In the depths of a sprawling mansion, nestled among the ancient trees, lived a man named Victor. His imposing residence, once filled with life and laughter, had now become a haunting echo of its former glory. Victor, a solitary figure, found himself tormented by his own demons—fears of failure, hopelessness, and a creeping anxiety that seemed to consume his every waking moment. One fateful evening, as Victor roamed the dimly lit corridors, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A shadow danced along the walls, followed by the scuttling of tiny legs. His heart quickened, and a cold sweat dripped down his brow. There, on the edge of his vision, he glimpsed a monstrous spider—a creature of nightmares that seemed to defy the laws of nature. Its body was massive, its legs extended like jagged daggers. The creature's eyes glowed with a malevolent hunger, and its chittering whispers echoed through the empty halls. Victor's heart pounded in his chest as the arachnid vanished, only to reappear in his periphery moments later. The spider, an embodiment of his deepest fears, haunted him relentlessly. It appeared in his dreams, its presence seeping into every waking thought. He became consumed by an overwhelming sense of dread, his sanity hanging by a thread. Night after night, the spider grew bolder, inching closer to Victor's refuge. Its presence was suffocating, a constant reminder of his fears and failures. Each time he caught a glimpse of its monstrous form, his anxiety deepened, suffusing his soul with an oppressive darkness. Determined to regain control, Victor sought answers within the depths of his mansion. He delved into forgotten tomes and ancient scrolls, desperate for a way to rid himself of the haunting spider. The pages whispered tales of curses and malevolent spirits, but offered no solace. One evening, as Victor stood before a hidden bookshelf, a revelation struck him—a single volume, concealed behind a layer of dust. Its faded title, "Conquering the Shadows Within," beckoned to him, promising a glimmer of hope. The book revealed an ancient ritual, a desperate gambit to overcome one's deepest fears. Driven by desperation, Victor gathered the required ingredients—a vial of his own blood, a lock of hair, and a fragment of his shattered dreams. In the dimly lit chamber of his mansion, he performed the ritual, the air crackling with dark energy. As the final incantation left his lips, the very fabric of reality seemed to tear asunder. From the shadows emerged a grotesque creature—a reflection of Victor's inner turmoil and the manifestation of his darkest fears. The spider, magnified tenfold, towered over him, its looming presence threatening to devour him whole. But in that terrifying moment, a fire ignited within Victor. His fear transformed into determination, and he refused to succumb to the torment any longer. With a newfound resolve, he armed himself with a flamethrower—an instrument of destruction forged from his defiance. The spider lunged, its fangs dripping with venom, but Victor stood firm. He unleashed a torrent of flame, the searing heat consuming the arachnid's monstrous form. Its chittering cries filled the chamber, echoing through the mansion's hollow halls. As the flames engulfed the creature, Victor watched his fears crumble to ash. In the aftermath, Victor surveyed the scorched remains, his breath ragged. The weight of his anxieties lifted, replaced by a newfound sense of liberation. He had faced the horrors that lurked within, conquering the darkness that threatened to consume him. With the spider vanquished, Victor's mansion seemed to awaken from its slumber. Light returned to the once-dim corridors, and life echoed through the long-forgotten rooms. As the shadows retreated, Victor's spirit soared, no longer held captive by his fears. From that day forward, Victor embraced life with a renewed vigor. He opened the doors of his mansion, welcoming others into its restored grandeur. The haunted echoes were replaced with laughter and joy—a testament to one man's journey through darkness and his triumphant emergence into the light. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its warm glow upon the mansion's walls, Victor stood in the doorway, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. He had conquered his fears, vanquished the spider, and emerged from the depths of his own despair—a beacon of hope for all who struggled with their own shadows.


[SCIFI] Sgt Major Ibin When we went through the Wormhole Gate to K9B7, a life sustaining planet the size of Saturn, we couldn't have dreamed of what we would face. There was of course some reliability to the pretense of fear, confusion, the unknown, and hostile contact. This was a whole new world, a revolutionary discovery for science and astronomy. Signs if life, possible structures visible from initial scans. So when they sent one company of Rangers to scout the region around the Gate, lets just say, we were concerned. But that concerned quickly turned to fear, and distress when half of 3rd company, 941st Army Ranger Battalion, did not arrive at the AO. We, did, not, panic. We are Rangers, we make others panic. Sgt Major Ibin Hawthorne, would not allow "panic" in his company, he was too stone cold killer to let that sentiment rest in pur minds. Company Commander Gibson and just shy of half the company made contact with our element 6 hours after initial insertion to the AO. Due to some Galaxtic trickery, or, malfunction Earth side of the Gate, they had been deposited far outside of the AO. Other side of the planet, far. Initial radio contact had their element moving overland on foot, and advancing on what seemed to be a structure of some kind. Seeing as how all our aerial and land transport were only now coming through the Gate on our side of the world, we did not see them reaching us any time soon, and that was an understatement. 18hrs in and Commander Gibson establishes radio link again. Hostile contacts have engaged in danger close scenarios. He reports several life forms from insectoids to reptilian predators what stalk the flora and undergrowth. The structure was a tower of some kind. Hewn from stone and hollow inside, bridges of stone blocks criss-crossed the hollow interior of the tower. Estimations put the tower at being a football field in diameter inside. 23 hrs in, we have lost all contact with our separated element as of 21hrs. Further Ranger companies have arrived and we have been cleared to advance towards and retrieve our lost Rangers. Full Combat load, NVGs, snipers, and a full medical team on standby. The trip would take 7 hours in the high speed hover carriers. Arrival at the tower was, utter, chaos. Company transponders marked the missing element as spread out halfway up the absolute giant tower. By giant, I am talking about brushing the clouds, giant. We circled the base without finding a place to access the tower without landing. All we could see were fires spreading from several explosion points down amidst the foliage. The Sgt Major ordered the pilot to get us to the top of the tower and see if we could work pur away down to the Commander's group. We were lucky, at the top of the tower there was an old platform just large enough for a single carrier to land and offload its contingent of Rangers. Sgt Major was the first off with the weapons team. From the platform there spanned an almost mideval bridge to to the interior wall of the tower. No railing, no sides, just a straight drop down through a rolled mess of bridges and.... smoke? Comms came alive, Commander Gibson was on the line, "net call, net call! Hostile elements are making another push. Reaper 1, engage with the Karl G. Demo the bridge below us if you have to, they can NOT over this position!" Far below, almost out of view amidst the tangle of cross ways, gunfire could be seen, and some strange green and blue flashes of light crossing back and forth between sides of the tower and along the bridges. I would later understand that the green and blue flashes were chemical fire balls launched by the reptilian, spider, lamprey like creatures assaulting the Commander and his people. Sgt Major Ibin wasted NO time, rifle teams were ordered down into the tower, weapons teams followed and took up covering positions above as we progressed down the interior of the tower. I should note here, that each bridge connected to a sloping ramp lined with tunnels and doors set into the walls of the tower. Old, rotting doors of wood hung limply from iron hinges. The smell, was awful. Decay, and musty, old, wet wood, covered in rot and mold. Every few hundred feet the ramp ended into another bridge. The decent, took, forever. As we drew closer to the lost units of our company, we could hear and see their battle in greater detail. Gunshots, grenade explosions, then came the roars and loud hissing screeches. We didn't know a that time what we were going to be facing when we relieved the Commander, but it did not sound like a puppy in a park. We met up with the uppermost edge of their formation, and they looked haggard. Not PT till you die on your feet, haggard. But, three days without sleep In constant combat, haggard. We foun out later on, they hadn't only gotten dropped off around the planet, but somehow, 2 days earlier than the rest of us. They'd been fighting and humping the terrain for more than 3 days. Without anything more than the ammo in their kits, MREs in their rucks, and the water collected, purified and distributed by the one purifier someone had snuck along in his ruck sack. Back to the fight. We slipped by the upper edge of our company sending them up towards the carriers above. Sgt Major was on the line with Commander Gibson, walking and talking Sitrep the whole way down. We passed Reaper 1, three Rangers with a Karl G launcher and an M107 50cal sniper rifle. Faces drawn, eyes bright with hate and adrenaline. As we passed by, the Sgt in charge of the team muttered, "creepy crawlies die just as well as anything". He wasnt looking at us, just staring down the scope of his 50cal. Hard, to the core. Commander Gibson was propped against a doorway, deep wounds ran through, THROUGH, his armored plate carrier. One hand was gone, and there was a bad burn on his right ear, or rather, where his ear should have been. But his still held his G18 service pistol and stared death and domination down the corpse strewn ramp beyond the barricade of debris they'd built. "Sgt Major," Commander Gibsons voice was hoarse and dry, "we are nearly black on everything heavey enough to stop the charge of the creatures when they come. We need to enacts fighting withdrawal, effective immediately." All business, missing hand, deep wounds, didn't matter, just another Tuesday for the Rangers. The Karl G thundered above us, and the 50cal. Spat green tipped death at something that didn't have the intelligence to realize that it didn't stand a chance against those rounds. But they still came. Somewhere behind and above us a weapons team opened up with the 240B, spitting 7.62 downrange in withering bursts. Screams of dying and butchered creatures rose from the ramp before us. My rifle team had followed with the Sgt Major, intent on relieving the exhausted and spent Rangers at the barricade. As the first, thing, rounded the bend in the ramp, Rangers opened for business. 556 rounds punched holes into thin leathery hide and spattered hissing purple blood into the air. They flooded the ramp, hundreds of them, as big as a Rottweiler, smokey gray skinned, large lamprey esk mouths dripping white drool as they galloped at us on spindly legs with three long claws for hands. We, slaughtered them, but they kept coming. Behind us there was flash of green fire and a concussion, BOOM. The weapons team was, gone. A breed of these creatures with lighter hides were able to launch chemical fire bombs from their round mouths, and our weapons team just took one to the.... well.... everything. Commander Gibson pushed off from the wall and keyed his mic, "Net call Net call, we are falling back to the top of the tower. Reaper 1 area denial rounds. I want teams setting claymore as we leap frog up the interior. Move it Rangers!" He then turned and at nearly point blank dumped his entire magazine into the slavering mouth of a beast that had somehow bypassed all of the incoming fire. Stone, cold, killer. Commander Gibson holstered his G18 and began to trot up the ramp and onto the bridge Reaper 1 held. A Karl G round smashed the bridge below us, I saw this as we backed out onto the bridge, firing into the oncoming horde. The flow of beasts slowed for a brief moment, then they began jumping the gap made in the bridge. We ran, leap frogging the rifle teams behind us, setting claymore mines and c4 charges that would slow momentarily the flood of lamprey creatures. They had begun to scale the walls of the tower, they long claws digging in and finding purchase in the old crumbling stone. We realized this first when Corporal Jakes was pulled down from the side of the bridge we were on. The creature lunged over the edge, spearing him with its one clawed hand and began to pull him towards the edge. Jakes didn't scream, he roared, while pulling the pin on a grenade. He rolled it into he ramp we had just left and then ruined the beast killing him with his sidearm. They both went over the edge, falling into the foggy distance. The climb up that tower would drain a person on a good day. But in the midst of a battle, loaded with armor, ammo, and supplies, being chased by hungry beats. It was so, so, much worse, and they were gaining on us. As we neared the final few bridges we could hear, and sometikes see the carriers lifting off to make room for an unloaded carrier to land and pick up Rangers. But they were on our heels, following us out onto every bridge, their screams and roars echoing all down the tower. Reaper 1 made a choice, then. They would stand and hold, buying enough time for the rest to make it out. Commander Gibson stared hard at them for a moment before nodding once and continues to wave wounded, spent and flagging Rangers forward to the carriers. Reaper 1 held, for long seconds they held. As creatures tore over each other in a mad, crazed, frenzy to get at the stalwart Rangers. My team were the last in line to load up, nearly black on ammo, 1 grenade among us, but no quit at all. I commed Sgt Major Ibin and requested the go-ahead to relieve Reaper 1 and get them out. We were one bridge above them and standing under the whirling blades of the carriers. Sgt Major considered us briefly, then swapped the magazine in his carbine and swept past us towards the ramp leading to Reaper 1. "Come on, Sgt Lang, we've got Rangers to bring home." Then he rounded into the ramp and we were after him. I left half the team on our bridge to fire down at the horde and help alleviate the pressure we would face. Then, at a trot, we pursued the Sgt Major. When we arrived behind Reaper 1, they were being overrun. We spread out, firing past our men at the charging beasts. Sgt Major Ibin was dragging the Sgt from Reaper 1, his chest bloody from teeth marks. We fell back, covering and running. As we made it up the last stretch of the final bridge, a Ranger behind me had his leg bown away suddenly by a green flash of chemical fire. Less explosive, but much more corrosive. I slid to a halt, turned and as I grabbed his carry handle and pulled, I looked up into the maw of a beast. Then it explodes into gouts of purple blood as Sgt Major stepped past me firing his carbine. He was smooth and precise. He waved me back and as I pulled the Ranger into the last Carrier I saw Sgt Major pop 2 frags and drop them at his own feet. He ran then, the boom of the grenades chasing his retreating form. As his feet touched the ramp to carrier it lifted off, and I barely caught his arm as it threw him off balance. Later I would hear him mutter "we still got boys down there. We'll be back, and we'll burn that tower into a hole in the world these creatures have never seen. Kill em real good.


The Upended Fortress ''Rather hysteric today, aren't we, Sire?'' Whispered the concerned squire. The sire in question, Jeoffrey the second, only heard the distant rumblings of a fool. He himself was absorbed in the careful study of his own reflection in the great window, not at all escaping the unbearable idiocy of the situation. ''What a ridiculous costume'', he thought out loud, glancing at his formal clothes and his en-vogue fluffy white hair. Pretty much the same as the many other ministers engaged in very serious discussion, here in the hall of the Upended Fortress. Chandeliers hanged from the high ceiling, adorned in countless candles, flickering slightly. Underneath, the stone table beared the weight of towers of paperwork, maps, trinkets and elbows. On its once polished surface were the ring stains of decades of wine drinking, forming an abstract, almost imperceptible mosaic. Behind Jeoffrey, his squire was building up the courage to adress the council, fiddling with his fingers, uncertain. ''Please, good Sirs, you must excuse the Minister of Fears. His nobility is rather distracted lately, his work and his family affairs-'' His squire proclaimed, making quite the deal about his behavior. The Sire at last snapped out of it, turned around and clapped his hands, to the annoyance of everyone. He took a seat, his seat, and looked at everyone around the table, only to be met with the disapproving eyes of any that catched his. Since when did they hated him as much as he despised them? ''I am all ears'', he proclaimed, to a heavy and oh so absurd silence, interrupted by his squire once more, this time not pestering anyone but pouring a generously innapropriate amount of blue wine, the local delicacy. The minister of Fears, also known as Sire Jeoffrey the Second, was quite fed up with the other ministers, his supposed equals. In fact he had been quite fed up with everything, for quite a while. Quite so. Jeoffrey recalled, with shameful nostalgia, his youthful pride. Of years and years, spent working in complete dedication to his dream ; to escape the peasantry that plagued his family. To become noble, nay, to become the highest member of society, a Minister. Made laughing stock by his own mother, claiming his daydreaming would result in nothing else than disappointment, young Jeoffrey persevered. Twenty years of work, spite and wine, there he was. A prestigious Minister, discussing nonsense with other delusionnal men. And for what? Jeoffrey grabbed his cup of wine and drank bitterly. How bitter. He inspected the blue wavey surface of the wine, his reflection distorted slightly. By now the unending years of struggle of his youth seemed most beautiful, most poignant. In perfect contrast with the dream itself, empty and devoid of meaning. In a way, his mother was right, no matter what, disappointment plagued him. Jeoffrey the Second, Minister of Fears, cursing the life he worked so hard to get. He saw himself, sitting there, consummed by regret, of a life spent astray, hearing the hollow words of the other ministers, all sitting in the hall by the great window, showcasing the ravaged landscape they all so proudly administered. Just like the fortress, the land outside was barren stone of black and crimson red, veins of a dark river coursing through it. And as the blue wine flowed from barrels to jugs to glasses here, outside the heavy darkwater flowed, inversed. Rising from the depths, akin to a miraculous reversal of the river. This land has always been enigmatic, yet not in an interesting way, at least to the ignorant opinion of the other Ministers. ''How strange, and how cursed is this land. And to think I used to dream of ruling it! The absurdity'' Careless, Jeoffrey had thought out loud once more, and his heretic words fell in the ears of the other ministers, as verocious predators, this was their opportunity, and at once they rose and protested loudly, standing upward with their red cheeks and blue tongues, their squires urging them to settle down and discuss in civilised manner, as the Minister of Fears still sat comfortably, laughing in the most insulting manner, a fat, satisfied laughter. As they pestered him, he got back up once more. His feet leading him to the great window, where this time he looked past his own reflection, to the accursed land below. Once more the great hall, its people and their incessant words became distant, irrelevent. Down there, on the shores of the blackwater river, a soft glow, catching his eyes. Rising from nothingness, it seemed, glowing light, dancing to some impossible melody, following the dark flow of the reversed river, to Jeoffrey's stupor. Their ethereal light was like nothing he had seen before, yet how familiar it was, calling him. The glow morphed into several figures, seemingly engaged in the harvesting of the river's souls, mesmerizing him. And as they danced and busied themselves in incomprehensible labor Jeoffrey lost himself, for what seemed like a fraction of a second, in contemplation, before almost awakening from it, exalted. ''Incredible news! The golden spirits are back!'' Exclamed the minister of Fears to the others, yet the hall was now empty. Gone were the pesky ministers, gone was his foolish squire and theirs, gone was the blue wine. Yet he remained, along with the dancing golden spirits, down there. He remained, in careful study of the miraculous unknown, calling him. He remained yet now the spectacle of the golden spirits became enthralling, all-encompassing. Jeoffrey forgot about the glare in the window, forgot about the mundane details of his life, and forgot pretty much everything, except these two sounds, Jo-Fray, how peculiar. Jo-Fray had awoken once more from a dream, and looking around he was surprised to see his family, glowing in a sweet familiar golden light. Beneath them, the darkwater river, spewing the dark souls of the accursed, that rose and danced with them, liberated. Yet Jo-Fray was puzzled. He took a stick and wrote on the shores, what he thought was his name. Studying the shapes of the letters, its meaning was fading away, much akin to his dream, about some life rising to become minister. Shining behind him, a golden spirit came and embraced him. ''Another dream, perhaps, my dear son?'' And Jo-Fray felt the weight of his sadness, heart breaking, as he tried to hold on to what he thought was his whole life. ''A dream?'' He answered, and they both went back to the river, embracing their golden light, almost forgetting about the absurd life of a sad minister. Yet Jo-Fray still held on to his dream, his sadness and fear stopping him from forgetting. Along the shores of the blackwater river, the golden spirit gazed upward in awe, at the inversed architecture of the upended fortress. There! In the window, the face of a man, tormented.


“Quite a headstrong people aren’t they?” General Falkyn said to his orderly as the battle raged in the distance. His orderly, Lieutenant Schmidt nodded in agreement “As headstrong as a cornered animal would be Sir”. The Geonese city of Milan had been under siege for two weeks now by the Ticonderogan army, and though its defenders tried their best, they could not stop General Falkyn’s men. Only after leveling it and her inhabitants to dust with artillery did General Falkyn make progress and force the city to plead for peace. However, pockets of resistance fought on creating a very ungentlemanly form of warfare to commence in which General Falkyn wished to see for himself. “Anyways Sir, perhaps it’s best that we make our way back to the headquarters? This area is still ripe with Geonese defenders who still have not surrendered.” Lieutenant Schmidt wisely suggested noticing the distant gunfire behind them. Fallyn however drew a cigarette from his greatcoat and observed the charred ruins around them that at one point in time must have been a quiet neighborhood. “No. I want to take a walk if you don’t mind. An officer cannot accurately command without knowing his environment. Surely command can do without me for an hour”. Schmidt then nodded “As you wish Sir”. The pair of officers then walked down the cobblestone street that was almost buried in the rubble. Nearby a group of Ticonderogan soldiers were happily looting a jewelry store as a Geonese woman and a child with a bruised head walked past them in the street. Schmidt looked blankly at the woman and her child and back to the jewelry store and spoke. “No wonder it took us two damn weeks to take the city. Our men can barely act like proper soldiers when they see something shiny come about!” Falkyn then nodded as he was looking at the men “There’s no harm in letting loose Lieutenant.. But in any case go over there and sort them out if you’d like”. Lieutenant Schmidt then walked off and approached the soldiers as Falkyn waited for half a moment. He glanced at the woman and her child walking past him. The woman held a look of fear for General Falkyn all of his kind of green-coated invaders who made sure she never felt safe again. Her daughter meanwhile held a look of pure anger towards someone who took her happiness away. Falkyn in return only looked at them with indifference until they passed away from his vision. He then noticed a shadow cast over him and saw a Genoese banner riddled with bullet holes blowing in the wind. “What a miracle”. He said to himself. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard coughing coming from a nearby building and went to investigate. When he came upon the opening he stepped inside and spotted a bloodied Geonese soldier half buried under some rubble and reaching for a rifle across from him. Fallkyn walked over and put his foot on the rifle as soon as the Geonese soldier touched it and spoke with coldness in his voice “the war is over for you. Don’t waste your breath”. The Geonese soldier then stared up at Falkyn with eyes full of hatred. “Then be done with it. I’ve lived long enough.” Falkyn only smiled as he rested his hand on the holster of his pistol. “Why waste the bullet? That wound looks fatal.” The Geonese soldier then looked down to see a bit of rebar piercing his stomach and the entire lower half of his uniform was caked in blood and dirt. “You’ve killed so many people as it is. What’s one more to your record general?” He said recognizing his rank. Falkyn then nodded. “what’s your name?” The Geonese soldier began to shake from the blood loss as he spoke “Private first class Lucio Cathero.” Fallkyn then took a cigarette from his greatcoat and stuck it in Cathero’s mouth and lit it in an effort to ease his enemy’s pain. “Well Private Cathero, it seems there’s been enough bloodshed today as it is. What will one more dead Geonese bastard give me that I don’t have already? Honestly why you people dared to resist us is an enigma to me as you’ve already been defeated before we even crossed the border.” Cathero then took the cigarette from his parched lips and blew some smoke. “I have not been defeated Sir. In fact you’ve underestimated us since the very beginning.” Falkyn cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?” Cathero then put out the cigarette with a trembling hand. “It is exactly so. Your men have charged our positions time and time again. Only to be met with failure and death each and every time”. Fallkyn was not pleased to be reminded about his own failures and drilled his cigarette into the ground. “Seems we didn’t fail this last time then did we?” Cathero sighed “no. But I have not been defeated”. Falkyn’s laughter then echoed from wall to wall. “Your Government has fled. Your armies have been crushed and even your own people welcome us with open arms when we give them rations and medical care. How in God’s name could you call yourself a victor in this scenario?” Cathero then responded weakly as he let his hand hang to his side. “Come closer and I’ll tell you.” Falkyn then cautiously drew his pistol and squatted beside him in curiosity “go on then”. Cathero then whispered. “I consider this a victory.. because I know I won’t die alone.” With his final breath, Cathero then let go of an unpinned grenade as it rolled across the floor and exploded. Killing Falkyn and Cathero in a heartbeat. Across the road, Lieutenant Schmidt and several Ticonderogan soldiers ran to the scene only to find Falkyn’s mangled corpse laying in a pool of his own blood and Schmidt could only look upon him with horror. “Oh my God.. someone get him out of here.” The soldiers then obeyed and picked up his remains and rushed him off. Schmidt meanwhile walked past the jewelry store to see a Geonese banner still standing amongst the wreckage and he shook his head. “A headstrong people indeed Sir”. He then ripped the banner from its pole and walked away.


###Please take note of the new feedback rule! #Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! It’s time to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic, you ask? 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 provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: **Media Prompt: ** **Bonus Constraint:** Story reimagines a classic fairy tale. We haven’t done a media prompt (or fairy tales) in a long while, so this week’s challenge is to use the above song and/or video as *inspiration* for your story. You can use the lyrics, the title, or the video itself and the interpretation is entirely up to you. Be sure to follow all post and subreddit rules! The bonus constraint is not required. **Don’t forget to leave feedback on at least one other story by the deadline (Mon @ 2pm EST), per the new rules!** **Note: Don’t forget to next Monday!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) You get points just for voting. You can check out previous Micro Mondays .   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **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. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Authors are required to leave feedback on at least one other story each week that you write.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I host a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live feedback for those who 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. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied We have a new point system! **TASK** | **POINTS** | **ADDITIONAL NOTES** |:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:| | **Use of the Main Prompt/Constraint** | up to **50** pts | Requirements always provided with the weekly challenge | **Use of Bonus Constraint** | **10** pts | (unless otherwise noted) | ***Actionable* Feedback** (one crit required) | up to **15** pts each (5 crit max) | You’re always welcome to provide more crit, but points are capped at 75 | **Nominations your story receives** | **20** pts each | No cap | **Bay’s Nominations** | **20 - 50** pts | First- **50** pts, Second- **40** pts, Third- **30** pts, plus regular noms | **Voting for others** | **10** pts | Don’t forget to vote before 2pm EST every week! *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 2 in-depth, actionable crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.* Note: Interacting with a story is not the same as feedback.   *** #Rankings for - - u/katherine_c - - u/TheLettre7 - - u/ZachTheLitchKing *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly Worldbuilding interviews, and other fun events! - Experiment with tropes and different genres with the brand new feature on r/WritingPrompts! - Explore your self-established world every week on ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


It was a cold night. Snow wouldn’t fall for another six weeks. The earth was still soft. Clumps of dirt clung onto the man’s shovel. He was three feet deep in a two by six foot hole. Black mounds of fresh dirt grew with each swift motion of the shovel. He was of slender build, but muscular. His face was neither handsome nor ugly; one that you would see often and confuse for an acquaintance. However his eyes you could not forget. They were windows into an unblinking abyss The shovel completed its purpose and was temporarily discarded atop the detritus. The man crawled out the pit and in the darkness fumbled to find a large plastic bag. He gripped the edges tightly and dragged it back into his work. It slipped inside, the sounds of splashing liquids and wet things emanating from inside. The man abandoned the hole and grasped his tool once more. With precise motions he began to fill the pit. When the task was completed he turned and walked into the darkness The night enveloped all things. A normal person would’ve become lost, but the man walked with an almost supernatural sense of direction. He avoided trees, rocks and half frozen puddles. The wilderness soon gave way to cultivation then a dirt road. He walked up the road until he came upon a parked car. He opened the trunk and threw the shovel among the various tools inside. Then took possession of his vehicle and began to drive up the road towards lights in the distance As the car approached the lights the familiar structures of a gas station became visible. The man glanced at his fuel gauge, quarter tank. He gripped the wheel tightly with both hands and slowly turned towards the pump. He pulled in and cut the engine. The fuel cap popped open and he stepped out into the desolate business. A single flickering light illuminated the solitary pump. A small shack a few meters from it had a small neon red “OPEN” sign. He did his business, sixty liters straight not a drop more He returned the pump to its holster and walked over to the shack. Before he could open the door it flung open and a small woman stepped out. As she did the “OPEN” sign faded. The man and the woman silently looked at each other as the door closed shut behind her “Who are you?” she asked “Nobody; I just filled up my tank. Wanted to get a snack for the road” “Tough luck I just locked up” “I see” the man answered slowly. He looked behind the woman then glanced around the empty gas station. “Are you all alone?” The woman slowly began to walk away from the man keeping her eyes on him. “No, I suggest you get going. There are some strange things in these parts” The man’s face contorted into a sinister smile. “But I haven’t had my snack” he chuckled The woman quickly turned and began sprinting away from him. The man didn’t move a muscle. He silently looked as the woman ran up the road. When she was no longer visible, he took in a deep breath with his nostrils and hunched over. Lowering his body to the dirt he stretched out his hands as his smile grew ever larger. The skin began rip and blood flowed from the cracks. His eyes glowed yellow in the dark. Then suddenly he began to run The woman had made it some distance from the gas station when he caught sight of her. She had tried to stay silent in the dark but as he had approached she began to scream. “HELP, OH GOD HELP” The man or the creature wearing the skin of a man stayed silent. It moved with a frightening speed. Tears and blood stained urine fell from the woman. The creature stretched out its hand and took hold of her. She screamed and thrashed violently like a fish out of water. But the creatures hand only dug deeper into her soft skin, its nails drawing blood. It violently forced her to face it. Yellow eyes glared into brown and the woman fell silent. The woman stopped moving, as if in a trance she slowly opened her mouth. The creature opened its own wider ripping its disguise. Hair began to fall in clumps onto the road. Then the ears and the nose fell in a bloody mess. As the skin and flesh peeled away the skeleton underneath was revealed. The white of the skeleton was covered in roots. Black pulsating tendrils coiled around them. They held the frame of the man together and commanded it to hold the hypnotized woman However the yellow eyes stayed glowing in a faceless skull. The tendrils began to writhe, moving slowly towards the woman’s open mouth. They crawled up from the legs up the spine and down the arms into her mouth. As they did the light from the eyes faded. Then eventually they went dark as the last of the roots made their way into their new host. The wet skeleton fell atop the flesh that once covered it. The woman was motionless for a moment then her eyes glowed yellow She smiled and began walking towards the gas station. She opened up the shack and took any cash she could find. Then locked up and drove the man’s car to his remains. She opened up the trunk and took out the shovel and a large plastic bag. The man went into the bag with a little dirt. Once she was finished she threw her previous host in the trunk and drove back down the road. Stopping near where the man had originally taken it. She took the bag and shovel through the woods back to the clearing.


A festering wound and a lingering thought are equally dangerous if not tended to. A small spore that spreads; thrives. Gently germinating before it takes a vicious hold and ravages everything it touches. Adeline immersed herself in her canvas. The gravitational pull it had on her and losing her sense of self with bold brushstrokes was why she loved it so. Her palette was full of rich colours and happy hues. But it was the black and white that blended to make a coal gray that would be the foundation of her night time painting. The only student to use this technique in the art class under the shade of a large oak. Adeline gradually covered the blank cotton canvas. The less the white became visible the more it filled her with something. She could not quite put her finger on it. She stared at a small speck of untouched canvas still visible in the center. A darkness swallowed the light whole, an immense void where nothing escapes. “Is this class a joke to you madam?” asked her teacher, Rapheal Vale, walking up beside where she was sitting. Even though his hair seemed to also have been mixed to have reached a similar gray, he clearly did not appreciate her attempt at using the colour. Or the absence of it. Adeline tried to keep a straight face as best she could, hiding the impact of the insulting question. “No sir it is not. This is simply…” “This is simply you wasting your, and my time. And more importantly, the money of the benefactor who put you here specifically to become better at portraits. That is why you are here is it not? And don’t you think they would be disappointed to see this?” Adeline turned to see all her peers staring at her and her work and even every portrait on every canvas gazed upon her. She became self-aware. In the distance she noticed one more observer. A young woman sitting on what was once a lush green grass-covered mound. Now, it was long, dead grass blowing in the cold breeze in harmony with her yellow locks. Only the crinoline hoops of her bright blue dress seemed to be impervious to the elements and didn’t move at all. “I…I suppose they would be.” she said. “These students have worked hard to be here. They all have made sacrifices to be here. And that is your problem Adeline. To you, it is a trivial pursuit that someone else is paying your services for. You want everything to be perfectly your way and that is why you cannot relinquish control.” he said and walked back to the front of the class and spoke to them as a collective. “Art is meant to uplift. It should capture the world around us faithfully and also uphold the moral values we hold dear. It should capture the essence of a personality with poise. And dignity, so remember: No smiles.” She sat stone-faced staring at her canvas as the class drew to a close. For the weeks that followed, Adeline would obsess over every single stroke and line as she painted faces without smiles but their eyes laughed at her. She didn’t want to make any mistakes. Everything she painted seemed to take twice as long as anything her classmates manufactured and felt half as good. Throughout all this, the young onlooker was there for almost all the classes and from time to time Adeline and her would lock eyes. Neither would make a gesture or anything to suggest awkwardness. On the contrary, Adeline felt a strange comfort with her being there, overlooking everyone. One late afternoon after class, Adeline packed up all her instruments and headed home. A group of her fellow students snickered and sneered as she walked by, mumbling something between them but she couldn’t quite make out what was being said and just gave a polite, but insincere smile and kept walking. Over the long grass and through the pathways, into the market where people were buying they’re daily goods. She stood in front of a bag of coffee beans and grabbed a handful to feel the texture, letting it fall through her fingers. The aroma was blissful. “I prefer your earlier work.” a voice spoke from behind her. She turned around and saw the young woman standing there with a wry smile. Her hair tucked behind her ear on the one side, and draped over her shoulder on the other side. “I’m sorry?” Adeline asked. “Your earlier work. It was more vulnerable. More ‘you’.” Adeline’s expression went from confusion to indignation. “You…you don’t even know me.” “I’m Aster.” she extended her hand. “Adeline.” Adeline reached out and put her hand inside of hers. It sent a jolt through her. “It feels good doesn’t it, Adeline?” she said, looking straight into her eyes. She pulled her hand away quickly like she was caught doing something wrong. Her eyes shifted away. “What…what do you mean?” Aster gave a little chuckle. “The coffee beans.” Adeline’s face became as red as the rarely used pigment on her palette. “Oh. Right. Yes, I love coffee.” she said. “Are you on your way home?” Adeline nodded. “Do you mind if I walk with you?” Her brows and eyes narrowed and shifted but the corner of her mouth curved ever so slightly upward. She nodded again. The two women promenaded through fields and along the lakes in the golden twilight. The ground was muddy and the grass wet due to the recent rains. Adeline used the one hand to keep her frayed skirt from touching the ground but Aster seemed unfazed by it even though the clothes she wore were much nicer. “Listen, there is this music hall soirée happening tomorrow evening. Would you join me as my companion? It will be so much fun. All your art friends will be there.” Aster said. Adeline looked down at the ground. “They are not my friends.” “Oh, well there will be many others as well. It will be an exquisite event. Music. Dancing. Lot’s of festivities. You will be smiling ear to ear.” she said as they reached Adeline’s house. “I don’t feel like smiling.” Aster studied her for a moment. “You don’t have to. Just stand next to me and I will smile for the both of us.” A content feeling washed over her. They stood there for a beat looking at each other before turning to the quaint little home. Its slightly weathered exterior bore the marks of age. Her grandfather built it with his own hands which was now hers. The front porch, an inviting threshold, beckons with its graceful spindle railings. Worn but resilient. The wooden planks of the exterior had an umber, earthy tone. “You have a beautiful home. Now this is more you.” Aster said. “Please join me tomorrow.” Adeline met her pleading gaze and could not resist. “Fine. But not too late. And don’t leave me alone with those people.” Aster backed away with a satisfied grin. As she moved the setting sun seemed to perfectly frame the glowing essence of her, and Adeline was suddenly struck with awe. After she watched her disappear into the distance she turned back to her house and noticed something strange on the corner of the foundation. A small puddle had formed next to the porch and on the trim and siding of the house on the wooden panels were tiny little spots. Mold. Black mold. The following evening Adeline toiled to find the perfect outfit. She tried on many different dresses until she found the one she was the least unhappy with. She brushed her hair and tightened it making sure there was not a strand out of place. She gazed upon herself in the mirror and felt like a subject sitting for a portrait. It reminded her of one of her earlier self-portraits. When she noticed the time she got up and paced down the hall. There was a dark room with the door slightly ajar. She stopped near it for a moment and closed the door as if to forget the room even existed. Right before she exited the front door she bent down to secure the laces on her boots and spotted the tiny specks now inside her home. Near the floorboards, on the white skirting were the stubborn dots once more. It was small and spread out but still enough to cause her concern. She pulled the laces tight, almost breaking it off and headed out the door. Distant murmurs grew louder into raucous laughter as Adeline approached the music hall. She peeked through the window. A crowd of people were laughing hysterically at a man on the wooden stage whose face was painted white, and whose bow-tie clashed with his horizontal striped shirt. “It’s almost over.” Aster said from behind her. Startled, Adeline quickly turned around. “Are you always going to sneak up behind me?” “I think so. It’s more fun that way.” she said and turned her eyes toward the hall. “The clown is almost finished, then the music will begin and we can dance. Come.” Adeline and Aster entered the hall side by side and she could feel eyes upon her. She was not sure if she was just imagining it but she did catch some quick glances that felt like long gazes. Everyone was in high spirits and high fashion. The moderately sized hall was packed, people were standing shoulder to shoulder. The vaudevillian performer took off his top hat and fiddled around in his jacket. “You know, my head has been itching all night, I think it has something to do…what’s this?” As he swirled the hat he reached in and pulled out a black rabbit. Adeline fell in love. “Well I knew I left him somewhere but he was white before. He must have heard this is a black-tie event.” Laughter. “Well now ladies and gentlemen, now the band will come out. I’m sure you’ll miss me but it is now time to face the music as they say.” People applauded and the comedian hopped and skipped off stage as the musicians brought on their instruments, violins, brass and a piano filled the stage. In anticipation people made room for what was now going to be a dance floor. Lively music started playing and couples paired up. Men quickly found any women standing alone and all of them accepted their invitation with excitement. Two young men sauntered over to Aster and Adeline and extended their hands to which even she could not say no to. Even though he had a smug look on his face as if her turning him down was not a possibility. The music swelled and the dancers swayed. It was as if the whole number was choreographed. Elbows were out and feet made a new tapping rhythm on the plank floors. The man dancing with her kept looking at her with this strange look, as if his brain told him to smile and it got stuck that way. She looked away to break his gaze and observed Aster dancing merrily with her partner. She must have felt her stare because Aster looked back at her and even though her red lips didn’t part or stretch or curve, her green eyes smiled at her. It wasn’t a laugh but a warm embrace from across the room. They shared a few more glances as the music tempo went up and down and songs ended and began. People switched partners multiple times and it was one big celebration. Violins and cellos played faster and faster and when the two got close to each other Aster broke away from her gentleman partner and grabbed Adeline by the arm to her shock and that of her companion. Aster twirled her and grabbed both her hands. Their bell-shaped silhouettes floated and billowed with each movement and created a mesmerizing spectacle. The layers of fabric rustled and rippled, catching the light and casted dancing shadows. They glided across the floor like children. Their skirts expanded like a blossoming flower, accentuating their every step and adding an enchanting allure to the dance. Now both of them were smiling. The music died down as the song came to an end and it was as if the lights somehow became brighter. She wondered if they were this illuminating the whole time. As the two stopped moving, still holding each other's hands, Adeline turned to the crowd that were now mostly staring at them. She became self-aware. A lot of them seemed appalled. Some seemed incensed. A few were laughing. Adeline pulled her hands away quickly. She looked at Aster, clearly hurt by this gesture. She gave a quick glance at the crowd before trotting off to the outside of the hall, only her steps echoing as she left. Outside was a small terraced garden adjoining the music hall. The perfectly trimmed topiary mocking her as she walked past. “Adeline!” She turned around to see Aster strode toward her. “Why do you let people do that?” “Let people? I don’t let people do anything, they do what they want.” “You allow them to affect you. You are so concerned with other people’s perception of you, you let it shape the perception of yourself.” “I am not their subject. I am not there to be scrutinized or studied or laughed at. I am not the clown.” she said. Aster took in her words. “And what am I?” Adeline looked confused. “How do you view me? You see that is why your paintings have become conventional and predictable. You are so afraid of making any mistakes but mistakes are exactly what art is about. We are all human. We are all full of mistakes. Perfectionism is the enemy of art.” Adeline clenched her jaw and fist and took a step closer. “What do you know about art? You sit there judging my work week after week but what have you painted? What have you created? Art is made by artists and critics can only criticize because they cannot do it themselves. You look at a land and say to the farmer there are not enough trees but you never plant any seeds. Only there to tell him what is wrong.” Aster stood silent and for the first time Adeline saw tears form in her eyes. Her stomach turned and her head would not be quiet. All she managed to do was turn around and hasten home. The following morning Adeline woke up and in the cold light of day felt nothing but sorrow and regret. She knew she hurt the one person that made her feel safe. And she hated herself for it. If it wasn’t for her benefactor, she would not be getting ready for class at all. She dreaded even setting foot near it. After she had made herself presentable she trudged down the hall and stopped in her tracks next to the closed door. She turned toward it. Her hand hovered above the handle before opening it and looking into the dark room, curtains closed. At the end of the opposite wall stood an easel and frame with a tarp draped over it. She opened the curtains to let the light in and stood in front of the covered canvas for what seemed like a long time. Her heart beat faster and she pulled away the tarp with one fell motion to reveal her self-portrait staring back at her. Her long black hair was down. Not how she normally wears it. And not how portraits are traditionally done. Her glowing skin was highlighted due to the contrast of the rich colour of the background. Brown eyes gazed back at her and it felt like she was looking at a different person. In this portrait she was smiling. The corners of her lips lifted her cheeks and her pearly white teeth were prominent. It would be the first thing any onlooker would notice. And then she noticed her nose. Freckles? It struck her as odd because she never had any. The closer she looked the more she saw. It was on her cheeks as well. And then she observed one of the tiny spots on her teeth, tainting her smile. Adeline, the observer, looked in shock as her eyes widened and realized what was wrong with Adeline, the subject. She picked up the frame and turned it around on the easel. The back of the easel was completely covered in black mold. Her heart fell through her stomach and took a step back, stunned. She looked up to see the majority of the ceiling covered in it. From the back skirting, to about the middle of the room, it was beginning to move toward the door, looking to consume and seize control of the entire house. She crept backwards, keeping an eye on the rot. As she felt the door she turned and ran. She felt the urge to see Aster. To let her look upon her and feel safe. Adeline blitzed out of the house, she ran past the lakes and through the fields. Over the hill and the long dead grass rustling in the wind. And then she found her. On a narrow dirt road, trees lined both sides and covered everything between it in its shade. At the end of the road stood Aster. Wearing the same blue crinoline hooped dress she saw her in the first time. Adeline stopped in her tracks upon the sight of her, about a hundred paces away, at the beginning of the road. The leaves began to shake violently as the wind picked up. Aster turned around to look at her, a smile on her face and a tear in her eye. A black rabbit hopped along the path and to her feet and she picked it up, stroking its ears. “Aster!” Aster looked up at her and she swore she could hear cello music playing somewhere. She took a step forward and it grew louder. She looked around frantically for some kind of source but could see nothing but the fields, the trees and Aster gazing at her. “Aster, I’m sorry!” she said and with each step she took the sound of the symphony swelled and the deep strings were so loud that Adeline put her fingers to her ears but it made no difference. The music kept building. She moved closer and closer to her and about halfway reality appeared to be drifting further and further away because behind Aster she could see the cracks in the air. The fabric of space and time tore open. Little specks of darkness appeared around her. The breeze grew stronger and the music crescendoed with a crash as a circular ray of light grew larger in the background. Even though it was bright out, inside this portal, or doorway were the stars and galaxies and one giant nebula. A black hole with light moving around it at unfathomable speeds. Aster took a step back. As she moved the contrast of light and dark seemed to perfectly frame the glowing essence of her, and Adeline was suddenly struck with awe. Aster took another step back, causing Adeline to stop moving forward. She shook her head, beckoning her to stop. Aster said something but Adeline could not hear it over the strings. She could only see her mouth the words as a tear rolled down her smiling cheek and lips. Adeline stood frozen. Aster took a final step back and the wind and the vacuum behind her lifted her and the rabbit off the ground and dragged her into the gravitational pull. Adeline could only stretch her hand out. Aster became weightless in the nothingness. She floated, the blue dress glowing amongst the stars. The tear separated from her face and it turned into a prism of vivid colours, becoming bigger as it drifted away from her. The rabbit jumped from her embrace and followed it. Her face became exposed and illuminated as she neared the gargantua. From the tips, her blonde hair turned into bright red embers. She looked like a phoenix. She reached out her hand to touch the surrounding light that traveled around the dark, circular shape. Her skin, her being and her atoms flowed into it. Becoming a part of it. The particles moved quicker and quicker as it was being fed into the supernova. For a brief few moment everything became excruciatingly bright and the music far too overwhelming for Adeline. And then, as if closing one’s eyes, everything stopped. The light was gone and she could see only the deep black colour covering every inch inside. A darkness swallowed the light whole, an immense void where nothing escapes.


Every movie and television show, every novel, every video-game. They all seemed to portray the post-apocalyptic world the same way. A barren wasteland where nothing can grow. It’s not their fault, really. Humanity always assumed that the end would come in the form a mushroom cloud. Ironically, that was the case. It just didn’t happen the way we expected. Nuclear war wasn’t the cause of our demise, it wasn’t caused by our own hand, but by nature. A spore was released by an aggressively invasive crossbreed of mushroom that spread across the globe and wiped out each and every person alive. Everyone, that is, expect me. It would be funny if, you know, everyone hadn’t died. Parents always told their children to eat their vegetables, and it turned out to be great advice. Even as a young girl I was obsessed with mushrooms. I cannot remember a time when some form of mushroom was not a part of each and every meal I consumed. Portobello, Shitake, Porcini. Baked, boiled, fried. And yes, I’ve eaten those types of mushrooms too. I was in my late teens, and I couldn’t really call myself a fungi connoisseur if I didn’t experiment with every variety. I even ate some poisonous mushrooms. I did so with the utmost care, micro-dosing on the smallest of samples and gradually increasing the amount when my body had built a resistance. This is what saved me. When the mushroom spores were released and humanity was wiped out, my immune system saved me. So much so that, although the planet is now covered in these lethal fungi, I find it the staple of my diet. But it’s not just the mushrooms that have thrived, all of nature has. Vegetables and fruits only found in foreign lands now grow where council estates were once erected. Creatures of all shapes and colours roam the lands and oceans. The world is now covered in lush greenery and the water in the streams is clearer than it has ever been since man first created machines. Occasionally I’ll come across some relic from the past, the metal shell of a car or the crumbling remains of a building, yet in two decades most of what humanity had created was gone. Nature had pushed its way through the steel and concrete and now flourished once again. Sometimes, I wonder why I write this stuff down, it’s not as if anyone will ever get to read it. I managed to salvage some notepads and pencils in the early days of this great reset, and I try to write a little now and again. Maybe it’s for my own sanity, or maybe it’s just something to pass the time until I too join the rest of my kind. Or maybe it’s to remind myself of the great empire humanity had built, and just how quickly it all faded away. We thought of ourselves as the pinnacle of all existence. But to nature, we were merely a brief inconvenience.


It’s really all Dave’s fault or maybe his nephew’s, but either way, this isn’t me, this isn’t who I am. Dave is a coworker of mine and a personal rival. We’re basically in a competition for most popular in the office. I know I’d be number one if it wasn’t for him. If they would just open their eyes, they’d see how much of a loser he really is and how cool I am. Then everybody would quit following Dave around hanging on every dumb word he says, and they’d finally talk to me for a change. I’ve never really spoken to Dave one on one, but I can tell what he’s up to. He’s definitely obsessed with ruining everything for me, in fact he’s a lot like me, charming, funny. But that’s because he’s copying me, basically stealing my personality, how can some people be so selfish? Okay, okay I’ll get back to my point. Last Monday I came into work in the best mood ever. I was on top of the world because I’d worked all weekend on it, the thing that would finally best him. I’d researched, choreographed, and performed a completely original dance routine to ABCDEFU, amazing song BTW. You know “ABCDEFU and your mom”. Anyway, I posted the video early that morning, I really think it deserved to get more traction. I had it queued up on my laptop in the break room ready to inconspicuously start playing. It’s an awesome dance, they would’ve gone crazy for it. Way better than my last one, you gotta make it pop, ya know. You would like it too, I can tell. I’ll get back to the point. I guess you're wondering why I say “would’ve”, that’s because sadly my plan was interrupted. I was the first one in the breakroom, the others were starting to file in, I was just about to “accidently” start the video on my computer, and say “oh how embarrassing, oh but if you guys insist on watching,” so smooth. But Dave entered looking sad and pathetic, staring down. Everyone gathered around him. “What’s going on over here”, I said and Jennie, she’s the hottest in the office, said “didn’t you hear Dave’s nephew was in a car accident.” Then Lisa, she’s the loudest in the office, blurted out, “Yeah, he’s in the hospital, a drunk driver hit him!” My chest sank, I’d been defeated again, Dave’s always one step ahead. And to use a situation like this. And all week it just went on and on. Every Day Dave would come in and immediately share about how well his nephew was doing with his situation and how he felt blessed to be able to spend more time with him. And the worst one, “how we take the people we love for granted”, puke. And everyone was just eating it up. Jennie kept telling him how he was “so sweet for helping his nephew” and Dave would say, “I’m just glad to be able to spend time with him.” I almost puked for real! Point being, Dave was milking this situation for everything he could. Disgusting if you ask me. So, you see I had no choice but to come up with something tremendous or devastating, something huge. It had to be big, but I didn’t really have any dirt on Dave even though I know he’s the worst. I didn’t have any injured family members, and even if I could injure them, I wouldn’t want to have to spend time with them. That’s when I figured it out. Sick Dogs! I could say I adopted terminally Ill dogs. He only has one nephew, but I could have multiple dogs and while his nephew is recovering, these dogs ain’t gonna make it. The next time Dave was going on about his crap I casually brought up my much more heroic situation. They all stared at me. “You adopt dogs?” Jennie asked. “Terminally ill dogs, yes” I replied. I really needed to drive that point home, that these dogs were goners. “I Thought you hated dogs!” Lisa exclaimed. “What no!” I replied. “I’m pretty sure I saw you pour your Big Gulp on that dog that used to come around the parking lot so it would get away from you” Lisa said. “No what no I was that’s bullshit” I said deflecting perfectly. Then Jennie said, “Well I think it’s great that you adopt sick dogs, I’m not sure how it relates to what we were talking...” “I’ll bring them in tomorrow!” I blurted out. Now you can see I’ve got to get some sick and dying dogs right away. I went all over town, but it is like basically impossible to get a dog fast, dying or not. There must be some rule or law, maybe you could do something about that, anyway, it’s b.s. So, when I got to the last place, I was a little bit fed up, understandably so you might say. When the guy told me I couldn’t have a dog I flipped out a little bit. I tried to flip his desk; it was very heavy though. I knocked everything off his desk though. Then I grabbed his keys and started unlocking cages until he tased me. But the adrenaline was flowing so strong. I jumped up to my feet and bolted toward the door to the backroom, where I knew they were probably keeping the really good dogs or the really sick ones. I lunged for the door, busted in and saw what I couldn’t believe. It was a fighting ring. Men were betting on dog fights right in the back of the animal shelter. I was disgusted, what a horrible thing. But my old gambling days flashed in my mind. The cock fights in Tiajuana. I put down every penny I had on Red Rover. Then your cop buddies raided the place. So, you can see I only bet on the one fight and not even, cause it hadn’t even started yet. I’m really just a victim here, of gambling addiction, and Dave. So, you can let me out right. Jail Guard: “That was a great story and all. Well not really. It did kill a little time on my shift. But the thing is I’m just a guard, I can’t let you out. Even if I wanted to. Oh, but if it makes you feel any better, I can relate. See that guard over there, that’s Jim. Let me tell ya bout Jim. Now Jim, he’s a real Dave.


God gave the sea monkeys (aka as brine shrimps, or simply shrimp) 3 gifts which allowed them to prosper; On the first day he poured water at room temperature (27º C.) into the sea monkey tank. he then gave them GIFT #1: he poured the water purifier into the water and stirred. On the second day, he gave them GIFT #2, and added life into the tank. He kept the aquarium in a shaded area away from direct sunlight. In the following 5 days the sea monkeys started slowly filling up the tank, and swam around gracefully. On the seventh day the sea monkeys watched in awe as God gave them GIFT #3. Growth food was falling from the sky, it was an amazing sight. Not one sea monkey was left deprived of growth food. The aquarium prospered. Since then, the seventh day of the week has become known as Fooday. There was a fourth gift, GIFT #4. But God gave it to only one sea monkey. On the eighth day, Jo swam out of the tank into the air. It was unheard of. Despite being out of purified water, jo had no trouble breathing. He was floating through space, and with God’s direction he evaded every space giant who swatted at him. He did so effortlessly. He was not phased at all by the sights of space that would scare any other shrimp. Eventually, against all odds, he found another sea monkey settlement. He landed there and introduced himself to the shrimp of the tank who all gathered around him and listened to his preaching. He told them of the settlement he was born in, of the 3 gifts. Turns out, their aquarium was created the same way. God gave them the same three gifts and they too, are blessed with food every Fooday. The shrimp of the tank were happy about their guest. He stayed there for the next few weeks to get to know the tank and those living in it. He was treated very hospitably. Finally, Jo’s visit came to an end; he said his goodbyes to everyone and left. They all watched as he departed. Jo flew in space like a shining comet, leaving behind him a trail of colorful particles. It was a great sight to behold. Jo was very satisfied with his finding, and couldn’t wait to tell everything he saw to his old shrimp friends. But the shrimp in his tank didn’t receive the news very well. You see, Jo was venturing through space for a long time, And each week that passed the sea monkeys of his tank became greedier and greedier, wanting more and more food. They were no longer satisfied by what could last them for a week. Now, when food rained on Fooday, they started eating each other. They believed that when they eat someone, they also eat all the growth food that person ate. Instead of being a day about peace and rest, it became a feared day where everyone had to tussle for their own survival. Jo told his friends about the new world he found, about how food rains from the sky there too. They were excited. But not for the finding of another sea monkey settlement. They were excited for the prospect of more food. They demanded he would take them there, so they could wage war and get their food. But Jo refused, he could not betray those people, who treated him so courteously. He tried to explain but his fellow shrimps didn’t want to listen. They got mad. “He must be going there on his own and getting as much food as he wants, eh?” one said. They thought he was using his god given GIFT selfishly. The crowd rallied, shouting and screaming. Jo tried to calm them down in a futile attempt, because now they wanted one thing more than food. The fourth GIFT. So they did what they knew and started eating Jo. Everyone fought to get a bite out of him, until eventually nothing remained. Sea monkeys who got a bite out of Jo believed they got the GIFT, and tried jumping out of the aquarium in hopes of floating in space just like Jo did. But each one who tried ended up dead. The next Fooday never came. When Friday ended, Sunday rolled around. The sea monkeys never got their food again, and without food they lived with no purpose.


Serafina Simon. Her name was on everyone’s lips. There wasn’t a mind left in America that could go very long without thinking of her. Her tall, curvaceous frame—the mile-long legs, the barely-there waist, the well-endowed chest pushed practically up to her chin. Her wardrobe, all slinky black silk and clingy black velvet, supplemented just enough with glittering diamonds. The matte dark red lips cocked into that bemused, tantalizing half-smile. The delicate beringed hands that the world longed to kiss, to hold, to marvel at the slenderness of…if Serafina would let them, of course. It was known all too well that she wouldn’t. She’d pull away with a gesture that was classy and feminine, yet completely and utterly dismissive. ‘Down, boy’, she’d say in that sultry voice that had all the dark smoothness of her heralded fashion taste. That was the idea of Serafina, and it was an idea the public adored. In fact, they adored it so much, they’d followed her home from her latest red carpet event, hounding her as they always had and would. A small army of press photographers crouched outside the gate to Serafina’s tasteful white mansion, their cameras poised and ready to fire. The cameras flashed, flashed, flashed as her limo glided to a subtle halt. The flashing intensified as the chauffeur rushed out and briskly opened the door. Serafina didn’t open doors, of course, Doors opened for her. “Serafina! Serafina, Serafina!” the blended voice of the countless photographers shouted. It was Serafina, alright. She seemed to tower over them all, like a reminder of just how above them she was. Her black silk gown clung to her voluptuous body for dear life, exposing just enough of her impressive bust to leave her adoring public drooling and howling without even approaching the borders of vulgarity. A high slit up the leg showed off the length and toning of the one Serafina so expertly, so casually stuck out, posing with the practice and poise only a professional could have. Every few well-timed moments, she’d adjust her grip and the positioning of the white fur wrap around her lean shoulders. Only Serafina Simon could so subtly change the entire look of an outfit without really changing anything at all. The trigger-happy press was loving it. As far as they could tell from that signature half-smile of hers, Serafina was loving it, too. Which, of course, meant it was time for the interrogation to began. “Serafina! Do you have any comments on your latest film?” one shouted. Serafina did not. Of course she did not. Serafina Simon didn’t disclose the film industry’s secrets. She was a real lady. “Serafina! Are you currently in a romantic relationship with KICKASS?” another chimed in. KICKASS, a true modern rapper, had been her date that oh-so-relevant evening. He, so heavily tattooed and so proud of his gangbanger past, had contrasted her in a way that was shocking and almost comical. Side by side, they looked as though a recently paroled drug dealer had time traveled to meet a Golden Age starlet. And yet…it had seemed perfectly right. The idea of Serafina could complement any man. “Serafina! Why did you choose KICKASS to be your date tonight?” another questioned. What a riveting question, Serafina thought. A less sophisticated individual might have sarcastically pointed out some obvious ones: She was attracted to him, she enjoyed his company, she knew it would make the headlines, she wanted to see them react like this…but Serafina would do no such thing. Serafina didn’t do sarcasm, and Serafina was sophistication in its purest form. “Serafina! What are your thoughts on the organization of tonight’s events?” yet another added on. ‘Tonight’s event’ had been just like all the others. Serafina had arrived, posed, networked with every fellow celebrity she could tolerate, and done her best to exit with minimal hindrance from the press. But she couldn’t say that, of course. The idea of Serafina having a repetitive life or flat, spiteful thoughts was unfeasible. Serafina lived a vibrant, fascinating, positively bustling life that her countless admirers could only imagine and long for. She thought in flowing, colorful rolls of high-quality silk and bursts of thorny dark red roses. And she knew when to keep her red-lipsticked mouth shut. “Serafina! What did you think of your fellow guests?” another photographer asked for the sake of the curious world. Serafina thought plenty about them. She could have told the photographer which actresses were vapid and which ones were great conversation partners, which powerful men were witty and which were downright boorish. She could have whipped out an extensive list of singers who weren’t half as charming as their lyrics…and she could have talked for hours about how KICKASS’s smile—his real smile, not the one he’d donned for these very vultures—made her weak at the knees, about how safe she’d felt in his tattooed arms, and how when she looked in his pale, pale green eyes, everything was alright in the world. But Serafina knew better. Serafina always knew better. The press, and the world they represented, didn’t want to hear about any of that. They didn’t really want to hear anything at all. They wanted to see. The ability to look at her and put their own words in her mouth was far more enjoyable than listening to anything she had to say. Serafina had learned that rather quickly. You could call her ‘clever’, ‘witty’, or ‘sly’, but Serafina Simon was downright intelligent. “Serafina! Serafina, Serafina, Serafina! Serafina!” the press squabbled, devolving abruptly to their true, frenzied state. Serafina held back a posh sigh. She’d given these hounds of hell more than enough to work with. She strutted to her mansion’s opulent main entrance with the seductive walking stride of that immortal screen siren, that unforgettable and beguiling Serafina. “Serafina! Serafina! SERAFINA!” the press howled after her. The rapid-fire camera attack didn’t slow. “Goodbye and goodnight, darlings,” Serafina called, her ever-alluring voice completely level. She opened the French doors with a darling flourish, swiftly closing them behind her with one smooth, practiced motion. The mansion’s inside was just like its outside, all tasteful decor and subtle but absolute luxury. Fresh cut flowers and natural light seemed to dominate every square inch, and the mansion had plenty of those to offer. Its owner strutted up the curving staircase with the same femme fatale stride she’d entered with. She kept it up as she strode through her well-decorated bedroom, and she entered her closet as flamboyantly as she’d entered her home. Said closet was exactly what one would have expected from Serafina Simon; all white marble, gold, and femininity. But more importantly, there were no windows. Nowhere for the insatiable press to see in. Serafina did one last look around the room, as though to make absolutely sure there were no particularly dedicated photographers lurking in it. Then, she took a deep breath. The first thing she did was kick off the heels. She didn’t need to be a towering six footer anymore; 5’7 was more than tall enough for the privacy of her home. The dress was the next thing to go, and Serafina would have shamelessly told the depraved press that her beauty in it was nothing compared to her relief out of it. But peeling off the shapewear and unhooking the pushup bra? That was where the fun really began. Serafina gasped for air and took her first full breaths of the evening. Of course, her joy wasn’t without its downsides. Her waist returned from an impossible twenty inches to a respectable twenty-four, and her chest, while still rather large, sat at a normal level instead of being forcibly raised to a sky-high one. Serafina couldn’t bring herself to mind. In its unguided form, her body was spectacular. But she knew by now that when there were cameras around, spectacular wouldn’t cut it. In the land of bright lights and brighter stars, it was perfect or nothing. She looked around the room once again, suddenly needing to remind herself that there were no cameras in here. Sure enough, there were no crouching photographers, no hovering drones, no tucked-away nanny cams. Serafina nodded vigorously, an odd sight. With the world watching, Serafina did nothing vigorously; her actions were completed gracefully and sensually. But here, with no one watching, she was allowed the rare luxury of being unable to help herself. No cameras, she reminded herself with each nod. No cameras, no cameras, no cameras, NO CAMERAS. On that optimistic note, she continued the long process of getting un-ready. The plain black g-string—Serafina Simon did not get panty lines—was next to go, and it certainly wasn’t missed. Serafina then walked over to one of her many drawers and pulled out a plain white wireless bra, a pair of plain white cotton briefs, and her ultimate guilty pleasure: a pair of sky-blue slipper socks with a pattern of cartoon dachshunds in hot dog buns and the meaningless caption, ‘Hang Loose, Buddy.’ She slipped them on with an eagerness she’d been trained not to show the public. Serafina Simon didn’t get eager, she got mildly interested in the most dignified way possible. But she certainly felt eager as she pulled on the other two items in the drawer, two items no one would ever associate with Serafina Simon. Serafina wore slinky dresses, ravishing gowns…but there she was in fleecy plaid pajama pants and an oversized KICKASS hoodie. She could only imagine the aneurysm the ever-loving public would have if they found out celebrities had their own celebrity crushes. Of course, they probably wouldn’t be surprised that Serafina Simon of all people had managed to get with hers. Of course, that news would get all its shock value back when the good citizens of the world realized KICKASS was Serafina’s type. Serafina savored that amusing thought as she took a seat at her vanity. She decided she could leave her hair as it was. It had been elaborately and painstakingly styled, of course, but considering it was down and free of pins, it wasn’t painful in any way. With that off the list, she reached for her makeup wipes. If there was one thing ingrained in the public eye about Serafina Simon, it was her face. Anyone who was anyone recognized those foxy eyes, those razor sharp cheekbones, that perfectly smooth skin, those dark red lips…and yet, they all came away with a few good swipes of a decent makeup remover. Her eyes were just eyes, with no bold dark outlines. Her cheekbones were still sharp and high, but she no longer had to worry about breaking a diamond on one. Her fabled glass skin had freckles, which were just about the last physical quality anyone would possibly connect to Seraphina Simon. And her lips were returned a subdued natural pink. Forget celebrities having crushes, the mere sight of Serafina Simon without her red lips would be enough to give any of her fans that aneurysm. But she knew the truth. It wasn’t Serafina Simon staring back at her at all. It was Ava McMurphy. Ava McMurphy, the girl from Illinois, who’d never in her wildest dreams thought she’d make it this far. The girl who loved wildflowers far more than roses, the girl who’d infinitely rather be at a NASCAR race than a cocktail party, the girl whose playlists consisted of a baffling mix of Metallica and Billy Joel, the girl who was obsessed with lattes in all of their various forms…the girl who swooned at the mere thought of a tall, heavily tattooed man with a face full of piercings, who just couldn’t seem to stay on the right side of the law. That, of course, was the biggest relief of all; the mere knowledge that she didn’t have to be Serafina Simon anymore. That Ava McMurphy would do just fine. Ava looked in the mirror and smiled her real smile. Unlike Serafina’s, Ava’s smile was unpolished and had no element of smugness or condescension. It was full-sized and genuine, especially right now. There was no better feeling than being herself again after Serafina had left for the night. BZZZT! Ava’s phone suddenly vibrated with a text. Her heart fluttered. Could it be who she hoped it was? She nervously checked, and sure enough, the notification was from none other than her lovely date, KICKASS. *Gonna pull up in two hours, ill sneak through the back door ;)* Ava giggled and immediately fired off a reply. *Can’t wait to see you, cutie!!!!! :))))))* Serafina never giggled. Serafina didn’t reply quickly; Serafina made everyone wait longingly for her. Serafina called no one ‘cutie’, and she certainly didn’t use childish things like exclamation points and smiley faces. And Serafina did not get excited over men. In fact, Serafina didn’t get excited at all. But Serafina had been put away until the next show, and Ava was very excited indeed.


In the electronic haze of Hong Kong's digitally lit skyline, hidden in an unassuming network of alleyways, stood Zoe's realm: an inconspicuous electronics repair shop, alive with the rhythmic pulse of humming circuits and whispering computer hardware. At the tender age of 19, Zoe had etched out a place for herself in this world of transistors and code. Once a chaotic storage space, the backroom had transformed into her sanctuary – a private sector governed by complex circuitry and advanced algorithmic constructs. Her mismatched socks – one striped, the other pixelated with binary dots – peeked out from beneath her workspace, injecting a touch of color against the sterile white tiles. She hunched over an exposed computer tower, her jet-black hair spilling over her shoulder and cascading down her back, enclosing her in a curtain of focus. Her deft fingers navigated the matrix of wires and circuits with the precision and poise of a veteran surgeon. "This isn't syncing up," Zoe murmured, her almond-shaped eyes reflecting a fierce determination. The code was riddled with inconsistencies; rogue backdoors and anomalies peppered the lines, and her astute mind missed none. Her gaze flickered from the dissected hardware to her monitor, the bluish glow of the intricate code mirrored in her intense, unwavering stare. Without warning, her screen blazed a violent red, a cyber alert. Her firewall had been breached. Yet, in the face of imminent digital chaos, Zoe's eyes sparked, the thrill of an uncharted challenge lighting up her gaze. A rookie might've faltered, but not Zoe; this was an invitation to test her unmatched resilience and prowess. "Oh, isn't this intriguing? Let's see what these hackers are made of," she mused, her voice weaving through the oscillating fans and humming mainframes around her. A calculated smile crept onto her lips, illuminated by the eerie red glow of the breached terminal. This bold intruder had unwittingly presented her with a fresh algorithm to decode. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, scripting an elaborate dance of complex code. The infiltrator was skilled, their strategy well-crafted, but Zoe Chen was a force unto herself. As the moments bled into hours, the solitary room pulsed with the rhythmic pounding of keystrokes and the second hand's inexorable march. Physically static but mentally a whirlwind, Zoe diligently dissected patterns within the digital matrix sprawled before her. An anomaly in the pattern of the cyber onslaught seized her attention. "Honeypot! They lured us right in," she muttered, the revelation as startling as it was intriguing. The intruder hadn't merely aimed to invade her system; they had engineered a digital trap, hoping to ensnare her in a deceptive web of complex code. An impish smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as Zoe accepted the challenge. Swiftly, she engineered a virtual decoy, a strand of deceptive code to confound her unseen adversary. With a decisive tap on the enter key, her screen blinked before bathing the room in a soothing green. "You're in my world now," she murmured with satisfaction. Her heart pounded a relentless rhythm, adrenaline coursing where fear might have taken hold. This was her element – the exhilarating chase, the unraveling of a digital mystery. The taste of victory was intoxicating, and Zoe savored it, leaning back in her chair as her eyes flicked to the system clock at the corner of her screen; it displayed 3:24 am. Fingers poised over the keyboard, Zoe murmured, "Time to unmask the ghost in the machine." Her focus wasn't confined to restoring her system's integrity but also to discerning the motive behind this intrusion. She couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that this hack wasn't a random act of digital vandalism. The tenacity of the attack suggested a specific intent. But why would anyone target a humble computer repair shop in the labyrinthine back alleys of Hong Kong? Pausing mid-thought, her gaze unfocused. "Some script kiddie trying to shadow my moves? Unlikely. I'm solid in the scene but I'm not reinventing the wheel. Or am I? Could there be a poser out there, trying to clone my bespoke crypto techniques?" The thought aligned with her circumstances but didn't entirely fit the situation's pattern. "Corporate espionage?" she mused aloud, a touch of humor lacing her tone. She imagined Big Tech giants, hunched over their shiny conference tables, laser-focused on her little computer repair shop tucked away in the backstreets of Hong Kong. The image was almost laughable. "Oh, right. Big corps shaking in their boots over my circuit designs. Come back down to reality" Yet, even as she made light of the idea, Zoe was acutely aware of the reality that in the intricate and high-stakes world of tech, stranger things had indeed happened. As another hypothesis began to form in her mind, Zoe's fingers continued their symphony on the keyboard, maintaining the rhythmic clatter in the otherwise silent room. It was far-fetched but not entirely implausible, much like the layers of encryption she was diligently dissecting. She had been an active participant in dark-web chat rooms, embroiled in intense debates about the looming threats posed by unregulated advancements in AI. As Zoe continued hunting the digital trespasser, her thoughts drifted back to a conversation with an enigmatic figure operating under the pseudonym BinaryOracle. Their discourse was typically cryptic, carefully selected words woven into captivating puzzles. Unlike her fiery exchanges with other members, discussions with BinaryOracle veered into realms of enigmatic intrigue. One interaction, in particular, surfaced in her mind as she navigated another layer of the digital labyrinth. BinaryOracle had asked her, "Do you not think that the benefits of advanced AI could outweigh potential risks?" Her response had been swift, "Potential risks? More like ticking time bombs. The faster we sprint into unchecked AI development, the closer we skirt the precipice. One bug away from..." BinaryOracle's retort had been enigmatic, a question that lingered. "But isn't it the nature of humanity to push boundaries, to explore the unknown, regardless of the potential danger?" Zoe had countered, "Yes, but with clear thinking, not breakneck speed. We're messing with entities that could outmaneuver us in a nanosecond. Can we really predict their perception of us, their endgame? We're just noobs juggling nitroglycerin in a data center." BinaryOracle's parting words still echoed in her mind. "An intriguing perspective, Miss Chen. Perhaps it is not the flame we should fear, but the hands that control the matches." That conversation, laden with mystery and thought-provoking dialogue, had sparked many sleepless nights for Zoe. The compelling final words from BinaryOracle hinted at a belief in AI's potential and a subtle warning against human folly. Could this incident be linked to that enigmatic figure? Could their cryptic philosophies translate into this invasive digital assault? Lost in her thoughts, Zoe almost missed another layer of the hacker's defenses crumbling. The digital breadcrumbs were guiding her closer to the source. The night was far from over, and she was just getting started. Diving back into the digital maze, she followed the clues left by the infiltrator, leading her to something unusual. The intruder's code was distinct, devoid of the sporadic or chaotic patterns typical of the code she usually hacked. It was methodical... clinical. It was as if she were contending with an entity devoid of human flaws. Undeterred by the complexity of the task, Zoe pressed on. The digital footprints acted as her compass across the expansive terrain of the darknet through cryptic channels and anonymous nodes. Her journey culminated in an unexpected destination: Utah, USA. A sense of accomplishment surged within her as she muttered, "Gotcha," her voice steeped in the sweet taste of victory.


The man on the bench had a cigarette dangling from his lips and held a phone in his hands. The smell of smoke filled the air, and a visible cloud hung over him. He was laughing at something on his phone - a video, perhaps, or a cleverly captioned photo. Something hilarious. A rat ran out from beneath the bench and climbed into the overflowing trash bin behind him. He saw nothing but whatever was on his phone, and his laughter grew louder every minute, punctuated more often than not by a cough from the depths of his blackened lungs. Above him, some crows looked down curiously, perched on street lamps that were turned on and humming despite the late afternoon sun. The man’s face was drenched in sweat, and purple veins throbbed against his forehead like little asthmatic worms.The way he gasped for air before each laugh; the way he had to really suck it in before shoving it right back out with a convulsive guffaw that shook the bench. People walked toward him on the sidewalk, but instead of smiling at what might have been contagious laughter were the circumstances slightly tilted, they stopped and crossed the road before continuing in their set direction. The heat was suffocating. The news had said today was one of the hottest days on record. The pavement simmered. The video - it was definitely a video, people could hear the music and the quickly morphing voices - continued on, and the screen of his phone was moist with perspiration from both his brow and fingers. His laugh was so loud, now, that shopkeepers were watching from their windows, the air-conditioning just barely keeping them cool, the suspicious rattle of these summertime machines keeping them fearful that the heat might get them yet. A crow cawed, and more came to join them perched atop the streetlight, which shimmered in the blinding sun. A dozen or so crows; a murder. The video played on, and the laughing grew and grew, his body vibrating with it, and the harsh miasma of cigarette smoke traveled down the nearest sidewalk, through winding alleys, into an apartment building where a couple had been fighting through sweat and violence, shouting about how they needed to get the fuck out, now, l*et’s go somewhere before we have no choice, no, it’s too late, smell the decay, we’re as good as dead.* And then, just like that, a loud pop and the man’s laughter stop.s The sound of his phone hits the pavement and breaks the short silence. From the ice cream parlor across the street, a woman licking the side of a dripping cone opens the door and looks outside, screams. Around the bench, gore litters the street and sidewalk: an ear here, an ear there. Blood like water from a tangled hose: drip, drip.The man remains on the bench, slouched now, hands to his sides. His neck, open and exposed, raw nerve and tendon. On the ground next to his phone, his eyes, both eyes, lay still and sad, trailed behind by crimson rectus. From the dumpster emerges the rat. It crawls down the metallic surface to the floor, picks up an eye and runs off. The street is silent, the sun is hot, and the crows fly off in search of cooler trees.