Alessia followed me around the corner. “So you’re going to just follow that cable and…” She arrived next to me, staring straight down the barrel of the gun pointed at us. “Uh.” “How many more of you are there?” the woman holding the gun asked. “None. Just us,” I replied. “Let’s be clear. If you are telling the truth, the first bullet enters your skull. If you are lying, the first one enters your little toe, and I work my way up centimeter by centimeter, you understand? How many more of you are there?” “Just us,” I repeated. The woman nodded to the gun in my hand. “You dare even think of raising that thing, you will be dead.” “I know.” “What are you doing here?” “Trying to leave,” Alessia replied. “Answer the question.” Alessia rolled her eyes, some of her old attitude reemerging. Compared to the beasts from the forests and the frightened people fighting with spears and rocks, having a gun pointed at us felt like a step back to normal. The situation was dire, but it felt within the world we knew. “We landed here, were captured by some group of people, they took us to the river to be sacrificed to you, we jumped in, here we are.” “You met the islanders?” “Yes.” The woman looked to the others around her, all dressed in the same identical white smocks that draped across the floor. “Find out who they met. We’ll cleanse them.” “So that’s how you work then?” Alessia waited for the woman’s face to snap back before she continued. “Wait till someone imagines something other than your rules, and then murder them.” “We’re preserving nature,” the woman stated with a neutral tone. “Uh huh,” Alessia smirked. “Is that what you call all this? And that gun in your hand?” “We are not part of nature. We, the Leviathans, preserve it. We make the sacrifice so that the rest of the islanders can be one with the Earth.” “Yeah. I can see the sacrifice you're making.” Alessia's eyes glanced up to the building around us, and the lights hanging from the ceiling. “You are mistaken if you think this is not a sacrifice. Each one of us would rather be on the other side of the tunnel, being part of our world around us. No one can ever achieve peace and harmony, while surrounded by this depravity. We are corrupted by it. We will never be one. It is a sacrifice.” “Then why choose this?” I asked. “Why do you choose to be here rather than out there?” The woman shook her head, letting out a sigh. “We did not choose. We were chosen. Sent down by tribes, and offered to the Leviathans. Every Leviathan alive was born the other side of the tunnel. Tasted true freedom and beauty, and then was sent here. It’s our calling, to sacrifice our own lives so that they can be free from humanity’s mistakes.” I started trying to eye up my surroundings. I glanced at the electric lights above me, then to the windowless walls. My pupils flickered back and forth while I spoke, unsure if my words were a mere delaying tactic or a genuine attempt to understand. “So why not leave? Stop being Leviathans and return.” “Because civilization is like a vine on a tree. The tree is already perfect. Yet, left unchecked, a vine will always grow. It climbs up the bark, steals nutrients, and blocks the light, until the tree suffocates. Civilisation is a parasite. Only by cutting back the vine, stopping it before it grows, can the tree live. So when the island decided to seek nature, the Leviathans were chosen to always keep watch. To trim the vine.” “You… you really believe this, don’t you?” Alessia said, the smallest chuckle escaping her lips as she finished. “Why do you doubt it?” “Have you seen life on the other side of the tunnel?” Alessia’s shoulders twitched, but she forced her arms to remain still, aware of the gun still aimed at us. Instead, the emotion poured through her face. Her eyes filled with rage, her lips curled into a snarl, her cheeks flushed red. “People are murdering each other just to survive. I saw some creature twice the size of a dog, tear chunks off a man while he was still breathing. They’re not at peace. They’re dying.” “But it is natural. It is how the Earth is meant to be. It is the instinct of the wolf to seek meat. Instinct of any creature to seek sustenance from the Earth.” The woman raised her left hand, her eyes glancing to the heavens above. “The Earth will provide it to some, and in turn remain in balance and in harmony. But humans decided that they were above nature. Demanded to be more than part of a greater system, but to invent their own system - civilisation. And what about the sins of your world? Greed, corruption, murder. Did civilization cure those?” “No. But we learned how to share knowledge, how to treat injuries, how to live a life that was more than suffering-” “-All life that is with technology is suffering,” the woman interrupted, her sermonly tone replaced with venom. “All of it.” She jolted her arm with the gun forward, her fingers tensing around it. I looked to my right. There was a series of crates stacked in a random order, thin gaps between them. But, to my left, is where my eyes kept returning, back to that series of electrical circuits. That mess of wires beckoned me. “So to be clear. There is no chance you will let us leave peacefully?” “None,” the woman asked. “You are the vine. The weed. The parasite. And you will be eliminated.” “Okay,” I nodded. “Well, I hope you’ve never used that gun properly.” As the woman opened her mouth to speak, I turned and charged at Alessia, my arms outstretched. I wrapped them around her, grabbing her and tackling her to the ground. Two shots were fired, but I had no idea where they went. I rolled over and fired three shots at the circuits on the wall. The gun recoiled with each shot, flicking back in my unsteady hand. The first two bullets met wood, the sides of the building splintering as the metal tore through the plank. But the last found the circuitry, hitting the delicate web of wires. The room went black. I turned to find Alessia, grabbing a limb, and pulling her between two of the crates nearby. “Find them,” the woman barked. I reached down Alessia’s arm and found her hand. I held it. She squeezed back. I couldn’t see her. I dare not speak. But she was alive. I gently pulled her arm towards me as she got to her feet, crouching next to me. “Someone watch the door,” the woman ordered. “Don’t let them escape.” Footsteps entered the room, maybe only three of four metres from us. A gun fired. Crates shattered, wooden debris smacked into my side as I closed my eyes, praying the shots strayed no closer. The Leviathan let out a frustrated growl as they listened to the sounds of their bullets finding only wood. “Someone fix those lights.” A man screeched across the warehouse. I pulled on Alessia’s hand, and keeping low we began finding our way. My hand was held out in front of me as I retraced our steps back towards the rear of the warehouse. I tried to keep a mental picture of where we were. I listened to the Leviathans. The shuffling of shoes across the floor, or the irritated thuds of knees meeting errant crates. We turned the corner into the previous room, but as I did, my shoe slipped briefly against the concrete floor. A small squeak left my sole. A body turned. Shots were fired. More wood fractured. A glass bottle shattered. An empty box fell off a shelf, landing on my back, bouncing off me and onto the ground. Silence. Then more shots. One found metal, a pinging noise echoed through the building as the bullet ricocheted off. The second bounced off the floor inches away from me, and I could feel the small rush of wind as it passed by my thigh. I pulled on Alessia’s hand once more and we scrambled through to the next room, sneaking our way between the boxes until we reached that small backroom and the ditch to the outside. Now, in pure darkness, what little light the night provided summoned us out not in. I dove into the hole, wrestling my body against the space. I squirmed at every creak of the wood above me, at every scraping of the dirt by my torso. But after a few seconds, my hips made it past the thinnest points, and I could wrestle my body through to the other side. I stood up and turned as Alessia began making her way through. I watched as her arms and then head appeared through the small tight space. “I think I see one of them. Back here,” I heard a voice from the inside shout. Alessia’s head jolted up at me. Her eyes were solemn and glassy, her mouth opened, panting. I leaned down and grabbed her arm as a string of shots were fired, an entire clip emptied in seconds. But the shots didn’t sound as though they were only a metre or so away, but deeper, far within the building. As soon as Alessia was through I let go and turned to inspect her. Not a scratch. The bullets were meant for some other ghost in the darkness. “You okay?” I whispered. Alessia rolled over, looking up at me with a wide smile. “Never been better.” Getting to her feet, Alessia pointed to the gun in my hand. “I lost mine when you tackled me.” “Hopefully we won’t need this one anymore.” I rotated the awkward metal object in my hand. “Keep it. Just in case.” We began sneaking around the side of the building, the Leviathans hopefully still hunting for us in the blackness. We kept close to the wall, with our eyes pointed forward. I kept the gun in my hand, feeling the weight of it drag the limb down. But I primed the muscles in my arm, ready to lift it at a moment’s notice, the tendons slowly aching with tension. We reached the front of the warehouse and I looked out across the courtyard. It was empty. At the front of the building I could see the warehouse door, the bolt slid back into the open position. “Start heading to the boat,” I whispered. “Get it untied.” Alessia shook her head, biting back what she wanted to say. “Be quick.” As Alessia headed down to the boat I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the run. I visualized each pace, where my body would hit the metal door, where my arm would have to be to cleanly grab the bolt. With every moment pictured, I sprinted, charging with all my energy into the huge door. It swung around, smacking into the shut position, as I grabbed the bolt and slid it across. I turned back as angry shouts bellowed from the building. More bullets were fired, the wood breaking behind me, as metal whistled through the air. I ducked my head, holding my arms up as I sprinted along the front of the warehouse, and down towards the ocean. As I reached the boat, Alessia was just unfurling the sail, tying it to the rigging. The boat was small, no more than five metres long. It wouldn’t survive the ocean, but it might get us to the sea. “Untie the ropes,” Alessia said. I ran into the water, my legs kicking up splashes, as I waded in up to my thighs. I reached the front, untied the knot, and grabbed the hull, giving it the hardest tug I could, forcing it the first metre in the correct direction. I lifted myself out of the water as Alessia dragged me aboard, my clothes soaking once more. “Hey. Come back!” I looked over to the shore to see a man running down, the cassock billowing in the wind, but still showing no movement beneath the knees. It was the youngest of the Leviathans. The one who was still a boy, his face still morphing into adulthood. He stood at the shore, looking down at the ocean, unsure of how to go any further. Slowly, he raised his hand. His arm was shaking, as he fired the gun. The elbow bent with each shot, sending ammo off in wild and inaccurate directions Alessia pulled me down to the floor. I lay prone for a second, waiting for a break. Then I lifted myself up to my knees, pointed the gun back to the shore, and for the first time in my life, fired a gun with malice. The first two shots missed, but I got lucky with the third and fourth. Hitting him in the right arm and shoulder. The boy flew back to the ground. He let out an agonized scream as his body convulsed in pain. He was alive. But he didn’t return fire again. He merely lay there. Spasms of pain shooting through his body as he wept. I stared at the gun in my hand. Feeling disgust seep into my soul as the boy’s anguished screams echoed out across the ocean. The sensation grew too much, and I reflexively flung the gun off the side of the boat, watching it sink into the water. My body was free of a weight that threatened to crush it. Yet, inside, I could still feel that slow compression tightening around my chest. It didn’t go. It refused. Even as the man’s voice was drowned out by the sloshing of the tide against the hull, even as the village of the Leviathans was obscured by the cliffs, my heart felt like lead. The boat sailed out of a small cove and we navigated around the island, back to the beach where we had first landed. The incoming tides had pushed both boats over towards a series of rocks. The pirates’ vessel had been wedged upon them, but in turn had protected Alessia’s. We retrieved the stash of items from the forest and quickly headed back aboard Alessia’s boat, determined to leave as soon as we could. At last, Outer Fastanet was behind us. Alessia held the wheel in her hands, feeling the familiar sense of the boat at her palms. She held her head up, feeling the sea breeze push her hair. Her chest swelled as she took deep lungfuls of ocean air, recalibrating herself to what felt right. However, I couldn’t seem to find the same peace. I sat on the steps, my body twitching, and my eyes glancing around, unable to stay looking at one point for too long lest demons creep into view. “You okay?” Alessia said, leaning over the wheel. I turned to her. “I shot a man… a boy,” I corrected myself, a splutter of revulsion escaping in a laugh. “You got him in the shoulder. He’ll likely live.” “On that place? Without proper care?” I closed my eyes, shaking my head. “Don’t coddle me, Alessia.” She tied the small piece of rope around the wheel, and walked over to the steps, sitting down beside me. Alessia placed a hand on my back. “He was shooting at you. You were protecting yourself. And me.” “He was a kid. Younger than Cameron. Probably the same as Robin. And I shot him.” “I know.” Alessia looked out to sea. “Sometimes we do really shitty things because we have to. They’re right at the time, but they still feel bad. So, I’m not telling you to feel okay about it. Because that guilt is good, it’s what makes you a good person. But, just know, from me, what you did was right at the time.” I sniffed. Two small tears ran down my cheeks. “I know, it’s just…” I trailed off, as my eyes watered once more. “Ferdinand. What you did tonight… It was brave. And not something I’ve ever seen from you. You saved my life tonight. I hope - truly - that you never have to do that ever again. I hope we both don’t have to. But, *you* saved us.” I turned to face Alessia. She stared at me with a half-smile, her brow raised slightly. “Thank you,” I muttered. “I… I’m going to need to recover though…” Alessia chuckled. “Me too. That was the worst place I have ever been.” “You seem to be coping better than me.” I wiped away the damp on my cheek with my arm. “Different ways of coping,” Alessia said, tilting her head. “I still feel it.” “I need…” I struggled to find the words. “Can we… breathe for a while… I’m not ready for another adventure right now.” Alessia burst out laughing. “Oh, Ferdinand, how I’ve longed to hear you say that.” She stood up and turned to face me. “How’s this? We go to Talin Barier. We ask around. If we get word of Sannaz then we go find him. But, we stay there for a while. Maybe I pick up a couple of quick trading routes to pay our way every so often. But otherwise, for a little while, we stay put. If something comes up, we go. Otherwise… no adventuring.” I looked up at her with a smile brought about from a moment of certainty creepy across my face. “That sounds great.” Alessia reached out a hand, and pulled me up to my feet. “Onwards to the next… not an adventure then.


"Why have you called me here, brother?" Death whispered, irritated beyond measure. "There's a plague ravaging central Africa, I'm quite busy you know." Life simply extended his wooded hand to his left, patting the side of the mountain's edge beside him, beckoning his sister to sit with him. "I know." He said, quietly. "This won't take long, I promise." Death hesitated, wondering what could be so important that would halt the life-death cycle that day, she looked behind her at the Ferryman, tempted to simply leave and get back to work. The Ferryman nodded to her. She sighed and relented, sitting beside her brother, looking upon the towns and villages below, watching for a moment the daily lives of the tiny people they both cared for before Life spoke once more: "I'm dying, sister." Death snapped out of her day dream and looked at her brother, he did not meet her gaze, instead looking mournfully at the people below. "But that's not-" Death started before Life interrupted her "Look at me. I've changed have I not?" Death looked at her brother more closely, he was right, where he once had flowers budding across his body, there were only a few wilted stems, the right-most horn adorning his head was broken and parts of his left leg were charred. Death raised her head and met his gaze, his once glowing, amber eyes were sunken and pale. Life reached out to his sister and brushed the tear from her cheek. He turned his head slowly back towards the setting sun. "I don't have long. I'm sorry, sister. Do not scorn them for what they are doing, we promised father that we would care for them. Some of them remember, some of them still practice what they were taught long ago; how to give back a little of what they take. Those few are what sustain me, those few and that which hasn't yet been cut, killed or burned, but it won't be long. Once I'm gone you'll have much more work to do so please don't get too stressed." Death continued to look at her brother's wilted figure, she knew that she couldn't save him, not now. "Is there anything I can do?" She whimpered, brushing another tear from her eye. Life raised his branch-like hand and showed her two of his fingers, "firstly, when I'm gone, I want you to bury me somewhere nice, somewhere fertile. That way I may regrow one day once the dark days have passed." Death nodded as she knew of such a place. "Lastly..." Life took her hand and squeezed, gently. "Would you watch the sunset with me?" Death nodded once more and lowered her hood, exposing her red eyes and flowing black hair to the setting sun. They both watched as the distant star slowly disappeared below the horizon beyond before death felt her brother's grip loosen. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, one final tear escaping and dropping off the edge of the cliff. She looked over to her brother, his sunken eyes finally closed with a smile on his countenance. The Ferryman approached, bowing respectfully. "My lady, shall I carry him aboard?" Death raised her hood once more and nodded to her faithful companion, she watched as he carefully picked him up and set him down in the ferry. "You go on" she whispered. "I need a moment..." The Ferryman bowed once more and stepped into the ferry, lighting the lantern and picking up his oar. Though there was no water atop the mountain, the ferry glided through the air, gently rocking as if small waves were lapping against the sides. Death turned back towards the sunset, towards the towns and villages below and sat back down at the cliffs edge. "That plague can wait a while longer...


Adam watched in delight as his two sons walked through the pasture hauling their baskets of newly discovered crops. He had sent them each their separate ways two months prior on a mission to track down as many edible fruits as possible and from the looks of it, both of their harvests had yielded impressive results. He greeted them both with an exuberant, “Welcome home!” And a warm embrace, but quickly urged them to share their findings with him before settling in, as he was quite eager to learn of the delicacies they’ve corralled on their travels. Abel went first. “Well, father. I think you’ll be quite taken by this first item,” he confidently stated while pulling a pale yellow glob out of his basket. “I call it, Mango!” He added enthusiastically. “Mango!” Adam repeated jovially. “I love it!” Abel beemed with pride as he watched his father bite a huge chunk out of the newly acquired fruit, the juices dripping down his chin. “It’s delicious! Well done, Abel! Well done, indeed! And I love the name. Mango. So fresh! So exotic!” Adam wiped his mouth on his sleeve and turned to his other son, Cain. “Well, boy. Let’s see what nectars you’ve unearthed on your voyage.” Not to be outdone, Cain proudly removed the first item from his basket, an orange ball-shaped mass. He held it up high, cleared his throat and said, “I call it, Orange!” After a moment or two of silence, Cain added, “Did you hear me father?” “Yes, yes I did,” Adam replied lackadaisically, careful not to offend his sensitive child. “It’s…a…it’s a…” Ahem, Adam cleared his throat. “It’s a good name. Good job Cain,” he added in a perfunctory tone before quickly turning back towards Abel. “What else you got for me, son?” “Prepare to be blown away, Abel declared in an ostentatious display as he whipped out the next piece from his basket. “I call it, Papaya!” Adam gasped in amusement. “Papaya! Papaya!” He kept repeating. God damn that’s fun to say!” Cain was not unaware of his father’s fondness for his brother, Abel. and was hopeful that the naming of the fruits would tip the scales in his favor. Although, witnessing his father’s fervent admiration for the papaya disgusted Cain. and a deep, deep hatred for his brother began to grow in his heart. “Cain!” Adam called out, snapping Cain out of his daydream. “Let’s see what else you’ve found.” Cain nervously ruffled around in his basket before removing a blue cluster of berries. “My, my,” Adam remarked at the sight of the new fruit. “Those look mighty tasty. What do you call those, Cain?” Cain replied apprehensively, “I call them blueberries.” Then sensing his selection was poorly received grabbed a different berry cluster, “And these ones I call blackberries.” “Ugh,” Adam groaned while pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re just not getting it, Cain. Your mother is going to wake up from her nap soon, delighted to see you, but also anxious to find out what you two have brought us. New means of sustenance. New discoveries that could change our lives. But they’ve got to sound sexy, Cain. Otherwise your mother will never go for it. If there’s no mystique, no allure, she’ll never give it a chance. We need something to distract her from her obsession with the forbidden fruit. That horrible, awful, life-changing fruit in that god-forsaken garden with that idiot snake. I was literally the only man on earth and she fooled around on me with a reptile. I swear to god, I’ll never understand women. The boys twiddled their thumbs awkwardly during their fathers tirade. Then Abel broke the uncomfortable silence that followed, “Wait until you try the Dragonfruit, dad!” ”Did you just say Dragonfruit?” Adam exclaimed. “That’s fucking bad-ass!” Cain tried his best to put on a happy face but the envy he felt towards his brother was growing faster than the mold on the heart shaped red berries he aptly named heart-shaped red-berries. “This is amazing!” Adam mumbled with a mouth full. “Dragonfruit! Fucking rad!” Abel dusted off his shoulders and smirked at his underacheiveing brother. The hatred in Cain’s heart begin to simmer. “Abel, my boy, you’ve outdone yourself on this one. I’m super proud of you son,” Adam declared. Then with less conviction, he added, “You too, Cain.” Cain, however, was not ready to throw in the towel, as he still had yet to unleash his secret weapon. “Behold,” he bellowed. “For what I’m about to present you is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. I risked my life climbing the highest trees nearly falling to my death in order to locate this delicious treat. I wrestled this bundle away from an aggressive pack of spider monkeys, ducking and dodging vicious blows from their swiftly swinging monkey paws. It was a harrowing journey, Father, but a productive one. For now, I present you with, Curvy-Yellow-Thing!” Silence ensued with the exception of the chirping sounds the grass made as they had yet to discover crickets. “You hate it don’t you,” Cain muttered dejectedly, his head bowed in shame, staring at his feet. “I’m sure it’s delicious, Cain,” his father assured him. “You just don’t have a knack for words like your brother. Help him out will you, Abel?” Abel scratched his chin for a moment, snapped his fingers and pointed at his crestfallen brother. “Banana!” He smugly shouted “Son-of-a-Bitch that’s good,” Adam exclaimed. “How do you come up with these names so quickly?” “It just flows right off the top my my head,” Abel replied. “You’ve got a way with words, that’s for sure. “Thanks, Pop. I’m gonna be a rapper when I grow up.” “Well, I’ll be the first in line to buy your album.” “I got bars, Dad.” “I know that’s right.” The hatred in Cain’s heart began to boil. So he wasn’t as creative or artistic as his brother. So what? He was stronger, bolder, and far more determined. The focus of his determination was being the favorite child. And today had proven an obstacle difficult to overcome. He wished he were more like his brother. Maybe then his father would show him the same amount of affection he had only observed from the sidelines. But he wasn’t creative or artistic. He couldn’t dream up the wildly inventive names for fruit like his brother. If only he were Abel. Eve was finally awake. Adam instructed the boys to go stand in the pasture a hundred yards away for 7-9 minutes, so he could give his wife a much needed back massage. “Then you can show her all of your glorious findings!” He proclaimed. “Sure thing,” said Abel. “Yes,” Cain concurred. “That will be just fine.” The boys both turned and headed towards the field. Cain picking up a stone on the way. His brother boasting about his recent accomplishments. Cain knew what needed to be done.


The car hums to life at the push of a button and slips out of the garage into a wet night. The garage door closes behind it as I drive through the apartment complex and onto one of the side roads. It was near midnight, and a storm was moving east. I turned east, knowing the roads I would take well. It was the first time in a long time, nearly a year since I had made one of these drives. Family was staying in my small apartment and the needs of work required me to stay up all night, something I couldn’t do without disturbing my guests. The air was still warm and sticky, but the air conditioning was kicking in as I stopped at a light on one of the main roads. I waited for it to change, then I took to the side roads to slip around the side of the town. Illumination from street lamps drifted lazily through the sunroof and windows of my economy grocery-getter as I rejoined a road I had taken and a hundred dozen times before. This junction didn’t mean much. I was still in the town and it was only natural that I had been down this road before. I stayed silent as my radio played off my aging ipod quietly. I didn’t look at the speedometer as I let the car cruise at a natural place. For a time, my mind was blank of all except for the task of driving. This was my meditation. A reset. A few moments alone where I could gather my thoughts and reflect on myself in inner peace. It wasn’t that my family or even my life was stressing me out, life was good compared to twelve months ago. A man simply needs a little time to himself to be alone. I made another turn at another light, clipping through on a yellow to turn onto the highway heading east. Nights like this always took me back in time, but the nostalgia hadn’t hit me yet. I was still on the well-known roads of my home town and not yet to my destination. I crossed the Little Muddy and turned my head to the left to see the twinkling of the town lights before I passed the Haliburton and Red River yards and crossed the bridge over the train tack. As the car climbed the hill out of the town and the buildings grew further apart, I couldn’t help thinking back to how many times I had to take this road, not for indulgence, but for obligation. I pushed those thoughts out of my head. The location and timing weren’t correct. For now, I focussed on the road and the increasing rain as I caught up to the storm. I did my best to focus only on the road and the radio as I drove down the highway. It wouldn’t be much longer now. I passed county road eleven and thought back even further to hot summer days years before when I had worked for the county. I was close now. The only hint that I had reached my destination was a black oil pad and the light of a farm-house porch a quarter mile down a dirt road. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard as I continued down the highway. It was twelve-thirty now, and I felt comfortable. I may have been in my near-silent economy car, but now I could remember back three years to my first real oilfield job, running the eight twenty-one route. I could almost hear the exhaust roar of my old and beaten work truck. I could feel its uncomfortable seats, and I could feel that old feeling of having completed my middle run and being on the return leg to the P-Evitt disposal. I had run that route a hundred dozen times in the year that I was assigned to it. It was my safe space. Six disposals across twenty or so county roads and a highway. Six sites I was responsible for, that gave me pride and built up the career I still had. I fancied I could feel the ruts worn into the tarmac from my work truck as my car glided through the sheets of rain, creating a mirror sheen on the two-year-old blacktop. I relaxed as I followed the road, letting the memories of those times wash over me. I passed by a crossroad, and remembered the half dozen times I had taken it to avoid potholes and road work, thinking of the Bowling for Soup song that always seemed to play when I did my mid run down it. But on I drove. I passed a farmhouse and its barn, ringed by trees with the highway running through its yard. I flipped on my turn signal and trundled onto highway forty-two, the lights of a disposal I knew nothing about filling my rearview as I dropped down the first hill towards the cooly. The car flowed down into the dip and dropped on for endless hours, or so it seemed. I had been down this road two, it was the way from the P-Paulson and P-Evans to the P-Thomas. Part of the old route. I skipped a song on my ipod to one that I would have heard on this road. I couldn’t help but think back. My old company truck was at the apartment, registered in my wife’s name and retired to the leisure of being a daily driver, no longer seeing the miles or the dirt roads or the rushes to various emergencies. A fitting life for a loyal companion. A truck I loved as if I had bought it new and put all of its hundred sixty thousand miles on it. The truck was gone from the company, I was gone from the company, my best friend was gone from them as well, and none of us had run the route in years. How things change. The car rose up the other side of the valley and the lights of the Pankowski came into sight. It wasn’t one of my disposals, and I remember when they installed it, it wasn’t even managed by the company that contracted my employer, but my employer did have workers on it. I never met them, never spoke to them, but was under the impression that my P-Thomas handled overflow from the Pankowski when it was down, and that was quite often. It took everything in me not to turn left at the Pankowski and cruise down county road fifteen to the lease road leading to P-Thomas. But, I was in my Hyundai and not in my company truck, and I was not with Celestial Oil Services anymore, and I was not on the eight twenty-one anymore, though part of me always would be. I traveled another mile up the road and pulled into a field access and stopped the car. The clouds of the storm lingered and the night was black, but from my perch on the top of the hill, I could see for miles, across a plane and down to the lake, including the distorted light of the P-Thomas. Though the night was black, the plane twinkled with manmade constellations, oil flares and site lights lit up the ground as beautiful as any star-speckled sky. I was never an astronomer, I could only name three constellations, but below me was a cosmos I had sailed through and knew like my own backyard. For one night, for a few hours, once more, I was king of my domain, a monarch ruling six saltwater disposals over twenty miles of road, lord of changing filters, duke of sending reports, baron of cleaning triplex pumps. Home at last. From my ethereal memory built castle of a company truck, I saw inverted stars, the same I had sailed for endless aeons as a god.


During lunch hour Bryan made the trip through the network of corporate skyscraper office buildings up to the 9th floor of the Bankstreet building to visit Kyle. Kyle was sitting in his cubicle staring at his computer when Bryan rounded the corner. “Hey stranger,” Bryan said in an upbeat voice. Bryan always had a positive attitude in the office environment. “Hey man,” Kyle said as he smiled at seeing Bryan. “How’s your day going?” Bryan asked. “I’m bored as fuck. Just going through the motions this morning. I’ve got a bunch of calls to make that I haven’t made yet.” “You wanna talk about last week?” “I dunno man. I’m still trying to get my thoughts together. It still just doesn’t seem real. I can only get small flashes of memories but I can see them so clearly.” “Like a dream,” Bryan said, nodding in agreement. “Ya.” “Well if you ever wanna talk about it just let me know, I’m right around the corner. I’m always here for you. Let’s get a drink soon, don’t be a stranger eh.” Kyle nodded as Bryan tapped his cubicle and headed off back to his work. Last week Bryan and Kyle had returned from a spontaneous trip to a Pacific island with their 9-5er friends that worked in the same complex of skyscrapers. Some worked for law firms, banks, insurance companies, and they had all decided to take a trip that would break them from their bubble of monotony. They had flown out last week for the two week trip to the island resort. Two rows in front of Kyle was a crying baby that had not stopped vocalizing some sort of discomfort for the majority of the flight. Kyle already hated flying and the short lived efforts by his friends to distract him with cards or sudoku or crosswords only made him more self-conscious of his need to distract himself from flying on planes, particularly this small prop plane flying over the Pacific that to be honest was getting manhandled by the turbulence for most of the flight and Kyle questioned what feats of structural engineering could possibly hold this tin can together. He took off his glasses and put in his contacts in case they had to ditch in the water. He had unlaced his shoes and reminded himself of the location of the life jacket under his seat. Near the front of the plane he could see Fred and Mandy making out again, the clean cut suburban looking middle aged couple next to them looking uncomfortable, straining to keep their eyes in front of them or pretending to sleep - somehow you can always tell when people are pretending to sleep. Across the aisle, Bryan had returned from his long visit to the restroom to compose himself and throw up from the effects of the edibles he had taken before the flight. Next to him his recent girlfriend Breanna was seeming perfectly comfortable with her trip as she had been watching the Planet Earth series nonstop since reaching cruising altitude. A few weeks before the trip Kyle had started making an effort to find a girl on Tinder that would come on this trip, someone to have fun with. He had never travelled with a girlfriend, and didn’t want to be stuck with Nico who was the only other single guy. He could hear Nico behind him snoring. It would be better this way for Kyle, it was probably better to not spend two weeks with someone he just met. Jules and Michael were playing cards a few rows up to Kyle’s left, and he wondered if he should try joining in on the game. No one was talking on the plane and didn’t feel like breaking the silence. All the friends had booked this trip last minute, hence the scattered seating arrangements. They would have all liked to be next to each other on the single-aisled prop plane with only two seats on each side of the aisle. Fred had recently come upon a large sum of money and decided to invite the whole group of his friends to a small Pacific island resort for his birthday, and after the rather tragic year Fred had had and the lack of outings the group had made together no one felt like they could decline the offer and more or less felt obligated to come. They all had the luxury to work remotely or take large amounts of time off anyways, except for Nico who was always willing to quit his job on a moment’s notice for a good trip. The plane descended below the clouds and the small stretch of runway on a peninsula approached on perhaps the only flat piece of land in this mountain-covered part of the Pacific. After landing Bryan b-lined it for the washroom and spent some more time gathering himself. The group headed for the only bar in the airport to have some drinks before their boat would arrive in 30 minutes to take them to their resort. The group made a concerted effort to get shitfaced to kick off their trip. Bryan had returned from the washroom and the edibles were lasting a lot longer than he had expected and he was not sure if he could make the trip on the boat. After everyone had downed a couple of shots, Fred got the text on his phone notifying him that their boat had arrived, and the group sloppily made their way with their luggage out of the airport and down a palm tree lined path down to the water. The driver greeted them with a large smile as a grouping of storm clouds loomed over the water behind him, the driver seeming unphased by the elements his boat floated upon. Bryan told the group he would stay back and catch the next boat to the island, but was informed with a large smile from the driver that the incoming storm might prevent a boat from getting to the island for the next few days. Breanna then shut down his excuses and told him not to be a bitch and get on the damn boat so she wouldn’t be left alone. The boat was a long and thin canoe-shaped island hopping boat with a shelter in the middle propped on four posts, under which the driver stood as he looked out upon the ocean casually as he drove the boat. The motor putted along, and the group now regretted the post flight drinks now that they faced the chop of the Pacific, the ride being much longer than they anticipated and they could not get on solid land again soon enough. The sound of the motor rose and fell as it broke and reentered the water. The driver seemed to continually grin at their state. Bryan was huddled under the overhang, hoping that he would catch less chop in the center of the boat and that he would come down from his high soon, while the rest of the group sat along the benches on the rails of the boat, trying to hold their stomachs together as the rode past the lush mountainous islands wondering which one would be theirs. They rode past other islands with resorts and other establishments clinging to their beaches. Dusk was starting to fall and the beachside bars illuminated the coast and dark waters, with many string lights strung among the buildings and into the forest, looking like stars in the sky. People were partying and lounging on the beaches, and they could hear music emanating from the shores as it bounced off of the green mountains. In the distance they could see a group of people in hula skirts dancing around funnily on the beach. A couple dressed in 80s track suits tore by them on jet skis and gave them big smiles, heading to one of the islands the group had just passed. Most of the buildings were made of colourfully painted wood planks that the paint was now chipping off of due to the elements. It seemed that all that joined these island settlements was the water between them as the islands themselves were unnavigable and had no roads of any sort, the mountains rising quickly behind the beaches. These resorts were all like someone clinging to the edge of a boat in treacherous waters. Michael sat looking out at the scenery, physically the most composed and keeping-it-together of the group, but wondering if he was properly taking it all in and if it was all going too fast. Michael had issues with imposing expectations on his past trips which always cast a cloud of judgement over his trips. He never could fully be present on a trip but would be thinking of how the trip should be. Whether he was enjoying the trip enough or whether he was making the most out of it. He was already thinking of the return flight home and how quickly the trip would go and how he would be back at his job before he could even settle in and enjoy his trip. The driver pointed ahead in the distance at their island as they had rounded another island. It was lush and green, like the tip of a green thumb sticking out of the ocean. It was round all the way around and did not have many inlets or breaks in its shoreline. It was more a green mountain sticking out of the ocean, less an island with a mountain on it. As they approached the coast they could see the resort and its bungalow huts perched on the lower slope of the mountain. When they disembarked the driver took off immediately back into the ocean and they found their own way up to the resort. They checked in at the main building which had a lounge and kitchen, and they were given flashlights by the lady employee to find their way to their bungalows. They walked along the fresh concrete paths through the lush tropical forest to their rooms, the sounds of loud tropical bugs accompanying them the whole way. As they walked Fred was asking Mandy where they should screw, and he suggested they should go down to the beach tonight; he had never had sex on a beach. The resort seemed fairly new. Their rooms were perched on the downslope side of the path, the walls facing out to the water completely open to the air, the beds encircled by mosquito nets. The next morning Kyle was first to the beach. On his second corona he could see Nico trying to get laid, talking to a young girl in a bikini with a group of friends at the beach bar. They laughed. Nico shook her hand and looked pleased with himself and drunk, and he made his way back to Kyle laying on a beach chair under an umbrella in the tropical sun. They discussed what they should get up to on their first day on the island. Nico wanted to meet up with that girl later. Kyle insisted they should do some sightseeing and check out the island on foot. They made their way up to the main building to get more information on possible excursions. The same young lady that had checked them in was working behind the front desk, and it seemed like she was always there and never left. Whenever the others passed she was always there. Her English was surprisingly good. She was a very beautiful island girl, and she informed them that there weren’t many proper trails on the island, but there were some routes up the mountain and along the ridge that she could have one of the employees take them along, they would just let her know what time and she could arrange it, as long as it was before nightfall. She informed them that these were not moderate hiking trails, giggling, and that the group should be in relatively good shape and they should give themselves at least half a day if they wanted to complete the whole route. Nico was not in good shape but was confident in his ability, he had been taking spin classes at the new studio in his office building. They let the lady know that they should be able to handle it. The group decided at dinner that they would do the hike the next day. The next morning they had some drinks and lounged on the beach, some forgetting about their scheduled hike. Kyle started to round the group up and they went back to their rooms to get out of their bathing suits and into their most athletic wear, sliding into their most appropriate shoes for hiking. Michael had only packed flip-flops and somehow no one had noticed that he boarded the plane in flip-flops. They walked up to the main building where the young front desk lady was chatting with a fit man they assumed to be their guide. They introduced themselves and the guide scanned them. He told them he hoped they were ready and hadn’t been partying too much, followed by a cheesy laugh. Nico looked at the guide's calves and began to look at himself the way the guide had and was now doubting his level of fitness. They followed the guide to the edge of the resort, then entered the forest onto the thinly worn trail that was approximately one foot in width. Branches and other vegetation brushed them like reaching arms as they tried to push them aside. The forest was so thick they could only see as far as two or three people in front of them. But it began to thin out as they started uphill onto the steeper slope of the mountain After half an hour of hiking in the humid pacific air the group was sweaty and some were already beginning to tire. A couple in the group had already gone through all their water. The guide still trudged forward at a good pace while the group tried to keep up. The guide kept enforcing that they’d have to keep up if they wanted to return by dark. The guide stopped, realizing some were struggling to keep up, and suggested that if any wanted to turn back they should do it now before the hike got tougher. Nico decided to turn around and take the path back, as well as Fred and Mandy who wanted to screw, and the rest of the group would carry on. They could see it was still a good distance to the top of the mountain which kicked up steeply in front of them. The guide hacked down some coconuts with his machete and showed them to a fresh stream to replenish themselves for the rest of the hike. The conditions were muggy, all their shirts were drenched in sweat. They clawed their way through the hanging tropical plants. At some points when the trail got steeper they could get a view out from the tops of the trees of the pristine blue ocean, the waves looking like faint wrinkles, and the white beaches far below. Kyle, Michael, Jules, Bryan, and Breanna all began to feel their endurance tried now a couple of hours into the hike. “I think we should turn back,” Michael said, at the head of the group behind the guide. Bryan quickly brushed Michael aside and called for the guide to stop so they could talk it over. Jules and Breanna had gone off to take pees. When the girls returned and the group was debating whether to continue, a big explosive bang rang out across the islands and the forest floor shook under their feet, the group having to bend their knees and brace themselves against the nearest trees. “What the hell was that!” Jules yelled out. “Must have been an earthquake. Jesus,” Michael said. They could see some smoke rising over the top of the other side of the mountain and Michael and Bryan ran quickly to the top to get an eye on the situation. They could not see where the smoke was coming from in the distance, but as Bryan pointed out to Michael, there was a surge of water receding from the shore, almost all the way up the lower slope of the mountain. It must have been a tsunami. Some smaller waves followed, coming high onto the shore but not as high as the first they had seen, dismantling any docks and shoreline establishments. As it receded it pulled the structures and wooden debris with it out into the water. They could see some people in the water. When Michael and Bryan returned they asked where the guide was. Kyle gave a few calls for him but heard nothing. When he did not return the group began to search the area for him, peaking through the hanging vegetation trying to spot him. “He was literally standing right there with his machete before that big bang,” Bryan remarked, pointing at the spot he thought he last saw the guide. The group had quickly lost the trail in search of him. “No we came this way. I remember that spot,” Jules said, correcting the direction Michael was taking. “Either way it’s not a big island, let’s just head down and follow the shore back to our resort. We couldn’t see anything on this side of the mountain when we were up there,” Michael said. The group had been hiking for almost five hours now. Back at the resort Nico was trying to call the group about what had just happened, but there was no reception. The sun was now beginning to set as the group began to make their way down in some haste. As they clawed their way down, making no regard for the easiest route, Breanna rolled her ankle on a rock and got extremely frustrated at everyone and the whole situation. After some hiking she began to feel faint, and was having difficulty putting weight on her leg. Kyle and Bryan propped her up on each side of her, her arms around their shoulders so she could hop on her good leg. The group tried again to yell for their guide, but got no response. The clouds were now blocking out the moonlight and there was not much light left to go by. The group finally came across another resort higher up on the mountain after about an hour of hustling down. In the main pavilion of the resort there was an ongoing ayahuasca ceremony with the floor covered in cushions. There were people in a full frenzy, running around or hallucinating bad things while a couple of shamans scurried between them trying to calm them, only a couple of them remained lying down in the cushions. The group asked for help for their friend, and a shaman took a look at her ankle, pointing out two small fang marks on the outside of her ankle that the group could not have noticed, around which the skin was now starting to swell. The shamans said they could not help them at the moment as they were in a moment of crisis, but they could give them some natural rubs and herbs. The shamans seemed more stressed and less zen than they thought shamans should. Another shaman came to them and told them that they should get down to the shore and catch a boat to the mainland where she could get an anti-venom. She was beginning to feel more faint and they could see some bruising beginning to appear on her ankle. Kyle switched out with Bryan as the other crutch and they made their way from the resort down to the shore, having to almost fully carry Breanna at this point. On the beach there was one light off in the distance down the coast, but they did not recognize any of the coast and could not tell if it was their resort. They began to head towards it. Breanna was beginning to lose consciousness and her leg was getting worse. As they walked along they could hear the puttering of a motor approaching and the headlight of a boat was heading for them. The boat beached itself and a man greeted them, asking if they needed help. He told them that their resort was on the opposite side of the island, which they couldn’t understand since they hadn’t crossed the mountain at any point, but it meant that their friends might have been struck by the event and may have been a part of the debris Michael and Bryan had seen washed out. He said he had taken some resorters to the mainland already, and that he could take them there now. The group wanted to check on the resort and if their friends were ok, but Breanna needed medical attention. They pushed the boat off the beach and set out towards the mainland. The boat bumped and pushed aside bits of garbage and debris as they rounded the island to the side that was hit, the light of the boat shining on the dark water in front of them, the driver dodging what large pieces of debris he could see. As they rode along they could see the damage done to the other island resorts. Boats scurried between them trying to perform rescue efforts. A dot of light in the sky began to grow above them like a shooting star. It faintly lit up the night sky but began to illuminate the sea like the sun in broad daylight. The heat of the light grew and after a few seconds it had become so great and bright it blinded all around. The group was brought to their knees, covering their eyes with their arms while trying to keep their heads down. Jules lost her balance and fell from the boat. After a large splashing bang followed by a hissing sound, the night went dark again. They were still blinded and could not see anything, but could hear Jules calling for help in the water. After some time of laying blind in the boat, they regained some of their vision and were able to pull Jules from the water back into the boat. The group pulled themselves together amidst all that had happened, so startled and confused they could hardly think of what to do next, but the driver continued on to the mainland. Breanna was given an anti-venom and a hospital bed and was to make her recovery overnight. The others were sleeping on the ground or slouched halfway down chairs in the hospital room when Nico, Fred, and Mandy walked in and woke them up. A look of shock came across all of their faces, followed by sheer relief as the group embraced each other and shared tears as they were all finally back together. They would end their vacation and take the next flight home.


Standing on the turret of his tank, the “Shining Lance”, Sir Jerrod looked out across the dusty sun blasted plain. It was midsummer, and the land had not seen rain in nearly a month. Normally green fields were brown, the soil baked and cracked, the soft gusts of hot wind kicking up dust devils across the gently sloping valley. Looking along the line of waiting tanks, each decorated with unique heradly that had faded over the long campaign, Sir Jerrod saw the signal flags go up from the Lord-Commanders vehicle. “It’s time to advance, mount up!” “At your command Sir. Ready?” “Ready!” “Ok, spool her up!” Gunner Fio took hold of the crank handle at the rear of the tank and started to turn it. Driver Rik, hearing the sound from the driver's seat, began to feather the throttle, the engine coughing then roaring into life, dark smoke puffing out of the rear exhausts. Fio hopped up the back of the tank and went through the rear turret hatch to settle himself in the gunner's seat. Sir Jerrod got into the commander's position in the turret, standing for the time being exposed out the top of the hatch. He pulled on his earpiece, then his Sallet over the top. “This is Lead, test test test, you all receive?” “This is Driver, all received.” “Gunner, all received Sir.” “Ok, standby.” Sir Jerrod glanced with faded blue eyes across at the Command vehicle. This time he heard the command as well as saw the signal flag; “All units, this is Main, standby advance half speed; advance, advance.” “Driver, half forward towards the crest.” “Received.” The Shining Lance gently began to move forwards, it’s worn tracks digging into the hard dirt and kicking up dust as the tank slowly accelerated. Sir Jerrod looked out across the line, 33 tanks in total and 120 hand-gonners, all advancing in line. With all this dust, it would be hard to disguise their approach. The land before them gradually sloped down towards a shallow valley where a small drovers' path sided by low wooden fences ran across their route.Past the path the slope began to slope up again. At the end of the valley to their left, where the slope began to rise, was a small wood that ran up over the crest of the hill and beyond. From scouting the previous night, they knew that the Silano forces were arrayed on the plateau at the top of the slope, where they had set up a staging camp. Not the strong defensive position one would normally choose for such a thing, it was believed that they had chosen it for convenience, to speed their way inland towards the Eastern hinterlands where the frontlines were. Lord Commander Phelief had led his force on an exhausting flanking maneuver for the last three nights, a daring move aiming to get into the underbelly of the Silano forces and gut them, finishing this conflict before it really started. If successful, they would cut the main Silano force off from their reinforcements, but it was a risk; three days of travel had nearly emptied their tanks, the extra cans of fuel they had taken with them all empty. If this attack was not successful and they could not capture the enemy's fuel reserve, they would not have the fuel left over to return. Sir Jerrod knew that all strategy depended on the balance of risk and reward, but this particular situation made him nervous. But he could also feel this desperation fuel him, fuel all of them. They were like wolves, hungry, stalking their prey. “Loud wolves”, Sir Jerrod said quietly to himself, with a smirk. Tanks are not good for sneaking up on much. The Lord Commanders voice came on over the radio; “1st Company, veer left into the woods, 2nd and 3rd companies continue straight, then stop short of the ridgeline. Do not be seen”. “Driver, veer left”, Sir Jerrod instructed, “we’re heading into the trees”. “Received, Sir”. As the woods spilled out onto the plateau, they would be trying to use them to mask the movements of the 1st Company long enough for them to get into a flanking position. Based on the location of the camp, having 1st company in the treeline and 2nd and 3rd companies on the ridge, the enemy camp would be caught in the crossfire provided by the “L” shaped deployment. At least that was the plan. Most units didn’t like operating in wooded areas, but the tanks of the Dolmet Royal Army were better suited than most for such a task, designed for use in the narrow mountain passes and small meadows and villages of their homeland, the three man Galator model tanks had shorter gun barrels with good elevation and depression, making it easier to swing them around in confined environments, but it did come at the cost of power and range. As they drew into the woods, Sir Jarrod reached for the pintle mounted machine gun, and pulled back the charging lever. “Gunner, load HE rounds, don't stop visual scans”. “Loading HE.” Sir Jarrod felt the clunk and snap of the round being fed into the breach of the main gun. He wanted their first shot into the camp to cause as much confusion and panic as possible. If they could, they’d target an ammunition dump. Just not the fuel. The trees drew in around them, reflecting the sound of their engine back at them. It sounded deafening. He wondered what types of trees they were, they had lots of small teardrop shaped leaves on the branches that appeared a very light shade of grey. They all shook together in the slightest breeze, as if the tree was shivering. The Shining Lance was set to be on the very end of the line, the extreme left. It was custom that more experienced crew go to the far flanks, as they held a greater responsibility for not allowing the line to be flanked. One by one, as the 1st Company and it’s supporting infantry advanced through the woods, a tank would peel off right towards the treeline where it would lie in wait, a small squad of infantry going with each tank. This continued until the Shining Lance was the last tank to turn. Sir Jerrod noted just before their turn that they were about to go into a small open meadow in the woods. As they did, the brilliant sunlight of the open sky dazzled him, so bright compared to the dark closeness of the woods. It so dazzled him that for a second, he did not first see the Silano soldiers all around him, staring slack jawed at the tank that had apparently materialised in front of them. Then he did see them. “Shit”. One of the soldiers screamed “Alarm!” and picked up his weapon. Sir Jerrod swung the machine gun in their direction and loosed off a quick burst that cut the soldier down, the sharp snap of gunfire cutting through the relative silence of before like a knife. Suddenly there were some men sprinting away in all directions, others picking up their weapons and firing at the tank, rounds ricocheting off it’s steel flanks, Sir Jerrod furiously returning fire with the MG. “Gunner, fire at will!” The main gun spoke, the tank vibrating violently as the propellant charge detonated within the breach, propelling the 50mm shell out of the barrel at just over 800 meters a second. The shell hit the ground near a knot of men firing at them from across the meadow, detonating and throwing several of them back, the force of the shell and shrapnel tearing their flesh and fragmenting bones. That seemed to end the last attempt at resistance, the last of the soldiers disappearing into the trees. The whole action had lasted less than 20 seconds. “Driver, hard right and full speed towards the treeline, they know we’re here! Gunner, load AP. Main, this is 1/11, we have enemy contact in the trees, infantry only, repeat we have been engaged.” As they drove quickly out of the meadow and towards the treeline, he noticed buckets full of small berries left abandoned on the grass. A foraging party. Just their luck. The Shining Lance drew to the edge of the forest overlooking the plateau to find chaos. A camp of tents, trenches, foxholes and parked vehicles sat approximately 300 meters in front of them.Fires and black billowing smoke rose from various parts of the camp, and men ran back and forth, trying to set up defensive positions in the sparse earthworks they had set up. The first few enemy armoured vehicles had started up, chunky rounded things with hull mounted main guns, called Rondels. The tanks of 1st company and supporting infantry were already firing at the camp, and the Shining Lance joined in. A Rondel had targeted them, but fired it’s round a touch high, the shell screaming above them, ripping and tearing through the branches of the trees before disappearing to detonate far behind them. Sir Jerrod had hunkered back down into the turret, closing the hatch behind him. “Gunner, target at 105 degrees, approx 300 meters, aim for the gun port.” “Target in sight.” “Fire!” The tank rocked as the shell arced out. Gunner Fio’s aim had been true, and the AP round with it’s hardened tip had penetrated the enemy gunner’s viewport, detonating inside the vehicle with a hail of shrapnel to kill the crew. “Adjust right 15 degrees, second target at approx 320 meters, angled armour.” “Target acquired” “Fire!” The second shell fell low and hit the tracks of the other tank, breaking it. As the Rondel turned to acquire the Shining Lance as it’s target, the tracks slipped off and the vehicles exposed drive wheel and running wheels began to dig into the earth, stopping it from rotating. After a second, the crew began spilling out of their immobilized tank, just before another shell slammed into it’s other side, this one penetrating the armour and fuel tank, causing it to catch fire. Sir Jarrod could see that despite the initial damage they had caused, more of the Rondels were being crewed and turning their attention towards the treeline. A shell struck the Galator tank nearest to the Shining Lance which must have hit the ammunition, for the entire tank exploded instantly. The infantry who had been firing from near it were cut to ribbons by scything pieces of metal coming from the destroyed tank. “Gods.” Sir Jerrod could see the Rondel that had fired that shell turning to take them next. “Gunner, on him!” “Standby” “Driver, ready to advance.” “Ready!” “Sir I have him! “Fire!” The shell struck the Rondel near the gun mantlet, wedging for a millisecond in the joint before detonating, bending the barrel. Fio whooped at such a lucky shot. At that moment, 2nd and 3rd companies emerged from the ridgeline and opened fire, tearing into the exposed flank of the Rondel tanks facing the treeline. “Driver full ahead, now!” \- I wrote this all in one go at 4 in the morning after I had 1 too many coffee's.


The Johansson shipbreaking yards in orbit of and on the surface of Mars' smaller moon, Deimos, was a near constant flurry of activity at all times. Johansson shipbreaking was not the only facility of its type, but it was certainly the largest. The entire surface of the moon was a massive graveyard for space faring vessels of all kinds. Every ship from RMC freight haulers to UN Destroyers to CMF mobile foundries all found themselves at Deimos at the end of their life. Their first stop was in orbit, where UN observers watched as any weapon systems and the ship's interstellar drive, if installed, was carefully removed. These systems were then packed and loaded onto UN military vessels for transportation to military shipyards. Once the ship was decommissioned it became the property of the Johansson shipbreaking company and was scheduled for deconstruction. The first group of shipbreakers aboard were always bulk fluid specialists, or waterboys, as they were commonly known, their dark blue EP suits were easy to spot against the surface. Once they arrived in orbit they drained and purged all ship systems of any liquids, from the potable water in the mess halls, to the nitrogen in the fire suppression systems, to the hydrogen isotopes in the reactor. Once extracted all the fluids are shipped back down to Deimos, where it is stored and eventually resold. Times needed to hit on time bonuses for the waterboys ranged anywhere from one standard day to four standard weeks, depending on the ship's class and tonnage. Up next were general shipbreakers, who were not granted a nickname until they became a specialist. They wore standard issue fluorescent orange EP suits. They simply and quickly cut the reactor out of the ship's hull using plasma cutters and tethers. There were no on time bonuses for this task as it could be completed by a crew of four in less than six standard hours. It was generally considered a shit job that nobody wanted to do. Once removed the reactor was classified and resold to shipyards. The third group of shipbreakers were the electrical systems specialists, clad in yellow EP suits and known as narrowbacks. This group would squeeze into the space inbetween the ships hulls and under a ships grated floors and remove as much of the electrical wiring and batteries they could find in four standard weeks. This group’s bonus was not based on time, but rather by how much electrical cabling they could remove during a four week period. Each meter removed would give the group $1. The group of four could usually pull out $1000 worth of cable if they were good and working on a large enough ship. Smaller ships only had a few hundred meters of cabling, but the larger ships would have upwards of several kilometers of cable. The current record is held by Electrical Systems Specialist Shipbreaker Crew 17, who in early 2282 managed to pull $4721 worth of cable out of the UNS Mavis Grind, humanity's first ever highliner. Their picture still hangs on the wall in the crew cafeteria. After the narrowbacks finish the ship is handed off to the computer systems specialists, who walk around Deimos wearing purple EP suits, feeling better than everyone else. Nobody knows if you have to be an asshole to become a slycer, or if becoming a slycer makes you an asshole, but there is fierce debate any time a purple EP suit walks into the crew cafeteria. The team of four remove all of the ship's computer hardware, and AI systems. Their on time bonus is based on the ship's class, but is generally never more than a week long. The computers, circuit cards, AI cores and computer chips are all cataloged and sorted on the surface by general shipbreakers, who return any proprietary software and AI back to their company of manufacture as required by law. UN fines are no joke. 17 years ago Grey Star Shipbreaking in the Proxima Centauri system was fined 90% of their yearly profits for not returning a proprietary AI system. Everything not proprietary is reduced to component parts and sold back to manufacturers as raw materials, unless special orders are placed with the companies for specific parts. An unknown buyer from Yost had recently placed an order for an exceedingly rare and old AS400 micrologic controller and was willing to pay up to $37,500 for it. Computer Systems Specialist Shipbreaker Crew 199 found one aboard the TNC Clear Waters, and were paid a bonus of $1000. The next group into orbit are the engine systems specialists, wearing red and calling themselves ASE’s. Why and when they started doing this has been lost to years of telling and retelling of drunken stories. Nobody knows what it stands for anymore. The group of four carefully cut and remove the ship's engine or engines, depending on the ship's class. Once fully removed it is loaded onto a transportation ship and shuttled back to the surface, where it is classified, cataloged and put up for sale by the company. If a group of ASE’s can remove a ship's engine in one week they’ll get their on time bonus. Almost none of them do. Once everything valuable has been removed from the ship it will be tethered to the moon and then crashed into the surface, where ground crews of general shipbreakers will spend their days cutting apart what remains. For every 100kg of ship that is pulled out of the graveyard and brought to the recycling facility on the surface of Deimos a shipbreaker is paid $3.50. Once brought back to the recycling facility the final speciality class of shipbreakers, process men, will go to work. Clad in verdant green they analyze the material composition of the ship pieces, further separate metals and then smelt them down into liquid. If a process man can produce 100kg of a single liquid metal in ten standard hours they will have hit their bonus requirement. The liquid metals are then loaded into specialized containers which keep their liquid state and are sold to shipyards as is. 1kg of liquid aluminum was currently trading for $4.75. 1kg of liquid titanium could easily net the company $19.50 in profit. In total, after all expenses are accounted for, each ship brought into the Johanssen shipbreaking yards obtained for the company anywhere from $400,000- $82,000,000. Depending greatly on the prices of the metals pulled out of the graveyard and how many of the shipbreaking crews hit their bonuses. It wasn’t easy work, but the shipbreakers union had some of the highest paid workers across the entire system.


I feel like I am a pretty good witch. And I don’t mean that in the moral sense or anything. I am confident there are folks who would call me pure evil and others who would say I am sent from heaven. Perspectives being what they are and such. And I don’t mean that in a superlative way either. I am not one of those conceited sorcerers who gives myself an arbitrary descriptor and I am not in the public eye enough to have earned one…. yet. I simply mean that I am a fairly capable witch. Sufficiently skillful. Absolutely adept. Practically perfect, even. Or at least, I thought I was until this most recent premonition. It makes absolutely no sense to me, which is not to say that it makes no sense at all, perspectives again. And that is where you come in. You see, a lot of folks have always thought that familiars were just a witch’s way of not being human for a bit. But unfortunately for you, and honestly also for me, that isn’t the case. I can’t just turn into an animal. I have to have an animal to turn into. Oh, don’t do that cute chirping meow at me. I know you can understand me. Which is honestly one of the reasons why I picked you in the first place. I am not taking over your body so much as merging your consciousness with my own. You won’t get to be in charge anymore but you will get to experience life as a human a bit, from the backseat of my brain, at least. And for the first few transformations, I will be relying on you to essentially teach me how to be a cat. *Because a cat’s the only cat….* Sorry, where was I? Yes, the transformation. *TransFURmation.* There is a reason most of us pick your kind. I knew of a wizard who once picked a dog as his familiar. Not a wolf or a respectable working breed, but a little toy mutt he had found. He grew to love the teeny guy and thought he shared a certain connection with him. Didn’t end well. Turns out, most mutts’ inner monologue is just incessant barking. Poor wizard went mad within days. Bats are a popular one too. But that is simply because they communicate at high frequencies even in their own head, or so the theories go. They are an essentially silent partner in the whole gig. Except those giant bats like the flying foxes - very chatty guys. However, those also make a decent choice because they have adorable Aussie accidents and generally don’t give a flying fox about anything, or so I’ve been told. But felines have always been a standard favorite. “Why,” you might ask? Well, it’s simple, albeit odd. You are Death’s favorite animal for whatever reason. I don’t know if its your attitudes, your cute faces, or what, but he just really loves you guys. So much so, that he enjoys saying hi often enough to give you nine lives. I am fairly certain you haven’t used any up and this will only cost you one. And in costing you that one life, Death will come to explain it all to you. And when he does, and this is very important, you must ask him a simple question. You see, I am completely at a loss as to what this premonition means, but the visions are coming more and more frequently and end with the complete destruction of our world. You can see how that is a big deal, given that I rather enjoy living and I enjoy living on this particular planet. There is a rumor that Yermik the Beautiful (and before you ask, yes she did give that name to herself and yes, she was hideously ugly) wrote an exhaustive list of premonitions aspects and their respective meanings. I need you to ask Death where Yermik’s Tome is currently. Since he is taking one of your lives, I won’t be there to speak to him directly, so I will be relying on you. Keep in mind that you have nine lives, less if you decide to piss off Death, and mine are not tied to yours. So, while I hate to start our relationship off on threats, it is imperative that you understand I can break this link and redo it. Each time costing you a life, each time requiring you to ask the question. I would much rather our relationship be built on trust, and the fact that I am more than willing to eat tuna for a week if you do me this small kindness.


Wind swept across the bow of the boats and rocked them in the water as Laáfchan and the other fishermen pulled the nets over the edge. Fish flopped, desperate for air, against the boards of the floor. The bay provided them again, day after day by the will of Aachkíinooláak, ever looking over his people. The sun sat in midfall, his sisters visible against the darker half of the sky, watching for their time to take dominion over the land. He reached over the edge of the boat and pulled the last bit of net in. Water sunk into his shoes, wetting his feet. The sky rumbled above them as if often did this time of day, the storms had made their pilgrimage across the peninsula to collect their lightning in the bay of thunder. The air above the crackled with light. The men paddled toward the coast, the sky grew darker and darker. Laáfchan preferred the storm. His wife and he had been arguing near-constantly since the last twin moon about… everything. Just when he thought that things were getting better, she would use her tongue like a dagger to dig into his wounds. Peering into the sky, he knew he was no better. Each time she came to him silently, her attempt to move on, he could not help himself to make her miserable the way that he had felt. After he, or she, attacked the cycle continued, like the storms that blew over the peninsula. Things could go from calm to instantly raging, with a single sentence. Laáfchan and the crew stepped out of the boat and pulled it onto the shore Their feet dug into the sand and shallow waves licked up from the ocean and lapped at their heels. Once the boats were in place, they wrapped the jigging ropes around the posts on the beach. “Hey, Laáfchan, I heard you and Janlaaaiik this morning as you were leaving.” Worry washed over Laáfchan as he turned to look at his friend. Many unsavory things flew from their mouths this morning as the two of them argued. “Is everything okay”, his friend asked. “Uhm yes, I suppose”, Laáfchan brushed the sand from his knees. No matter how hard he patted his knees, the brown sand clung to his shorts. He lied. It was easier to lie about his feelings than dive into them with others. *I should be able to do that with my wife. Why can’t I? Opening up feels so hard, especially with someone I should…* “Yes, everything is fine.” He continued to lie. “Well, if you need anything, let me know”, the implication that he would need anything cut deeper than it should. Feelings festered underneath from earlier in the morning. The maggots of anger nibbled and ate at the healing wound from that morning and the scars of other arguments. He failed to recall who started which, why they started, or when. All the arguments piled on top of one another, and each of them felt as if she started them. Underneath that feeling; however, he knew that they were at least fifty-fifty and at worst mostly his fault. That realization only caused him to fume more, knowing that he was likely the problem. After the boats were placed upon the shore, he walked home. He parted ways with the crew of his boat and the lightning crackled in the sky as the wind picked up. The pine trees and palms blew in the distance, howling amongst the wind. He walked up to the stairway of his chickee and the steps up the stilted wooden home. The canvas on either side pulled down in preparation for the storm, bowed out slightly in the wind. The tanned animal hides, painted with depictions of the Gator, the number of swordfish he had caught personally, and the imagery of his family. The wood of the chickee, newly built just before their wedding, gave no sway. Other chickee sat on along the beach and further inland to the wood. Many other fishermen walked into their homes as well. Most of the other men’s homes’ canvas remained raised in the tropic sun. Each step of his foot, his heart throbbed, and memories of each of the arguments of the morning and the day before boiled to the surface. Swinging the canvas back and stomping into the chickee. He huffed and dropped won onto the bed. Before she could even ask him about his day, the festering anger fumed out, “This is the tenth time since the twin moons that I have come back from fishing the Bíifááishaachalíichóloólíida and there are not smoked fish resting above the fire outside.” He huffed, pulling salt brined shoes from his feet. The fire crackled outside the northside of their stilted chickee. The smoke billowed to the sky, the seen through the flaps in the canvas covering of their home. The woman standing mere feet away put her hand on the hip opposite of a small child, “I had traded the fish from yesterday for some clothes for Fachií.” She bounced the child on her hip lightly to stifle a crying fit that threatened to erupt. “Perhaps if you went with the hunting parties, we could have a claim to some skins without having to trade for them.” The wound opened up from the morning more and instead of changing the tone or walking away, he felt the need to lash out. A copperhead in his mouth coiled up and dripped venom from its fangs. “Perhaps if you mended the fields further inland”, he snapped back. She stamped her foot. This fight happened more often than she’d liked. It ended the same way every time – in yelling and eventual begrudging reconciliation. “I’m going to Chóldachalíioónok and hear his view on this.” She paused at the door and glanced back at him, “You can either come or wait to hear when I come back.” “Gators eat me if I’m going let you go without me and not tell my story also.” He yanked his shoes back onto his feet and stormed after her. He breathed out, wanting her to hear him, “Maybe he’ll dissolve this union.” A tear dropped down her cheek, “Yes, perhaps he will.” Others of the village watched on, some trained eyes on them all the way through the walkways. Laáfchan shouted back, “You would like that wouldn’t you!” “Chóldachalíikáaoónok!”, she snapped back the tanned skin around the large chickee near the center of the village. In the large center room, a man with short, dark brown hair stood with others looking over maps of Chiíkoak and the river systems from the western bay across the peninsula. He pointed at a point on the eastern coast. Opening his mouth to speak, everyone turned to face her, interrupting the flow. Her face reddened as she turned to leave the chickee. Chóldachalíikáaoónok stepped out of the chickee, pulling the canvas back. The other men and women in there walked down the steps. A smile came over his face, “I could hear you at least half of the way here. Were that I could marry the Vesgarians to some other peoples may that they would fight themselves in circles.” He paused when no one laughed, “So this is serious then? Come inside.” Laáfchan followed the chief into the chickee. If the chief married the Vesgarians off to another culture, and they behaved as he has behaved in marriage, the married nations would in-fight and war within months. The three of them came into the same table with the map on it. “Chóldachalíioónok, my wife has not performed her duties to home and family.” The accusation cut through the short silence and Chóldachalíioónok’s eyes dimmed for a moment. “Many long days have I traveled into the bay, fished, and returned to find no cooked food, nothing gathered, dwindling firewood.” He lied about the problem. Laáfchan knew Janlaaaiik tried her best and supported him in the worst of times; however, the aggressions against one another over little things piled up. The desire to get even, often, outweighed the desire to make things right. The shame of this piled on to his anger and resentment and continuing to attack felt easier and easier. “I have other things I have to do. The child cannot go completely unclothed in the sun. I cannot gather firewood when he has not cut any.” She continued for a moment. Laáfchan scoffed at her. The reasons she listed, he obviously felt were unimportant or at the very least invalid. He breathed out, “Perhaps it is time to dissolve our marriage”, and Chóldachalíioónok listened. He lifted his hand. Standing up he moved out of the room. “I will return shortly.” He left the chickee. The Janlaaaiik and Laáfchan sat across the table from one another. The only sound in the room was their child. The goos and the gah’s of the toddler only brightened faces for moments before making eye contact with one another and becoming re-engulfed in the argument. Several more minutes passed and Chóldachalíioónok returned. He brought with an orange in his hand. He placed one orange, injured and rife with flies, on the table. He feinted a smile toward the husband and wife. Laáfchan huffed. “This is not a time for children’s tales of love.” “Shush, let Chóldachalíioónok speak!” Chóldachalíioónok eyed the orange, shooing flies away before turning to the two partners. “That’s exactly what it’s time for. Though I will not tell the story verbatim. Instead, I will come to you with a tale of warning of what happens when you attack the flesh, the union.” He pointed at the orange as flies circled it. "First, I’ll remind you of the tale”, he leaned forward in his chair over the table. “Aachkíinooláak saw that there were two, husband and wife, that had separated. The two wandered off to separate sides of what we now know as Deer Lake. He, in unison, went to both husband and wife with the first oranges in his creation.” “He came to them in human form, with an orange in hand, he said to them, ‘See the orange, I have made it for you. Rubbing his thumb over the exterior he said, ‘See the flesh. It is as bright as the sun. Granting you bright days eternal’. The two glanced at one another but seemed overall uninterested in the story. “We’ve heard the…”, Laáfchan attempted to interrupt. “He broke the flesh with his fingers. ‘See, the flesh is tough but flexible. It is strong and resilient. It is not rigid and impossible to work with’. He peeled away the flesh entirely and revealed the fruit beneath. After all of the skin was removed, he handed a piece to them. ‘See the fruit. The skin, the flesh, protects the fruit. That flesh is your union. The fruit is yourself, your vulnerabilities, your fears, your insecurities, individually but bound together.” Chóldachalíioónok reached back and grabbed two ripened pieces of oranges. He placed the fruit in front of the Laáfchan and Janlaaaiik. “He said, ‘Taste it. It is sweet like the love between you two. Take this and remember your love. Nothing is as strong as the love you grow and share. Toughen the skin of your union through change. Make it flexible through communication. Ripen yourselves within and grow soft with one another.’” The two of them ate the piece of orange that was offered to them. The ripeness of the fruit made it sweet with the citrus kick. “We have heard this story before. I understand why you’re telling it, but don’t understand how it applies here. We want to dissolve our union.” “Do you?” “We said that didn’t we?” “You want to dissolve your union over lack of smoked fish? And you yours over him not hunting instead of fishing?” Chóldachalíioónok chuckled. “Do you think that others have not had these fights before? Or that this is reason to separate and part ways?” Pointing to the fruit with a hole in the middle. “This orange fell from its tree, but the illustration is still good. You attacked your union here before me. You did it in the path here. I heard it at least once, but don’t know how many times you’ve done it. The union you have is the flesh of the orange.” The flesh of the damaged orange was mostly intact; however, the flies dug into the fruit inside through the hole and spoiled it from the inside. “You can see that the flesh, mostly, is whole. It was damaged, while not from within, from a point. Allowing all manner of bugs, dirt, and filth inside. This is the same as what happens if you attack your union too often. You tear a hole, even a small one, and let in that which can damage you from the inside.” Chóldachalíioónok sighed. “Once the damage to the flesh is done one can tell themselves, ‘It’s just one kiss from someone else’. One can tell themselves, ‘It’s not a problem to complain to another woman, or man, about my partner\`. As soon as the first fly enters in, it lays eggs and eats the love, deteriorating it from the inside. The feeling in the room changed. The married couple stared at the flies swarming around the orange. The inside blackened with flies and rot. The two of them glanced at one another. “I…”, Laáfchan spoke up. “No, not here”, Chóldachalíioónok interrupted him. He waved his hand, “Go home. Speak privately. Nurture your flesh to protect your love and fears. Toughen yourselves, fortify your union.” He shooed them out of the chickee and followed them out. The child, struggled against its mother’s arms, close to throwing a tantrum in hunger. “Thank you, Chóldachalíioónok”, Laáfchan turned around to him. “I have seen what happens when the skin is wounded. I would like to see it as seldom as I can”, he closed the flap of the tanned skin wall on the chickee. Laáfchan turned away and walked slightly behind his Janlaaaiik. This time, the two of them walked in silence as the bay turned a deep orange and the moons hung in the sky. Chóldachalíioónok’s wife left several days ago. How long ago, precisely, Laáfchan failed to remember. Since then, the chief looked out for others more often and attempted to be more cheery. His wife, presumably, traveled south to another tribe in the confederacy where her family left. He did not know and asking felt wrong. He left his prying thoughts as thoughts and continued down the path after Janlaaaiik. The two of them returned home. Silence washed over their home for the first time in weeks. No yelling or crying emanated from the walls. Laáfchan prepared his tools for the next day. He placed his boots against the post near the door flap. His hands worked the alt off of his shoes with his hands as best he could. Placing his shirt by the window he opens the flap so that wind could hit it. She fed the child, laid it down, and then the two of them sat on their bed together. They faced one another but said nothing for several minutes. The silence worried him, as it had never been a good sign before. The last time the two of them had been silent, they ignored one another for two days before the first words erupted into a fight. Janlaaaiik reached out and touched her Laáfchan’s hand. She peered into his eyes. “I am afraid. I am afraid that you do not want me anymore. That I do not do enough for you. I need to know that you love me and that we can work on this together.” A tear streamed down her face. She moved her hand to wipe it, but Laáfchan did instead. He wished that he had spoken first. Her grace showed itself again and he had to reflect for a second. Every time the two of them had an argument, she was the first to try and find common ground or resolution. He took a breath. He realized that her words were not an attack on him. That she used her words sincerely instead of passive-aggressively. Shook his head. “I do love you. I do not feel that you’re not enough for me. I feel afraid that I am not enough for you. However long the day, I feel like I cannot provide enough. It makes me feel weak and unable to support you”, a small tear welled in his eye, he held back the rest as best he could. “I believe we can work on this.” He bared his insecurities to her. Communication, as the chief said, is the only way to strengthen the marriage. He felt like all of his nerves were bare and his skin rolled back, ready for the slightest pinprick to ignite his body and mind. Her lips curled into a soft smile. “Perhaps the first solution is that we stop talking in ‘I’s and ‘you’ s. “ He nodded to her first suggestion. “Sometimes it feels like we attack one another than working together. We should speak in ‘we’ s.” Her eyes peered into his as he mulled over her statement. “I agree”, he stated. She opened her mouth, but he continued, “We agree. We should not talk in opposition to one another.” She smiled at him. “I also think that I should spend more time out. I can fish in the mornings and hunt in the evenings, rest in the midday when the sun is hottest.” “Yes, that is a fantastic idea!” He looked down into her lap. “I should see if my mother or yours can watch over the baby while I go tend to the fields with the other women.” She paused, “I just wanted more time with him before I went back to work.” Laáfchan shook his head, “No, I was wrong for being so hard on you. You need to take your time with the child as you can. I was in the wrong before.” He patted her hand with his free hand, rubbing his thumb against hers. “You were right though. The child can walk. There is no reason for me to stay home with him when others can watch him. I need to carry my weight not only for us but for our child”, she retorted. He nodded, “Okay. If that is how you feel, we will honor it together.” The two of them embraced one another as the sun fell below the coast. The sister moons bore half faces above the shimmering water. The wind blew through the canvas flaps, bringing the scent of salt off the bay. Hours later and the sun rose through the trees to the west. A beam of light shone through the window cut into the chickee wall. Falling on the couple, illuminating them in a new day, Janlaaaiik rested with her head upon Laáfchan’s chest. Calm remained until he stirred. He dressed, pulling his boots over his feet and out the door to the bay. The two of them pulled the canvas up, rolling it with their hands at either side. Their chickee now looked like many others along the path. Open so that the wind from the beach may cool their days and nights. Their home stood open, more open, for everyone to hear. Janlaaaiik, true to her words, followed behind dressed for the gathering.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Media Prompt: ** ***Bonus Constraint (worth extra pts.): Use of an **: A reference, typically brief, to a person, place, thing, event, or other literary work with which the reader is presumably familiar (e.g. I wish I could just click my heels. - a passing reference to Wizard of Oz) See the link for additional explanation and examples. If the allusion isn't obvious, be sure to include a note at the end of the story so you don’t miss points.* This week’s challenge is to use **the above song as inspiration** for your story. You can use the song itself, the name, the images in the video, or . The bonus constraint is not required. You may interpret the media prompt any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you **follow all sub and post rules**.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied I have made some significant changes in the ranking system. We’ll see how this works over the next few weeks and make adjustments where necessary. Here is a current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/DmonRth   - - Submitted by u/ktril89   - - Submitted by u/gurgilewis   *** ###Subreddit News - Our sister sub, r/WritingPrompts, now has a ! - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.