby and I laughed so hard. So very hard. It hurt to laugh. I didn't know if it was because it was funny or because I was so angry. You weren't supposed to do that. You were supposed to be like me. Childless. Free. We were going to be together one day. It was just as you would text me. You can be with him now, but I know we are meant to be. You would write such sweet nothings. So empty like nonvenomous snake bites.  You stole me away to the mountain. We watched the lights glitter below us and your hands were deftly feeling me and making me feel. No I said. I can't. It isn't right. I love him. The lights blurred below. The city so far down. The people so small. Again just me and you and him in the distant below. I laughed with you so freely. I knew it was ending. You did too. We held hands as you drove down the mountain. Even as the road curved dangerously out of sight our hands remained entwined. This is the end I thought. I kissed you and felt the craving inside. How would I say goodbye? I ran. I didn't look back to you. When I got home to my better side he was angry. He forgave me. I didn't want him to. I did want him to. He believed in the good side of me. You thought good didn't suit me. I tried to believe in myself. Still I dreamed that night of you pushing me against that stone fort wall. The cliff edge so near. I didn't jump but I pushed you. I let you take me over the edge. I didn't fight. Just fell into the sky.  "This is the moment where you trick people into thinking you are theirs." you said as you penetrated me deeply in the southern cemetery with the flashing of fireflies and coyote eyes. The blanket moved below us and the summer was early enough to cool my hot flesh. Every thrust I felt in my being. You said you could and should stop now. Maybe it wasn't cheating you mused. It is still cheating I said. We cheat when we look at each other you said. You pushed inside me. Earlier I had ducked into a tent. You had asked what was inside. The river was flowing beside us. The memory of the boat we were on was a shadow against the fabric. The whiskey tainted ice clinked against the glass as it slowly melted on the balcony we left. I smiled at you in the inner sanctum of that secret and public place. You can't get in me I said. I won't you said. And then somehow you were in me. No! I said to you and pushed you off me. You reached for me and I panicked. Memories of something less pleasant in my head. Hey what's wrong. We don't have to.  You sat down beside me and hugged me from behind. I hid my panicked tears. I was tired of crying in front of you. I felt safe again. Your body was warm and strong. I was the small part of you once more. I felt the lustful drive to be so very close. We walked away from our hidden sanctuary and arrived upon a place of play. It had been too long since I'd swung, so I didn't feel the need to. I sat on top of you and wrapped my hands around your neck as you relaxed your entire body to be defenseless. I don't care about her. I don't want to make you happy. I know you said. I love you. I know. I grabbed your wrists and thought about how I hated you. We kissed and I laid on you listening to your heart. It sounded fake. You dress like a whore but you're the smartest person I've met you said. Your words echoed in my ear. I do that on purpose. I know. I like it. You are interesting. We're the bad guys you know. I wanted you to know that. Heroes are boring you said.  You mentioned that people are notoriously bad at choosing things that make them happy. I know that is true. I've wanted to choose you, tried to choose you, and it didn't happen. I realize the reason we are drawn to one another, the magic of our connection, is that it can only exist in hostile conditions. I crave you in moments. Not the idea of who you are, because you are a frustrating man, but you. You see me. I see you too. I've seen you for so long. On an instinctual level I have known, despite our chemistry you're not the forever guy. I wish we could be friends, but I know it isn't possible. We burn ourselves up together. It is not fair to compare or good to have what we do. We don't make each other better. When I'm with you I don't care about anyone or anything else. I don't expect anything from you, myself, or the world. I don't pay attention to other people. I don't focus on the things I thought mattered. You make me feel more important than anyone and anything and you encourage me to think little of others. When I think about you I feel on fire. The rage I've had towards the weakness or slowness of other's burns. I crave to be with you so that we can laugh about them. I want to laugh at the thought of coyotes eating us in a land of the dead. You aren't healthy. You make me want to be a bad person. I love how it feels to be her. You're right that heroes are boring to watch, but interest is a bankrupt path. It ends dramatically. Hatefully.  The man whose ring I wear said he was worried about who I was. When he glimpses the part of me you see so clearly it scares him. He is a good man. He is simple. He is kind. He is slow and methodical. He doesn't enjoy watching things on fire or playing with people. He finds himself uncomfortable when he sees me smile and tease with sweet knives. So I try to find the good in life and smile at the small moments. I try not to have claws and walk quietly and put out fires. But I love you in the most selfish way. I don't care about your life or her. I love when you do things I know I should convince you not to. I watch with amusement while you blow up your life. My cautioning paper thin. Fuck I don't want to give up my addiction, but I also don't want to burn the world around me.  Okay you said. Let us try to be boring. I hate you so much my love.


The walls in this house are thin. I hear every footstep, every word, every rage-filled fight with crystal clarity. At 6:00, I hear Keith’s alarm go off. Five minutes later I hear him stumble out of bed and into the shower. At 6:30, I hear the sound of Karen knocking on Kim’s door and the sound of Kim chucking a pillow at her. At 6:45, I hear the front door opening as Keith leaves for work. At 7:15, I hear Karen wake Kevin up. Five minutes later I hear the sound of a sizzling griddle as she makes breakfast for her children. At 7:45 I hear Kim leave the house, dragging her younger brother with her. Five minutes later, I hear Karen pouring herself a cup of coffee. At 8:05 Karen finally leaves. Five minutes later, I descend from the attic. I open the refrigerator door and pull out a Tupperware container full of pasta, leftovers from the previous night. I only take a few bites, small enough that no one will notice that I’ve touched anything. Karen has left half a pot of coffee sitting on the counter; I finish it off. As I sip my lukewarm coffee, I make my way to the living room and turn on the TV. The morning news is playing some sensationalist story about a string of recent break-ins. I roll my eyes and flip through the channels, looking for something interesting to watch. After finding nothing but reruns and game shows, I open up the DVR recordings. I pop on a new episode of a sitcom I like, one about a happy family that Keith recorded the previous night. While I watch it I check the recording schedule, making sure that my shows are set to tape. I notice that the Karen forgot to tape this afternoon’s episode of one of her soap operas. I imagine the fight that’ll break out when Karen comes home and realizes that her stories weren’t taped. Presumably, she’ll accuse Keith of deleting them for the sole purpose of angering her and refuse to acknowledge the possibility that she made a mistake. Keith will bring up the fact that he’s had a hard day at work, which will only make Karen angrier. Kevin will try to drown out the fight by watching TV and Kim will storm out of the house. I set the soap opera to record and pat myself on the back for a job well done. I can’t imagine how these people got by before I started living here. I’m the glue that holds this family together. My job is thankless, primarily because the Brattons don’t know I exist. I’ve been living in the Bratton family’s attic for nine months now. Hiding in the attic of a suburban middle-class family was never the plan. My stepfather kicked me out and I didn’t have anywhere to stay, so I started squatting in an unsold house on their street. After three days of squatting, a new family moved in without any warning. I probably should have run away. But, I knew finding a new squatting location would be a hassle, so I just started hiding in the attic. When the Brattons are all gone, I sneak down to grab food from their fridge. When they come back, I return to my hiding place. It was hard, at first, avoiding detection. I almost got caught a dozen times. But, before long, I managed to learn the family’s schedules. Nowadays the odds of me getting caught are minuscule. My hearing has gotten pretty good over the past few months, so I was able to hear the unmistakable sound of a door opening at 8:30. This surprises me, because I know for a fact that no one should be home until 3:45. As soon as the door opens I dash to the pantry; it would take to long to return to the attic. I hear the sound of footsteps. Judging by their sound, they belong to Kim. I realize that she must be skipping school. I hear, through the thin door of the pantry, Kim walk to the living room. Sneaking past her to return to the attic is risky. If she doesn’t move until her family comes home, I’ll definitely get caught. I reach into my pocket and grab my cell phone. I text Karen, informing her of her daughter’s truancy. I smile when the *Read* tag appears beneath my message. I wait for Karen to come storming home. I’ve learned a lot about the Brattons since I started living with them. Karen and Keith were high school sweethearts, him the local high school’s star quarterback and her the head of the cheer squad. I honestly think that the two of them would have gone their separate ways if it wasn’t for an unplanned pregnancy. Nine months and one shotgun wedding later, Keith and Karen came home with a baby girl named Kim. If Karen’s weekly phone calls to her sister are to be believed, Kim used to be a sweet kid. But, with high school came new problems. One day Kim came home with black hair, piercings, and a new foul attitude. Keith and Karen came to the conclusion that they were the only parents in the history of mankind to have a rebellious teenager and responded by doubling down on punishments in an attempt to “fix” their daughter, something that has only made her rebel more. Karen rips open the front door and marches into the living. “What’s up, mom?” Kim says. “Why aren’t you at school?” Karen asks. “Didn’t feel like going,” Kim replies. Karen sighs. “Kim, you need to go to school,” she says. “Otherwise, you won’t be able-” “I won’t be able to get into college and then I won’t be able to get a good job and I’ll have to marry a loser,” Kim interjects. “I’ve heard the speech before, mom.” “Then why do you keep doing things like this?” “Chill.” “I had to leave my nursing class to come and get you, you know.” “That was a dumb decision.” I hear the sound of a struggle, presumably created by Karen grabbing Kim by the ear and dragging her to the front door. “How’d you even find out I skipped school?” Kim asks. “You principal texted me,” Karen replies. I chuckle from the darkened pantry. I inputted my number into Karen’s phone number under the principal’s name two months prior, knowing that a situation like this might occur. After making sure that Karen and Kim are gone, I return to the living room to watch TV. At 3:00, I grab some snacks from the cupboard and return to the attack. At 3:45, right on schedule, I hear Karen’s car pull into the driveway. I hear Kevin dash for his bedroom as soon as Karen opens the front door. “No video games until you’re done with your homework!” Karen shouts. A few minutes later I hear the sound of Kevin turning on a game console. I don’t know if Karen doesn’t know or is just too busy to care. If I were to guess, I would say that she’s working on her classwork. Fortunately, I don’t have to guess. I grab a small tablet sitting atop a pile of boxes and turn it on. Camera feeds showing various rooms spread throughout the house appear on the screen. The feed from the kitchen shows Karen surrounded by a pile of books, jotting down notes in a notebook. The feed from Kevin’s room shows him sitting on a beanbag chair, blasting heads off an army of zombies. There isn’t a feed from the attic; if there were, it would show me lazily lying on the old couch I claimed as my bed. The security system was already installed when the Brattons moved in. The realtor neglected to tell them about the countless cameras spread throughout the house, designed to help stop an intruder. Ironically, nothing has contributed to my continued residence in this house more. When I’m up in my attic, I do a variety of things to keep myself busy. I read, I browse the internet, I play games on my phone. But, the main thing I do is observe the Brattons over the cameras. At first, I did this so I could learn their schedules and figure out how to stay hidden. Over time, I started watching them for my own enjoyment. The Brattons are better than any soap opera. Their fights, their wants, their struggles, all of these things feature an authenticity television could never reproduce. I don’t pay for the food, shelter, and entertainment I take from these people, but I do make up for the things I take. I provide this family with something that money could never buy: stability. When I first met the Bratton’s, Keith and Karen’s marriage was hanging on by a thread. I knew that, if the two of them were to split up, they might leave this house and sell it to more observant residents. So I took it upon myself to keep the two of them together. The main thing I do is clean up the minor creators of stress spread around the house. I make sure Keith’s work clothes are clean, I take out the trash when it gets too full, I make sure the toilet seat is down, I write things on the grocery list when we run out, that kind of thing. I never do too much, because that would reveal my existence. Just enough to make sure Keith and Karen are happy. Occasionally, I do something big, like sending Karen flowers using Keith’s credit card or hiding tickets to a concert in the family’s mailbox. I honestly think that, if it wasn’t for me, Keith and Karen would have broken up months ago. At 5:30, Karen moves her moves her books from the table to the living room. She isn’t done studying, but needs to start in on dinner if she’s going to have it done by the time Keith arrives at home. She pulls up a recipe on her phone and beings cooking fish. I don’t think Karen ever wanted to be a housewife. She mentioned once, while talking to her sister on the phone, that she wanted to be a doctor when she was a kid. She’s never mentioned what changed, but I’m guessing that she put those dreams on hold when Kim came along. She’s started taking nursing classes recently, a decision that has led to no shortage of stress in the Bratton family. No one has been impacted by this stress more than Karen herself, who has struggled to balance her studies and her family. At 6:30, Keith comes home from work. He trudges through the front door and collapses onto the sofa. “How was your day?” Karen asks, seemingly oblivious. “Tiring,” Keith replies. Keith spends eleven hours each day in a cubicle. Since Karen started going back to school, things have been lean around the Bratton household. Keith volunteered to pick up extra responsibilities at work to help pad his salary, something he has regretted more and more with each passing moment. Judging by the framed newspaper articles that hang in his study, Keith was a damn good football player in his youth, one good enough to get quite a few scholarships. He never accepted them, though. I’m not sure why. “Keith, we need to talk about our daughter,” Karen says. “What did she do this time?” Keith asks, eyes closed. “She skipped school!” “And?” Karen scowls at Keith. “I can’t believe that you aren’t taking this seriously,” she says. “Karen, she’s sixteen,” Keith says, rubbing his temples. “She’s going to make mistakes.” “Skipping school is more than a mistake, Keith.” “Fine, I’ll go talk to her,” Keith says while getting off the sofa. “She isn’t here right now,” Karen says, “I drug her back to school but she hasn’t come back yet.” Keith sighs. “Did you try calling her phone?” he asks. “No Keith, I didn’t try calling my missing daughter,” Karen snaps. “Of course I tried calling her. She didn’t pick up.” “Maybe that means she needs space.” “She could be at the bottom of a ditch for all we know!” Karen is proven wrong ten seconds later, when Kim walks through the front door. “Where on earth have you been for the past three hours?” Karen asks. “Out,” Kim replies. Keith chuckles and Karen shoots him an angry look. “I was hanging out with friends, I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Kim says. “I was worried,” Karen says. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” “It died,” Kim says. “Bullshit,” Karen says. “Easy,” Keith says as he pushes Karen and Kim apart. “Let’s all calm down.” “I am perfectly calm, Keith,” Karen says. “I am just sick and tired of the fact that my daughter doesn’t respect me.” “Okay,” Kim says while rolling her eyes. Around this time, Kevin wanders downstairs, drawn by the fighting. He notices something that the others haven’t. “Mom?” he says. “What is it, honey?” Karen asks, temporarily shifting her attention away from Kim. “I smell smoke,” Kevin says. Karen curses before running into the kitchen, ripping open the oven, and grabbing a glass pan containing charred fish with her bare hands. She screams and Keith runs over to her. “Are you okay?” he asks. “I feel fucking phenomenal, Keith,” Karen says. “Do you want to go to the hospital?” “No,” Karen says, as blunt as a boulder. She reaches into a drawer, grabs a pair of oven mitts, and picks the pan full of burnt fish off the floor. “I have had a long day and would like nothing more than to have a nice meal with my family,” she says. The Brattons eat the burnt fish in silence. Up in the attic, I munch on a bag of chips, enthralled by the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Kevin doesn’t touch his food. “What’s wrong, honey?” Karen asks. “I don’t like fish,” he replies. “It’s what we’re having for dinner tonight,” Karen says. “It’s burnt,” Kim says. “Maybe it would be better if I was able to focus on making dinner instead of worrying about you,” Karen snaps. The doorbell rings and Keith answers it. A pimply pizza delivery boy stands on the front porch, holding a large stack of pies. “Pizza delivery for Keith Bratton,” he says. “We didn’t order any pizza,” Karen says as she walks over to the door. “Is this 432 East Meadow Street?” the pizza boy asks. “Yes,” Keith replies. “And I’m Keith Bratton.” “I have a delivery for you,” the pizza boy says. “We didn’t order any pizza,” Karen says as she slams the door in the pizza boy’s face. To be fair, Karen is right that she didn’t order any pizza. I did, hoping to stop the eventual fight over dinner by replacing the burnt fish with fresh pizza. “What did you do that for?” Keith asks. “We didn’t order pizza,” Karen replies. “I know, but we could have just paid for the pizza and ate it for dinner.” “I worked really hard on dinner and we are going to eat it as a family.” Karen walks back to her chair. “So, how was school? she asks.” “Good,” Kevin replies. “Did anything interesting happen?” “My teacher talked to me about football tryouts.” “Football tryouts?” Keith asks, suddenly interested. “The answer is no,” Karen says. “Now, let’s not be rash,” Keith interjects. “I said no,” Karen says. “Football is dangerous and I don’t want my son getting involved.” “Karen, it’s just flag football,” Keith says. “He’ll be fine.” “I said no, Keith,” Karen says. “That’s final.” Kevin gets out of his chair and storms off to his room. “Nice going mom, you made another child hate you,” Kim says before following her brother. Kevin is the youngest of the Brattons, born a measly seven years prior. As much as I hate to say it, I think Keith and Karen decided to have him to rekindle their long dead marriage. This plan failed as a second child only added to their stresses. I think Kevin would have it a lot worse if I wasn’t around to keep his parents happy. I’ve seen children who grow up in broken homes and the problems they face. I’ve been keeping Keith and Karen together for Kevin’s sake as much as my own. After dinner, Keith brings his laptop to the table and starts typing away. Karen scrubs away at the pan, rubbing off the charred fish and dumping it into the sink. “How was dinner?” she asks. “It was fine,” Keith says. It’s a lie, of course, and a poor one at that. Karen can easily see through her husband’s deception, but chooses to play along. “Just fine?” she asks. Keith sighs. “Can we do this some other time?” he says. “I’m drowning in work right now.” “You hated it, didn’t you?” “I said it was fine, dammit. Why does it always have to be mind games with you?” Karen leaves the pan to soak and begins cleaning one of the plates. “I’m just trying to make conversations, she says. “How was work?” “Busy,” Keith says while typing on his computer. “You know, I’d appreciate it if you put the laptop away while we’re talking.” “Well, dear, I’d appreciate it if you acknowledged that my job pays for the roof over your head.” “Here we go again,” Karen says, bitterness flowing through her words. “What?” “You act like you’re the only one who works hard in this family!” Karen shouts. The plate slips from her fingers and falls to the ground, shattering. She reaches down to pick it up and slices open her finger. “Are you okay?” Keith asks. “I’m fine,” Karen says as blood drips from her hand. On my screen, I notice that Kevin is watching his parents from the living room. I sigh. No child should have to see their parents fight like this. Using a remote I stole from the living room I turn on the living room TV. Kevin stops watching his parents fight and starts watching my favorite sitcom, the one about a happy family.


The form before me is positively massive, the sea dripping off in rivulets. My mind can’t even begin to comprehend it, as if in its very nature, it is wrongness given shape. I want to run away, howling madly, but I have a job to do. People have to know what is happening. What this creature wants. It raises its face, if you can call it a face, to look at me. Tendrils pulse and whirl around where the mouth would be. Its eyes are like enormous rubies, with a raging fire burning within. Those massive crimson chasms lock onto me, pinning me in place. From the outside, I hear a deep bellowing rumble. But within my head, I could hear a deep basso say,” Why have you disturbed me, peon.” All I can do is stand there, mouth agape, gasping like a landed fish. I wanted to escape those eyes, their scrutiny seeming to reach even the deepest recesses of my mind. “Can your kind not form thought into speech yet, small one,” it asked. What I could only assume as his brow rose like the tide. “Yes, yes I can speak. My apologies, it is rare that such a being as you is ever heard. Let alone seen. What would you have me call you?” “My true name would send you shrieking into the depths of madness, flea. You may refer to me as the dead dreamer.” “Alright, well Mr. Dreamer, why are you here? Do you come in peace?” I was really hoping it was not the alternative. “I come, because I was rudely awoken. I believe your fellow fleas have disturbed me with your drills, and your pumps. Taking what isn’t rightfully yours. My city was heavily damaged by the aftershocks of such activity.” “I will wipe this tomb clean of the filth that has caked the surface. A cleansing purge is often necessary to remove disease.” I gulped nervously. That didn’t sound remotely peaceful. But I had to press on. I raised my microphone as high above my head as I could, shouting, “So your purpose is to destroy then? What of the people that have grown to inhabit the planet.” “Well, they shall be destroyed, of course. Would you, pardon the expression, allow fleas to exist upon the back of your dog? No! You would purge the hound clean of the parasites. So it must be.” “Would you allow some of us to live?” It was but a small hope. “Possibly, if they were willing to serve. I believe I have unbeknownst agents amongst you already, so they may prove useful.” So that was it then. Humanity, save a small indoctrinated portion, would be wiped out. I could tell this was a promise, not a threat. Who’d have thought? Instead of being subjugated by some extraterrestrial, the greatest threat came from our own oceans. Finally dropping the pretense of this ill-fated interview, I fled. Screaming the whole way back to the van. Ross, my cameraman, was already behind the wheel. His eyes wide with panic, we careened away from the shore. We had to get away, spend what time we had left with those we cared about. As we fled, I turned and stared out the rear windshield. The Dreamer just watched us, serene as a statue. But the eyes, those damnable eyes, never left mine. I saw how it would end in that brief connection. I believe a small part of me snapped in that moment, because Ross told me I started to giggle wildly, speaking of the endless depths and those who live there. I remember none of it, only the eyes remain. Those damn eyes. Those damn eyes.


You are walking in the Tractor Supply parking. You frequent this store for your bird seed every week. It's been 4 months since you've been going and for a while now there's been a mysterious Van in the back of the parking lot. **Chapter 2:** You have chosen to investigate! You come up to the van only to discover a rancid smell of decaying flesh and mouthwash. You can tell someone was trying to mask something here... You go to the back of the van and see the door is unlocked. You open it (of course). You go inside the van to see a decaying body. It is a man's. But it's too far gone to distinguish any identifying features. It's the worst smell you've ever smelt. What do you do? **Chapter 3:** You check the body for a wallet. All you find in the wallet is a used condom, 37 pesos, a package of blunt wraps, and a prepaid debit card. You are unable to find anything to identify this man. You are confused why this man doesn't have an I.D., credit card, license etc. In his wallet. Did he not want to be found? You then recall that you smelled mouthwash when you approached the van. Your overwhelming confusion has blinded you to the fact that it's still there. You decide to search the rest of the van. Where do you look? **Chapter 4:** You give up and decide to go home. What are you supposed to do? You don't know who the hell this guy is and don't know any other way of figuring it out. You head toward the back doors of the hot, smelly van and open them. You exit the van only to find it's dark out. You've only been in there for 5 minutes?? Then you realize... It was already dark out. The fumes from the carcass must've messed with your sense of time. You get in your car and leave. You go home. Your drive home was very quiet. There was no other traffic on the road. It's late. And you are very tired. You brush your teeth, shower, take off your watch and go to bed. But you can't help but think who that man was. Has he been there as long as the van has? Was he murdered? Suicide? You can't sleep. You need to sleep. **Chapter 5:** You light up, eat some chips, set your alarm at 7:00am for work tomorrow, then go to sleep. Beep beep. It's your alarm. Time for work. You are on time for your linemen job. You are traveling to Grove City today to work on a downed line. You and your work buddy leave at 8:00am. You light up on your way to Grove City on the way there while your buddy drives. You love weed. You are always high. You get to GC, finish your job, smoke while your at it. You work best when your high (who doesn't?😂). You finish the job and head back to Clarion. Shit. You didnt get your birdseed last night. Okay, no big deal. Go back to Tractor Supply and get the bird seed. Your buddy does't mind. You arrive. Exit the car. Of course you look in the corner of the parking lot. The van's not there. You're freaked and get back in the truck. “What's wrong?" Your buddy asks. "Nothing, I'm fine. I just realized they don't get the bird seed shipment until tomorrow, lol" you say. You eventually arrive home. Maybe you're just high and paranoid. What do you do? **Chapter 6:** You smoke more weed. (No surprise there you fucking stoner) You chill at home, alone and high. It's a Friday night. You don't even have a pet. But you don't seem to mind. You go to the basement and work on your adirondack chair that you have in your wood shop. You are a great craftsman (plus, you work best when you're high). You were commissioned to make a lawn set for a family in Rochester, New York. You want to make this nice. You only have 1 chair and a picnic table left to make. They are expecting this set tomorrow evening. They want to have it ready for their annual neighborhood Jesus picnic. This is a big deal. You know you have a lot of work ahead and are pressed for time. Good thing you smoked. You'd be watching Little House on the Prairie forgetting all about this shit right now. You smoke and work through the night. The set it complete. Luckily, your boss let you borrow his moving truck to haul everything up. You go to sleep. It is 4:00am you are still baked. You are always baked. You wake up at noon later that day. You are in no rush. You chill out and smoke some weed (no way). You are leaving at 3:00pm. You start loading the set into the truck. Four chairs and two tables. This is going to be a lot of lifting. Thank God the truck has a lifter. Everything is in and secure. It is 2:30pm and you have a five hour drive ahead. What do you do? **Chapter 7:** You choose not to smoke (a genuine surprise). Due to your high tolerance you have already come down from your earlier smoke sesh. It is time to drive. You are driving up to Rochester. You gotta piss. Man, you gotta piss bad. You stop at a rest stop to piss. It is 5:30pm. You start to feel sick while pissing. Not shortly after, you puke your brains out for a whole fifteen minutes. Why are you puking so much? You are a mess. You gather yourself and leave the rest stop. Your breath smells awful. WHAT THE FUCK! You discover your car is being robbed. You yell at the thief and chase him off. You are able to see his face. He is a Latino man. Very tall. Like 6 ft. 7. This dude's a giant. He runs though (pussy) and drives off...very slowly. You are able to record his license plate number "WIYSP-YAFTN" "That's a weird plate, no numbers. Stupid fucker. Don't rob my shit." You call the police and give them the plate number. They ask for the make and model. "Uhh, it was a black truck. That's all I remember." They tell you that vehicle and plate are not in the system. They ensure you they'll keep looking. You don't have much confidence in them. This phone call has been at least ten minutes. This stop has been longer than planned. You need to deliver this furniture. You still feel like shit. You head back on the road. The rest of the drive took two and a half hours, you're behind on schedule. You finally get to the house. "Hey! You're pretty early!" Said Isaac, the dad of the family. You thought you were about a half hour late. You look at your watch. It's 5:30pm "Someone laced that fucking weed" you think to yourself. "I could've swore I was late as shit. I must be tripping" You disregard this incident and let it go. You unload the furniture and get paid. Your job is complete. “Hey man." Isaac says. "Wanna stay for the party tomorrow? We got an extra guest room? We'd love to have you." You're tired as shit. **Chapter 8:** “Yeah, man. I'll stay" you say. "But I don't have any overnight stuff." "That's okay" says Isaac "I have plenty of clothes." "Oh...okay" You respond. "I guess I'm wearing his clothes, then" you think to yourself. "Want a snack?" asks Isaac. "Wife made brownies" "Brownies sound good" you say. And eat 7. Isaac laughs. He's a weird guy. "Come see my family" says Isaac. "I'd love you to meet them." You and Isaac walk into the living room. "Everybody! This is Christian." (That's your name) "Hello, Christian" they all say. In perfect unison. "Christian" says Isaac. "This is my wife, Wendy. And our kids, Alex, Scotty and Paige. "Hello" you say. You are uneasy. You hangout with the family for the night. Play some Monopoly and the kids go to bed. You, Isaac, and Wendy are still up, watching Treehouse Masters. "So, Christian...we've got a question for you" says Wendy. “Would you be interested in a threesome with Isaac and I?" **Chapter 9:** You freaky fuck! You barely even know these people. Plus they're fucking weird. "Whatever, let's do it!" You are overcome with an intense amount of excitement for this. You don't feel sick anymore. You haven't felt sick for a while now... "GREAT!" Isaac exclaims. "Can't wait to watch you fuck my wife! Up to the bedroom we go!!" You all walk up to their bedroom. It's a typical looking room. Except for one thing, the clocks. There are 3 different clocks in the room. "Why are there three clocks?" You think to yours- \*lock\* That was the noise of Isaac locking the door. What the fuck is going on? You freak. You run for the door and try and open it. That shit's locked. Your not leaving. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?" You scream at them. "Calm down, father" they both say in unison. "Father?? What the fuck?! I'm not your dad! I'm younger than you! You sick fucks!" Wendy puts a fourth clock on the wall. "The fuck you doing with that clock, bitch!?" You yell at Wendy. "Where's Isaac?" You think to yourself. You smell something...minty. You are in a pickle, what do you do now? **Chapter 10:** You run into the bathroom to find Isaac pouring massive amounts of mouthwash into the tub. It is almost full. You run to kick him. But are grabbed by a man. It's not Isaac. You can tell this man is big. You look behind you. It's the thief. He take you and dunks you into the mouthwash tub. You pass out. You wake up. In the same bathroom. No one is there. You walk out to the bedroom. The clocks are gone. So are Wendy and Isaac. The man is on the bed... Smoking a bong. "What the fuck is going on and who the fuck are you!?!?" You are mad. "Calm down, father." He says. "What the fuck is this father shit!? I'm not a dad! I'm single, and have no kids. Or pets! I'm a loser!" "Exactly" tall man says. "You were the perfect candidate" "For what?" "You are the next Father Time. You have been for a couple days now." “What do you mean?" You ask. "I have transmitted my powers to you. We have met before." You hear a car noise from outside. "Look outside in the parking lot. he says." You look. It's the van. "What the fuck! That's the van!" You say (yell). "And it was me in it" he says. "My name is Jesus." "What do you mean?" You ask. "I have transmitted my powers to you. We have met before. I was the one in the van." "But you were a rotted carcass!" "Yes, and no. That was my Father Time form" he says" My 673 years have passed. My tenure of Father Time has ended and I needed to transmit the powers on to the next competent candid." "But, how did you do that??" Jesus throws you a book. "This is everything you need to know. I am the third keeper of time. I have paid my dues and now you are the fourth keeper of time." You read aloud "in order to transmit powers to the next, the next keeper must have an unpleasant experience of your Father form." "You smelled my rotten flesh" Jesus said. "I think that did the trick. You now have the responsibility of controlling time for the next 673 years until you pass it on the to next. Just like I did. Just like Bambone the 2nd and Moses the 1st." "Moses? Like Bible Moses?" You ask "Yes" says Jesus "Woah. And Bambone?" "He was a Viking." "Shit" "Yeah" You are still curious. You have so many questions. **Chapter 11:** "What about the weed?" You ask. "The most important part" Jesus replies. "You must always be high for now on. If you are not high, then time distorts. This is due to the chrono**-**transmitter that developed in your brain. You smelling my dead body released the toxins in your brain to create the transmitter." He says "it is solely powered by THC. If you go three hours without weed. You will become very sick." "I puked my brains out at a rest stop on the way here" you say. "Is that because I didn't smoke?" "Precisely" Jesus replies. "Shit. So for he next 673 years I am condemned to a life of being a stoner and the ultimate timelord? How will I keep this a secret? What happens when I don't die??" "You are Father Time now." Jesus replies. "You will figure it out. Everything you need to know is in the book. Thank you and good luck:)" Jesus vanished. You aim to leave the room. Both doors are locked. What do you do?? **Chapter 12:** You notice the 4 clocks on the walls. "Well, I am Father Time now. These things are like...my weapons? Fuck it, let's give it a shot." You go up to one, take it off the wall and violently shake it. "Come on! Work! You piece of shit!" It does nothing. You look on the back. There are words. "FATHER OF TIME: MOSES THE FOUNDER OF THE TIMELORDS ACTIVATION DATE: Year 0 TERMINATION DATE: Year 673 WHEN JESUS WAS BORN, GOD DID NOT JUST ENTRUST HIS SON AS THE SAVIOR. BUT MOSES WITH THE GIFT OF TIME. HE WAS THE FIRST TO CARRY THE RESPONSIBILITY: THE ORIGINAL TIMEKEEPER." "Woah, so that's how Moses came to be. I guess God didn't wanna control time and bequeathed it upon Moses." “These next ones should be Bambone's and Jesus’” As they were. You go up to the second clock and read the back. "FATHER OF TIME: BAMBONE THE VIKING ACTIVATION DATE: 673 TERMINATION DATE : 1,346 "THE LAZIEST VIKING OF THEM ALL, BAMBONE DID NOTHING FOR HIS TRIBE AND SMOKE HASH ALL DAY. ONE DAY, IN WHAT IS NOW NORTHERN RUSSIA, MOSES WAS ON HIS TRAVELS TO FIND THE NEXT KEEPER. HE CAME ACROSS A VIKING TRIBE. HE WAS CONFRONTED BY THE HEAD VIKING, CHARGED WITH TRESPASSING, AND WAS ORDERED TO BE BEHEADED. MOSES, KNOWING THIS WOULDN'T HAVE WORKED ANYWAY, PLAYED ALONG. THE TRIBE ORDERED BAMBONE TO BEHEAD MOSES THE NEXT MORNING. THE NEXT DAY BAMBONE SLEPT IN AND FORGOT ALL ABOUT THE EXECUTION CEREMONY. MOSES TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THIS SITUATION AND BIT BAMBONE'S EAR OFF. WITH THAT BITE, HIS POWERS WERE TRANSFERRED." “lol, Moses Mike Tyson'd his ass." You chuckled. You are so funny. "Okay, now time for Jesus'" "FATHER OF TIME: JESUS THE FARMER (pronounced hay-soos) "He was a farmer?" "ACTIVATION DATE: 1,346 TERMINATION DATE: 2,019 JESUS WAS A SIMPLE SPANISH FARMER WHO LIVED IN SPAIN. WITH NEWS OF THE BLACK PLAGUE HE TRAVELED TO MEXICO TO START A NEW LIFE. UNABLE TO SUSTAIN FINANCIAL STABILITY AND HAVING TO HIDE HIS SEXUALITY FROM EVERYONE HE FELL INTO A DEEP DEPRESSION. WITH HIS FARMING EXPERIENCE, JESUS STARTED TO GROW CANNABIS. HE GREW THIS ONLY FOR HIM. HE LOVED IT SO MUCH. MEANWHILE, BAMBONE THE VIKING WAS IN SEARCH OF A NEW TIME KEEPER FOR HE KNEW HIS TIME WAS RUNNING UP. IN MEXICO CITY, HE WENT TO THE LOCAL SPANISH PUB AFTER A LONG DAY OF SEARCHING. ON THIS VERY DAY THERE WAS AN ATTEMPTED ROBBERY ON THE PUB. A LOCAL TRIED STEALING A WATER BARREL. BAMBONE WENT TO HELP. THE THIEF EXPRESSED HIS REGRET AND EXPLAIN HOW SAD HE IS. BAMBONE KNEW THIS WAS HIS CHANCE. BAMBONE OFFERED TO HELP. THE THIEF TOOK HIM BACK TO HIS HOME TO DEMONSTRATE HIS POOR LIFESTYLE. BAMBONE SEEMED VERY ENTICED...A LITTLE BIT TOO ENTICED. THE THIEF TRIED TO KISS BAMBONE. BAMBONE BEAT HIM WITH HIS CLUB. HE THEN BROKE HIS LEG THUS, TRANSFERRING HIS TIMEKEEPING POWERS. POOR GUY. BUT BAMBONE HAD TO DO WHAT HAD TO BE DONE. HE LEFT THE BOOK. EXPLAINED WHAT HAPPENED, AND VANISHED. THAT THIEF WAS TIMEKEEPER 3: JESUS” (obviously) **Chapter 13:** "FUCK, timekeepers are fucking dicks!" You exclaim. "Now on to mine, I guess." "FATHER OF TIME: CHRISTIAN THE LINEMEN ACTIVATION DATE: 2,019 PROJECTED TERMINATION DATE: 2,692" Then you know what happened. You realize you are unable to escape with these clocks. So you must go out the way you came in, the bathtub mouthwash portal. You submerge yourself in the mouth wash. You pass out and wake up. You are back in the room. Wendy and Isaac are there. They explain how they were Jesus' time servants. And how You will be assigned your own after one year. They wish you good luck. And vanish. You leave the house, grab your blunt from the truck, roll it. And continue with your life. You must learn how to harness these powers.


I lived a fairly normal, if boring, life. Decent job and a small apartment within walking distance of work. I was walking to work one morning when a car hopped the curb and hit me at 35 MPH. I was rushed to the hospital and placed in the ICU with multiple fractures, a punctured lung, and internal bleeding. I was declared dead at 10:07 AM but woke up in the morgue at 11:02 AM. As soon as I woke, memories came flooding back and I opened the plastic covering me and sat up on the gurney I was laying on. I found some cloths in the next room, got dressed and left. They will be looking for me soon, if they aren't already. They always do.  Lets go back to the beginning. My race arrived at Earth 66 million years ago, looking for a planet to harvest resources from. We found the planet full of life, but not the kind we could manipulate to achieve our goals so we sent an explosive to cause a mass extinction event. Our race is very patient and long lived, I suppose immortal is the wrong word to use. We genetically engineered ourselves to heal quickly and found a way to shut off our cells suicide gene. We waited for new, primate, life to emerge and started our forced evolution about 6 million years ago when a suitable species arose.  Over the next few million years, the genetic engineers evolved the species into slave races to help extract the resources we needed. I arrived about 10 thousand years ago as an overseer of what is now North America. Originally several species evolved for labor, and this was my first assignment. I was surprised by what I found when I arrived. The species were sentient. I was expecting primitive creatures that simply followed commands, much like humans did with dogs. I went along with the status quo for a while (200 years) until the dissent over using sentient beings grew too much for the High Council to ignore. We were told all resource planets had sentient labor as it was the most efficient. The engineers would evolve primates to the point of sentience so they could follow more complex directions easier. This meant there were dozens of worlds with sentient slaves gathering resources.  The revolt began about 100 years later. The slaves chose sides as well with most following their masters. What would later become modern humans joined with us. They were evolved to have a larger brain for higher tasks then other species. The was short. We took control of the mother ship anchored in the pacific and were forced to kill the High Council and their followers. Most of the species that follow them took high casualties and did not survive long, going extinct other then the stray gene that went into modern humans from inter-breeding.  We each maintained control of our respective districts, gaining new ones as well. I was given control over South America as well. We had minimal interference after that, staying mainly in the mother ship and occasionally visiting with the humans. I sometimes look back and wish we had simply left. Some did, we all had ships capable of opening portals to other parts of the universe. Those that did went to other resource planets to try and free them. Those of us that stayed mainly watched to prevent extinction level events. We were worshiped as gods by early humans, our ships seen as chariots in the sky, thunder birds, even dragons. Eventually wars were waged in the name of the "gods", at which point we decided that if man saw us as gods, we should convince them there is only one, and hoped that would quell the religious wars. Some refused that concept, and others took it to mean their god was the one true god. Wars continued, as did slavery, which must have been ingrained in humans from their time as slaved and during the "War of the Gods" that freed them. We all agreed that we must not interfere with humans evolution any more then we already had. Since humans looked like us (that was why we always chose planets with primates) we could live among them. Those that chose to leave took the mother ship and all our technology with them, leaving us stranded on Earth until human technology reached the point of ours, which is highly unlikely as most species that get to space, destroy themselves before learning to open and control wormholes and get to advanced genetic manipulation. As far as we know, we are the only race to achieve this, since we have not found any others and have explored 60 percent of the universe (as of my arrival on Earth).  Three times we were tempted to intervene. The Spanish Flu, World War I, and World War II. We finally did intervene, or rather I did, as I was living among the Americans. I assisted in the creation of the atom bomb, a decision I have come to regret, though someone else may have developed it without my help anyways. Soon after the US Government got a hold of one of our ships. It crashed in New Mexico in the 1950's and they got several technological advances. I had been helping the US in a consultant role, never giving them enough knowledge to get far, but the crash changed everything. They learned how to make the warheads smaller but deadlier, rudimentary genetic manipulation, computers, and lasers. Other technology, like wormhole creation, was too badly damaged for them to salvage and recreate. They did learn memory manipulation though, and started the experiments with me, wiping my memories and replacing them with new ones, though they could never completely remove memories, and after I would "die" their work was always undone so they kept a close eye on me. Now I am on the run, it seems they slipped up, and I got my break after 60 years of waiting. Now to see if humans destroy themselves, or become their creators.


True, but not all scars are created equal. I've got a doozy on my right eyebrow like Jason Mamoa and I hate to think of how it'd look if I hadn't ended up in the ER on the most traumitizing day of my life. Many years ago, my good friend Fitz and I made an impromptu road trip to visit my brother in Tampa. Upon arriving, I was notified that my brother had been incarcerated earlier in the day. Luckily, I had a key, and I knew where he kept the Valiums. We found 20, so we decided, regretfully, to split them and make our way to Ybor City. In no time, we were buying strangers all the Everclear daiquiris they would willingly drink and matching them 1:1. I was an unwavering idiot at the time so afterwards, my friend and I attempted to drive home and got hopelessly lost. After about a half hour of wrecklessly swerving around blurry streets that I had never seen before and making absolutely no progress towards even departing Ybor, I could no longer hold my piss. I pulled over in a parking lot and told Fitz that I was going to piss around the corner. I guess I had been sitting long enough for the grain alcohol to catch up because I only made it about eight floundering steps before I faceplanted into the pavement. It was freezing outside so I had my hands in the pockets of my white hoodie - I didn't even come close to getting them out in time to help break my fall. Face first into a mucky water puddle of some random asphalt parking lot in the hood. I'm not sure how long I laid there but I somehow managed to eventually get myself up. I should've been (remained?) unconscious; I was definitely concussed. My formerly white hoodie was an appalling mix of brown sludge and the most blood I'd ever seen in my life. I made it back to the car a good while later. I opened the driver's side door to awaken my passed out companion. "Dude, look what I did," I slurred, pointing drunkenly at my bloody face and rust-colored hoodie. "You think that's bad?" he replied apathetically, "Look what I did!" Too drunk to attempt to vacate my passenger seat, Fitz had thoroughly pissed himself. We both laughed and drove home, as invincible fucktards in their early '20s are wont to do. I woke up the next afternoon to some chick or another I was fucking at the time shaking me violently while being significantly louder than my pounding head could comfortably abide. Apparently I was supposed to stay with her the night before and I had never showed, never called, and had been unreachable all day. So she just showed up at my house to find my head in a bloody ruin. She said she thought I was dead. Looking at my pillow, I wondered if I might actually be. Strange afterlife, I thought. I felt close to death anyway, but I had no idea what she was talking about. I remembered very little of the night before until I stumbled into the bathroom and literally saw after being completely fucking obliterated by Ivan Baranchyk staring back at me in the mirror. She demanded I go to the ER--immediately if not sooner--and after the initial shock wore off, I agreed with her. That was the day I discovered what true pain was, and also that everything I previously thought I knew about the subject was unforgivably wrong. So fucking wrong. The gaping wound had completely dried up and was pretty much scabbed over. Before they could stitch it up, that all had to be removed. The Verna lemon-sized lesion in the side of my head had to be reopened. I'll spare you the gory details but I want to at least mention that because of the alcohol still in my system or because the masochistic nurse wanted to teach me a hard lesson or for some other reason I can no longer remember, they couldn't use any local anesthetic. Fucking Christ I'm shuddering just thinking about it. What followed was an eternity of infernal cutting, scraping, and peeling. The nurse said I was the most difficult patient she had ever had, which is fitting because she inflicted more pain in me than I had ever known was possible. I was a sobbing, swearing, utter mess. I was lucky though, the doctor said I could've gone blind in that eye and that if they hadn't been able to stitch it because I had waited any longer or for whatever other reason, I would've looked undeniably similiar to round 3 Glass Joe for the rest of my life and never gotten laid again. Plus I totally should've bled out every drop of my emaciated blood in my sleep that night. The only reason I can tell this story is because of two women I can only vaguely remember the appearance of saving my life that day. Shoutout also to Jason Mamoa for making eyebrows scars great again. God I was such a fuckup. I'm gonna do everything possible to prevent my kid from following in my footsteps - incurring avoidable scars included.


Waking up, Cassidy was unaware of her surroundings. She looked left into the empty nothingness; she looked right and again just a baron wasteland. But where was she? She kept thinking to herself. How did she get here? She was all alone in a land of nothing. Cassidy tried to get up from the icy ground, she felt the arctic chill in the air but still she didn’t know where she was. Her arms were weak and hardly managed to pick up her own body. At the age of only 8 years old, she was scared, frozen in place, unable to stand. However, after a few agonising minutes, she managed to bring herself to her feet. Yet under unstable legs, every step was a struggle and a pain. She walked for what seemed to be an endless number of hours, yet she still only saw nothing. Another few hours of walking and still nothing and Cassidy had started to feel the effects of the cold; her whole body was shaking; she felt her hair turn hard under the influence of the ice in the air and her legs and arms were beginning to give way. Night began to fall, and Cassidy knew that if she didn’t find shelter any time soon, she would be in trouble. Yet all around her was still an empty, chilling hell. But then in the corner of her eye, she saw something move under the pearlescent snow. She stopped dead in her tracks. She tried reassuring herself that it was fine. Perhaps it was just a mouse on the ground or maybe just the wind blowing the snow. She calmed herself down but just as she began thinking that it was just her mind playing tricks on her, she saw it move again, whatever it was. She turned slowly in the direction she had just come from to try not to make her presence known to whatever she had seen under the frozen surface. Her movements were slow and gentle and as she started to walk away, she felt something grab her ankle in a weak grip. That was when she knew she had to run. She was sprinting at full speed into the dark, frozen night, away from something that could have just been her imagination. She needed to take a break to catch her breath, trying to reinforce her idea that there was nothing in this empty land of ice. Again, she started to believe she had just imagined the whole scenario, but just as she began to relax slightly, she felt a hand on her left ankle again. But this time the grip was stronger. Cassidy tried to scream out for help, but no sound escaped, not that it would have made a difference. She tried kicking her foot in order to escape the grip and after a thrash of panic, she managed to free her leg. She began to sprint again. There was now no sign of any light and Cassidy couldn’t even see her own hand in front of her face. She was out of breath and had to stop. Her legs felt weak once again and she couldn’t stand. As she fell to the ground, she felt like she had been to that exact spot before, a sense of déjà vu came across her. She began to close her eyes, giving in to her surroundings, knowing deep down that no matter how hard she tried to get away, she wouldn’t make the morning. As her eyes closed, she felt the hand again, but this time on her arm, pulling her over onto her side. Cassidy then decided not to scream or run, but this time to open her eyes and look. What she saw didn’t seem to surprise her though. Lying down beside Cassidy and grabbing a hold of her was in fact her. However, she looked pale and cold, weak and thin. That’s when Cassidy realised where she was. She was back where she woke up. But seeing this other version of herself, she realised that this was in fact her true body. Cassidy never woke up. She had been dead to begin with.