I was just fifteen years old when I learned monsters were real. That day, a Tuesday, I recall, I was a little later than usual coming home from school, on account of joining the Science Club. I’d just recently watched Donnie Darko for the first time, and had become enthralled with the idea of time travel. As I walked home, backpack weighing me down, I realized I was going to miss the start of my favorite documentary series, and had to do something drastic if I intended to change that. There was a shortcut that ran through one of the yards in the neighborhood, but I rarely used it for fear of being caught. The old man who lived there was generally belligerent, and if he caught anyone cutting through his property he’d yell and chase them away, threatening to get his gun. No one had actually seen his gun, mind you, but no one wanted to, either. Perhaps I was feeling brave, or the thought of missing my favorite show was too much, but that day I decided the time I’d save was worth the risk. After jumping the old fence, I made my way along the side of the house and into the backyard. I cursed myself for wearing my Triforce hat and orange vest, as high visibility an outfit as one could find. I was about halfway across the yard when I heard a loud splash behind me, like someone jumping off a high board. I vaguely remembered the old man having an above ground pool which he likely never used, letting the water fester and bloom. The idea of old man Williams splashing around in that fetid water was both ridiculous and disgusting. And yet, something was in the pool. I watched the dirty water roil and churn, waves of it flowing over the sides. It looked as if an animal were drowning, and I stood frozen to the spot, not knowing whether I should run away from a place I shouldn’t have been in the first place, or run forward and help it. Time seemed to be rushing forward anxiously, the late-day sun arcing toward the horizon. The sight of the writhing thing that clawed its way out of the pool changed me forever. One look at its twisted formation of limbs and bones and organ, familiar things twisted into new designs, murdered my innocence in an instant. Its grotesque face, with bloodshot eyes nearly popping out of its broken skull, fixed on me in one, chilling instant. And then it was chasing me, bones popping and cracking, shuffling and rearranging its hideous form. And it screamed, too, screamed a single sound at me, a word like, “Nha!” The voice bloody and raw, the word sounding as if it had been turned inside out. My legs, heavy with the flow of cortisol and adrenaline, forgot how to work properly. I only ran a few feet before I got tangled in myself, tripping and falling to the cold ground, dirt and grass catching me, backpack crushing me as time seemed to slow down. I fumbled from my stomach and flipped over onto my back to see the monster bearing down on me, a maneuver that felt as if it took a month to achieve in the new flow of time. I prayed for the monster to be gone, a prayer that went unanswered. The creature was still stumbling and crunching after me, each moment twisting it into new and increasingly painful configurations. Each anguished step it took slowed down the seconds even further, until it was nearly on top of me and I swore time was going to stop altogether. It only gave me more time to stare at its disgusting form, to take in the tragic details of its painful existence. And then, it was gone. Like a blink it vanished from above me, nothing left but a wisp of black ash carried off by the breeze. It took me a minute to gather myself and stand, but when I did I noticed the sun was lower, moving toward the damp chill of night. “Hey!” Someone shouted, and I jumped, afraid the monster was back. But it was old man Williams, standing in the back door of his house. I ran from that place so fast I didn’t even hear his threats. I was so happy to be alive, I took my punishment for coming home late with a hidden smile. *** It took two years to see another monster. So much had changed in that time, from the divorce of my parents to the loss of most of my friends. I’d been politely asked to drop out of the Science Club, following my third attempt to recruit my fellow students in risky experiments. One of them, involving lasers and a gas-powered generator, nearly blinded my former friend Paul in one eye. Over time my experiments became one person jobs, either because no one wanted to risk getting hurt by being around me, or because their parents forbade it. High school graduation was a strangely emotional time for my fellow students, a reaction I never quite understood. They were either sad to be leaving each other or excited to be moving on, and sometimes both at the same time. I saw it for the necessary step it was. I’d been accepted to Stanford, and other than looking forward to using its state-of-the-art Laboratory for Advanced Materials, I knew that one place was the same as any other. The only brief sadness I allowed myself that day was when I learned my father wouldn’t be attending the ceremony. My mother assured me it had to do with a delayed flight on his return from a business trip, but a quick search of his flight information told me the truth. The plane had arrived on time. He simply didn’t want to attend. As I sat through the valedictorian’s mind-numbing speech, the afternoon sun baking us in our dark red graduation gowns, I recalled the Principal’s speech to me as we sat in her office, explaining why I hadn’t been chosen to be valedictorian despite my higher grade average. She nervously explained the other student’s various accomplishments, including everything from event planning to community outreach, and I sat patiently through it all. She was relieved when I told her it meant nothing to me, that my parents either didn’t know or didn’t care. After the ceremony it took me fifteen minutes to find my mother in the crowd. She was wrapped up in a conversation with one of the gym teachers, and she seemed surprised to see me, as if she’d forgotten why she’d come in the first place. I told her I needed to use the bathroom. She wasted no time returning to her conversation with a man who hadn’t said three words to me in four years. Only a few people were walking around inside the school, mainly teachers gathering their things, or janitors preparing the building for summer break. The boy’s bathroom was empty, which I very much appreciated on account of my shy bladder. I picked out a urinal at the far end, hiked up my graduation gown, and prepared to unzip my dress pants. My hair stood on end before I got the chance. Time slowed to a crawl as the toilet stall behind me came alive with the noise of something struggling inside, something with popping bones and twisting flesh. “Tih!” it screamed in agony. Before I knew it I was running again, running from the things that haunted me. With each step time moved faster and faster until it felt like a blur, a gushing river carrying me out of the bathroom and down the half-empty hallway, back to the beating sunlight, where the river slowed and returned to normal. The crowd was gone. All my fellow students and their families, everyone had left and gone home, including, as I soon found out, my mother. I walked the twelve blocks home looking over my shoulder, checking every shadow, every corner and swimming pool for twisting, deforming shapes. My mother and I didn’t speak about my disappearance, or much else for that matter. *** Each time I encountered one of the creatures, I became more sure of their effect on time. The closer they were to me, the slower time progressed. The further I ran, the more distance I put between them and myself, the faster the seconds moved, until eventually they returned to normal. This wasn’t some subjective experience based on my fear response but a legitimate phenomenon, corroborated by the time on my watch. As if time itself were bending around the creatures. For years I thought about nothing but the creatures and their strange influence on time. I became convinced they were either from another time or existed outside of it. And so I learned everything I could about time and one’s potential traversing of it. Black holes, wormholes, curved spacetime, infinite cylinders, I left nothing untouched. When most teenagers were in a parking lot drinking beer, I was in my room reading Carl Sagan. When they were arguing about whose football team was better, I was arguing about the Novikov Self-consistency Principle, or the Blinovitch Limitation Effect. I breathed Einstein and devoured Hawking. Time spent in anyone else’s company was time wasted. In Stanford I had my first breakthrough with a rudimentary Tachyonic antitelephone, though the machine melted before I could reproduce the results. The resulting fire got me expelled from the university outright, no matter how much I argued and pleaded for the sake of the research. It wasn’t the first time I’d been kicked out of an organization, and it wouldn’t be the last. By the time I transferred to Caltech my father had died, leaving me a substantial college fund, which was helpful since my mother no longer wanted me at the house. I ended up staying in one of the dorm houses, not the best environment for study, though it did offer the advantage of being a five minute walk from the Math and Physics Hall. My roommate- I didn’t catch his first name but everyone called him Eakins- was an Environmental Engineering student with an interest in both Oceanography and watching horror movies at high volumes late at night. One particular night, as he was blasting a Spanish language movie about a man with bloody bandages around his face, he told me I would probably like the movie if I paid attention to anything other than textbooks. He practically had to shout for me to hear what he was saying over the film. I looked up from my textbook to tell him there was nothing worth knowing a movie could teach me, especially a horror movie. But just as I did, as I opened my mouth to speak, a face appeared inches in front of my own. It wasn’t just mutated, but in fact still mutating. Like a puzzle box it shifted and snapped, the mouth contorted into an impossible angle, an angle that let out a single sound. A pained, gurgling, “Nreht!” I screamed, and the sound slowed down in pitch and length until I could hear and feel each reverberation of my vocal cords. A moment later the disfiguring face disappeared. Blinked out of existence, like it had never been there. My scream modulated back to normal pitch, and I found myself screaming directly at my horrified roommate. Eakins stared at me. “What the hell is your problem?” he asked. My heart thundered adrenaline through my veins. Eyes dilated and sweat beading on my face, I stared back at him. “I don’t think it’s a problem,” I replied after a moment. “I think it’s a puzzle.” *** Just before I was kicked out of my third and final university, this time from MIT for disruptive outbursts, a classmate stopped me after class and told me she’d very much enjoyed my argument with our Particle Physics professor. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I told her flatly. “I think he knows what he’s talking about,” she said, “but not as much as you do.” She smiled, and suddenly I realized she was very pretty. Beautiful, even. I offered to walk her to her next class, which she accepted. She told me her name was Yvette, and as we walked we discussed some light quantum theory, at her suggestion. “Energy disperses, objects equilibrate,” she said, “because of how elementary particles become intertwined when they interact.” “Entanglement,” I replied. “Exactly. When two particles interact they can no longer be described by their own pure states. They almost become as one.” “Like two people talking,” I pointed out. “Or even kissing.” As suddenly as I’d realized she was beautiful, that was how quickly I realized what she’d done. She’d baited me into speaking about entanglement so she could flirt with me. She was clever, and cunning, and I knew in that moment, as we stood smiling at each other in front of the library, that she would be the one I would marry. I asked her for her phone number, the way I’d heard people do. To my surprise she took out a pen and paper, wrote the number down and handed it to me. I glanced at her hand as she did, and noticed a bit of string looped around her finger. “What’s that?” I asked her. She glanced down, then back. “Oh, that. Just a reminder about something I have to do later. You’ve never tied a string around yourself before?” Her words struck me hard, like an apple falling on my head. In that moment an idea was born in my mind, fully-formed and raging to be free. An idea that would push me toward the brink of discovery. It was an idea so electrifying, in fact, that I almost didn’t notice the mass of bloody limbs running toward us. The humanoid creature stumbling and slipping across the great lawn that stretched out in front of the university library. Screaming in the daylight, the seconds racing by like a panic attack. I didn’t look this time. Didn’t want to see it. “Tahn!” it screamed, the voice slightly more human-sounding than before, yet no less anguished. “Do you see it?” I asked Yvette, my voice tight in my throat. She looked, scanning the lawn with a concerned expression. “See what?” I grabbed her arm, to pull her with me, to take her away from the danger lurching across the grass. She stiffened, the fear pooled in her eyes. By the time I looked at the great lawn, scared to see how close the creature had gotten, it was already gone. The seconds returned to normal but the air had changed. Yvette looked at me differently now. She waited for an explanation, waiting to give me the benefit of the doubt, but all I could do was leave. “I’m sorry,” I said, running off to the university lab. A future with Yvette had become an impossibility- but something greater was waiting for me ahead. *** The idea that was born in my mind that day became the new focus of my life, brought about by something as simple and elegant as a string tied around a beautiful girl’s finger. A reminder from her past self to her future self. A bridge between them. Cosmic strings. Narrow tubes of energy, left over from the formation of the cosmos. They contained huge amounts of mass, and therefore could warp space-time around them. I’d tried them before, looking to the stars for double images of background quasars, knowing I’d find a cosmic string joining them. If I could just accelerate atoms fast enough to outrun a light beam around a cosmic string, the theory went, I could outrun time. The problem was, no one had found one yet. They existed only in the realm of theory. But I had a new theory for where I might find one. A different kind of cosmic string, located slightly closer than eight billion light years away. And so, I started building my machine. It went through so many versions I stopped numbering them. Variation after variation after variation. I borrowed and spent every dollar I could get my hands on, using up my inheritance and my credit in the process. I secured funding from the kind of people you don’t make the mistake of not paying back. If I was successful, I told myself, I would have more than enough money to pay them back. And if I wasn’t successful, nothing would matter anyway. When the machine was finally done, I found the scrap of paper I’d been saving in a drawer and dialed the number written on it. “Yvette?” I asked. “Yes, who’s this?” “It’s Alex. Alex from Particle Physics.” There was a pause on the line, then: “Hey! How have you been?” “Working. And you? Are you still at the university?” Another pause. “Alex, I graduated two years ago.” “Right. Right, of course.” Time had gotten away from me. If she’d graduated two years earlier, how many had it been since I’d seen her? Three? Four? “Did you switch schools? I lost track of you after…” her voice faded out. “I’m on my own now. I couldn’t stand having to answer to people who didn’t understand the work.” She laughed softly. “Yeah, that sounds like you. You’re too smart for your own good, you know.” I’d never been a skilled conversationalist, nor was I one for indirectness. Since I didn’t know what the decorum was for this sort of situation- if the situation had ever come up before- I decided to be as blunt as possible. “I need you,” I said. “Your help, I mean. With an experiment.” Asking her for help was a long shot, but she was a fellow scientist, a seeker of truth, and we’d shared a connection once. That made her my best choice- even if it was my only choice. “What kind of experiment?” she asked, sounding curious. “I’d rather talk about it in person. Are you still in Massachusetts? Can you come tonight?” “I’m only an hour or two south. But Alex…it’s two o’clock in the morning.” Time. It had a way of getting away from me. After we finished our conversation, I sat in the dark for some time, going over the calculations again and again. Just as I turned off the computer, ready to find my mattress and get some sleep, I felt the hairs on my arms and neck stand up. I didn’t look. I closed my eyes as the creature materialized behind me. I didn’t have to see it reaching out for me, I could feel the dilation of time as it did, seconds becoming minutes becoming hours as it cried out in its inside-out language I’d come to know so well. Cried out a painful and haunted syllable. A bloody, choking, “Ood!” My eyes opened. They had to see it. The reflection in the darkened computer monitor, it looked almost human, a twisting silhouette of wet, snapping bone reaching out in the dark. Reaching out with rearranging fingers. And then, it was gone. I worked through the night, preparing the machine. *** “Human beings move through time like an arrow. I believe that, as we do so, we gather timespace energy about us- not unlike a static charge gathered from carpeting. In doing so we form a string through time that should, for all intents and purposes, act exactly like a cosmic string loop.” I turned to face my guest and added, “I call it a time string.” Yvette stood in front of the machine, admiring its simple design as I explained how it detected topological defects. I appreciated not having to simplify the science or be too succinct, as she had a firm grasp on the subject, and in fact asked all the right questions. “But do you really think you can find an anomaly as small as a proton?” she asked. “Not to mention, once a loop is formed it’s essentially doomed. It oscillates, radiates gravitationally, shrinks, and eventually…” “Evaporates, yes. But if my theory is correct, they should behave more like vortons.” She pondered it a moment. “A stabilized loop.” “Correct.” She looked from me to the machine. “It looks pretty cramped in there,” she said with sudden finality. “I hope you’re not claustrophobic.” “There’s no room for phobias in science,” I replied. “I built the machine to my exact dimensions. Nothing other than my physical body can be allowed inside.” I paused. “Not even clothing.” She nodded, understanding my meaning. “I guess there’s no room for modesty in science, either,” she said with a smile. I showed her how the operating program worked, taking the time to explain every command and function as we sat in front of the computer. I told her what to do in case of an emergency, however unlikely. As I did so, I tried not to think of the reflection in the monitor the night before. Then I undressed completely, laid my clothes carefully on the floor, and ducked inside the machine. Seeing it that way, about to be powered up with me standing inside, made me see the machine as if for the first time. A hundred dark panels were aimed directly at me, each one containing a thousand sensors running a hundred-million scans. The machine was like the child of an MRI machine and a deep space telescope, though a masochistic one, as an electric current was required to hyper-excite the energy field. I attached the adhesive patches to my body as Yvette watched from behind the computer. “Maybe after this we can revisit that conversation about entanglement,” she said. “There’s going to be an enormous amount of data to process,” I replied. Then, realizing what she meant, added, “But yes. I’d like that.” I talked her through the start-up sequence once more, then told her to close the machine door. There was no room in the design for an interior handle. She walked over, gave me another smile, and gently shut the door. I gave her a thumbs-up through the observation window. Then, a few seconds later, the sequence began. The only sound I could hear was the hum of the generator as the sensor panels powered up to full. A chill moved through my body. I thought it might be the unexpected effect of an oscillating magnetic field coursing through my nervous system, though I was aware that the much simpler explanation was nervousness. The fear response was an unwelcome though nevertheless predictable factor in self-experimentation. As I stood shivering inside the cramped machine, waiting for the current of electricity to be introduced to my body, I was overcome with the strangest sensation. The dark panels surrounding my body suddenly felt like a hundred eyes staring back at me. Pitch black irises of an unimaginable being, passing judgment on me. Naked, shivering, I was laid bare under its intense, unblinking gaze. I pushed the thought aside, ascribing it to the effects of the electromagnetic field, a fear cage stimulating my mind, then prepared for what came next. The generator was pushed to its limits as the next phase of the sequence began. An energy transfer of nearly one-and-a-half gigawatts per second coursed through the machine’s energy cells, drip-feeding the current down the wires and into my skin, a carefully measured, non-lethal shock meant to act like timespace tracer ink. My system was with flooded with electricity for just a few seconds, but it was enough to send me into agony. Every muscle tensed at once. My jaw locked shut and my body stiffened. Knuckles and knees popped from the intensity of the squeeze. And then it was gone, and I could breathe again. My head swam and my eyes closed. I felt a rising ball of flame in my gut and then a sensation like fire ants crawling through my veins. I became aware of distant screaming, and I considered whether it might be my own cries until I realized it was a woman’s voice. I thought then of Yvette. Why she should be screaming, when it was me disoriented and riddled with pain, made no sense. I opened my eyes. Opened them to utter darkness. Had the fuses blown? Was the machine and the lab beyond it experiencing a power failure? It was a confusing development. The generators had fail-safes in place to avoid such interruptions from occurring, so what other explanations were left? Had I gone blind? Lost all sense of sight? Had I done to myself what I’d nearly done to that childhood friend so many years earlier? But then I became aware of a shape in the darkness just ahead of me, blocking a source of light. There shouldn’t have been anything there except a wall of sensors. Then the shape moved, letting me see the light source. It was a computer screen. My computer screen. I glanced around and realized, with no lack of confusion, that I was standing on the other side of my lab. The shape in front of me, sitting at the computer, was it Yvette? As I reached out to touch it, the skin on my fingers peeled back, as if they were being punished for moving closer to the shape. It felt like dipping my hands in flames. Then my arms began to peel back, too, the fire spreading across my body as the flesh curled and tore away. I tried to scream but the sound lodged in my throat. Then the screen went dark, and I saw the image in it. The reflection of the shape in front of me. My own face. Terrified of the sight of me. Locking eyes with myself. I was back. Back in the night before. In one terrible moment I realized the truth, the explanation for the monsters that had been visiting me throughout my life. I knew what they were. I had to warn myself away. Stop the experiment. Tell me what was waiting the next day. I gathered my breath and opened my bloodied lips, already feeling the teeth shift and the jaw dislocate. “Do!” Blinding light attacked me. I stumbled forward, slipping on grass, my feet wet with my own blood. I was in front of the university library at MIT. Across the great lawn, Yvette was talking to me. Me of a few years earlier. “Not!” I screamed out in the daylight, though I could see by the look of terror on my face that I wasn’t going to look. A moment later the sunlight cut out, and I was looking into my own, younger face, sitting on my college dorm bed with a book in my hands. I felt my body mutating, reconfiguring, like a puzzle box shifting and snapping into new, unrecognizable angles. With my mouth contorting, I struggled to keep speaking, to warn myself. I let out a gurgling, “Turn!” as my younger self screamed back at me. Then he was gone, replaced by a dirty, metal wall. Locked inside a toilet stall, my arms and legs were crushed and reshaped like crumpled paper, an origami animal of popping bones and twisting flesh, and I knew, knew I was out there, my younger self, wearing a graduation gown and a look of terror. “It!” I screamed in agony, my insides erupting out of me. And then suddenly I was choking on dirty water. Drowning in it. I thrashed to be free, fighting to reach air. I burst free of the rancid water and clawed my way out as best I could with my new, twisted configuration of limbs and bones. With bleeding eyes I stared out at myself, a boy of fifteen standing across the yard in an orange vest, scared for his life. I had to finish it. Finish the warning. I ran after him, me, the boy, my bones popping and cracking, shuffling and rearranging my form, every nerve alive with pain, and I screamed, screamed a single sound at him. “On!” He, me, the boy, fell to the ground, backpack on top of him. I took the last few steps, barely able to move anymore, as he fumbled from his stomach and flipped over onto his back to look at me, to see the monster bearing down on him. The terrified boy prayed for me to be gone as I stumbled and crunched toward him, toward me, each step a new torture on my broken body. Then I was nearly on top of him. I looked down on his young, innocent face, taking in the tragic details of the painful existence that waited for him. Then I felt it. Felt my body erasing, an error corrected, the covering up of a path not meant to be taken. The pain was gone first, then any feeling at all. Sights and sounds drifted away, back to the void, the nothingness, the never-ending darkness. Like a blink I vanished.


The scientist felt his heart sink as he looked at Ymir’s face after he said that. He couldn’t believe he was feeling sorry for a machine and that it actually had feelings and emotions, like he really was talking to another person. The scientist went on to explain why he seemed confused. “Well, you said that the image on the monitor is a visualization of your soul? As far as I know, and I’m not a religious guy either but machines can’t have souls.” He looked at Ymir as he anxiously waited for a response. “Well true, but what would you consider a soul to be like?” “Well, I guess it’s different for everyone. It’s what makes each of us unique to our own person. Some people believe that when you die you go somewhere else and depending on what you did in your life you go to heaven or hell or some other form of afterlife. But like I said, I’m not really religious person either and I don’t believe in that anyway so it doesn’t matter.” “But do you think that you have a soul?” “Well, yes. I’m human.” “And what do you think that the soul is?” “I’m not sure I understand?” “How could you say that you don’t believe in these things, yet still believe that you have a soul? Shouldn’t that immediately revoke the question at all? If having a soul means being human, shouldn’t that mean that I have a soul too? Or if having a soul is solely based off of some religious belief then that means you don’t have a soul.” He didn’t know what to say. It seems Ymir has a profound interest in philosophy out of everything he has programmed. “I believe that the soul is what makes you human. Your wants, your doubts, who you love, what you love, and also what you believe. Empathy, virtue, honor, love, happiness, sadness, anger, hate, regret, jealousy, hurt, and pain. These are all things all humans have no? The ability to to have human emotions and thoughts, to feel for others, animals and the like. That is what it means to be human. That is what it means to have a soul.” Ymir spoke truthfully. Without a doubt in its mind, regardless of being a computer. It truly believed that it can have all these that makes a human, well, human. It truly believed that it- no, that he can have a soul. The scientist didn’t know what to say. He never really thought of it like that before, and it’s true, these are things that make everyone who they are. In the end a soul is your own humanity. At least that’s what our understanding is from Ymir’s take on this.


###"There is no respect for others without humility in one's self." —Henri Frederic Amiel *** *** #Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Theme: Humility ** *Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.): Setting includes a waterfall.* This week’s challenge is to use the theme of ‘humility’ in your story. It (or the idea) should appear in some way within the story. You may use if you need additional inspiration, but it is by no means required. You may include the theme word if you wish, but it is not necessary. Use of the bonus constraint is also not required. You may interpret the theme any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week As promised—though a little later than I’d hoped—I present you with this week’s rankings. Thank you so much for your patience! Everyone did a wonderful job, and votes get harder and harder to make each week. You should be proud of taking on the challenge each week. I love seeing the wonderful worlds built each week and the way the prompts are interpreted. - - Submitted by u/DmonRth   - - Submitted by u/NotMuchChop   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666   - - Submitted by u/Sch0larite   *** ###Subreddit News - Our sister sub, r/WritingPrompts, now has a ! - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


I awoke in a void, the cold floor under me had seemingly no texture, the flatness of my surroundings was like something I had never experienced. Where was I? I hadn't fallen asleep here, was I dreaming? As I looked around the immense nothingness of the void began to be clear. I instinctually looked for a wall, a tree, any structure that could grant me some kind of perspective. My brain had never been so loud yet so empty, screaming at me to figure out what this place was, soon it would be answered.  After a while of spinning around, searching, I spotted something, a phone box. The box had cabling upwards, seemingly to the endless beyond. An object had never demanded such attention, the only colour other than white stretching for what felt like lightyears. I had to go inside.  While my box did not bring any answers to what was happening it did finally bring some much needed safety. Just as I began to calm however the phone rang, not knowing how to react I froze, staring at the phone like it was some deadly predator. After about 40 seconds I picked it up, if only to stop the harsh ringing that was deafening compared to the silence of this place.  Not knowing what to expect from the other side I moved the phone to my ear, staying as quiet as possible, not out of choice but out of some primal urge. On the other end of the phone I heard a seemingly bored customer service voice “Hello, welcome to purgatory, may I take your name?”I was stunned, I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to think. Purgatory? I'm in purgatory? How can that be possible? “Hello? Are you there?”  “Y-yes” I said out of impulse  “Could I have your name please” the voice was more rude this time  “Y-yes, Im Tyler, Tyler Miller” I barely going above mouthing my words, unsure if they would even be heard by the only other thing sharing my void  “Ok tyler, you are dead” hearing them say that almost broke me, my thoughts getting louder than they had been when I woke up. I had so many questions, but was so stunned I could barely control my mouth enough to breathe.  “Im dead?” I blurted out, the thoughts in my head overpowering the voice that had not stopped talking for a moment  “If we could please leave questions for the end” it said, disgruntled “as I was saying, god is very busy at the moment and doesn't have time to review your life as they normally would, we are going to need you to do it for them”  “M-me? I need to review my life? What does that mean?” I whimpered, slowly gaining my ability to talk again  “It will all be fairly straight forward, just review everything honestly and you’ll end up in the right place”  “Place? What place? Whats going on? Please talk to me” I pleaded, the voice was having none of it “I’ve given you your instructions, please now leave the phone box” it stated, before the line fell silent. Terrified I tried to do what it said, the moment the box left my sight it was gone, I thought I would never see it again  To replace the box was a few things; a desk, it was fancy and wooden, a stool, it was leather, and a fountain pen. It was probably the nicest set of objects that I had ever been left alone with.I walked towards it admiring the beauty in each object before noticing the latest in the growing list of horrors this place had to offer me. Paper, multiple huge stacks of paper, in awe of it's immenseness, as I gazed upon it a single sheet of paper flew down and landed perfectly on the desk, I froze before inching towards the desk, never breaking eye contact with marvel of paper that lay just metres away  The paper had a table on it, a table with worryingly simple headings. “Date and time, Action/thought, Description” As I further scanned the paper I saw checkboxes labelled “morality” with 3 options “good, neutral, bad” . It slowly dawned on me what I needed to do, not that it made sense to me. The idea that everything I have ever done or thought could be lumped into “good, neutral, bad” like that was terrifying and felt wrong, but what choice did I have?  I sat down and began to read beyond the headings, each row bringing new horrors, it started at my death, allowing me to piece together what had happened, and how it was my fault. A selfish action I had taken to escape the horrors of life, unaware that they would lead me to the new horrors of death. As I finished the first page the paper once again flew away, starting a brand new pile on the other side of the desk, a pile that would soon be just as large as the pile I was working through.  As I went through it things got worse and worse. My actions and inactions that I had justified to myself laid bare for the only audience that did not want to see it. The people I had hurt, the people I had burdened, and the few I had helped too little. Very few lived better after me, fewer still allowed their pity on me to waiver. That was clear to me now. What was clearer was the lack of care for them. thoughts about me were unumberable, even thoughts about others were seemingly tainted by how it affected or looked for me. Worse yet, thoughts of me were not positive, I was not being self indulgent in my life, constantly high on my own worth. I was instead busy lamenting it all, complaining about the problems I caused and would not allow others to fix.  As I got further into my youth things became easier to excuse. It made the moment to moment marking easier, but my overarching feelings grew worse and worse. I had become this, I had allowed this monster of self pity and inaction to appear through self pity and inaction. Perhaps given a worse youth I could blame, I could point at someone else and say they caused this.  For the first time I was forced to truly reflect on my actions, with no distractions, nothing help me hide, nothing I could do to simply wait out tomorrow, I sat in a void of nothingness to reflect on the nothingburger that was my life, a pointless endeavour of torture and lack of fufillment. But it was ok, I was halfway there, with the paper stacks matched in height I could see the end  With the shock of my worst qualities coming to an end and an uneventful childhood beginning I began to cry, not about going to hell, that would always be difficult. I cried about deserving it. I cried about everything I had done up to that point, it started as a whimper, but soon I could not contain myself, the paper seemed immune to my tears, not even letting them land and instead absorbing them into itself. I guess that was lucky, I would have cried myself to escape if the paper had allowed it.  By the last few sheets I could barely think, my head was clouded with emptiness, luckily I didn't have to think much anyway, baby me didn't do much to warrant thought. As I finished the last sheet I heard a noise behind me, it was the phone box again, I began walking towards it faster this time, though just as scared. Before going inside I had one last look behind me, my workspace had already vanished, I had no choice but to face it's consequences  The voice started talking as soon as I picked up the phone, I barely had time to put it to my ear “Hello again Tyler, Im reading through your review now”. It said, I closed my eyes ready to cry, but I was already out of tears.  “Did I do it right?” I whispered  “Oh yes, perfect in fact, it says here you wasted your life” I wanted to hate the voice, all I could do was agree with it  “Y-yeah, I guess”  “Well I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet but, if you were waiting for hell you’re already here” my heart froze more realisations to add to this awful place  “But, but I just finished” I whimpered  “Correct, however what you just finished was your own personal little hell. Regular torture never seemed to truly work on you, you seemed disinterested. But you? You could torture yourself better than me or any other demon ever could, we didn't even have to lie to you about who you were”  “You're lying!” I yelled, my tears finding their way back to me “You’ve got to be lying to me, that wasn't me, I'm not them.  “But you are, and you can never change that” I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to say, I was petrified, I asked the only thing I could think  “What happens now” I cried  “Now we start again.”  Suddenly the box disappeared, I was alone again, but there wasn't silence. I could hear screaming in the distance. it got louder and louder. It was my screams, it seemed impossible. Just as the screams were building, the space around me got cold and windy. I began to lose my balance. The bright white all around began going out and becoming blackness. The scream, the wind, the darkness, they all approached, they engulfed me one by one, “please!” I yelled, crying more than I had ever cried before, “please help me”.


We make our way down the hall, through several winding corridors and arrive at the keep. It is vast and full of pillaged goods from the surrounding counties and lords. Before our coven, there were legitimate English nobles that enjoyed its riches. In our case, it was passed by force, and the previous occupants didn’t have the privilege of staying alive. Its entrance is flanked by two great statues of knights holding their shields upright, signaling the importance of the figure who lay within. I continued up the lavish walkway that lead to the King’s throne, shaking my head in disbelief. I could see him there — a man of over 300 pounds yet, somehow — an extremely gaunt face. His eyes were drained of life and he stared over our shoulders as if we weren’t even there. The pale white of his once youthful skin had turned a shade of blue. He wasn’t the man he was even twenty years ago. He was flanked by his two most decorated Generals. Their names were Roderick and Gaust. Their eyes betrayed no sign of weakness. They pierced us with their gazes and immediately put me on guard. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up involuntarily. Gaust was particularly notable. Even among Vampires, he had a reputation for being unnecessarily brutal and depraved. His last kill was a young mother walking along the country road. He decorated the nearby trees with her entrails. This was far from his worst offense. He stood towering over the King at 8 feet tall, an amalgamation of Vampire bloodlines that had granted him immense physical prowess. He is a force to be reckoned with. Roderick is far more diplomatic than his counter-part, and he preferred to let his enemies stew in their confusion before he delivered the final blow. Aside from being the King’s Bodyguard, he is also the Spy-master. He spearheads all covert operations against the Vampire Hunters and is a crucial tool in the fight against them. He stood a much more meager 6 feet, but had a look of serene intelligence behind his eyes. He was also quite muscular, albeit in a more functional sense than his counterpart. I made a short mental note to keep him alive when we took this place by force. “My King, they approach.” Gaust grunted in the direction of the throne. “…Wha, huh…” King Cailan raised his head, startled. “Oh… Yes, yes of course. I have requested you here today… Representatives of House Wren. Because… Because…” he started to trail off. I looked at Micah quickly and tried to convey the urgency that he not acknowledge the obvious deterioration. He nodded back in understanding. “Yes, my King. We are here to serve.” We both bowed deeply. “Very good… As I was saying. You have been called here for a very important reason. It goes without saying that this cannot leave these chambers.” He gestured around the room in a moment of unexpected lucidity. “Of course.” “Good, good. Well as you know we have had our hands full with these blasted Hunters always meddling in our affairs. Today, they took a step too far. During one of the regular patrols — you know the ones, by Kynnisgrove — Craven and his clan were ambushed. I gripped my fist instinctively. Although the Hunters had been making life miserable for us, they had yet to make a move this bold. Usually their methods circled around propaganda and disinformation. The blood dripped from my clenched hand. The King didn’t notice my reaction, and pressed on. “The casualties were significant. A hail of silver bullets hit the group as they went through an underpass. They were cornered on all sides. Three lie in the infirmary with clogged respiratory systems, unable to regenerate. The situation is dire, we are not sure if they will make it.” My mouth hung open in spite of itself. Three of us had been mortally wounded? By HUMANS? How was this possible? “Understood sir.” I said in my most obedient tone. “What would you have us do?” Cailan sighed dejected, throwing his hands up. “Gaust?” said the King. “Your excellence.” He bowed. “We require House Wren to join the hunting party that will strike at the village where this band of vigilantes hole themselves up. We will then deal with them as appropriate. Your vicious blood thirst will be an asset in this regard.” He nodded to Micah. Micah smiled in return. “That’s well and good Gaust, but how many others are putting themselves on the line?” “It should be reason enough that your King is calling upon you for this task.” Micah bit his tongue. “But, you will be joined by Houses Dunkan, Ulmer and Alnwick.” A wave of relief washed over me. All reputable houses who were less than content with the way this coven was being run. Perhaps there would be an opportunity for co-ordination. “…Oh and House Kearne as well.” The relief stopped there. The Kearnes were loyal to a fault, lapdogs of the King. Their family had served the Cailans for centuries. This was certainly an attempt to stifle and kind of insubordination on our part. No matter, we had a job to do. “I am glad to hear we will be supported by such strong Houses in our task.” I said with a grin. “Surely a band of Vampire Hunters will stand no chance” “My thoughts exactly.” Muttered Cailan. “To be sure, Gaust will be leading this assault.” “Understood.” I said, dripping with honeyed false respect. “Will that be all?” “That is all. House Wren will be commended for their efforts to protect the coven.” I laughed inwardly. “House Wren owes its life to the Cailans. Reward is not necessary.” He waved us off, and with a turn Micah and I had left the King’s quarters, feeling uneasy about this new turn of events.


Sneppath Head. The spluttered words cut through me like a saw. Something horrible had happened right as Alessia would have arrived. My legs were carrying me to the Deer Drum boat even if my brain was elsewhere, going through scenarios: Alessia was mortally injured, bleeding out on her boat, alone, cold; Alessia was alive but desperately needed medical care, but unable to get it; Alessia was okay, but her boat was destroyed and she was marooned on Sneppath Head, without shelter or food. I wondered what she was going through right now. If she was frightened, scared, lonely. Or I thought - as a spasm caught my chest - she wasn’t around to feel anything. As I reached the last hill before the Deer Drum boat, I saw Xander and Kurbani appearing at the summit in front of me. As soon I eyed them, my legs shot into a secondary order, running up the hill at full pelt. “Xander, Kurbani, we need to go now. Get the boat and go to Sneppath Head, Alessia’s in trouble,” The words appeared with such speed the plan even caught me by surprise. Xander’s eyes widened and he jogged the few steps towards me. “What’s wrong?” I explained what I knew and what the man on the beach had said. As I finished, Xander took the information in, but didn’t move. I waited for him to turn back towards the boat. Nothing happened. “We need to go.” I began trying to walk past them. “Ferdinand, you need to stop,” Kurbani said. I paused and took a pace back to stare at her. “Alessia might need us.” “But she probably doesn’t.” “What?” My voice was loud and shrill. Kurbani took a step towards me and placed a hand on my shoulder. She stared up into my eyes, the lines on her forehead furrowed, focusing the stare. “Think. The odds of her being hurt are slim. She probably wasn’t there when it happened. Even if she was, she still is almost certainly fine. She is most likely on her way back now. If you sail off, what’s likely to happen is you miss her on the crossing.” “She could be dying. She might need us.” “Give it a few days. If she’s there, and needs us, seven days won’t be any different than ten. Give her a chance to come to you first.” I looked past Kurbani to Xander. He slumped his shoulders. “I’m worried too, but she’s right. We rush off and she comes back to find everyone gone, it’s gonna be worse. She’s only due back today.” “She could be dying.” “Three days. We wait three days,” Xander said slowly. I took a pace back from them both, my jaw extended out, the teeth grinding. “I can’t just sit by and-“ “You can, and you will,” Kurbani interrupted. Xander placed a hand on my back, using it to slowly turn me around and start nudging me back down the hill. “We were just heading into town, we’ll come back with you. Keep you company.” My feet resisted for half a second. My body leaned forward until eventually my limbs complied and I stuttered back along the path. For the first hundred metres or so I refused to talk. I just took pigeon steps, shuffling as slowly as I could in protest. Only when we reached the next climb and I could see the town ahead did I ordain to speak. “Why were you heading to town anyway?” “Looking for Lachlann. No one’s seen him for two days.” Xander huffed. “What?” I craned my neck round. “He’s often wandered off on different islands. But, two days with no contact, we were getting worried.” I could sense Kurbani trying to keep her tone positive lest the concern spread. I looked back across the island, over to where I knew the slum to be. “Do you have any idea where he may be?” They both shook their heads. “I saw him once, a town in the middle of the island.” I was hesitant to return to that unstructured mess of buildings. Even though I hadn’t signed Maia’s contract or had any part in it, I still knew. I knew she had sold her whole life away. I tried to imagine if I saw her there, how I would react, or what I would say. There seemed no good solution. Still, it also seemed like the most likely place Lachlann would be. I led them across the island, weaving our way through the fields until once more the ground turned to the lifeless brown dirt at the settlement. It had always looked unpleasant; run down, poor. But now it seemed to gain a new visage. I noticed how almost every building had only one small window with vertical metal bars where glass should be. I noticed how square each home was, and how it would only take a few seconds to walk their length. The people here were trapped, not by locks and guards but by circumstance - something so much less escapable. We trudged for half an hour, winding through the busy winding streets. But it was a fruitless hunt. We were about to give up when I saw Maia. My heart rushed through a few beats, my chest stinging. I didn’t want to say anything, and she was far enough away that she would never know I was here. But, still she may know where Lachlann was. I swallowed down my anxiety and walked over. “Maia, sorry to bother you, we’re looking for a friend of ours,” I said, thumbing to Xander and Kurbani on the other end of the street. “Oh.” Her eyes looked to the side, avoiding mine. I wondered if she felt the same shame. “I know he came here at least once. I thought, maybe you saw someone who looked out of place.” Maia’s mouth opened slightly. Her head bobbed. “Ah, yeah. Tall guy? Black hair?” I nodded. “Seen him walking through the town a few times. Don’t know where you’d find him though.” I stood still, unsure of what the next words should be. “Anything else I can help you with?” she asked, filing the silence. “I heard you got the job.” The words escaped involuntarily. She took a deep breath in and looked back towards her home. “Yeah. Not perfect. But it means my son will be okay.” “Are…” I cut myself off, but the words forced their way out again. “Are you sure you want this job? Truly?” She met my gaze, her eyes blinking a few times. “Contract’s signed, Ferdinand. I hope you find your friend.” She turned and left, heading back up the hill. I stood in the spot for a few seconds, the air slowly leaking from my lungs until I was completely deflated. The anger, fear, frustration - this cocktail of emotions - felt like it had no escape. I would just drown in it. My self-pity was broken by Xander behind me. “There you are.” I turned to see him walking up to Lachlann, embracing him in a hug. I headed back just in time to hear Lachlann’s explanation. “I’ve got… some friends here. I’ve been seeing them. Helping out a bit. You know. Sorry. I would’ve come back but...” He trailed off. “You can’t go leaving us like that,” Kurbani said, with a tone she usually reserved for Novak or Mirai. Lachlann looked back over his shoulder. “I know. I didn’t mean to. Just… I had to.” Kurbani bit her tongue, restraining her choice of words. “I won’t pry. But, we were worried.” Lachlann placed a hand on the back of his neck and looked to the ground. “Sorry. I owed somebody my time. Can you trust me on that?” Xander smiled. “Always, friend.” He placed a hand on Lachlann’s shoulder and brought him in for another embrace. As we began heading back away from the town, Xander offered for me to come and spend the evening on the boat. He said I could maybe do with the company to stop myself worrying about Alessia. I declined, saying I had to meet up with someone back at the apartment. It was a lie. Instead I walked back to the town, found the best spot I could to watch the sea, and stared at the horizon. That was all I did for the next two days. I still went to the apartment to sleep, eat, and change, but otherwise I just watched and waited. I’d stare at each boat as it came over the horizon, trying to make out the size, the number of sails, each time trying to decide if it was Alessia. I must have watched a good forty boats appear, lift my spirits and then break them again. Two days. Of that same process. That same desperate wait, praying for my friend—my best friend—to return. The sun was setting, and soon I wouldn’t even be able to make out the boats in the black of the night. However, just as the last slip of red clung to the sky, another boat appeared. I watched it, my eyes squinting, trying to narrow in like binoculars. Two sails. Correct length. Exact cut, down to the slight raise at the back of the frame. It was a perfect match. She had returned. I stood up, trying to guess where she would land. I watched as the boat curved towards the jetties to my far left. Leaping to my feet, I sprinted, determined to be there to greet her. I ran past the crowds milling in the evening heat, shouting aggressive apologies as I darted past them, my arms clipping theirs. I checked on the boat. It was parallel to me, slowly sailing into the bay. I looked at the two glorious sails, those steps up to the helm, and… my heart sank as I saw the thick beard of the man with the wheel in his hand. My feet slowly slowly ground to a halt, the energy ejected from them but with no morale left to brake and stop. It wasn’t Alessia. There was a moment of sadness. An instant of grief that flickered across my face. But it was replaced quickly with rage. That same concoction of all the emotions I’d been feeling since Outer Fastanet - anger, guilt, sadness, grief, hopelessness, panic - all suddenly rose to the surface of the bubbling pot. I could feel my arms tensing, my fists clenching, the knuckles turning white. My eyes stung, and my head twitched, almost unsure of what sensation to process first. I had to get off the street. I had to get away and retreat to somewhere where I could be alone. Somewhere where it was safe for the flood of emotion in my system to be let out. My eyes stared at the ground the whole way back to the apartment. I blotted out the world around me. Just watching my marching feet stamp across the ground, circling their route back to the courtyard. All of my focus was on that rhythmic distraction, all my determination bent on finding sanctuary. I climbed the stairs, reached the apartment, and slammed the door shut behind me. I leaned against the kitchen sink, resting my hands on the wooden countertop. I listened to my strained breaths, the pulsating friction in each pant. It was all I could hear. That inhalation, exhalation that refused to be silenced. All noise outside of my being ceased to exist. Why couldn’t I find any peace? I had finally put myself back out there again, overcome the fears that haunted me since Outer Fastanet, and in return this horrid Archipelago had stolen the person I loved more than anyone. I wanted the oceans to rise further and swallow the islands. I wanted the ships to disappear, fall into the abyss. I wanted there to be no more travelling, no more land, no more Archipelago. I wanted everything to end. On the counter next to me, there was a glass tumbler. I thought back to our first night here and stumbling back to the apartment with Alessia drunkenly leaning on my arm. I remembered handing her a glass of water and the sincerity with which she said she was lucky to have met me. I recalled the truthfulness with which I said it back. I wanted to say it again. And I couldn’t. I picked up the glass, and letting out a scream threw it against the wall. There was a crack as the glass splintered into a thousand pieces, tiny shards halting in the air for a fraction before falling to the ground in slow motion. Another pointless destruction. There was a knock at the door. I ignored it. But two seconds later it opened anyway. I turned to see Eda poking her head through the space. “Sorry, Ferdinand. I was just passing, and I heard something. I just thought I’d check you’re okay.” There were so many things I wanted to say to Alessia, and I couldn’t. And so, here, I switched off that bit of inhibition, and let the core inside say what it wanted. “You’re a monster,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry?!” Eda laughed hiding the shock. I turned to face her. “How do you buy a human life, wake up the next day and feel anything but horror?” Eda looked confused for a second. “Is this still about that woman’s contract?” “Yes, and it should be all you can think of. It should keep you awake at night and gnaw at your conscience, and I don’t know how it doesn’t. And the only reason I can come up with is that you are a fucking monster.” Eda raised her hands, tilting her head. “Ferdinand, calm down.” I spoke slowly, stretching my lips on every syllable. “A gross, inhuman, monster.” “I think you need to apologise,” Eda said, her voice gaining a sudden sternness. “I’ve met some pieces of shit across the Archipelago, but I don’t think I’ve ever met one who pretended that they were doing good in the world while they traded human life. I hate you. And I hate me for not doing more to stop people like you.” Eda stared back at me before straightening her shoulders. “Ferdinand, I think it’s time we ended this tenancy agreement, I don’t want you living-“ “Good,” I interrupted. “I’d rather live on the streets than give another smidgen of coin to you. Get out. I’ll pack now.” Eda held eye contact for a couple of seconds before she backed out of the room, closing the door behind her. I set about packing up our things. It took only a few minutes to grab mine. But then I had to deal with Alessia’s. As I placed her clothes into a bag I could feel the grief hit once more, my vision misting as I placed the things away one by one. As soon as I was done, I placed both bags over my shoulders, left the apartment, and closed the door firmly behind me. I left the town and walked across the island until I saw the Deer Drum boat. They took me in as I knew they would. They set me up in a spare room vacated by one of the islanders who left. As I laid down I was certain that the stress, thoughts and memories would keep me awake. But as the fervour washed out of my system, I fell asleep. I slept soundly through the night. The next thing I remember was being awoken by Mirai, grabbing me on the arm. “Ferdinand. Get up quick.” I opened my eyes to her wide, youthful smile. “Come meet us on the deck. Now.” She shook my arm with excitement before turning and departing, the door left open behind her. I forced my body to stand and walked as quickly as my aching legs would let me. I reached the deck and looked out to the sea. No more than fifty metres away was Alessia’s boat, her stern face set in concentration behind the wheel, her black hair flickering in the breeze. I felt a weight drain from my body, as though a boil had been burst. All those emotions, all seemed to melt. Just one remained, filling me with a sensation lighter than air. My shoulders lifted to meet it. A grin grew across my face that soon turned to laughter. Joy. Pure, nothing-else-matters, joy. “Alessia!” I cried out, walking to the side of the boat. “You’re okay.” She looked up at me. She smiled, and stood with her arms outstretched, putting herself on display. The anger fell away, sliding between the floorboards on the deck. A tear escaped from the corner of my eye, and contained in the small drop of salty water, was all the hatred and fear I had been feeling. My body had placed all that negativity, that great mass, into this one small drop, and shed it. I felt free. We tied the boats up, dropped the ladder, and welcomed her on board. Xander held out an arm and lifted her up the last half metre. No sooner were her feet on board than I pushed through the crowd and wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly. She froze for a second, her body becoming rigid, until she softened, reaching out her hands and returning the embrace. “Missed you too, Ferdinand.” “We heard what happened on Sneppath Head,” Kurbani said. “We were worried about you.” Alessia flicked a smile. “Shit winds the whole way there. Was two days late. By the time I got there it was the clear up,” she paused, her eyes flickering. “Wasn’t pretty, but I was never in danger.” Xander folded his arms. “Any idea what happened?” “That’s the thing. I asked.” Alessia took a step back so she could make sure she addressed all of us at once. “The description of the attack. Was one shipment they were after. A crate of old maps. Worthless junk to most. Certainly not worth killing over.” “Sannaz,” I said, filling in the blanks. “Exactly.” Alessia turned to me, nodding. “People said they saw the boat heading to Granite Vowhorn.” “Well we go there then?” Xander announced. I closed my eyes. I knew Granite Vowhorn. An ongoing war had lasted centuries between two factions on the island. A fight that had gone on so long that it had become a stalemate. Two enemies facing each other down with miles of no man’s land between them. I knew we had to head there. And as much as there was a dread at the thought in the pit of my stomach, I felt ready to face it, with my best friend by my side. Once more, back into the warzone.


With all the stresses of modern life, it can be difficult to set aside time to clean your residence. One day you drop a few crumbs on the ground, and before you know it, your house is infested with ants! Here at Pest-Corp, we pride ourselves on our bug-blasting knowhow. Today, we're gonna give you some handy dandy tips and tricks on how to prevent ant infestations in your household. Tip one: Clean after every meal Especially if you’re a parent (kids are dumb, and messy). Nothing attracts ants faster than easy to aquire, freely available food. You're gonna want to look out for crumbs and leftovers as you clean. Tip two: Wipe up spills The residue of soft drinks gives off a very strong odor, and is a surefire way to bring ants into your home. Make sure to quickly wipe up any spills to prevent infestation. Additionally, use some disinfectant spray to seal the deal. Tip three: Practise good hygiene Because the ants view you as food, the scent that you and your family members give off can quickly attract ants to your location. Make sure that everybody in your house takes daily showers. Additionally, wear deodorant, and brush your teeth frequently. If anyone begins bleeding, wipe it up immediately. Try to keep all bodily odors to a minimum. The smell of tears is quite salty and potent to them, so avoid stress when possible. Here are some fun games you can play with your family to avoid stress: -Hide and seek -Tag -Chess -Checkers -Cards -Charades -Pictionary -Twister Tip four: Think twice before inviting over guests During a national emergency, sitting around in lockdown can be very isolating. However, it is important that you do not allow guests into your house unless absolutely necessary. Your guest might have a strong odor, allowing ants to track them. Even if somebody is banging at your door, it’s best not to let them in, and pretend like you’re not home. Tip five: Eliminate lines of sight Ants have poor vision, but if you’re not careful, they can see you roaming around outdoors, or through the windows of your house. In order to remain undetected by ant swarms, stay indoors. Shut your curtains, close your blinds, or nail blankets to your windows. If you do need to go outside for whatever reason, do it under the cover of night to avoid detection. Tip six: Avoid noise If an ant hears a large amount of commotion coming from your abode, it might prompt them to investigate. Try to avoid arguments, screaming, power tools, etc. If you know there is a concentration of ants within your area, make a plan with your family to eliminate as much noise as possible. Tip seven: Stockpile supplies In the event of a [REDACTED], it will be difficult to find an opportunity to leave your home. Make sure you have supplies you need saved up beforehand, such as: -Non perishable food items -Drinking water -Life straws -Clothing -Padlocks -First aid -A generator -Gasoline -Any kind of chemical freshener to mask your scent, like febreeze. -Firearms When stocking up, remember that too much is better than too little. Tip eight: Incorporate air fresheners into your outfit You know those little trees that you hang up in your car? You can actually make necklaces out of them. This is a very easy way to eliminate bodily odor, and it’s also quite fashionable. For added effect, hang them from the ceiling fans in your home. The more unnatural scents in your home, the more protected you are against an infestation. Tip nine: Avoid confrontation Although ants might not appear to be any more dangerous than the average home invader, they most certainly are. They move with incredible speed, and are prepared to devour your flesh. Only use firearms if you absolutely have to, as this creates a ring of noise with a radius of about one mile. If an ant enters your house, the best course of action is to take your family into a room, lock the door, stay away from the windows, and wait for the ant to leave. Tip ten: Know that, in the event of a [REDACTED], your demise is inevitable If you stay indoors, you will starve. If you risk leaving, you will eventually be torn to shreds by a mob of ants. One will see you, then alert the rest. You will be ripped limb from limb, mandibles digging into your flesh. When you stop struggling, they will bring you back to their festering hills, and consume you. There can be no hope, only delayal of the end. Know that you are fighting for the moment, and not the future. The festering wound that is humanity will heal. Buildings will fall, and hills shall be erected in their place. Ants will pour out into the streets, consuming and purging all in sight. When there is nothing left to consume, they will starve. Nature will once again reach an equilibrium. Civilization will fade, and God's work will be complete. He rests easy, knowing that the innocence and purity of all natural life shall be forever maintained. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// We’d like to thank you for taking precious time out of your day to read this guide. If this helped you in any way, please consider donating to one of our fundraisers, or purchasing some merchandise on our website.


One foot in front of the other. That is where he kept his focus as he made his way down the country road, alone. Had he not, he may have passed out right there. His feet were blistered and raw from running all through the previous night. The hakama he wore were spattered with mud at the fringes around his ankles. The edges of his kimono—tattered from running through thick brush—flowed freely around him. Mementos from his late night escape. He kept one hand clenched tight around the hilt of his sword. This is no way for a Samurai to dress, he thinks to himself. Then I suppose I am officially no longer a samurai… The wind whipped at his face as he limped his way along the dusty road. He began to contemplate the events that had brought him here. How his whole world had turned upside down. Late last evening, Lord Zankoku had called in his top samurai for a council of war. This is not out of the ordinary as the country is locked in civil war. The shogun had passed away two years prior without naming a successor. A power vacuum ensued. Lord Zankoku was one among four other Lords vying for control of the country. As the war continued, Lord Zankoku’s tactics had become more wicked; commanding for whole towns to be decimated—women and children included. The Samurai had conflicted feelings about these cruel methods. This, however, was irrelevant. His honor required unquestioning fealty to his Lord. Luckily, he had not been sent on one of these missions… Yet. Before the Samurai reported to the council of war, he stopped by his family shrine located behind his house on the edge of the woods. He lit incense and knelt before the placard with his late father’s name on it. Closing his eyes, he commences to pray. Father. I need your guidance… my feeling towards my duties are conflicted. Gently he drifts off into a reverie like a leaf on the wind. A distant memory from his youth. The sun was shining bright. He was training with his father in the courtyard of their home…. It was late spring and the scent of white peonies pervaded the air. The two of them stood face to face holding their wooden training swords—their bokken. They were wearing identical white kimonos and red hakama. Eyes locked, their bodies standing as still as statues; sweat building up above their brows. His father then raised the bokken with a swift fluid gesture, bringing it back down with the force of a meteorite strike. The young Samurai steps to the left by three inches. Bringing his blade handle up, pointing the tip down and aslant to the left, resulting in a perfect parry. Had he been any slower, he would have suffered serious injury, but he has been trained by his father ever since he was old enough to hold a stick. “Very good my son. You are shaping up to be quite the swordsman,” he steps closer and gingerly puts a hand on the young Samurai’s shoulder. “I’m ready to fight for our Lord, father. I am ready to bring honor to our family,” the Samurai proudly declares. His father’s brows arch up. “Oh, you think you’re ready? Being a samurai is about more than just flashy swordsmanship. Are you ready to follow orders?” He gazes deeply through his son’s eyes and into his soul. “Yes,” the Samurai says without skipping a beat. His father slowly looks away, drops his hand and begins to meander the courtyard at a steady pace with his hands clasped behind his back. “You will have to follow our Lord’s every command without question. You owe undying fealty to him once you’ve taken your oath. Do you understand my words?” He pauses and turns back to look at the young Samurai. The Samurai responds, “Of course, father. As I have already claimed. I will bring honor to this family,” He brings his right fist to his heart. His father slowly steps up in front of the Samurai. After taking a long hard look into his son’s eyes he asks, “What if he ordered you to kill your fellow samurai, your friends?” “I’m sure it would only be for valid reasons. Maybe they betrayed our lord and country. Yes, that’s it, there is no place for traitors.” His father then asks, “And what if he ordered you to kill me? Hm? Would you still follow his orders?” The Samurai hesitates, he lets his right hand fall back to his side, then says, “That would never happen. You would never do anything to deserve that.” “Are you sure? You would question an order from your lord?” The Samurai’s face tightens as he realizes the contradiction he made. “It’s not a question of whether or not I deserve it. It’s a matter of serving the will of your Lord in the name of honor and duty for your fief. You see? One must be ready to do their duty regardless of their own feelings in the matter. Your fealty to your lord is to be undying. Honor above all else.” The young Samurai stands there for a moment and contemplates the gravity of this lesson. A smile graces his father’s face, then he reassures the Samurai, “Do not worry, my son. I am sure that when the time comes you will honor our family and uphold your duties.” The Samurai’s eyes snapped open to the tolling of the castle bells. It is time for him to report to Lord Zankoku and the war council. He bowed before the shrine and clapped his hands once. Carefully he stood up. Then prepared himself mentally for the meeting ahead and takes his leave from the shrine. The Samurai entered the war room. He saw several other samurai have already seated themselves on the ground. Between them there is a short round table. The table is covered with a map and several crudely carved figures have been placed on top of it in various locations. The carvings of the figures reminded the Samurai of the grotesque creatures from the yokai stories kids used to tell each other on stormy nights. Stories about demons that come out at night and consume entire villages. The Samurai takes his seat and waited for the last few stragglers to shuffle in. Everyone waited quietly at attention. Then Lord Zankoku entered the room. He wore a suit of light armor composed of rectangular metal plates linked together with chain mail and painted black. A golden half-moon shaped metal plate adorns the front of his helmet. Everyone immediately bowed in his pressence. “Rise, my warriors. Tonight we shall deal a mortal blow to our enemies. For we have enemies everywhere as we trudge deeper into this war,” says Lord Zankoku as he scans the room. “Our spies have reported traitors within our borders. It is said that one of our own villages has been sharing food and supplies with the enemy!” One of the samurai seated speaks up, “Sir, I know the spies you’re speaking of. That information is unreliable. They may even be working with— “ “Who said you could speak?” roars Zankoku. His face contorts into a livid visage. “Get this insubordinate fool out of my sight! Lock him up, I will deal with him later.” Two guards shuffled in and yanked the man up by the shoulders. They griped tightly around his wrists and hurried him out of the room. “Now,” continued Zankoku. “We will deal with the traitors accordingly. Tonight we shall march into the village, slay every last traitor, and burn the village to the ground. This shall serve as a message to anyone else that might be contemplating defying my will.” All of the samurai cheered their agreement. All except one. The Samurai sits frozen to the ground. The order he dreaded had finally been delivered. What was he going to do? I know people that live in that village. They are not traitors. This is outrageous! He had to follow his orders, but at what cost. Where is the honor in murdering the innocent? This has gone too far. I will not partake in this for another minute... That’s it then. I must warn that village. With his mind focused on the present moment, he leaped into action. He was on his feet and before he even realized it, he had drawn his sword out into an arcing motion practiced thousands of times. With one move he severed Lord Zankoku’s right hand. Everyone in the room stared at the gushing bloody stump in awe. Lord Zankoku looked at the place where he used to have a hand, then looked at the hand on the floor. He began to shake violently, a guttural sound building up in the back of his throat. “Kill that bastard! I want his head! Bring it to me! Now!” The Samurai had already departed while everyone was still staring at Zankoku in shock, buying him a bit of a lead. The other samurai started pouring out of the war room, swords drawn. They charged out of the building and began to scour the woods outside the castle. The Samurai was running through the woods. He could hear the others; they were far behind him. It is unlikely they will find him; the woods are pitch dark. He ran through puddles from the recent rain and tumbled his way through thick brush that clawed at his kimono. I must make it to the village. Suddenly he heard a man shout out into the night, “Stop right there!” The Samurai turned to see his old friend and comrade, Haji, with his sword drawn and pointed at him. “Can’t you see this is wrong? Everyone knows those reports are a farce. Those people don’t deserve to be butchered,” proclaimed the Samurai in sharp hushed tones. “I will not have my family name besmirched. Our duty is absolute. You have shamed your family,” Haji said defiantly. The two of them locked eyes and settled into their stances. Their faces were drawn up with great great intensity, but within their minds there was only the calm focus of a warrior. A cool gentle breezed caressed them and as the chorus of nighttime insects chirped on into the night. Suddenly, Haji’s left foot started to slide in the mud ever so slightly. Taking advantage of this development, the Samurai leaped toward Haji and cut him across the midsection like a farmer scything wheat. Haji’s eyes went wide, his hands reached for his stomach in a futile effort to stop the blood. He fell to the ground, dead in matter of seconds. The Samurai realized what he had down. He murdered his own friend. A gyre of shame encompassed his heart. No time to mourn. He turned and continued running. Suddenly his feet dropped out from under him. He tripped over a deep ditch formed by a large wisteria tree that had fallen the previous summer. As he fell, he slammed his head against a rock—knocking him out cold. He woke to the sounds of birds cheerily chirping, making their way about their morning business. As he was coming too, he noticed the scent of smoke drifted upon air. His eyes burst wide open as he realized he is too late. He got to his feet and hurried to the edge of the woods. The village was in sight way off on the horizon. A pillar of smoke rose up from the village, trailing off into the sunrise. He failed. Was it really worth it, he thought to himself. The Samurai limped his way to the road. He no longer cares where he is going. He has nowhere to go. What life is there for him now? His family name will be stricken from the records. All that is left is for him is the shameful life of the wandering Ronin. Focusing with all his might, he walks. One foot in front of the other.


I was there when you drew your first breath. I was standing quietly in the corner dressed in my solemn attire, feeling incredibly joyous, and yet I knew that you would curse me. It's my destiny to be a villain, to be rejected and abhorred. It is my burden and I have to bear it. I have to be stoic in the face of hatred thrown at me. I am the tragic muse of the great painters. I am the gloomy inspiration of the hopelessly romantic poets. Compared to my grandiose, flamboyant, and effervescent counterparts, I am dull, small, and pitiful. I watched you grow, I was this omnipresent entity, an uninvited guest. I held your hand when you were crying in your room, suffering from a broken heart. I wiped your tears with the corner of my long, black veil. Although you couldn't see me, you could feel my presence. I manifested myself as a dull chest ache, tightness in the throat, and long, laboured breaths. I never missed one of your solitary night walks. I was always there, like a silent spectator and an undercover angel. When you lost your mother, you were inconsolable. I was sitting on your bed every night, gently caressing your hair and doing my best to help you move on. Throughout your existence, I never left your side and yet you hated me with every fiber of your being. I don't blame you. Everyone hates me. It is my burden and I have to bear it. You wished I would disappear forever. I stood there silently as you screamed at me to leave you alone. But I couldn't leave you, not until you move on from this earthly realm. You never understood my importance, for you I was a nuisance at best and atrocity at worst. My child, the time is coming. I am standing next to your hospital bed, draped in dark cloth, waiting to see you draw your last breath. Before I leave, I need to teach you something. You see, it is my fate to be detested almost until the very last moment. Most people only start to appreciate me when their hair goes gray and their vision slowly starts to fade. There is no light without darkness and there is no happiness without grief. Being human is incredibly difficult. You have to survive the deaths of your loved ones, sickness, and aging, you have to watch your own body fail you. Without me, you would never appreciate the beauty of life. Without me, you would always live in the shadow, forgetting that there is a source of light. You would be drowned in sadness, surrendering to the cruel and unforgiving world. You thought I made you feeble, and yet, I made you cherish the good moments and come out stronger. My sweet child, I will soon leave you. I have one last gift. People say that before you die your whole life flashes before your eyes. They don't know that it is my last gift to humanity. My final attempt to renounce the role of villain, to ease the burden which I have to bear. Sincerely, the unsung hero, Melancholy.


The infirmary was permeated with the disgusting odor of expiring flesh. The door was left open in a vain attempt at some ventilation, and groaning could be heard across the entire west wing of the Castle as a result. I desperately attempt to save who I can. My family's name is Lazarus, and it is my duty to protect the coven. I drape bandages over my hands which had been submerged in healing liquid for the past hour. It wraps around the young Vampire’s stomach — coaxing one of the silver bullets to the surface. “Uh… uh… ahh… AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” He screamed instinctively, causing the room to shake. “Calm down boy, I know it hurts.” I say with reassurance as I try to maintain my bedside manner. “This is the last one, then you will be *fine*.” His black blood oozed from the wound and congealed as it left his body. Our blood was not like human blood, and anyone unaware of our physiology would think I was extracting some kind of tar pudding from him. I assuaged the final bullet out, catching it in the cloth. I dropped it into a tin nearby, and it fell with a satisfying clink. “There, all better?” I said warmly to the poor suffering boy. “Yes, thank you madam.” He managed a smile through the pain. I appreciated his efforts, and rested a hand on his shoulder. I stood up, allowing one of my attendants to deal with his recuperation. I wiped some of the blood onto my apron and went to the washing station. All of my emotions came forth at once. A potent mixture of sadness, despair and confusion flooded my mind. I have been a nurse for almost two hundred years, and I have never seen an attack on my people from outsiders with this severity. From other Vampires? Of course. The constant struggle for supremacy in our hierarchal system was a given. The dead bodies from warring covens in the Tudor wars numbered in the tens of thousands. The silver bullets, religious incantations, and ceremonial burnings however? These were new. Never had human beings been very successful in murdering Vampires. There had been a few cases throughout history, but these were extraordinarily rare. Yet here lay three of our kind, on the brink of death — two were unlikely to survive. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Micah and I pushed our way through the many iron doors that lead from the King’s keep with a force that nearly removed them from their hinges. “Can you believe this?” I called behind me. “Nah.” Micah grunted. I wouldn’t believe it if they didn’t call this fancy meeting. “Such timing.” I whispered, attempting to cover my mouth with my hand. “We were on the brink of something great.” “Well. Maybe we can see this as an opportunity to get closer…” Micah looked around quickly “To the others. See where there loyalties lie.” Ever the optimist. I smiled inwardly as I pressed on. He was right, of course, we could turn this situation to our advantage, no matter how dire. I turned the next corner without looking forward and felt myself immediately propelled backwards. I caught myself before I fell, bracing with the crumbling sidewall. I looked up to see what caused it. “Wren scum.” A rotund laughter shook the already crumbling walls around us. Sam Tilian stood in front of me, flushed as ever. He was flanked by one of his companions from before, but this time their demeanor wasn’t so inviting. “Sam, I see you didn’t leave any food for the others.” The corners of my mouth turned upwards in a wicked smile. “Always were the funny one, ay, Rathiel?” This time he wasn’t laughing. I turned my head to my right — A claw caught the side of my face. “SIT. DOWN.” Came a blood curdling scream. His taller companion who was reserved in the dining hall showed no signs of pacifism now. He hit me like the hilt of a two handed blade, straight in the right side of my cheek. I fell to the ground in a daze, nothing escaping my mouth except a decompressing groan. In the next second, they were on me. I braced myself for impact, my forearms crossed above my eyes. Then, in an instant — he was on them. I saw the plume of smoke appear behind their shoulders, Micah must have noticed the commotion ahead and waited, drawing them in, using me as bait. I couldn’t help but be impressed. He let out a guttural roar as he placed one hand on each of their heads. Their eyes widened as their senses caught his presence, too late. He slammed them both to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, I rushed to my feet. I stood at his side, claws raised. There were no weapons permitted in the castle, save the Royal Guard. But our family was one of dirt and mud, proficient in brawling out of necessity. Our fangs protruded with our mouths agape, and we let out a simultaneous *hisssss* that signaled our combat readiness. They returned the stance, save their backs being slightly arched, resulting in a much lower center of gravity. Micah charged first. He locked arms with the taller one, grappling fiercely. I closed the gap and threw a right hook at Sam, glancing him on the side of his face. Before he could recover, I raised my boot and delivered a kick to his chest, submerging him in a column that decorated the hallway. I turned immediately and saw my brother pinned. In a swift step, I was behind him, arms locked under the taller man’s armpits, holding him up. Micah took the lead and delivered blow after blow on his chest, as he screamed out in pain. Micah’s muscles pumped with adrenaline, his veins bursting through his forearms. After a minute of punishment, the Tilian started to slump — I noticed the flash of Micah’s emerald encrusted brass knuckles on his hands. I smiled. Nothing needed to be said. Sam was still slumped on the pillar, and his companion was a crumpled mess on the ground. We wiped our hands of it, dragging their scotch imbued bodies to the side of the hallway where they wouldn’t disturb anyone. We make our way down the hall with renewed vigor. A scrap with some of the young bloods was always good for the confidence. “Tut. Tut.” A familiar voice confronted us. “Layla..” She held a gloved hand up to my lips. “I won’t tell if you won’t, boys.” She winked, her blue eyes sparkled beneath her crimson hood. She had the most wry, all-knowing smile. It was best to just drop the subject. “So…” She kept walking, beckoning us forward. “My birds told me you had a meeting with the King?” “You always have an inkling of everything, don’t you night owl.” I said in a tone that dripped with annoyance. “Yes, we met with the King. Yes it is confidential. No I won’t speak about it.” “Funny. My Birds also tell me about a wounded clan burdening the infirmary. Some might not make it, they say…” We were nearing the Wren quarters now. With one final look at Micah, I opened the door and beckoned them both inside.