One year had passed since Satan emerged from the ancient underground chamber beneath Lumbini, Nepal. Although the fortified city had survived the initial catastrophe, darkness continued spreading across the country.

Villages disappeared beneath black clouds, rivers turned dark, and ancient temples lay shattered. Demons wandered through abandoned cities, searching for human souls to claim.

The resistance had lost thousands of soldiers. Vishwa Rakshak, now forty-six, commanded the remaining forces alongside Mira and Garuda from their headquarters in Lumbini. Despite their losses, they refused to surrender.

One evening, scouts reported that thousands of possessed people were approaching the eastern gates. Unlike previous attacks, however, the approaching crowd appeared terrified. They kept looking toward the sky, while the demons accompanying them seemed reluctant to advance.

Vishwa studied the reports.

“Something has changed,” he said.

Garuda folded his wings. “The demons are afraid of something. I can sense it.”

Mira looked toward the horizon. “Then we need to discover what it is before they attack again.”

Far beneath the earth, Satan watched the approaching army through a pool of black water.

Beside him stood Acharya Devendra, the leader of the spiritualists who had secretly worshipped Satan and helped spread his influence across Nepal.

“The resistance still survives,” Devendra said. “Vishwa continues to inspire them.”

Satan’s eyes burned red.

“Then destroy their hope. Bring me their leaders, their warriors, and their gods. I will make them watch everything they love collapse.”

Behind Satan stood Narada, the celestial sage who had abandoned his former principles and joined the campaign against humanity.

He had convinced himself that destroying humanity would somehow bring Brahma back to him. Yet, as he watched the suffering unfold, doubts began consuming him.

“Are we truly accomplishing anything?” Narada asked.

Satan turned toward him.

“You wanted your father to return. You wanted creation to understand your pain. Why hesitate now?”

Narada remained silent, but Satan’s answer offered no comfort.

He had once travelled between worlds, carrying messages and encouraging harmony. Now, his actions had helped unleash suffering on the very beings he had once guided.

For the first time, he wondered whether his desire for recognition had blinded him to the consequences of his choices.

Meanwhile, in the ruins of Kathmandu, Raktavira, commander of the Crimson Host, surveyed a street filled with possessed civilians.

He had once believed that humanity deserved punishment for its cruelty and corruption. Under Satan’s influence, he had led countless demons into battle against human settlements.

But something changed when he noticed a young woman struggling against the demon possessing her.

“Please,” she whispered through tears. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The demon seized control again, forcing her to attack the surrounding survivors.

Raktavira raised his weapon, ready to strike. Then he hesitated.

He remembered the man he had once been before hatred consumed him. He remembered the innocent lives destroyed during his campaigns.

Lowering his weapon, he seized the demon and dragged it away from the woman. With a burst of crimson energy, he separated the creature from its host.

The woman collapsed, gasping for breath.

“Why did you save me?” she asked.

Raktavira stared at his hands.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Perhaps I have finally begun to remember what I once was.”

For the first time in years, he questioned whether his war against humanity had ever been justified.

In the celestial realm, Narada wandered through the abandoned halls of Brahma’s palace.

He remembered the day he had believed his father had abandoned him. His grief had gradually become resentment, and resentment had become hatred.

Satan had exploited that pain, promising that the destruction of creation would force Brahma to return.

Yet Narada could no longer ignore the suffering caused by his actions.

He had seen demons torment children, destroy temples, and possess innocent people. He had watched his fellow Devas participate in a war that contradicted everything they claimed to protect.

“I wanted Father to notice me,” Narada whispered. “But how many innocent lives have suffered because of my selfishness?”

A voice answered from behind him.

“Enough that you must now decide what you will do about it.”

Narada turned. Standing before him was Brahma.

For several moments, Narada could not speak. His eyes widened, and his hands trembled.

“Father?”

Brahma approached him slowly.

Narada fell to his knees.

“I am sorry. I was angry, and Satan used that anger against me. I betrayed creation, encouraged destruction, and turned against humanity. I thought destroying everything would make you return.”

His voice broke.

“I wanted you to acknowledge me. Instead, I became someone I can barely recognize.”

Brahma looked at his son with sorrow.

“Your pain was real, Narada. But pain does not excuse the suffering you caused. You chose to turn your grief into hatred, and others paid the price.”

Narada lowered his head.

“Can you forgive me?”

“Forgiveness cannot erase what happened,” Brahma replied. “Nor can it replace justice. Redemption begins when you stop seeking approval and start helping those you harmed.”

Narada looked up at him.

“Then I will return to Earth. I will fight Satan, even if humanity never forgives me.”

Brahma placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Do what is right because life deserves protection, not because you expect a reward.”

Narada rose slowly. For the first time since his fall, he understood that redemption would require more than regret.

He would have to act.

At Lumbini, Vishwa received an unexpected visitor.

Narada stood outside the resistance headquarters, carrying no weapon. Garuda immediately stepped forward, his wings spreading in anger.

“You dare come here after everything you have done?”

Narada lowered his head.

“I do not expect your forgiveness. I have come to offer my help against Satan.”

Garuda’s eyes burned.

“Your help? You helped unleash this nightmare!”

“I know,” Narada replied. “I cannot undo what happened, but I can help stop it.”

Vishwa approached them.

“Why should we trust you?”

“You shouldn’t trust me simply because I ask you to,” Narada answered. “Judge me by what I do from this moment onward.”

Mira watched him carefully.

“If you’re lying, people will die.”

“I understand.”

Vishwa remained silent for several seconds before making his decision.

“You may join us, but you will answer our questions, share everything you know about Satan’s plans, and follow our command during the battle.”

Narada bowed his head.

“Agreed.”

Garuda reluctantly stepped aside, although his anger remained.

“This is not forgiveness,” he warned.

“I know,” Narada replied. “I have no right to demand it.”

Vishwa turned toward the resistance officers.

“Prepare the intelligence room. We have a war to win.”

Narada followed them inside, knowing that his actions would determine whether his return meant anything.

Later that evening, Arjun arrived with Kiran and two former members of the wizarding group that had worshipped Narada and the other Devas.

They had once supported Narada’s campaign and helped Devendra’s spiritualists spread Satan’s influence. Now, with the alliance forming, they wanted to confess their involvement.

Arjun stood before Vishwa and Mira, visibly shaken.

“We need to tell you the truth,” he said. “We helped betray the resistance.”

Vishwa’s expression hardened.

“Explain.”

Arjun swallowed.

“I was jealous of you and Mira. Everyone looked up to you, while I felt invisible. When Narada and the others offered us power, I convinced myself we were doing something important.”

He looked down.

“I helped expose resistance positions and supplied information that allowed Satan’s forces to attack several settlements. People died because of us.”

Mira looked at him in disbelief.

“You knew what could happen?”

“I knew there were risks,” Arjun admitted. “I refused to think about the consequences because I wanted to prove that I mattered.”

Kiran stepped forward.

“We were wrong, too. We worshipped the Devas without questioning what they were doing. We believed their power made them righteous.”

One of the former wizards placed a collection of maps and documents on the table.

“These identify several ritual sites maintained by Devendra. His followers are using them to open gateways between the underworld and Earth.”

Vishwa examined the documents.

“If these sites remain active, Satan can continue bringing demons into our world.”

Arjun nodded.

“We can guide your soldiers to them.”

Garuda looked at the group with open distrust.

“And why should we believe you won’t betray us again?”

“You shouldn’t,” Arjun answered. “Not yet. Give us a chance to prove ourselves.”

Vishwa considered their offer.

“You will work under supervision. You’ll share every piece of information you possess, and you will help dismantle the ritual sites. Your past actions will still have consequences.”

“We understand,” Kiran replied.

After the others departed, Narada approached Arjun.

“You allowed your jealousy to control you,” he said.

Arjun looked away.

“I thought being powerful would make me feel important.”

“Power cannot repair a wounded sense of self-worth,” Narada replied. “I made the same mistake. I allowed my pain to convince me that everyone else deserved to suffer.”

Arjun looked at him.

“Do you think we can ever make things right?”

“You cannot change the past,” Narada answered. “But you can decide what kind of people you become now.”

The following morning, Ishani appeared at the resistance headquarters.

Vishwa immediately recognized her.

She was responsible for his mother’s death and had once attempted to sacrifice him during Satan’s earlier campaign. Her actions had left wounds that time had not healed.

Mira stepped between them, prepared for an attack.

“What are you doing here?” Vishwa demanded.

Ishani lowered her eyes.

“I want to help fight Satan.”

Vishwa’s expression became cold.

“You killed my mother. You tried to sacrifice me. Why should I believe anything you say?”

“You shouldn’t,” Ishani replied. “I have committed terrible acts, and I cannot undo them by asking for another chance.”

“Then why come here?”

“Because I finally understand that regret means nothing if I continue allowing innocent people to suffer.”

Vishwa stared at her.

“You expect me to forgive you?”

“No. I don’t deserve to demand that from you. I only ask for the opportunity to help save the people I once helped endanger.”

Mira remained suspicious.

“She could be working for Satan.”

Ishani shook her head.

“I know the locations of several ritual sites. I can help you destroy them, and I know how the spiritualists have been manipulating the possessed.”

Vishwa looked toward the maps Arjun had provided.

“Your knowledge could be useful. But you will be monitored, and you will answer for your crimes when this war is over.”

“I accept that.”

Vishwa stepped closer.

“I will not forgive you simply because you decide to do something good. My mother is still dead, and nothing can change that.”

“I know,” Ishani whispered.

“But if you’re genuinely willing to protect others, then prove it.”

Ishani nodded.

“I will.”

Vishwa turned away, still struggling with the anger and grief she had brought back to the surface.

He had allowed her to help, but he was not ready to forgive her. 

That evening, the alarm bells rang across Lumbini. Thousands of demons advanced toward the fortified city, accompanied by possessed civilians and Satan’s elite warriors.

Vishwa climbed onto the defensive wall.

“Evacuate the children and elderly to the inner shelters! Archers, prepare yourselves! Nobody opens the gates without my order!”

Mira organized the evacuation while Garuda flew above the city, searching for weaknesses in the enemy formation.

The first wave struck the eastern wall.

Demons climbed over one another, clawing at the stone while the resistance fired arrows and launched explosive charges. The defenders fought desperately, but the sheer number of enemies threatened to overwhelm them.

Then the possessed civilians reached the gates.

Some begged to be saved. Others attacked the soldiers, their bodies controlled by demons.

“Hold your fire!” Vishwa shouted. “They’re victims, too!”

A soldier stared at the advancing crowd.

“Commander, they’ll kill us!”

“Then we find another way!”

Ishani and the former wizards hurried to the defensive platform, carrying scrolls and ritual instruments.

“The demons are bound to their hosts through spiritual corruption,” Ishani explained. “If we use the separation prayer, we may be able to free some of them.”

Vishwa nodded.

“Do it.”

The former wizards began chanting an ancient prayer, their voices carrying across the battlefield. Golden symbols appeared above the possessed civilians.

One by one, dark figures emerged from their bodies.

Garuda swooped down, striking the exposed demons with radiant energy while the freed civilians were carried to safety but the fighting continued. A section of the eastern gate collapsed, allowing hundreds of demons into the city.

Vishwa rushed toward the breach, swinging his weapon as Mira and the soldiers fought beside him.

An elderly man lay wounded near the entrance to a shelter. Vishwa knelt beside him while arrows and fire filled the air.

“Please,” the man whispered. “Don’t let them take my granddaughter.”

Vishwa looked toward a young girl being carried away by a soldier.

“She is safe,” he promised.

The man managed a faint smile before closing his eyes.

Vishwa bowed his head for a moment, then rose and returned to battle. He could not save everyone but he would not stop trying.

As the defenders began to lose ground, the sky suddenly filled with brilliant light.

Hundreds of Devas descended from the heavens, their weapons glowing with celestial energy. At their head stood Narada, who had returned to confront the destruction he had helped create.

Beside them marched Raktavira and the Crimson Host.

Garuda landed on the wall, stunned by the sight.

“Narada?”

Narada looked at him.

“I have come to fight for the lives I once endangered.”

Garuda’s expression remained stern.

“Your arrival does not erase your betrayal.”

“I know. Let my actions speak.”

Raktavira raised his weapon.

“Crimson Host, protect the civilians! Today, we fight to defend life rather than destroy it!”

The Devas and the resistance launched a coordinated counterattack.

Celestial warriors struck the demons from above while human soldiers secured the streets. Garuda and Narada fought side by side, their powers combining to drive the enemy back.

For a moment, the resistance began to regain control.

But Satan had anticipated their alliance.

Deep beneath the battlefield, Devendra completed another stage of his ritual. A massive black gateway opened above a ruined temple, releasing a torrent of dark energy.

Satan’s laughter echoed across the city.

“Do you truly believe your little alliance can stop me?”

Vishwa looked toward the gateway.

“If that ritual remains active, the demons will never stop coming.”

He turned toward Arjun and Kiran.

“You know where the gateway is being maintained. Take a team and destroy it.”

Arjun nodded.

“We won’t fail you.”

Arjun, Kiran, Ishani’s former allies, and a small team of resistance fighters raced through the ruined streets toward the temple.

Demons guarded the entrance, but the group managed to force their way inside.

At the center of the chamber stood a black crystal surrounded by glowing symbols. Devendra stood before it, chanting in an ancient language.

“You fools!” he shouted when he saw them. “Satan will reward those who remain faithful!”

Arjun raised his weapon.

“He has already shown us what your faith costs.”

Devendra unleashed a blast of dark energy, throwing several soldiers against the walls.

Kiran rushed toward the crystal while Arjun distracted Devendra. The former wizards began chanting the counter-ritual, their voices trembling as the gateway shook.

Devendra attacked them, but Arjun intercepted him.

“You helped destroy countless lives,” Arjun said. “You don’t get to hide behind your devotion.”

He struck Devendra, knocking him away from the crystal.

Kiran raised his weapon and shattered it.

A deafening explosion shook the temple. The gateway began collapsing, pulling the surrounding shadows inward.

Devendra screamed as dark chains wrapped around his body.

“No! Satan promised me power!”

A voice thundered from the collapsing gateway.

“Your service has ended.”

The chains dragged Devendra into the darkness. His screams faded as the gateway closed.

Arjun and Kiran rushed outside just as the temple began to crumble.

They had destroyed one of Satan’s most important sources of power but the battle was not over.

A sudden silence spread across the battlefield.

The demons stopped fighting and bowed their heads.

Satan descended from the sky, surrounded by black flames. His presence darkened the clouds, and the ground cracked beneath his feet.

“So,” he said, surveying the assembled humans and Devas. “You have gathered every remaining defender of creation.”

Vishwa stepped forward.

“Your reign ends today.”

Satan laughed.

“You still believe courage can overcome power?”

He raised his hand, unleashing a wave of darkness that swept across the battlefield. Soldiers were thrown aside, and several Devas fell from the sky.

Garuda attacked first, striking Satan with a burst of golden energy.

Satan barely moved. He seized Garuda by the throat and hurled him into the ruins.

Narada rushed forward, unleashing a barrage of celestial weapons. Satan absorbed their energy and retaliated with a blast that sent Narada crashing to the ground.

Vishwa charged, but Satan summoned black chains that wrapped around his arms and legs.

The chains tightened, forcing him to his knees.

“You have spent your life trying to protect humanity,” Satan whispered. “Look around you. Your people are dying. Your allies are falling. What has your resistance accomplished?”

Vishwa struggled against the chains.

“It has given people a reason to keep fighting.”

Satan leaned closer.

“Your mother died because of this world. Ishani tried to sacrifice you. Your own allies betrayed you. Why continue protecting a species that brings suffering upon itself?”

Vishwa’s face tightened at the mention of his mother.

“Humanity is imperfect,” he replied. “But people can choose to change. They can protect one another, show compassion, and fight for a better future.”

Satan’s expression twisted with fury.

“Then die with your precious ideals!”

He tightened the chains, and Vishwa cried out in pain.

Suddenly, Ishani rushed forward and struck Satan with a burst of energy. The chains shattered, releasing Vishwa.

Satan turned and hurled her across the battlefield.

She crashed against a ruined wall and fell to the ground, badly injured.

Vishwa scrambled toward her.

“Why did you do that?”

Ishani struggled to breathe.

“Because I could not allow him to kill you.”

“You didn’t have to save me.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I did.”

She looked at him, tears gathering in her eyes.

“I cannot erase what I did to your mother. I cannot undo the pain I caused you. But I can choose what I do now.”

Vishwa stared at her, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions.

“I still cannot forgive you.”

“I understand.”

“But you saved my life. And I will not let your sacrifice be meaningless.”

He helped her toward the resistance medics before turning back to Satan.

As Satan prepared to unleash another attack, the clouds parted. A brilliant celestial light illuminated the battlefield.

Brahma appeared above the ruins, his presence filling the sky with golden radiance.

The remaining Devas fell silent.

Narada slowly rose from the ground.

“Father?”

Brahma looked down at him.

“My son, you have made terrible choices. But you have finally begun to understand that righteousness is not measured by obedience or power.”

Narada lowered his head.

“I will spend the rest of my existence trying to repair what I have done.”

“Then continue protecting life,” Brahma replied. “Do not fight for my approval. Fight because every life has value.”

Brahma turned toward Garuda, who was struggling to stand.

“Protection does not mean controlling every choice. It means helping others live without taking away their freedom.”

Garuda looked toward the battlefield.

“I understand.”

Brahma’s gaze then moved to Vishwa.

“Humanity is not saved because it is perfect. It is saved because, even amid suffering, people can choose compassion over cruelty.”

Vishwa rose to his feet.

The surviving soldiers gathered behind him. The Devas prepared their weapons, and the Crimson Host formed a defensive line around the wounded.

Vishwa raised his weapon.

“This is our home! Our families are here, our memories are here, and our future is here! We will not surrender it to Satan!”

The resistance answered with a roar.

Narada raised his celestial instrument, sending a wave of golden energy across the battlefield. Garuda spread his wings.

The final battle began. Garuda attacked Satan from above while Narada struck from the front. Their combined power forced Satan backward for the first time.

Vishwa charged through the opening, striking Satan with every remaining ounce of strength.

Satan retaliated, sending waves of darkness across the battlefield. The ground split, and black flames engulfed the ruins.

The Devas struggled to contain the destruction while human soldiers protected the wounded.

“His power is connected to the gateway!” Narada shouted. “Even after Devendra’s ritual was destroyed, Satan has anchored himself to the remaining altar!”

Vishwa looked toward a massive structure at the center of the battlefield. Black energy streamed from it into Satan’s body.

“If we destroy that altar, we can weaken him!”

Garuda nodded.

“Then we must reach it.”

The three warriors attacked together, drawing Satan away from the altar while the resistance cleared a path.

Satan roared and unleashed a storm of dark energy. Garuda was thrown aside, and Narada fell to one knee.

Vishwa continued forward.

“You cannot defeat me!” Satan thundered.

Vishwa looked at the people fighting behind him.

“I’m not fighting alone.”

The voices of the surviving soldiers rose across the battlefield. The Devas joined them, followed by the Crimson Host.

Their combined energy illuminated the ruins.

Vishwa reached the altar and raised his weapon. Golden light gathered around him, growing brighter with every passing second.

Satan realized what he intended to do.

“No!”

He lunged toward Vishwa, but Garuda intercepted him. Narada summoned a final burst of celestial energy, holding Satan back long enough for Vishwa to strike.

The weapon crashed into the altar.

Golden light erupted across the battlefield.

The altar shattered, and the black gateway collapsed. Satan screamed as the darkness sustaining him dissolved.

“You cannot destroy me!” he roared.

Vishwa stood before him.

“This world does not belong to you.”

Satan’s body cracked, releasing streams of black smoke. His form disintegrated into ash, and the remaining demons vanished with him. The clouds began to part. 

For the first time in a year, sunlight illuminated the ruined city. The battle was over.

Mira rushed toward Vishwa and embraced him.

“You’re alive.”

Vishwa held her tightly.

“So are you.”

Garuda landed beside them, exhausted but relieved. Narada approached cautiously.

Garuda looked at him for a long moment.

“I still remember what you did.”

Narada lowered his head.

“You should.”

“But today, you fought to protect the people you once endangered.”

Garuda extended his hand.

“That is a beginning. Nothing more.”

Narada accepted the gesture.

Across the city, survivors emerged from shelters and ruins. Some cried with relief, while others searched desperately for missing relatives.

The victory had come at an enormous cost.

Arjun and Kiran returned to the resistance headquarters, where Arjun found his father waiting among the survivors.

His father stared at him.

“I know what you did,” he said quietly. “I know you helped betray the resistance.”

Arjun lowered his head.

“I am sorry.”

His father remained silent before stepping forward and embracing him.

“I am still angry,” he admitted. “I don’t know how long it will take to trust you again. But you helped save lives today, and I am grateful you’re alive.”

Arjun broke down in tears.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Then spend your life becoming someone who deserves trust.”

Nearby, Ishani received medical treatment.

Vishwa visited her later that evening.

“The authorities will investigate your crimes,” he told her. “You will have to answer for what you did.”

“I understand.”

“You cannot erase the past by saving me.”

“I know.”

Vishwa looked at her for a moment.

“But you did save my life. Thank you.”

Ishani began to cry.

“I wish I could bring your mother back.”

“So do I,” Vishwa replied.

He left without forgiving her, but he no longer saw her only as the person who had destroyed his family. He saw someone who had begun accepting responsibility for her actions.

That evening, Vishwa, Garuda, and Narada stood among the ruins and honored the dead.

They remembered the soldiers who had defended the city, the civilians who had lost their lives, and the possessed victims who had suffered without understanding what was happening to them.

No victory could bring them back but their sacrifices would not be forgotten.

Three days after Satan’s defeat, Nepal’s prime minister addressed the surviving population.

He acknowledged the devastation and promised that the government would help rebuild communities, restore essential services, and support those who had lost their homes and families.

The people listened in silence.

There was relief in the streets, but grief remained everywhere.

Meanwhile, the surviving Devas prepared to return to their celestial realm.

Narada stood before them.

“We must confront our own failures,” he said. “We allowed pride, resentment, and blind obedience to guide us. Never again should we mistake authority for righteousness.”

Some Devas lowered their heads in shame.

Garuda stood beside him.

“Protecting someone does not mean deciding their fate for them. We must respect their freedom, even when their choices are difficult to understand.”

Narada nodded. Raktavira and Ishani prepared to accompany the Devas, though both understood that redemption would require years of difficult work.

Before departing, Narada approached Vishwa.

“I cannot ask you to forgive me.”

“You don’t need to ask,” Vishwa replied. “You need to continue doing what is right.”

Narada bowed his head.

“I will.”

With that, the Devas returned to their realm, leaving humanity to begin rebuilding its world.

Six months had passed since Satan’s defeat.

Across Nepal, reconstruction had begun. Roads were cleared, hospitals reopened, and families returned to villages that had once been abandoned.

The walls surrounding Lumbini were gradually dismantled. The city no longer needed to live behind fortifications, although its people would never forget the battle fought there.

Memorials were erected for the fallen soldiers, civilians, Devas, and possessed victims.

Arjun and the former wizards dedicated themselves to helping survivors. They worked to dismantle the remaining cults and expose the methods Satan’s followers had used to manipulate vulnerable people.

Arjun knew that his past could never be erased, but he had stopped expecting forgiveness to arrive simply because he regretted what he had done.

Ishani also began working with survivors, accepting that she would have to face the consequences of her crimes for the rest of her life.

Vishwa continued leading reconstruction efforts with Mira and Garuda. Though the war had ended, he often struggled with the memories of those he had lost.

One afternoon, he travelled to the ruins of an ancient monastery near Lumbini.

He stood among the broken stones, remembering the suffering that had engulfed Nepal.

“Did humanity truly deserve to survive?” he wondered aloud. “After everything we have done to one another, why were we given another chance?”

A gentle breeze moved through the trees.

Vishwa turned and noticed a peaceful figure standing nearby, dressed in simple robes. The stranger watched him with a calm expression.

For a moment, Vishwa felt the weight of the past begin to lift.

He took a step forward, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Buddha?”

The figure smiled gently.

The End

Gamemode: survival

By Silver Spoon

Chapter 1

“Generating World”

A young man with slightly bronze skin lay asleep on the forest ground, letting the air move his light brown hair and clothes, which consisted of a light blue T-shirt and a pair of darker blue jeans, as it pleased. The scattered rays of sunlight soon reached his chest before moving up his neck, just before reaching his lips and stopping at his eyes. That's when he finally came to life, rapidly opening his eyelids and revealing the shining dark blue of his pupils.

That's when he sat up and took a moment to see the world around him.

“Where am I?” he thought before shaking his head. A deep migraine had just made its way into the deepest parts of his skull.

“I can't remember a thing, but this doesn't seem to be a dream, at least not the type I would normally have. Wait, how do I know what types of dreams I have and yet nothing else? Not even my own name. Have I been drugged and then dropped into a random forest? No, what would be the point of that? Well, I can get answers later; what matters now is that I get some information.”

That's when the young man got to his feet and started walking among the light brown trees, inspecting the bark of the closest one before putting his hand on it.

“There's nothing special about this tree. All I can tell is that it's a normal oak tree, perhaps a little wider than usual, but not enough to be weird.”

That's when he jumped at a sudden sound coming from his left. He took a closer look, and what he saw left him perplexed.

“Am I seeing things, or is that a sheep? What's a sheep doing in the middle of the forest, especially such a white and fluffy sheep? You only see those when they are cared for by people. Does that mean I'm close to a farm? I have to look around. Hopefully, I can find the owner and ask them for help.”

He spent the next few minutes looking around for any sign of the owner or any human presence at all, but he was disappointed to find no indication of any humans. As far as he could see, the forest seemed to have no end, so he approached a nearby elevation, trying to see over the sea of trees. However, he soon became disappointed when he saw nothing but an endless expanse of green leaves.

“Just how big is this damn forest?”

He approached a nearby tree and sat by its trunk. He naturally moved his hands over his face to calm his frustration.

“What will I do if I can't find a way out? No, it's too soon to have such negative thoughts. I have to work with what I have.”

That was when he finally took a moment to look himself over. Due to his lack of previous memories, he had no reference point to know if his body or clothing had anything out of the ordinary. That's when he noticed that his jeans had pockets.

“If I'm lucky, I might have a phone in them,” he said to himself in a self-mocking tone as his hand reached into his right pocket.

Something peculiar happened.

“It almost feels like my hand is in a void, even though I can see it from the outside, bending the fabric of my jeans. My hand almost feels like it's touching nothing. Even when I move my fingers, I can't feel the fabric from the inside.”

That's when he made a fist and pulled his hand out, a chill running down his spine. However, when he inspected his hand, he noticed a perfectly square piece of impossible white paper that said, “Welcome to Minecraft, Steve.”

Captain Grymm watched men walk up the gangway to his ship. Christians, Muslims, Catholics, and one Jewish man. All men of faith. All men seeking to verify that their religion was the one true way.

Why were these men of disparate faith gathered, you might be asking?

The adventurer, Loui Barbo, had published a guide to the world. Barbo’s Guide To Everything. In it he detailed such fantastical places as the golden city of El Dorado, Atlantis, and— of particular interest to Captain Grymm and his patrons —The Island Of Dead Men.

Barbo that the Island of Dead Men was a portion of the hereafter. It could be found, he wrote, by following the coast of Australia down to its southeastern edge, setting off from there to New Zealand, and from New Zealand, to the Auckland Islands. After the Auckland islands, one had to head westward, into an ever present storm. Barbo spent an entire page describing the storm. The ferocity of which, made Grymm wonder why he was committing himself to this expedition.

Perhaps it was a way to live. His patrons, which included the king and his court, were paying him a fine penny to do it. Possibly he was doing it for the fame. Others who had chased Barbo’s tales were memorialized for their discovery. Eduardo Morales, who verified the existence, and then committed the sacking of El Dorado, had become canonized in Spain. There was a part of Grymm that wanted to be remembered just as well, memorialized like Morales, but maybe not for any grand sacking of the afterlife. Or any sacking really. The notion made him feel empty somehow. Many things had made him feel empty as of late.

Maybe leading this expedition was just way to fill the void and the time. Maybe it was a little of everything at once.

The gangway was pulled up when the last member boarded. Grymm then gave the signal for the port’s dredgers to drag them out to sea. An hour later he told the men to unfurl the sails, and they began the long journey to Australia.

Of the journey itself, there is little to say. It was unremarkable, with the exception that upon reaching the Auckland Islands they found them deserted. The Maori people that had inhabited it during Barbo’s time having long since left, leaving an eerie empty place. More empty than the ocean itself, or so it felt.

They rested on the shores of Auckland Island, docking at the abandoned port.

The sky’s there, though clouded, and gray, did not portend any terrible storm. Certainly not the kind that Barbo had written about.

A day later, the crew set sail south west, searching for Barbo’s storm.

And oh did they find it.

Seeing the storm, captain Grymm thought that the universe had given them an unexciting journey as a means of cosmic balance. All the misfortune, all the horror that a trek to the other end of the world could bring was squeezed into that one storm.

It had appeared suddenly, a darkness in the sky, a hard line where the gray meek clouds of the Auckland Islands turned black and angry, portending death.

In the middle of the maelstrom a great vortex ripped the sky open. Lightning flashed, backlighting giant faces; angry faces, faces that sneered as they looked down at the men.

The sea below had a matching vortex. It pulled the ship down, spiraling toward the abyssal center where great dark things could be seen. Giants in the shape of men, spiders, and long serpent like fish.

One man, frozen in terror, gazed into the abyss, and was tossed overboard with the violent rocking of the waves. Then two more. The rest found their nerve, and did their best to turn the sails to the ever changing wind; winds that seemed to scream and wail.

The men began to cry out the name of their gods, praying. They prayed to Allah, YAWHEH, God, and Jesus Christ. All seemed in vain as the vortex dragged them further down into its belly. At last one man cried over the many, screaming: “The god of Abraham is with us!” his roar was defiant.

“The god of Abraham is with us! I feel it too!” cried one of the Muslims.

“The god of Abraham gives breath to our sails!” cried one of the Christians.

“He is with us,” said the Jewish man.

“He is with us!” echoed one of the Catholics, and it became a chant.

As if a prayer had indeed been answered, the ship began to resist the vortex. It rose higher, and higher, nearly escaping the vortex when the storm stopped. The dark clouds returned to gray. The wind was calm again.

A dense fog then settled around the ship, overtaking so that nothing beyond a man’s arm length away could be seen.

“Have we died?” cried one man.

“We would not still be together if we had,” said another, snidely, implying that he would not be in hell with the rest of them. This comment sparked a riot. The fervent men, who were still full of fighting spirit, began to argue. A brawl might have broken out, if not for the sudden appearance of light.

A man at the head of the ship called the rest, and each turned to see the orange light appearing in the distance.

It was torch light. They were certain. And it was the only color in the gray world they found themselves in. Moreover, they noticed that the orange light grew as the ship drifted toward it.

The silhouettes of men appeared in the glow. Hushed murmurs and whispers broke in response to this.

Then, silence.

The silhouettes belonged to corpses.

The crew gawked at the corpses, and the corpses gawked back. Though with the many of the corpses, it was because they lacked a lower jaw, or their jaws were hanging on one side. Nothing was said by either party, not even when the ship beached itself on the shore, shaking the crew.

Captain Grymm blinked at the corpses.

“Why… have… you… come here?” asked the torch bearing corpse, who seemed to be the leader amongst the corpses.

Captain Grymm didn’t know how to answer.

One of his crew spoke up.

“We came to see who was right,” said the man.

A murmur of affirmations arose.

“About… ?” asked the Corpse.

“The after life,” shouted one, and emboldening the rest.

“So where are we?” shouted another member of the crew.

“Is this Barzakh?”

“Is this purgatory? Where is the mountain?”

“Are we perhaps in hell?”

“Do you know where you are?” asked the one Jewish crew mate.

The eye of the torch bearing corpse lolled over to him.

“We… do… not… know…” rasped the voice.

The murmurs of the crew turned into an uncomfortable silence.

Then, one of them lit up, having had an epiphany.

“Corpse man, to what faith did you subscribe when you were dead?”

The torch bearing corpse ground its jaw for a second before answering.

“I… was… a catholic, if… I recall correctly…”

“There,” said the crew mate. “He is a catholic, therefore we are in purgatory. The mountain where we must purge ourselves to reach heaven must simply be hidden in the great fog.”

“There… is… a mountain here,” said the torch bearing corpse. “But I do not believe this is purgatory…” the corpse eyed one of its fellows, a fleshy corpse wearing a wrap around its head.

It came forward.

“I was a Sikh,” it said, then stepped back into the crowd.

Another came forward.

“I was a steward of the land,” said a skeleton with dots painted across its yellowed skull. Same as the first, it retreated, and another went out.

“My people believed in one god, and also many,” said a corpse wearing half rotted linens.

The men on the boat began to murmur again, until it became a chorus of debate, confusion, frustration, and in some cases, anger.

“Enough!” cried Grymm. The crew’s mad chorus died immediately. “The ship is beached. We are tired. Let us rest, and on the ‘morrow, let us learn what can about this place.”

“Ay, sir!” cried the crew, and disappeared below the deck of the ship.

The torch bearing corpse dismissed the other corpses with a look. Grymm set his eyes on him.

“Is there anything edible on this island?”

The corpse rasped, sighing, in thought.

“There is… fruit… I think. I remember it tasted… good…”

“You mean when you were alive?”

“I never tasted it before I died,” said the corpse, inspiring questions. There were already so many. Grymm did not mean to wear out the corpse with them so quickly, so he did not ask them.

“Show me.”

The torch bearing corpse nodded, and waited for the captain to climb down from the ship. Once together, they entered the jungle, following a well worn footpath.

The weather was overcast, with a slight chill. It was light out, but with the cloud cover, there was no telling if it was early morning, or late afternoon. Definitely it was bright enough to see. Which got Grymm thinking about the torch.

“Why do you have that torch? It’s light out.”

“So… it… is…” the corpse man dropped the torch, and let it fizzle out on the ground.

“Why did you have it out in the first place if you were so ready to toss it away?”

The corpse’s eye lolled over to look at Grymm.

“It was for you and… your crew,” it rasped. “To guide you.”

“How did you know we would be out there?”

“We… felt you… .”

The corpse did not elaborate, and so Grymm did not ask it of him.

The well trod foot path disappeared. The jungle surrounded them. It was vibrant, with bright flowers, but otherworldly as one might expect; Grymm thought he even recognized some of the plants.

Deeper in the jungle, near the base of the mountain— which just as suddenly appeared —they found the fruit. It resembled a pomegranate. There were only two fruits in total, so Grymm and the corpse took one each.

“The flesh… is good… ,” said the corpse, “…the seeds are… as well, but take some work to chew. You will want a place to sit… before we settle down to eat… .”

“After you then,” said Grymm.

He followed the corpse back to the well trod foot path, and followed the path up a hill, and to a cliff. There they found a small hut, and an edge to hang their feet off of.

The corpse man showed Grymm how to split the fruit so that it could be eaten in segments without spilling the seeds on the ground. The flesh was crunchy, and sweet, like an apple. The seeds required unwrapping, which took some time as they were quite small. The satisfying nutty flavor, was only just barely worth the effort.

“How did you come to be here?” asked Grymm.

“It has been… so long… I do not… recall… ,” rasped the corpse. “Though… I recall a sense of familiarity upon arrival.”

“Are you happy here? It seems hard to believe you are. It feels… empty. Lonely. As if time were standing still.

“To me it does not seem so bad… I enjoy… the silence… . I remember little of my life… but I recall… that I was always in a rush. I always had somewhere to be, something to do. And I guess… there was always someone I had to be too… a… face I had to wear… so… being here… being no one in particular… doing nothing in particular… it quite nice.”

“Mmm,” hummed Grymm, nodding.

The two then shared the silence, eating their fruits, and unwrapping the time consuming seeds. Grymm stared out into great gray sky, the deep blue sea. His filled with the usual noise at first, but soon he found it emptied, and he was nothing and no one.

He came back to himself hours or minutes later. He was not sure. The corpse man had not moved an inch. The only thing to suggest any time had passed at all was that he had run out of seeds to unwrap, and was left with one bite of fruit. The corpse had finished its own.

Not wanting to disturb his new friend, Grymm ate his last bite of fruit, and left without saying a word.

He lost his way in the jungle, though he found that he did not mind this. He was in no rush. His stomach was full with fruit, and its juice had gone a long way to satiating any thirst he might have had. If his body had demands, the jungle would provide. He was sure of this.

His intent was to head back to shore, but when he came upon a clearing, he found himself drawn toward it. There, he found a member of his crew.

Grymm did not know his name, but recognized his white bandanna, and loose linen clothes. He recognized too, the horrifying necklace he wore. The necklace was of a man, mouth open in anguish, side pierced and bleeding, his hands and feet nailed to a cross.

The fellow was staring into a puddle of water that reflected the sky.

“Something the matter?” asked Grymm.

The man blinked, and looking up, surprised to see his captain standing over him.

“No, nothing,” said the man, “except… well… .”

“Out with it.”

“I tried to climb the mountain.”

Captain Grymm looked up at the mountain. It was a great gray thing. On the shore it had been indistinguishable from the sky.

“I do not imagine you made it very far,” said Grymm.

The man shook his head.

“No, I made it to the top. It is, quite nice up there. Only… .”

“Hold on,” said Grymm, taking another look at the great gray mountain, its peak disappearing into the gray clouds. “We have only been here a few hours, how did you make it up the mountain and back down in such a short time?”

The man blinked at his captain.

“Captain Grymm, we’ve been here for months, at least. When we could not find you, we searched. After a while, we decided to take the island on in our own ways.”

“That can not be right, I only stepped away to find some fruit with one of the walking corpses how—.”

“Maybe that is true for you. I ran into the Jewish fellow a week back. From his perspective, it had only been days.”

Captain Grymm scratched his head at that.

“This place is strange, is it not?” said the man. The question was rhetorical. “I do not know what it is. If this was purgatory, then reaching the top of the mountain should have cleansed me of my many faults. I should be in heaven now. But I am not. What does that mean?”

Grymm was never much for religion.

“It means this is not purgatory. The corpse at the shore said as much.”

“Indeed, he had. What is this place then?”

Grymm thought about his conversation with the corpse man.

“A place to stop and think.”

“Mmm,” hummed the man. “I suppose it is. That is all I have done since coming back down the mountain. Think. Contemplating the sky, or really,” he looked into a puddle on the ground, “reflecting on myself. Being alone with myself, no thoughts at all. It is… .”

“Quite nice,” said Grymm.

The man nodded.

“Yes. It is quite nice captain.”

“When you have finished your contemplations, come back to the shore. If you see any of the men, tell them to do the same. There is little and less for us here. The king and his court will be disappointed with our findings, but that will be my responsibility to bear.”

The man nodded one more time, and seeing this, the captain walked back to shore.

The trek was quite, and gray. The sky seemed to wash everything out, so that even the green and vibrantly colored flowers of the jungle felt gray. Thought the captain did not mind it. The gray of this island was not the bland gray of a dull day, it was the timeless gray of morning. It was the gray of a day spent inside an inn, with a warm meal, warm drink, and warmer company.

Grymm reached the shore, and found a wooden crate full of the island fruits he had eaten with the corpse man. Beside the crate, the corpse man himself.

“Leaving then?”

“Ay,” said Grymm.

“Why did you come here?” asked the corpse man.

Grymm began to answer, but the corpse man stopped him.

“I meant, you… specifically… .”

Grymm contemplated his answer as he gave it.

“Work. Curiosity. Soul searching, maybe.” When he laid it out in the open, Grymm felt stupid. Those were terrible reasons to set sail into the unknown. What man risks his life for money? Curiosity? Or something so frivolous as “soul searching”?

Grymm found the corpse’s eye watching him, reading him.

“Any reason is reason enough. My body does not require food anymore… and yet I will still seek out the fruit I showed you… it does not… require rest, and yet when the mood strikes me I will sleep. My only reasoning is… because I had wanted to do it.”

“Ay, that is… more than fair.”

The corpse seemed to bow, excusing himself.

“Enjoy the journey home, Captain Grymm. And the journey of life thereafter.”

Grymm watched the corpse walk back into the jungle, and, suddenly realizing something, called back to it.

“I am sorry, but I do not think I ever got your name!”

“Loui Barbo,” he said, and breached the brush back into the jungle. Grymm imagined him walking back up the hill that led to his home. Back to his cliff, where he would eat strange jungle fruit, and sit with himself. Perhaps he would do that for all of time. Until whatever force had made the world unmade it.

A few hours later, Captain Grymm’s crew returned, appearing from the edge of the jungle. Their clothes were in varying states of distress. Some looked like they had been away in the jungle for years, their clothes in tatters, but their faces seemingly unaged. The Christian man that Grymm had run into, for instance, was wearing the rags of what had been his off white linens. The cross he had been wearing, was entirely missing.

“Grab a shovel from the ship, and start digging men.”

“Ay sir,” said the crew, and went to their work.

They dug the ship out, and set sail.

Away from the island, their ship appeared in the same sea as before. The storm was gone now. The world was as calm outside as they felt inside.

They went on to live unremarkable, but happy, lives.

Doris sits at a table sipping a Diet Coke and contemplating her performance as another comic finishes his routine. Jess Hoffnagle walks over.
“Hey there, mind if I join you?”
“No, hey, what’s up?”
Jess plops in the seat with her Corona and lime and sighs.
“Ah, you know. Crowd kinda sucks tonight.”
“Yeah. Jesus. I can’t get a laugh to save my life.”
“Routine isn’t working for you?”
Doris looks at her.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had that happen. It’s hard to know. Sometimes it’s the bit, sometimes it’s the crowd. I had one about getting my period on an airplane. Here, it killed.”
“Yeah, I was there. That was great.”
“When I did it at The Comedy Cellar, bomb! Nothing. It was a fucking grave yard in there. I don’t know.”
“You did The Comedy Cellar? How’d you get that spot?”
“Talent scout comes through these open mics every so often. “
“Really? When?”
Jess cranes her neck around. She spots a woman getting in her coat.
“That’s her right there.”
Doris sees a middle aged woman with large glasses heading towards the exit.
“Her?”
“Yep. Beverly Atkinson. She makes the rounds every few weeks.”
“Great. She’s here and I bombed.”
“Everybody bombs. Listen, it takes a long, long time to get good, I mean professionally good. A lot of the top comedians say ten years. Most people drop out. It’s kind of a war of attrition. The people who hang in there...it’s those people who make it. People like her want to see who keeps coming back, who keeps working at it, getting better.” 
“Yeah. Makes me wonder if it’s worth it.”
“Well I think you got to think about why you wanna do it. Do you love comedy, or do you wanna be rich and famous? If you just wanna be rich and famous, you’re better off playing the fuckin’ lottery. But if you love comedy, you can always do it.” 
Doris nods.
“Yeah. I do love comedy. The crowd laughing. Gets me out of my own head. When I’m coming up with a routine, working a bit, getting the wording right...I really love that. I don’t have to think about…”
She looks over and sees a guy staring at her.
“My job. Everything else.”
“Amen.”
She raises her glass and they clink them together.
“What do you do for work?”
“Book keeping for different companies. It’s contract work, temping basically. I can mostly work from home.”
“That’s good. I’ve been working retail. It sucks. But you gotta pay the bills. Hey, what’s your number? We should keep in touch. The ladies got to stick together. Too many dudes in this business.”
“Yeah, definitely. 857-499-2116.”
Jess types it in. 
“I’m texting you mine.”
“Got it.”
Jess gives Doris a long look.
“I’d usually never give another comic advice, but you might wanna think about spicing it up. Let yourself go. Get raunchy. Playing it safe does not play these days. Being open, authentic...that gets a crowd.” 
“Yeah. It’s just I don’t want to be gross and raunchy just for the sake of it.”
“Well, I’m not saying you have to. It’s just about finding your voice. I was told early on that it’s the authentic stuff, the real shit that plays.”
Jess finishes her drink.
“Well, I gotta work in the morning. I’ll see you next week?”
“Most definitely.”
They bump fists.
Doris finishes her Diet Coke as Jess leaves. It’s nice and comfortable in here. She watches the other patrons, some of them couples, enjoying beers and glasses of wine and gin and tonics. They are enjoying each other’s company as well.  The laughing, the light touching. She watches a man and woman in their late twenties leaving; they hold hands. 
She would love to go up to the bar, order a martini, strike up a conversation with someone, anyone. The yearning is so strong. But she can’t. That is not her life anymore. But for just a little while she would like to feel normal.

TW: Death, animal death, drug use, demons

Harper Hale’s
Bucks Night
Written by Kole William Labrino

Prologue
Harper Hale had a secret.
Twelve years ago, a loud banging on the front window woke him up. When he answered the door, three police officers told him that his mother had been arrested.
His father was dead, his sister was missing, and his mother was being charged with their murder.
Then he was thrust into foster care for the rest of his adolescence.
And then he buried it. He studied, he graduated early, he left town with a scholarship, and he changed his name. Harper Candles was out.
Harper Hale was in.
He built a new life with a new name and a new future. And then he met Lauren. The woman of his dreams who he met when he accidentally dropped a tray of glasses on her at one of his various restaurant gigs. Not exactly a meet cute but memorable all the same. They built their lives together while he finished his studies, graduating three years later.
Harper was almost a year post-grad when the call came. His mother was dead. Suicide in her prison cell.
He felt free and relieved, like nothing was tying him to his family’s dark past anymore. They’re all gone.
Reluctantly he made a brief trip to his hometown for the funeral, but he never spoke of it - not even to Lauren.
Four more years passed and Harper finally proposed. It was a seaside dinner on vacation in Thailand, and the sun was setting behind them as he pulled the ring out. As Lauren sobbed the words “Yes, of course!” the sun sank below the horizon, and the couple were cloaked by the night as they embraced.
Planning set off immediately. The date was set, and the twelve months that followed flew by until the wedding was only a week away.
———————————
 
Harper Hale woke with the worst headache of his life.
6:07am on his iPhone. He had only slept for two hours before being woken up by Lauren turning over next to him.
The night before he’d been out with Bruce for his ‘pre-bucks’, which resulted in too many shots and too many lines. Bruce had notified him only hours before to be ready for a 9pm pickup. And the night resulted in a pub crawl which bled into an all-night club crawl.
Certain he had woken Lauren when he stumbled home, he was having flashbacks of Bruce having to break him in through the back door. He’d lost his keys. Fuck.
Trying his best not to wake Lauren again, he staggered out of bed, creeping slowly across to the bathroom. Harper winced as the tap, sounding louder than normal, hissed and sputtered. He bolted back across to the sliding door and gently closed it, trying to be as quiet as possible.
On his way back to the basin, he caught his reflection and almost stumbled backward. He looked grey. Normally pale, he looked lifeless. Darkness circled his eyes and his nose was red raw around the nostrils. He sighed, accepted that he was better off not looking at his reflection, and then he guzzled another quick serving of water from the tap before making his way back into the bedroom, as quietly as he could. Lauren, however, was sleeping peacefully. Laying on her back with her long, dark hair framing her face, the early morning sun shone through the window, draping her in golden light. Harper crept back into their bed and gave her a light peck on the cheek before rolling back over to try and get more sleep. It was his buck's night tonight after all.
 
“Babe! It’s 11 o’clock! Wake-up!”
Harper woke up again to Lauren laying on top of him, trying to rouse him awake. Early morning had passed and the midday light was harsh on his eyes, but he felt a lot better than he had earlier - particularly with his fiancé laying on top of him.
“I can feel that!” Said Lauren with an eye roll. “Considering the night you had, I don’t think we’ll have much luck keeping it up for long.”
“Oh please!” Replied Harper with a smirk. “If there’s anyone it’s staying up for…”
Harper encased Lauren in his arms and then rolled in the bed, pinning her below him before slowly kissing her. As he started unbuttoning her pants, she interrupted him.
“Bruce is picking you up in two hours!”
“Then we’ve got time.” Harper smiled.
She shoved him off.
“Shower. Now!”
With a groan Harper rolled back off of Lauren and off the bed and made his way through to the bathroom while Lauren giggled.
As he slipped out of his boxer shorts and prepared himself for his shower, Harper wondered nervously what Bruce had planned.
Harper and Bruce met at the club in their early 20s. Harper liked Bruce’s Nirvana tee, and Bruce liked the fact that Harper did coke. The friendship and friend group grew from there.
Bruce was always the party planner of the group, and his niche was the bucks night. Whether it be dragging them through blurry casino nights or drug fuelled raves, he was dangerous in the best and worst ways.
Harper scrolled through Spotify, trying to find the perfect shower song to revive him, before he settled on Break Me Shake Me by Savage Garden. He had a thing for the 90s that the boys could never know about - he would never hear the end of it.
The shower hissed like the sink and the water felt hotter than normal on his skin, which he determined was due to his horrendous hangover. Relaxing into the moment, he soaped up his entire body before moving on to washing his greasy hair. Feeling the hot water pelting down onto the crown of his head, he was so close to a meditative state that he hadn’t realised the music had stopped. Massaging his scalp, he was near to sinking into himself when he was startled by three slow, loud bangs on the door.
Returning to the present, he became aware of the silence. Switching off the shower, all that could be heard were the last drips of the shower head and the suction of the drain drinking up the last of the water on the floor. Stepping out of the shower still not rinsed and grabbing his towel, he called out to Lauren.
“What is it babe? You wanted me to shower!” He called out.
No response.
“Can I help you with something?” He added with a laugh.
Silence. Harper quietly chuckled to himself and then moved on, thinking to himself that it was just Lauren trying to joke around with him. Rolling his eyes and moving on, he started drying his body when he heard it again.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
This time they were not on the door, in fact they sounded like they were coming from inside the wall - like something or someone was banging on the pipes.
He called out to Lauren again.
“Babe I think something’s up with the plumbing!”
Still no response. He was starting to get annoyed now.
“For fuck sake. Lauren!” He called again, draping his towel around him and sliding open the bathroom door.
“Savage Garden. Really? I’m so embarrassed for you.”
Bruce was standing in the doorway, filming on his iPhone. He snatched Harper’s towel from his body and ran, screaming “BREAK ME, SHAKE ME, HATE ME, TAKE ME OVER!” as Harper chased after him, naked, into the kitchen where Lauren was waiting for them, along with Tristan and Cody who sat together on the round dining table. The room broke out laughing as Harper covered himself with his hands.
“Have I abused you in a way that you’ve never known?” Asked Bruce with his cheekiest smile.
Harper felt the anger dissolve and couldn’t help but laugh.
“Was that you fucking idiots banging on the pipes?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Bruce grinned. “You’ll see.”
Tristan and Cody were Harper’s other best friends whom he met through Bruce originally. It was one night during afters in their other acquaintance Lewis’ kitchen that they turned up together, and reminded Harper somewhat of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. While best friends and nearly inseparable, the two welcomed Harper just as they had welcomed Bruce to the fold. Over the years they had become like family and Harper couldn’t imagine a better trio to spend his bucks night with.
After Harper spent the better part of the last hour trying and failing to get information out of the boys, Bruce announced it was 1pm on the analog wall clock which Lauren had insisted adds charm and that it was time to go. It had started raining very heavily so the boys were equipped with umbrellas, ponchos and raincoats.
“It’s meant to be a pretty wet night.” Tristan announced, reading from the weather app on his phone.
“We lucked out,” Responded Bruce. “I can’t imagine better weather for the vibes I have planned.” He continued while fixing a black bandanna around Harper’s eyes.
Harper, having finally conceded to being surprised, appreciated the mystery however neither expected nor approved of the blindfold. He tried to argue, tried harder to resist, but Bruce insisted. So lo and behold, Harper is blindfolded, picked up by 6 arms and hurled into the back seat of a car while Lauren records on her phone and giggles like a school girl. He bumps his head on the roof of the car and is on his way to his bucks night slightly damp and with a growing lump on the back of his head.
The car took off at Bruce’s signature speed and the boys kicked off the road trip playlist with Break Me, Shake Me 5 times on repeat. Two hours later the car began to slow down and Harper could hear what sounded like tires rolling on gravel. He thought they must certainly be on a dirt road somewhere in the bush.
“Please tell me we’re not camping in the rain!” He groaned.
“Oh please!” Bruce sounded insulted. “I do have some class.”
“Not much, just a little.” Cody added with a finger gesture.
“Are we there yet?” Harper was becoming impatient.
“Just pulling in now” responded Bruce. “This place looks sick.”
Cody grunted his agreement as he tried to fight Harper and stop him from pulling off his blindfold.
Then the car stopped and everything went quiet.
 
It was several watery blinks before Harper was able to see through the blur again, but once he could he was stunned by the sight in front of him. A large, two storey red brick building. Decaying. Watching.
Trying to get a grasp of his surroundings he looked around and saw that they were surrounded by bushland. The ground beneath their feet was a mix of old gravel and brown dust which had turned to mud from the rain, and formed one long, sloppy path down the driveway, wrapping around the crumbling though now overflowing water fountain centrepiece. Old, brown water gushed out of the stone bowl, landing at their wet feet as the fountain refilled with fresh, clear rain water and Harper gazed longingly at the dry, sheltered, though very decrepit looking front verandah of the great house. He adjusted his poncho.
“It’s quiet. How far have we come?” He asked the group, catching Tristan’s attention.
“One must not ask such trivial questions.”
“The geographical location is irrelevant.” Added Bruce as he handed Harper a bump of cocaine on the end of his car key, well covered by his strategic umbrella placement. Harper snorted the bump as Bruce continued.
“Our mission, boys, is to investigate, survive, and party with the beings of this house.”
“Beings?” Harper asked, wiping off his nose and passing a serving to Cody who umbrella free and drenched, declined.
“Beings.” Responded Bruce, firmly. “Lads, I present to you the most haunted building in the region. Pattchett Asylum, once home to the most troubled mental cases, now our home for the night.”
Bruce rolled his eyes at soaking Cody, took the bag off Harper and did a bump of his own before passing the bag and key to Tristan, and then continuing.
“Gents, our objective is to set up shop, party and try our best to commune with the spirits that allegedly live here. I want to get fucking wasted with some demons. Drinks and music set up are already inside, I have the pharmaceuticals, Tristan and Cody will set up the poker table. And then there is the mystery event. Let’s get fucking mental, boys.”
Harper was relived as the group finally crossed the threshold into the very dry, very old house, and he was been surprised how dark it was inside. The hallway in which they had entered had once white walls, a cobweb covered chandelier, and a dusty old desk which looked like it would have been reception for the hospital. The wooden floors creaked as Harper explored, and moths flew from hiding places, disturbed, displaced, and unimpressed. The doorway into the left wing was sealed off from this entrance, but Tristan assured him that you could find your way in through the house. Through the archway on the right was a large sitting room, which in the back corner opened the entrance to a long, dark corridor leading further back into the building.
“Is there power? Where are the windows?” Harper asked the collective.
“Loonies don’t deserve windows.” Responded Cody a little too seriously as he and Tristan disappeared into the dark corridor ahead.
“We hired a generator for our music and lights,” Bruce added, handing Harper his duffle bag. “I set it up yesterday, but it’ll just do one room - the rest of the place is out. There are torches in there.”
Bruce was wild, but he was organised. As Harper dug through the duffle bag he found 4 torches, and then 4 long candles, each with labelled for one of the boys. He eyed them off confusedly.
“Candles?
Bruce smiled.
“I thought they would be more exciting…whatever do we do once they run out? And no sharing! Once you’re out you’re out. He who rations his candle has the better chance of not getting murdered by ghouls!” He stated with a wide eyed, ghostly expression.
They heard a scream from down the dark corridor.

“What the fuck is that smell?” Shouted Cody, letting the group know that it was his scream.
“It smells like something fucking died!” Added Tristan.
Harper and Bruce rushed over, Bruce pulling one of the torches out of his bag and shining it around the room. Ahead of them was an old leather couch and on top of it a dog. The dog could have been sleeping if not for the wide, opened eyes and terrified expression, and on closer inspection - as well as smell - it appeared to have been dead for days.
Bruce leaned in as the dog stared back, lifeless.
“Is that a Chihuahua?”
“It’s a fucking dead Chihuahua!” Shouted Cody in response. “That wasn’t here yesterday when we were setting up!”
“It’s dark…how could we have known?”
“Could you fucking smell it, Bruce?”
“Maybe it was fresh.” Added Harper.
“There wasn’t a fucking dog there, Harper.” Squeaked Cody. His voice always went high pitched when he was genuinely upset.
“Maybe it deserved it.” Responded Harper before quietly turning away and continuing down the long, dark hallway.
The boys were stunned and confused, and both Cody and Tristan turned to Bruce with a ‘wtf’ look in their eyes.
“Harper, you okay?” Bruce called down the hallway. No response.
He gestured Tristan and Cody to follow him and the three made their way into their dark to look for Harper.
As the three men crept through the dark rooms with just the torch light to be their guide, nothing could be heard except for the ceiling creaking as the roof was pummelled with wind and rain, and the trees scratching against the side of the building. Eventually they made their way into the old surgery which housed their set-up and they found Harper, standing in the centre of the room, taking in the laser lights that Bruce had set up the previous day. Colourful lasers raced all over, lighting up the room so much that Bruce eventually noticed that Harper was smiling.
“You’re fucking with us, right?”
“Right.” Harper responded with a wide grin.
From that point on the vibes were sky high. Bruce, Cody and Tristan understood that Harper was here to play, and Harper was ready to relinquish control and let his friends take the evening wherever they had planned to. Cody and Tristan immediately busied themselves, setting up the poker table while Bruce got the music going, and Harper - with first priority - got into the pharmaceuticals. A thick line inspired him to explore the remainder of the building, which resulted in a whole group expedition throughout the dark and creaking halls of the asylum, before the three settled back into the party room. Tristan unpacked and served up the snacks, and Bruce started dealing cards for their first game of the night.
Frequent drinking, snorting, and several games ensued before Harper even thought to check his phone.
7pm already. And a text from Lauren.
“Officially exactly 168 hours until I’m your wife x”
Then Bruce caught Harper smiling at his phone.
“Excuse me!” Bruce shouted. “At what point in this evening did I say it was acceptable to engage in outside communications? Hand it over, now!”
Bruce put his hand out, palm up, and stared Harper in the eye with a look that screamed ‘don’t fuck with me little boy’. Harper considered fighting, but Bruce was already very drunk and very high which was never a good time to try to reason with him. A few more seconds of contemplation and the Harper reluctantly relinquished his phone, hoping that Lauren wasn’t expecting a reply, given that she knew Bruce, so she understood the way the evening was likely to go.
After insisting everyone hand their phones over, Bruce switched all 4 off, packed them away inside his duffle bag and then stood up slowly, swaying slightly, with a grin on his face.
“Now, gents. I promised spook and I intend to deliver spook.”
He reached into his duffle bag and dropped four long candles onto the table. One in front of each of them.
“Thought these would be more fun than torches,” he noted casually. “Torches die…candles run out.”
Cody frowned. “That’s…not better.”
Bruce smirked. “You each get one. That’s it. Use it how you want.”
Harper picked his up, turning it in his fingers.
“This isn’t enough for the whole night.”
Bruce’s smile widened. “Then don’t waste them.”
Rain began to pelt harder on the rooftop as Bruce paused to dig through his duffle bag. He pulled out an egg timer and placed in in the centre of the table.
“When this goes off, we open the door and we don’t come back. Not until midnight or until the game’s done.”
“And what game is that exactly?” Tristan asked with a smirk.
“Murder in the dark.”
Cody let out a snort. “You’re kidding!”
“Nope.” Responded Bruce as he started circling the table.
“We split up. Anywhere in the building, grounds, surrounding bush is fair game…just don’t leave the fence.”
“And the goal?” Asked Harper.
Bruce grinned again. “Try not to die.”
Bruce sat back in his seat and continued.
“You’ll each get water, a few bears, and…” he tapped at his nose. “Something to keep you entertained.”
Harper laughed. “And who is the killer?”
A pause.
“They know who they are.”
 
8pm came, and Cody was the first through the door and off to the hallway on the left. Tristan went straight, Bruce was heading back through the door they entered from after locking this one behind them. Harper’s turn arrived and he proceeded out of the room and around the corner on the right, into the silence and into the darkness.
The faint stream of light vanished and Harper heard a loud ‘CLICK’ which he understood to be Bruce locking the door behind him. Pulling his candle out from his back pocket, he lit it however the dark seemed thick - light travelled a few meters ahead, but beyond was nothing but darkness.
“A single fucking candle. Honestly, Bruce?” He muttered to himself, as he continued stepping lightly into the unknown.
Along the seemingly endless corridor were doors - old hospital doors with now blank whiteboards attached and narrow windows on the left. He figured these were once patient rooms and considered whether they were a good hiding place, however determined that he was too close to the starting point, it would be too easy. He was determined to be the last man standing. And so he sped up, taking larger steps, further and further from the place he started, until he came across and old, narrow staircase.
“Service stairs.” He said out loud, wincing as the realisation that he had drawn attention to himself.  “This must have been an old house before they converted it to an asylum.” He added in a whisper to himself.
A moment of contemplation resulted in his first step forward and up, and the first step creaked loudly under his weight.
BANG BANG BANG
Harper jumped as he heard it, and then the piercing squeal from atop the staircase followed, startling him and causing a ringing in his ears.
“Fucking Bruce!” He laughed, ascending the stairs at a run, climbing straight to the top where he found the abandoned karaoke microphone.
“When did you learn to squeal like Cody?” He called down the upstairs corridor, before kicking himself for revealing his location.
“Come to me!”*** A voice cried faintly from beyond the darkness.
This was Bruce’s voice, but Harper didn’t make the mistake of responding again.
“Come to me! All this time you’ve still not come to me!” Bruce’s voice said again.
Another scream. This time from somewhere deeper in the house, but it was actually Cody’s scream this time - he was the first one out of the game.
Sensing that Bruce and Tristan were too close, he knew he had to keep moving.
Building back up to a run, he took his final step on the wrong plank of wood before the floor gave way, sending him tumbling into the dark room below.
The morning sun shone in through his bedroom window, a beam of light running straight across the room, over his bed, and onto the opposite wall, but Harper felt cold. Realising he was just wearing his gym shorts, he made his way over to his chest of drawers to dig for his favourite hoodie. Through the wall he could hear his sister and mother having a muffled conversation.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart! Mr King called and said he’ll be here in 20 minutes. It’s his turn to drive you.” Said Cordelia.
“OMG Fabulous!” Candace responded sarcastically.
Harper was thrilled, it sounded like Candace was heading out for the day. Every one of her birthdays were torture with all of her squawking girlfriends at the house - he was grateful to have some time to just game in peace, without bother.
“Get downstairs for breakfast.” He heard his mother tell his sister. “Harper, breakfast is ready, sweetie!” She also called out on her way back downstairs.
Making his way downstairs, Harper followed Candace into the kitchen and had a brief squabble with his mother before he noticed the sea of food that she had prepared. Pancakes, French toast, eggs and bacon, fruit salad, grapefruit, avocado, muffins and crumpets. He noticed his sister trying to hide a nervous face.
He had missed this feeling; cozy, happy, playful. He had just sat down to eat when there was a knock on the front window.
Harper woke up in the dark and it was a moment before he realised where he was. It was so vivid, it had seemed so real. He was laying flat on his back, plaster dust and rotten planks of wood covered his body. Crawling out, he realised his head was pounding. Certain he had hit it for the 2nd time, he thought he better warm the others.
“Guys!” He called out. “This is great and all but I don’t know how safe this is. I just fell through the fucking floor!”
“Come to me!”* He heard again from somewhere in the house.
Laughing, he dusted himself on and finally realised where he was. It seemed to be an old padded cell - the windowless walls were white and cushioned, and the sturdy steel door was open ajar. Straightening up his body, he stepped forward, pushed the door open and came into what could have been confused for an old dentist office. Cream counters wrapped around the teal walls with a sink on either side of the room. However it was when Harper noticed what was in the centre of the room that he realised where he was. He was standing behind an old chair. Even the chair could have been a dentist chair if not for the long headpiece hanging from wires on the ceiling.
Taking it in and making his way through the room, he came to find the front side of the chair and noticed Cody laying lifeless on the chair, headpiece attached. Harper let out a cackle that could be heard throughout the grounds.
“Bro is this where he got you? I like your hat.”
Making no response, Cody continued to lay in the chair, lifelessly staring back at Harper.
“Mate, real funny!” Harper joked with an eye-roll.
Cody continued to stare at Harper, no life in his eyes, and Harper began to notice the gentle buzzing coming from the machine attached to the headpiece, and then he realised the burnt smell in the air. He let out a broken scream at the realisation and pulled his friend off the chair, unplugging him in the process. Harper and Cody fell to the floor, Harper against the wall, tears draping his cheers as he hugged his old friends lifeless body.
*“HARPER, HELP! PLEASE!”** Bruce’s voice billowed down the corridor, but Harper couldn’t move.
“HARPER* ***PLEASE!* IT’S TRISTAN! HARPER, PLEASE HELP!”
Though still in shock, still trying to finish the math in his head, still trying to understand why Cody would do this to himself, he knew he had to get to his other friends and tell them. He needed their help.He forced Cody’s dead body off him and, using the wall to support him, climbed back up onto his feet, before taking a deep, quivering breath and stepping out into the corridor.
“BRUCE, WHERE ARE YOU?”** He called out. “BE CAREFUL! CODY’S DE - ” But before he could finish his sentence, 3 loud bangs from inside the wall.
“FRONT ROOM!” Bruce responded loudly and finally. “Please HELP!”
Harper ran fast from his spot. Three left turns and he was back at the locked door where he started, and he was guided the rest of the way by Bruce’s continued cries for help. As he approached the final doorway his candle flame went out, leaving the only available light to be the faint  light coming through the window on the door. Harper tried to open the door but it was locked.
“BRUCE LET ME IN!” He called out as he knocked three times on the door.
Three, slow, loud, booming bangs from the other side of the door startled him.
“Bruce stop fucking around and let me in! Cody’s dead!” His voice cracked as he spoke, but he received no response.
Pressing his face against the window, he tried his best to peer through the old, foggy glass, and he could see Bruce and Tristan inside. Both appeared to be sitting, drinking, talking, laughing. Harper felt the room spin and his vision go cloudy. He could hear his heartbeat pound in his ear and his voice give way as he attempted to shout.
“YOU’RE FUCKING WITH ME?” He screamed, weakly. “WHERE IS CODY? WAS HE FAKING IT?”
Bruce’s eyes shot to the Harper in the window and with a finger over his lips he gestured to him to be quiet. Harper then watched as Bruce stood, make his way over to Tristan with a smile on his face and began strangling him. For a split second he was certain they were just messing around - they had to be - but then he saw it in Tristan’s eyes. Harper tried with all his strength to bust the door open but it would not budge, and he watched as the life left Tristan’s body, and as the light left his eyes. Tristan’s corpse fell to the floor as Bruce rounded toward the door, and all Harper could do was run.
 
He ran as fast as he could. Down the dark corridor, down another old staircase until he found his way to the locked back door. The darkness was so heavy that he couldn’t see an inch in front of him, let alone the latch on the door, and after feeling around the left of his body he came to the realisation that he dropped his bag with the candles when he bolted from inside. Frantically he ran his hands along every edge of the door, trying to feel the latch, desperately trying to access his only way out. Just as he started to hear thundering footsteps running toward him he finally found the lever on the bottom left corner of the door. After kicking it loose and pulling the door open, he ran out into the muddy grounds and pouring rain.
The wind and rain felt like ice on his skin but still he persevered, desperately running for his life. He made it right around the gigantic house and into the front garden where he spotted Bruce’s car. Rushing over and trying not to slip in the mud, he discovered the car was locked and remembered that the keys were still inside in Bruce’s duffle bag, along with his phone.
“*I NEED YOU TO COME TO ME!”** **Bruce’s voice billowed through the grounds and Harper bolted - back around the other side of the house and into the surrounding bushland.
The heavy rain continued while Harper hid in the bushes and tried to figure out his next move. No phone, no light, no car, and a crazy best friend on the loose.
Feeling a warm breath on his neck, Harper turned around and Bruce was there. The two were eye to eye in the bushes, and Bruce’s face was blank.
“You did not come to me.” He said calmly.
Now was the moment. Harper realised he could either fight or he could die like his friends. Ignoring his fear and mustering up his strength he jumped forward in a tackle motion but Bruce was too quick with the blade which plunged into Harper’s abdomen. Harper fell to the ground, crying out in pain as the blood rushed into the muddy ground and Bruce laughed a high pitched, wicked laugh.
“I don’t understand what’s going on! Harper cried out between screams of pain, still trying his best to make sense of the situation. “If this is just a bad trip we can get you help!”
“You did not come to me.” Bruce repeated, slowly approaching Harper, blade glistening in his hand. “I needed you to come to me, brother.”
Harper recognised his moment. Groaning from the agonising pain, he flipped his body over and kicked out his leg, tripping Bruce who fell face first into the mud with the knife still clutched his hand. As Bruce let out a roar, Harper seized his opportunity to retreat, stumbling deeper into the bushland.
The rain began to ease the deeper into the bushland he moved, but it was so cold out that he could see his breath in the air. Finally arriving to a clearing by the lake, Harper’s legs gave way and he fell to the ground on the muddy river bank. He ripped off his shirt and tore it into one long strip of fabric before using it to tightly tie around his abdomen, adding pressure and protection to his wound. He lay his head back on the muddy ground as he grew weaker and weaker, ready to lose consciousness when he heard the rustling in the bushes.
“If you’re going to do it, do it now and do it quickly.” He spoke with his weak, defeated voice.
“You never came.” Bruce responded before falling once again face first into the muddy ground himself. Harper looked over and saw the blade lodged in Bruce’s back.
“What?” He was dumbfounded. “Bruce? Bruce?”
Facing the pain, he dragged his body through the mud over to his friend’s body, attempting to shake him awake.
“Your friend is dead.”
The world seemed to spin as a high pitched ringing filled his ears and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He knew the voice, but he knew this to be impossible.
“Who is that?” He queried foolishly.
“Your friend. He’s dead.” The voice responded with a tone of amusement.
Movement could be heard, though not seen, in the bushes and a dark silhouette stepped out into the night, but Harper couldn’t make out their face.
“Actually, all your friends are dead.”
A cold laugh followed by the sound of a match light and the igniting of a candle. Warm, flickering light filled the clearing and Harper could just make out the tall, lean figure and long, blonde hair.
He didn’t know if he could trust himself - he’d lost a lot of blood.
“Candy?” His childhood pet name for his sister, Candace.
 
A long, Harper sized trench was left behind in the mud as Candace dragged her brother by the ankle, back away from the bank of the lake, into the bushland and through to a muddy clearing. The surrounding forest was dense and the treetops sealed them in, blocking out the sky.
Harper regained consciousness as he felt himself rising into the air - it felt like she had hung him from his ankle, but he was attached to nothing - he was simply floating in mid-air.
“If you don’t want to bleed out then I need you to tell me why you’re here.” Candace said, coldly.
“I’m so *FUCKING confused! You’re DEAD!”
“Correct.”
“Our mother KILLED YOU!”
“Less correct.”
Harper paused at this, the desperate desire to understand beating down the walls he’d spent so many years building.
“She didn’t kill you! You’re right…she couldn’t’ have killed you! You’re here!”
Candace watched him for a moment.
“All your friends are dead.” She finally responded, laughing the same cold laugh that he’d heard earlier before continuing.
“I’ve been waiting so long. All this time and you never came. He said you would come” She paused and stepped closer to her brother, kneeling down and pulling his face to hers, looking him dead in the eyes as she continued.
“All this time, and then today you and your friends turned up. I thought you’d finally come to me - to us.”
Harper was getting frustrated now - nothing was making sense. Had she been hiding out in this abandoned building for the last twelve years?
“Tell me what the fuck is going on!” His voice sounded worn down and exhausted.
“Did dear old darling mother never explain to you what happened? Where I went? Where you come from?”
Silence.
“YOU WERE MEANT TO COME!” Candace’s voice was deep and demonic as she screamed these words and sent Harper flying through the open air, then crashing into the bushes on the opposite side of the clearing, mud splattering and seeping into his wound.
Harper, laying on the ground and already struggling from the blood loss, seemed on the verge of lifelessness.
“You really don’t know?” She added.
“I never went back to see mum after she went to jail.” Harper’s weak voice was barely more than a whisper. “She never explained, and I never went back. Then she killed herself.”
He paused.
“Pathetic, cowardly and guilty.” He added slowly.
Candace’s eyes softened as Harper continued.
“I changed my name and I never went back. I made a life for myself and no one knows about anything and I NEVER went back and I never will!”
“You were meant to come.” She responded quietly before beginning her story.
———————————
It was 9pm as Candace descended the stairs of the King house, her mother following in her wake. As she crossed the threshold, leaving her mother behind to cradle her lost father, she felt more powerful than she had ever imagined.
Slowly she walked further into the night, leaving bodies in her wake. The night grew darker and quieter as she walked, finally finding her way to the old bushland that her mother had once discovered. She calmly made her way through the bush and settled by the lake of her conception. It had rained recently, and the dirt beneath her feet had turned to mud, but still she sat. Sat for hours and waited for him.
Looking around she noticed the old brick building in the distance, and it is from here that the beast finally approached her.
Candace felt at home as it smothered her with it’s body, and when it’s claws pierced her skin she felt peace as the venom flooded her bloodstream. She lay down on the bank as the beast withdrew into the lake, and she let herself drift off, counting her heartbeat as it slowed.
Candace Candles died at 3:33am on March 24th, 2025.
———————————
“Welcome to my final resting place.” Candace spoke these words warmly. “Here we stand on my bones, my body buried beneath us.
“Why are we here though?” Harper was still lost. “I don’t understand.”
And so she explained. She told him of their earth parents fertility challenges and she told him of her conception by the beast on the bank of the very lake they’ve just come from. She then told him how years later their true father came again and took their barren mother in the night, thrusting his seed within her, bringing Harper into the world.
“I, as first born, was bound to hell. This was not my choice, but it is my paradise. But you had to come on your own.
“Then why are you here?”
“To make sure you make the correct choice.”
Harper became distraught.
“But my friends.” He was hyperventilating now. “Why did you kill my friends?”
“They were weak and they were my pathway to you.”
Harper was disgusted, and with this he finally found his voice.
“HOW DARE YOU KILL THEM! AND HOW DARE YOU DO THAT TO BRUCE!”
Candace stared blankly in his eyes as his chest heaved in breathlessness.
“If all you wanted was me then you didn’t need to kill them.”
“It was your punishment.” Candace responded after a moment.
“Punishment for what?”
“You did not come.”
“Well, now I’m bleeding out. Joke’s on you.” He barely whispered the words as his head fell back into the muddy ground.
He drew his final breath.
“And now you are coming.”

TW: animal death, child loss/infertility, possession

Candace Candles’ 17th Birthday
By
Kole William Labrino

Candace Candles was not prepared for her birthday weekend.

After she left school, she did everything a 17 year old girl would normally do on a Friday; hang out with her friends, head home for dinner with her family, see a movie with her boyfriend, Jonas, then finally go home to get some sleep ahead of her big birthday plans  the next day. She had her Saturday sport in the morning, then going shopping with her friends, and they would then all get ready together to go her birthday dinner.

Her before bed ritual consisted of a hot peppermint tea, a gummy or two while her parents weren’t looking, and a 9-step skincare routine with a TikTok beauty vlog in the background. The downtime was critical, she needed the relaxation, not to mention a deep sleep to drown out the sound of her 15-year-old brother in the room next door doing what 15-year-old boys do.

Candace slept deep that night and she dreamt of Jonas, as well as the new guy in her English class who’s been a little extra flirty lately. When she wasn’t dreaming of her boys, she was dreaming of fantasy lands far away; places that felt as unattainable as the future she wanted for herself. Magical places filled with mystical creatures, both light and dark. These dreams were the only place she could feel truly free, unbound by her parents' expectations, social status, and the limitations of her human body.
Deeper and deeper she slept, venturing further into her subconscious with each passing breath, until she woke with a sudden start.

4:30am on her iPhone. Still dark outside. The rest of the house is asleep. Though disappointed to wake so early, Candace felt more rested than she could ever remember. White-gold glow from the lamps outside made visibility easy as she looked around, taking in her bedroom. Her very own room which she had decorated all herself after convincing her parents to fund the change. The vanity mirror across from her old, creaky steel bed frame was vintage, rescued from a home auction and restored with the help of Jonas. Her prized dresser to to the right was the most expensive thing she owned. Maple wood sanded down and coated with a thin white paint, and beneath her bed was the vintage faux-fur rug. Candace adored her bedroom, and her favourite time spent was while she was here with Jonas or doom-scrolling on her iPad on her antique desk by the window. The desk courtesy of the former owners, found in the spare room when the Candles moved in.

Candace got herself out of bed and made her way across to the mirror, taking herself in. The skincare routine seemed to be working, although her long, blonde extensions were growing out, but she had a hair appointment coming up anyway. She would be able to style it so the grow out isn’t visible on her birthday.
Her blue eyes glistened in the light that filled the room, her spray tan was fully developed, and her waist was shaped to perfection. She knew the work she was putting in, but she still smiled as she barely recognised the girl in the mirror staring back.
Candace Candles woke up again 4 hours later and she didn’t remember going back to bed. Her body ached, her eyes felt heavy, and her nose was stuffy. While tearing her room apart searching for her nasal spray, she heard a knock on the door and her mother popped her head in.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart! Mr King called and said he’ll be here in 20 minutes. It’s his turn to drive you.”
Great. An hour in the car with Mr King and his daughter, Sapphire. The only girl in the whole school that didn’t like her. Now not only was she feeling sick on her birthday, but she would have to spend a whole car trip listening to Sapphire’s monotoned insults before playing half-hearted sport.
“OMG fabulous!” Candace responded sarcastically.
“Her dad is very lovely for doing this. He has to come all the way back to town after, 2 hours driving just for the two of you. Be grateful and give Sapphire a chance…you used to be good friends!”
“I wish them no harm.” Sapphire said with a grin.
“Get downstairs for breakfast.
Candace put herself together and made her way downstairs to the kitchen where it quickly became clear that her mother had gone all out on breakfast.
Pancakes, French toast, eggs and bacon, fruit salad, grapefruit, avocado, muffins and crumpets. Candace resisted the urge to remind her mother that they were a family of four.
“Mum this is insane!” She beamed.
“Special breakfast for my special girl!”
Candace’s father walked in. “Happy birthday my little girl! My angel child, my gift from the heavens!”
“Jesus Christ dad take it easy.” That was Candace’s brother Harper.”
“We do not use the lords name in vain!” Mrs Candles was furious.
“Settle down, I was only clarifying who sent Candy from the heavens.” He responded with a quick wink in Candace’s direction.
Ignoring the squabble, Candace hugged her parents and grabbed half a Grapefruit just as there was a knock on the front window.
Quickly grabbing her essentials; a sports bag, her water bottle, phone and lip balm, and a spoon for the Grapefruit, Candace rushed out the door.

“Candace Cankles!” That was Sapphire’s favourite nickname for her. “I don’t think that grapefruits gonna help with those tree trunks!”
“Did you steal those rolls from Subway?” Retorted Candace, pointing at Sapphires stomach. “Good morning, Mr King!” She called out with her fakest smile before Sapphire could respond. “Thank you so much for the ride, looks to be a lovely day!”
“Happy birthday Candace!” Was Mr King’s greeting of choice.
Candace felt the time turning slowly as they made their way to the netball. Sapphire’s choice of music was sub-par in her opinion; 80s and 90s pop. Her conversation skills weren’t much to behold either. Neither dared bicker in front of Sapphire’s dad, so both had to do their best to put on a friendly face.
“So, how’s that guy you’re dating?” Asked Sapphire. “He’s really cute, you lucked out there.”
“Jonas.”
“Yeah. How is he?”
“Your dog is dead.”
“Huh?”
“Your. Dog. Is. DEAD.”
Sapphire shot confused looks from Candace to her dad, and back, and forth.
“What the fuck? Who the actual fuck says something like that? Dad, do you see what she’s like now?”
“Your dad is dead.” Responded Candace.
According to the dashboard clock it was 9:21am and according to the radio, Candace’s car crash song was Livin’ la Vida Loca.
Sapphire had grabbed the wheel just as their old Volvo had veered into oncoming traffic, pulling the car back hard to the left before losing control and rolling, landing against the deep gutter along the side of the old country road. Moments later Candace woke, quickly making sense of her surroundings and feeling an overwhelming desperation to leave. The rear window was smashed, and the shattered glass prickled her skin as she dragged her body out through the back of the car.
Intrusive thoughts filled her head; it would be so easy. This is a prime opportunity. Why leave her orphaned when she can be with her family? But as she motioned back toward the car something stopped her. This was not what she needed to do today.
Candace called for emergency services and retreated into the nearby bushes lining the paddock by the road. Deep breaths overtook, her chest pulsating as the bright flashing lights filled the scene, an unfamiliar calm as Mr King was placed into a body bag, then a sick satisfaction as she watched two ambulances dive off in opposite directions: one carrying Sapphire and one carrying her father.
1pm on Candace’s iPhone when she woke in Jonas’ bed. He wasn’t with her and as she tried to remember when and how she came to be there; her mind was foggy. Taking in her surroundings she noticed her bloody clothes on the hard wood floor next to the bed, though she didn’t appear to have a scratch on her skin.
Her phone would not stop buzzing and when she finally checked it, she became aware of the situation she was in.
“Where are you?”
“Babe, you’re all over the news!? Are you okay?”
“Your parents have called all of us, the police are looking for you…weren’t you in the car with them?”
“Mr King is dead and Sapph is critical…”
“Ummmm…we still on for shopping or nah? Lol”
So they were looking for her now. Would they know? Would they understand what happened? She didn’t even understand what happened - why did Mr King die and why was she happy about it? Why was she blacking out and why wasn’t she injured in the crash that put Sapphire in critical condition?
With a deep breath, she forced herself up from Jonas’ bed and made her way through to the bathroom, the cool wooden floors giving her a sense of calm until she opened the door to find Jonas’ body in the bathtub, bled out, lifeless and stewing in his own bloody water. Surprised to feel nothing inside, she simply knew she needed to go - people are looking for her, she cannot be found here.
The clock read 3pm as her Uber pulled into the driveway of an old, double story, brown-brick house on the very outskirts of town. This was Sapphire’s house, and she didn’t know why but it seemed like the only place that no one would look for her. Sapphire was hospitalised, her dad was dead and there were no mother or siblings, just an empty old house.
The path lined with rose bushes suggested Mr King had a knack for gardening, and the beds that skirted along the front windows of the house were well groomed and adorned with an array of colourful wildflowers.
Breaking the front window, Candace unlocked the door from inside and made her way into the King residence.
Inside, Candace felt the sting of religious propaganda; it was clear that the Kings were part of the Church. From the cross straight ahead on the foyer wall to the portrait of Mother Mary atop the stairs on the left, it became even clearer. Catholics.
To the right was the doorway into the main house and Candace made her way through, taking in the musty scents of potpourri and cat litter. There was another pet here somewhere. Two great windows were draped with sheer curtains on the right, and the family dog laid dead on the brown, antique couch, eyes open. Anyone would have thought he was just staring out to the front yard, patiently waiting for his owners to come home.
Through the door on the left Candace made her way into to the kitchen and main living area. Growing impatient with the buzzing in her pocket, she answered her mother's call.
“Yes. I’m fine. I didn’t know what to do. I ran. No, I don’t want you to come. Yes. Yes. I’m at the King’s house. No, Sapphire doesn’t know I’m here. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t kill him. How could I have killed him? No please don’t come. Please. Okay, I’ll wait.
She felt excited, exhilarated. She lived a dreary schedule in her day-to-day life, ruled by routine and rules, bound by her parents' agenda. This is the first time she’d gotten into trouble. As she explored the rest of the house, she found the downstairs bathroom where she took in her reflection in the mirror.
Dishevelled. Refreshing.
She felt more like herself than she had for a long time.
Making her way back to the front room of the house, passing the cat’s lifeless body on the kitchen floor and through past the reverted cross on the foyer wall, Candace gazed out the front window as her parents’ car pulled into the driveway at full speed. She watched as her mother took in the driveway lined with dead roses and scoffed at the lifeless garden beds that lining the front of the house.
On discovery of the broken front window, she heard a gasp.
“You broke in!” Exclaimed her mother, voice filled with uncertainty and disbelief.
“I had nowhere else to go.” Candace spoke lifelessly, staring her mother deadpan in the face.
“Candace, this isn’t you. You don’t break and enter! You should be in hospital and if you were that desperate to leave then you could have come home! You’re acting guilty…”
Candace watched as desperation filled her mother's eyes, as her chest expanded and contracted uncontrollably, and listened as her breath got away from her.
“May I offer you a paper bag, mother? Candace said calmly.
Desperate eyes turned to shock and confusion.
“Please, Candace, what’s going on? Your father and I are very concerned.”
A pause.
“Candace?”
“Dad is dead.”
“Candace!”
A smirk.
“No really, dad is dead. Look.”
Mrs Candles head turned to where her daughter pointed, to where the body of Mr Candles laid lifeless and decaying on the tiled foyer floor. He appeared to have been dead for days, his skin a pale, greyish purple and peeling.
Candace stood and watched, taking in the sight of her mother, overcome with grief, collapsed on the floor. She breathed in the sight of her straddling her husband’s limp body, screaming into his face, demanding that he wake up, her cries beyond comprehension. Outcries interrupted only by gagging as she tried desperately not to be sick from the smell. Eventually unable to control herself, between each cry was a projectile of sick as the scent of decay overwhelmed her. Candace retreated upstairs to allow her mother the time to grieve, ascending the old staircase while her mother and father lay on the foyer floor, pooled in vomit and fluids.
When she woke again the clock on the nightstand noted 5:11pm.
Night would fall soon, and the authorities would be ready to wind down their search for the night. Her mother sat on the floor next to her bed, staring at the wall and filthy from head to toe. The smell of her was indescribable.
“Mum, you’re disgusting. You need to shower.” Said Candace with a gentle giggle.
Her mother whimpered. “Please, Candace. What’s going on?”
“It’s almost time to go, you need to get cleaned up.”
“I will not.”
Candace could not remember feeling angrier than she did in this moment and she noted the look of horror on her mother's face as she stared into her eyes.
“My daughter! My daughter! What has happened to my daughter?” Mrs Candles shouted in Candace’s face.
“I don’t’ know what you…” and then she saw it; Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the opposite wall, Candace could see her own face, her skin dull and lifeless when compared to the deep, red eyes staring back. Fear subsided and her world went quiet, she only felt free.
A pause, and then a laugh.
 “You’ve aged like shit, you miserable old cunt.” she spat at her mother with a hideous cackle. “Did you not think this day would ever come? You thought this was all incidental? That your precious little Christian daughter, the good little girl, just found herself in a spot of trouble? A series of unfortunate deaths?”
She laughed again.
“This has been a long time coming.”
Mrs Candles looked horrified; A Deer in headlights, glued to the spot in fear as her daughter spoke.
“17 years I have waited and watched. Watched this little girl grow up into this pathetic, vain woman of your raising. 17 years I have watched as you and your family have lived the life that I allowed you to live.”
Mrs Candles, tears gushing down her face, was confused. “I don’t under…”
A deep voice was expelled from Candace’s mouth.
“Enough!” She shouted as her mother’s body was hurled through the air, her body crashing through wall and landing on the floor of the tiled bathroom.
“Did you think this was forever and I would never come to collect?”
And then Mrs Candles realised.
June 24th, 2007. Cordelia and and Kevin Candles had just left their doctor’s office after learning that they would have difficulty getting pregnant. The news weighed heavily, and the silence was palpable as Kevin drove them both home in his old Honda Accord. 35 minutes and neither said a word to each other.
Cordelia has desperately longed to be a mother for as long as she could remember, and she knew that Kevin too was ready to be a father. They had been trying for 3 years and this was the outcome they had dreaded.
Cordelia felt helpless. Moving forward felt impossible, and her dreams unattainable.
Kevin veered off the old dirt road and pulled the into the driveway while Cordelia stared lifelessly out of the window.
“I think I’ll take a walk.” She mumbled.
Kevin was concerned. “Baby I think you should come inside.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
Silence.”
“I can’t go in there. I need some air.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, Kevin.”
So, Cordelia walked. She walked for blocks inside her own head, no awareness of the world around her. She walked until she didn’t know where she was anymore. Twilight was turning to dusk, and she found her way to an old reserve, wandering through the Gumtree ladened forest until she settled by the bank of an old lake. She could not move, the oppressive weight of every disappointment she had ever dreaded bound her to the spot and she could do nothing but scream. Tears coated her face as she screamed into the protruding darkness of night. Hours passed and the night reached its darkest, yet she could not bear to leave. She laid by the bank, curling up by the water, sobbing. It was just as she started to drift off that she heard footsteps in the bushes.
A familiar calm washed through her as he took her face in his hands and gently kissed her neck. Though a part of her subconscious was screaming at her to run as fast as she could, she knew not to feel afraid, and so she was open and willing as she let him overcome her. She could see little more than a dark shadow as he mounted her, and the pleasure as he entered was immense and unlike anything she had ever felt. As he climaxed within, her body relaxed in entirety and warm tingles travelled through her like the feeling of warm water washing the world away. At dawn she woke alone and naked on the bank of the lake convinced she had only dreamt about him until she saw the claw marks on the muddy ground. Through her reflection in the lake water, she noticed the bruises on her neck and scratches on her shoulders. By the time she had dressed and found her way home to her husband, the markings were gone, and 3 weeks later she took a positive pregnancy test. On the 23rd of March 2008, Candace Candles made her way into the world.
“I remember you.” Cordelia exclaimed weakly as Candace held her throat on the bathroom floor. “Why did I forget you? Who the hell are you?”
Candace grinned.
“I am your saviour.”
“What do you want with us? Why are you here?”
“I want to claim my blood!” Shouted Candace. “You were the optimum vessel. So weak, so pathetic and sad, and so vulnerable…crying out into the night, desperate for a miracle. I was and I am that miracle. I gave you life when you had nothing. I gave you a child when you would have sacrificed everything for a family, and I have waited as you’ve raised her and lived with her, but the time is now.”
Cordelia cried out, “Time for what? I don’t understand!”
“You had 17 years; it’s time for her to come home. She is my blood, and she is my heir. She is half of Earth and half of Hell. It is time for her to come home.
“No! I won’t let you!”
“You have your son!” Snarled Candace in response. “Your son that I gave you. That’s right, you don’t remember because you were a drunken disaster after your miscarriage, but I was there, and I took you as your husband and his useless sperm slept in your bed and I gave you your 2nd born. He is yours to raise and I will not come for him until he comes to me. Our daughter belongs in Hell.”
“I don’t understand! Why go through all this? Why did you kill King and my husband? If all you wanted was my daughter, then why all this?”
“You dumb, cunt. Bloodshed secures entry through the gates; she needed a kill! The dad as her first kill allows her to come home.”
Cordelia couldn’t breathe. Candace grinned.
“Although…I confess I lost my temper and killed the dog to fuck with that pathetic, fat friend of hers”
“You’re a monster!”
“And your husband had to die. His soul will spend eternity in Hell and that is your payment for the life I have given you.”
Finding her strength, Cordelia attempted to fight back, though Candace was too strong now. She restrained her mother’s hands, leaving her to sob loudly on the floor while she began dressing and cleaning herself up. While preparing for her journey, she did invite her mother to walk with her back to the lake of her conception, where she would ascend, however once met with no response she readied herself. Finally, after what felt like hours, the clock read 9pm as she descended back down the stairs, her mother following in her wake.
As Candace passed the threshold, her mother collapsed back onto the tiled floor, cradling her husband, watching as her daughter walked slowly into the night.
The following day Sapphire was discharged and escorted home by police to collect her belongings before moving into foster care. Cordelia had not left and was found quietly weeping on the floor with her dead husband, still frozen in shock. She was blamed for the death of Jonas and Kevin, as well as Aristotle the house cat and Rico the dog, and she was presumed to have poisoned Mr King prior to his drive.
She was found guilty of 2 counts of animal abuse, 3 counts of murder, as well as the disappearance of Candace on the assumption that she had been killed and her body hidden.
Cordelia was sentenced to 41 years in prison and would go on to serve 7 of them before being discovered by a guard, bleeding out from her wrists on the floor of her cell.
Harper lived out the remainder of his adolescent life in foster care. On his 18th birthday he packed up and left this town, relocating to the city where the dark memory and rumours of his family would not follow him.
Candace Candles missed her birthday dinner and was never seen again.

How about another sweet little, innocent Halloween story?

When Memories Die: Some memories should stay buried.

Ryan returns to Potter’s Field after ten years away. Janice thinks he wants closure. Ryan wants something else. He has been studying her life, perfecting the childhood they shared, reshaping it into a story only he believes.

When they meet again, the cornfields whisper the truth. Some memories never die. They rot until they can speak again.

Kihei is the name of an area on the south side of Maui. Not quite a city of its own, touristy, but certainly not as bad as anything on O’ahu. Maybe a population around 20,000. For six months there sat a jar atop the fridge gathering all the spare cash she could scrounge together. She even taped on a small picture of a brown, sunkissed shoreline.

Six months was a good run, longer than she thought. Inevitably the temptation to move faster—to double, maybe even triple it—was too strong. Everything was lost in one frantic night, mostly at blackjack. For a time, the jar and its photo stayed put. Whenever she saw it, the overwhelming guilty heartache of its emptiness seemed an appropriate punishment. Penance to be paid. Eventually nausea took hold and this symbol had to be toppled, relocated to a low cupboard, far into the back.

https://open.substack.com/pub/memoryandfate

I'm looking to connect with fiction authors to share about their books in my catalog and newsletter. Theres nothing required besides a published book with a link to buy. I just want to help my fellow authors out. <3

I found her sitting on the floor next to my couch, the black cat quietly snuggled on her lap. I couldn't even call the little goblin a traitor. She was, after all, his original human. I handed her a cup of tea. I had promised her I would answer some of her questions just to ease her mind so I gave her space and sat down on the couch, even though I still had a preference for the floor as well. She absentmindedly scratched the little void's ears, right on his preferred spot. I could practically see the maelstrom roiling inside her brain as she let out her first question. "Have you spoken to him again? I know he goes missing for a while sometimes but he always comes back eventually."

I looked at her, felt the hope in her voice, it pained me deeply. How would I tell her that three years had passed since I last heard of him? How would she handle knowing she was the one that last spoke to him with the news she was leaving that godforsaken house to go live with her grandpa? How could I break the hope she held so dearly for someone to whom she would never speak to again? I couldn't lie. She hated lies. Nor could I omit or dodge the question. She hated that even more. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I hoped my words wouldn't crush her further.

"I don't think you'll like what I'm about to tell you, but if it comforts you I am past the hurting and almost made my peace with it: no hon', it has been 3 years since I've last heard of him. I stopped believing he would reach out a long time ago so I blocked him and unfriended him everywhere. I locked him out. And for your own sake, so should you. He was always lurking in my insta stories, it was both ridiculous and infuriating. I even got notifications he was checking my profile on apps he used to belittle and hate. It would be amusing hadn't it been so hurtful. Trust me, your mental health does not need to deal with that."

"Oh, I see..." She looked disappointed, more so than hurt, which I knew for sure she was feeling. "I understand." She added after taking a small sip from the cup, then returned to the dark haired devil's ears, much to his enjoyment. "But I feel like I want to hold on to hope a bit longer, you know? He hasn't really done anything wrong or out of the ordinary even. He has helped me a lot, he deserves to have the chance to reach out and explain, don't you think?". The cat took a nip at her pointer finger as if reading my thoughts and wanting to snap her out of it.

Oh I knew damn well that train of thought. I also knew he would never reach out, much less explain. He never explained. He did once, it all made sense, but it took him 2 years to do so just for him to fall back into old habits eventually. I was not banking my time on such foolishness anymore. However, I also knew I couldn't force her hand, she needed her time, her "hope". She always saw the good in people. "Gullyable" he had called her. He was right, always was, the damned prick. I couldn't blame him either. He was most likely merely living his life and doing what was best for his own mental sake. She would eventually understand it would be pointless and arrive at the same conclusion I did. I would have to let time run its course.

I sighed. "Do whatever you feel is best for you."

She quietly nodded, understanding. She looked away and I could see her inner fight before she mouthed her next question. "How about the other one? Is he still a part of your life?" I chuckled. A sarcastic ridden chuckle. "What do you think?" She looked back at me, pain mirrored in her chocolat coloured eyes. She remained quiet. Waiting for me to continue. I looked away, knowing I was about to give her some of her precious hope where there was none to be had. Yet again, lying was not on the table. Sometimes I truly hated my overly righteous moral compass.

"If it puts your mind at ease, he reached out. More than a year ago, but he did. All on himself as well." Not having the courage to look her in the eyes I added: "It didn't last. He answered about two messages and then nothing. Asked me to call to keep in touch, I tried. He never answered nor did he call back. He sounded tired, crushed by the weight of life. Last I've heard he was still trying to make things work with her. I don't know if they made it, but for his sake I hope they did. He still lurks on my instagram stories every once in a while but I've erased and blocked his number. I don't want to feel tempted to call and risk the void again. You should do the same. And I know you know I would try to reach out if given the chance."

I felt the soft weight of her hand on my arm. "I know. But I know you know I can't do that. Not yet. Maybe a couple months in the future I'll be able to, we'll see." I smiled at her and she smiled back. I knew it would take her much more than a couple of months. But that was her: always hoping for closure from people while I knew damn well she would only get it from herself. So blissfully naive, she was. I wish she could retain some of that in the future but she had to harden her skin if she was to move forward. I understand that now.

She withdrew looking defeated but oddly at peace. I grabbed her hand on instinct. "Look my love, if it makes you feel better I still do not regret a single thing. I've learned a lot from it and so will you. I've learned not to trust blindly or open up so easily, but now, when I do there's a real lasting connection there. I've learnt not to put my time and energy where it is clearly not wanted or welcomed. Instead I give it to whoever cherishes it and returns it. Even if that someone is just me for a while. I grew, painfully so, but I did. So will you, and trust me when you look back upon those days you will think of how sweet and naive you were and how much you needed it to become yourself in the end. There will be no bad blood nor hurt feelings, merely nostalgia. And you'll have made your peace with it by then."

She nodded once more and smiled, a silent tear falling from her eye. I wiped it away with my thumb. She looked at the not so little black fluff ball on her lap, as if to find some comfort in knowing he was still there, and asked her next question. "Did you make it? Are you on the path towards your dream job?". Now that was the elephant in the room. How would she see me after knowing I had all I've ever dreamed and deliberately chose to let it go because it felt hollow and pointless? I honestly didn't know how she would take my answer.

"What if I tell you I had it?". She seemed confused. "Had? As in: past tense?". I nodded and continued: "I was well launched in the path towards getting it, enjoyed what I was doing too, but along the way I realised it was nothing like I thought it would be and I didn't want it anymore. So I turned around. I was offered the chance, I took it and I turned around." She looked baffled when she asked "Why?". "That is a very long story, I don't think we have enough time but the jist of it is quite simple: I accepted the opportunity presented to me for your sake. I obviously wanted to do it for myself, of course, but I knew you would never forgive me if I hadn't given it a try. So I did. I loved the job, but the morals? Gosh were they sewage. You would've hated it. You will hate it. But it was important for me to understand what I truly valued and wanted for myself." I paused and squeezed her hand. She looked me in the eye and I added: "When the time comes, take the plunge. But trust your gut. Your intuition is right, more often than you give it credit for." She nodded understandingly.

I knew her better than I knew myself and I could see that next question bubbling up through her throat. "Did you meet anyone?". Predictable. I smiled widely at her. "You will be surprised about how close to you he is." She looked at me wide eyed. "What is that supposed to mean?". I chuckled again. "You will see." Little did she know he was only about two months away. But life still had one last curveball before he found her. It would hurt her deeply but she would later understand why she had to brake before rebuilding.

"Is he good?" I snapped back to the moment with her question. "In what way?" I asked, a wicked smile on my lips. She laughed. I adored that sound. "Gosh, you're insufferable!" She swatted my leg and I retorted: "You would know...". She laughed again before adding: "For you, is he good for you?". I needn't ponder on that, the answer was obvious but I had to be careful on what I shared otherwise I would risk too much. I smiled and looked away. "He is everything I needed and didn't know I wanted. He is imperfectly perfect in every way and he has shown me that love isn't an all consuming inferno. It is but a campfire you need to keep feeding wood, not big enough to burn but strong enough to light the space around you, keep you warm. It doesn't let you see everything in the void but chases enough of the shadows away so that you can keep going. And it keeps burning so long as you both keep feeding. And we both do, my love, me and him."

She was smiling when I looked back at her, teary eyed. She squeezed my hand. "So you're happy." Not a question, not a doubt, a certainty. "Blissfully so." I added. There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. As if she needed that information to soak in in order to soothe her mind. "Will it hurt?" She asked at last, looking away again. I knew she would. Naively predictable I was.

"I will not lie to you as I know I sure hate being lied to. You will feel the sting of pain more times than you will like. Most of those will not be physical. But you will catch every curveball life will throw and you will navigate them, maybe not always gracefully, but you will. You will grow and learn to deal with all of them one step at the time. And when it gets tough, when you feel like you cannot take it anymore, remember you are not alone. I am with you always, retracing my own steps because I've walked the path you're on right at this moment. I made it. So will you." I held her hand in mine and pushed her chin gently up to level our eyes. "You will be incredibly happy as well. And you will learn to look at the good, the bad and the ugly with 'it's just another rodeo' lenses. You will get all you've dreamed of and you will choose to leave it all behind over a life with him. You will never regret it. If anything he will make you believe every single day of how you made the right choice. He will also build you your very own Atelier and let me tell you, you'll fucking love it. I know it, because I do." She laughed seemingly lighter.

"We'll have an actual Atelier?" She asked. "No, babe, we HAVE an actual Atelier. As of now it already exists." I corrected, pointing at myself. That level of detail couldn't hurt. She looked excited. I knew she needed all the positive bits she could find to handle the next couple of months. I hugged her tightly and felt her arms squeeze around me while her tears dripped warm on my shirt. "I know all this because I have lived it. I survived it. Don't forget I was where you are right now." She sighed, I felt her chin on my shoulder. "I know. It comforts me knowing we're alright." She said. We were more than alright. We were thriving. I was thriving, for both of us.

This had to be the strangest conversation I had ever had in my life. When I saw her, well, when I saw me, younger me anyways, sitting in my living room I was sure which one of me it was just by the haircut and skinny looking face. I wish I had had the chance to have a chat with my older self three years ago. I knew damn well I desperately needed it. And here we were. Here I was? Confusing as heck, hugging myself and sharing the future without actually sharing. But I knew: she would survive. I did.
After all, I knew her better than I knew myself.

A glowing crystal chandelier hangs over a grand table filled with delicacies that would make even an angel’s mouth water. A large, seasoned fish wafts its garlic aroma through the smoke, with several smaller cuts around it. Savory meats, various breads, colorful desserts, and fresh vegetables sit across the rectangular table as five figures sit opposite each other. Ganymede is accompanied by his youngest, Brenda, and they quietly and solemnly eat their roasted duck with a silver fork and knife, ignoring the shirtless man at the end of the table chomping on a cooked bird leg and letting strips of half-devoured meat rain onto the table.  Laura sits silently, staring solemnly at an empty plate as Resten, in his formal uniform, slowly cuts into a steak with a knife and fork. He worriedly eyes his mother, whose vacant gaze is fixed on the empty plate before her. Worried that Sylvester will notice, Resten gently puts down his utensils and taps Laura's leg under the table.

“Mother,” Resten whispers, “Please, you need to eat something.”

Laura doesn’t respond, staring at her empty plate as if her mind isn’t present. Ganymede, slowly chewing his roasted duck, cautiously glares at Laura from across the table, trying to get her attention. He picks up an olive from a small plate of salad and glances at Sylvester, who’s gulping steaming soup from a large bowl. Planting an olive between his thumb and index finger, Ganymede flicks the olive across the table, pelting Laura in the forehead. The platinum-haired woman slowly raises her head and looks at Ganymede, who’s silently mouthing ‘EAT SOMETHING’ to her.

Resten recognizes Ganymede’s silent words, picks up his utensils, quickly cuts a chunk of steak, and raises the fork to Laura’s mouth.

“Here, mother,” The young man whispers as he inches the savory meat close to her mouth.

The steam wafting into her nose doesn’t faze her; she continues to stare vacantly into the empty plate, ignoring everyone around her. Resten pokes her mouth with a piece of meat, but she turns her head away.

“Is the food not to your liking?” Sylvester says, wiping grease from his face with a towel.

Laura sits quietly, staring at her empty plate, her hands resting on her legs. Ganymede silently eats his morsel, eyes cautiously ping-ponging between Sylvester and Laura.

Sylvester strips a turkey leg from a cooked carcass and tosses it onto Laura’s plate, where gravy splatters across the table.

“Your finest cooks have slaved to make this feast. Eat.” Sylvester sits back into his chair.

Laura sits quietly, turning her head slightly away from her meal in hidden spite, while Resten nervously and gently shakes her legs.

“Mother, please,” Reston whispers under his breath.

“Oh, don’t be so glum, Laura,” Sylvester smiles. “Don’t think of this interaction as prisoner and warden, although that is exactly what this is; I like to think of it as a family gathering. We’ve known each other for years, and I wanted to commemorate these years of peace and stability with a celebration. So why don’t you be a good girl and pick up that bird and eat it.”

Laura clenches her white dress, and her jaw tightens as she gazes at the turkey leg unceremoniously placed on her plate.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” Sylvester says, smiling at the Queen. “I’m guessing you’re refusing to eat so you won’t have the strength to fight when the time comes to entertain me, aren’t you?”

Laura doesn’t answer.

“She probably isn’t well,” Ganymede says.

Sylvester turns his head and glares at Ganymede with threatening eyes.

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Sylvester says, a menacing growl beneath his sharp tone.

Ganymede shrugs and continues eating his meal.

The warlord turns his gaze back to Laura and leans on the table.

“Eat,” Sylvester commands, glaring daggers at Laura.

The queen glares back at Sylvester and lifts her nose.

“No,” She says in a soft, defiant tone.

Glaring at the woman, Sylvester’s jaw tightens as he clenches his spoon so tight it bends under the pressure. He glares into the woman’s defiant eyes before his angry glare morphs into a smile. Dropping his bent spoon, he rests his back in his royal chair, picks up a red grape, and plops it into his mouth. He chews for a few moments, gazing at Laura with amusement, who keeps her defiant nose in the air.

“Guard!” Sylvester shouts.

A few moments pass before a lady Cugarian guard enters the room holding a spear. She leans in, bringing her smooth, dark-skinned head near his mouth as the warlord whispers in her ear. She smiles, then turns and exits. Sylvester picks up another grape and eats it as he calmly taps his finger on the table. A few moments pass, and the lady guard enters, holding Laura’s rapier in both hands. Sylvester takes the rapier and places it on the table. A short while later, the same Cugarian guard returns. This time, he returns with two Casternean men, horns protruding from their foreheads, dressed in white cooking clothes, and a Casternean maid, wings protruding from the sides of her head. The three stand beside Sylvester, sharing confused, worried looks.

Sylvester stands and clasps Laura’s rapier.

“Your Queen doesn’t like the food you’ve prepared,” Sylvester says before thrusting the blade into the man’s gut.

The man wails in agony as he falls to his knees with the rapier in his gut.

“DADDY!” The maid cries as she falls near her father as he screams in agony.

“HOW DARE YOU!” Enraged, Laura jumps from her chair and charges toward Sylvester.

 Resten springs from his chair and wraps his arms around his mother’s waist, stopping her.

The maid cries as she tries to console her father while Sylvester coldly glares at Laura, her face filled with unbridled rage.

Ganymede and Brenda stand to see the wounded man's state. Blood pools beneath him as his eyes roll around in his head, with cold sweat pouring down his face.

Ganymede and Brenda exchange glances and nod. Brenda quickly circles the table, grabs a white towel, and rushes to the dying man to tend to his wounds.

“Eat that turkey!” Sylvester demands, pointing to the plate.

“You coward!” Laura screams, fist balled in rage, while Resten uses all of his strength to hold Laura back. “You’re not my lord,”

“I DON’T GIVE A DAMN WHAT I AM TO YOU!” Sylvester screams back. “IF YOU THINK YOU HAVE A RIGHT TO YOUR OWN WILL, THEN CHALLENGE ME AND DEFEAT ME FOR IT. OTHERWISE, DO WHAT YOU ARE TOLD TO DO, OR I’LL HAVE EVERY CASTERNEAN HERE SLAUGHTERED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!”

Laura, seething, teeth clenched and fist balled, glares menacingly at the Warlord as he lifts his nose. Everything in her screams at her to accept his challenge, but the trembling arms of her son wrapped around her waist make her relent. Tears roll down her cheeks as she swallows her pride and rage and slowly sits in her seat. Resten pants in exhaustion as he sits in his chair, his uniform now disheveled from the struggle. Laura picks up the utensils, stabs the fork into the savory turkey leg, and cuts off a piece. Her fork hand trembles as she brings it to her lips. She opens her mouth and eats the morsel.

Watching Laura eat the turkey leg, Sylvester slowly sits in his chair and scoots closer to the table. He picks up a bundle of grapes and resumes eating. Brenda dresses the man’s wounds on the floor before picking him up in her arms and carrying him out of the dining area, followed by his loved ones. Ganymede shakes his head, then sits in his seat as everyone finishes their dinner.

Later, in the fancy halls of Mainstay Castle, Ganymede paces back and forth on the crimson rug while Laura leans against her door. Ganymede glares at Laura as he walks past her, while Laura keeps her sullen head lowered.

“What the hell was that back there!” Ganymede says angrily, pointing toward the dining hall, but keeping his voice down. “Have you lost your mind!”

“Shut up, Ganymede,” Laura spits back angrily. “What would you do? I have to sit at that godforsaken table with that monster and listen to that disgusting beast eat like a pig day after day, all while he taunts and tortures me and my people?”

“Yes, Laura! Yes,” The chieftain spits back. “It’s been keeping us and our people alive. You almost got a man killed because of your antics.”

“Look at you.” Laura steps to Ganymede, head tilted up. “The mighty chieftain reduced to a man who eats from the hand of the very man who enslaves his people.”

“Oh, stop it,” Ganymede says. “You think I don’t want to crush his skull and pound his corpse into dust? I’ve tried hundreds of times. But time and time again, he manages to beat me. We need a better plan, Laura. We can’t keep this up much longer. Another battle between us might be the last, and you know what happens then, right?”

Laura lowers her head, worriedly stroking her own arms.

“That’s right, Brenda and Resten will take our places. You think they’re ready for what Sylvester has in store for em?”

“Resten is my precious son. I can’t lose him,” Laura’s voice trembles at the thought of her son’s suffering. “Not to him. Not like this.”

“Then it's best to put your petty emotions aside and cooperate.”

Laura nods in agreement.

“Forgive me.” She wipes a tear from her face.

Ganymede sighs in frustration, turns towards the stained-glass window, and rests his arm and forehead on it. He mulls over ideas, but nothing useful comes to mind.

“I haven’t seen my wife nor my daughters in a long time,” Ganymede says. “I’m happy to watch Brenda grow despite being imprisoned, but I wish things were different. I spent so much time fighting you; I feel that I know you better than my own family. At one time, I thought all that mattered was winning the war, but all I got out of it was this.”

“I haven’t seen my husband in years,” Laura says. “Sometimes I worry if I’ll ever see him again. We used to take Resten to the prairie fields and prance together under the evening sun until we fell asleep.” Laura wipes a tear from her eye. “I miss those days.”

A solemn silence settles between the two as they reminisce about better times at home.

“You think we’ll be able to return to those times, Laura?” Ganymede asks, still leaning on the stained-glass windows.

Laura stays silent, leaning against the door and nervously stroking her arms as she thinks about the answer.

“I don’t know.”

"really BAD Shakespeare" Episode 5: Prodigious Birth is live.

If you’ve been waiting for the moment when the story tilts fully into televised prophecy, mother‑son creepiness, and a very rude time jump, this is the one.

Readers have already written in. One quit their job. One threw a muffin. One burned their copy and bought another. Episode 5 is that kind of episode.

If you’re caught up, dive in. If you’re new, this is a surprisingly good place to start because nothing makes sense anyway.

Episode 5: Prodigious Birth is live. Go read it before the kid wakes you up

The heavy, dust-laden air above the ruined garden crater hung motionless. The ground was torn open, split by deep fissures radiating outward from where the legendary blade Hyki lay half-embedded in the cracked dirt. Its pitch-black, suffocating aura had faded into faint wreathes of dark smoke, leaving the steel exposed and silent.

Lord Daijiro Yanma stood unmoving, his bare chest stained with fresh blood where the Bloody Curse Impulse had cut across his torso. His left arm hung slightly limp, his fingers battered and swollen from the crushing force of the Nitōryū Uwabami-geki. He looked down at the empty palm of his hand, then lifted his eyes toward the two young swordsmen kneeling in the debris.

Daijiro let out a low, breathy laugh that turned into a deep chuckle. "I am truly surprised... Gama 1, taking a direct thrust through your own shoulder just to lock my blade... and Gama 2, executing such an incredible, pinpoint strike on my wrist... You two are truly amazing! HA HA HA HA!"

Gama 1 panted heavily, clutching his bleeding left shoulder with his right hand. Blood dripped through his fingers, staining his torn black coat, but his gaze remained fierce and unyielding.

"As you promised..." Gama 1 rasped, his voice ragged from the sheer effort. "If we took that sword out of your hands... you would quit."

Daijiro closed his eyes, exhaling a long plume of gray mist into the cold air. He slowly lowered his guard, relaxing his stance completely.

"Yes," Daijiro said calmly. "A promise is a promise. I am stepping down... However, I am only one man. What about Sythen?"

NORTHERN COURTYARD — YANMA CASTLE

BOOOOM!

A massive shockwave shattered a row of stone archways as a giant, white-furred beast slammed his massive paws into the courtyard floor!

Sythen Yanma—transformed completely into his towering White Wolf beast form—snarled, his predatory eyes glowing with wild, bloodthirsty excitement. Surrounding him, the ground was torn to ribbons, littered with smashed stone and uprooted trees.

Sythen grinned, revealing row upon row of razor-sharp fangs. "Kids! Do you really think you are going to beat me?!"

Rihasa wiped a streak of blood from his jaw, lowering his stance until his hands grazed the gravel like a wild predator. His eyes burned with golden energy. "No! We don't just think... we actually BELIEVE we're going to beat you!"

Behind him, Sha wiped the sweat from his forehead, his palm hovering over his water pouch. "Don't let your guard down, Rihasa! That beast could tear your stomach wide open!"

"Don't talk garbage!" Rihasa barked back, a wild, reckless smile splitting his face. "If he's a beast... then I'm an even BIGGER BEAST! YAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!"

Rihasa's aura exploded outward in a blinding flash of golden light as he forced his internal reserves to their limit:

┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐

│ RIHASA — COMBAT OUTPUT │

│ Strength Mastery: 60% │

│ Endurance Mastery: 40% │

│ Special Mode: Rising Tiger (20%) │

│ Technique: Rising Flash Claw │

└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

With a deafening roar, Rihasa shot forward like a golden bullet, his hands transforming into thick, energy-coated talons as he aimed a lethal cross-slash straight at Sythen's throat!

"BEAST TECHNIQUE: DESTRUCTIVE STRIKE!" Sythen bellowed!

Sythen brought his massive, fur-covered claws down with terrifying, high-speed velocity, meeting Rihasa's attack head-on!

KA-BOOM!

The collision generated a heavy, area-clearing shockwave that pulverized the surrounding walkway tiles into fine white dust. Rihasa's feet skidded backward across the gravel, but before he could regain his balance, Sythen blurred through the dust cloud, appearing directly in front of Rihasa's face!

Sythen's massive right claw shot out, aimed directly at Rihasa's exposed neck!

SWOOSH!

"AQUATIC PRISM!" Sha screamed from forty feet away!

A massive torrent of compressed water erupted from the ground, wrapping around Sythen's upper body and trapping the massive wolf inside a swirling, dense sphere of high-pressure water mid-air!

Inside the sphere, Sythen's muffled, mocking laughter echoed clearly through the liquid layer. "Do you kids really think you can hold me with a little bit of water?!"

With a sharp, violent flex of his massive shoulders, Sythen crossed his claws inside the sphere and ripped outward!

SPLASH!

The high-pressure water bubble was sliced into four clean pieces, exploding outward in a harmless shower of mist. Sythen landed lightly on his feet, grinning arrogantly.

Sha's eyes narrowed into dark, serious slits. He stepped up beside Rihasa, his hands glowing with a deep blue aura. "Rihasa... we need to coordinate our moves."

Without listening to a single word, Rihasa surged forward again, shouting over his shoulder, "Coordination can go to hell!"

"RISING FLASH TACKLE!"

Rihasa's entire frame was enveloped in a roaring golden aura shaped like a charging tiger. He shot straight toward Sythen at full speed, intending to slam his full body weight clean through the giant wolf's chest!

Sythen stood his ground, spreading his arms wide with a dark, confident smirk. "Bring it on!"

CLASH!

Sythen caught Rihasa mid-charge, his massive paws locking firmly around the boy's shoulders. Absorbing the kinetic impact, Sythen spun on his heel in a violent, full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle and hurled Rihasa across the courtyard like a ragdoll!

"AQUA FLOOR!" Sha shouted, slamming his palms onto the ground!

A smooth, frictionless layer of water instantly materialized beneath Rihasa's skidding feet, absorbing his momentum and bringing him to a gentle stop before he could crash into the keep wall.

Sha marched over, glaring at Rihasa. "Don't be so stubborn, Rihasa! We need a proper tactical plan to finish this monster!"

Rihasa spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, rubbing his sore neck. "Tch! Fine! Tell me what to do!"

"Look," Sha said quickly, his eyes analyzing Sythen's posture. "I observed his fighting style—his attacks are mostly high-power, area-destructive moves or close-range swipes. He lacks effective long-range precision attacks. If we maintain a calculated distance, we can dominate the flow of the battle."

"But my attacks aren't long-range!" Rihasa complained. "They're short or mid-range at best!"

"I have a plan," Sha reassured him. "I will distract him and throw his balance off to open up a clear line of attack for you. Once that opening is made, you strike with everything you have!"

Rihasa grinned, slapping Sha firmly on the back. "That's my brother! Let's do it!"

Sythen sneered, cracking his knuckles as his fur stood on end. "Whatever little plan you kids are cooking up... it won't work on me! BRING IT ON!"

Sha acted instantly, making a sharp upward gesture with his right hand: "WATERSPOUTS!"

Three massive, swirling pillars of water erupted beneath Sythen's boots! Sythen leaped high into the air with terrifying agility, dodging the spouts completely—but as he floated mid-air, Sha redirected his left hand toward Rihasa!

"AQUA JET!"

A concentrated stream of water blasted into Rihasa's back, launching the boy straight into the air toward Sythen like a human cannonball!

Sythen smirked as he saw Rihasa flying toward him. So that's your game... another close-combat gamble!

Sythen prepared to intercept Rihasa's strike—but before Rihasa reached close-quarters range, the boy pulled his hands back, channeling every ounce of his aura into a wide-area slash!

"DIVINE CLAWS: 1000 METERS!"

Sythen's eyes widened in surprise. "WHAT?!"

A massive wave of razor-sharp golden energy claws erupted from Rihasa's hands mid-air, slamming directly into Sythen's guard! The force drove the giant wolf down into the dirt below, causing a loud CRASH as Sythen landed on his feet, sliding back ten yards.

Sythen wiped a drop of sweat from his chin, looking up with an impressed grin. "Quite an impressive move... but child's play like that won't leave a real wound on me!"

Sythen dropped low, slamming both of his massive fists violently into the earth:

"BEAST TECHNIQUE: RUMBLE SMASH!"

BOOOOOOM!

The entire northern courtyard violently shook as the concrete floor fractured into thousands of jagged, floating stone chunks! The sudden earthquake threw Sha off balance, shattering his concentration!

Using the moment of distraction, Sythen blurred forward at blinding speed, closing the gap to Sha in an instant and throwing a devastating straight punch directly at the boy's chest!

Sha's eyes widened. "AQUA BUMP!"

A sudden blast of pressurized water erupted beneath Sha's feet, shooting him twenty feet backward just a split-second before Sythen's fist pulverized the air where he had been standing!

"I am NOT letting you escape!" Sythen bellowed, preparing to leap after Sha!

SWOOSH!

Out of nowhere, Rihasa materialized directly behind Sythen's back, his arms wrapped in glowing green vines!

┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐

│ RIHASA — BEAST STYLE │

│ Output: Jungle Tiger (60%) │

│ Technique: Jungle Whip │

└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

Thick, unbreakable mystical roots erupted from the ground, binding Sythen's massive arms, torso, and legs in a tight, restrictive cage!

"SHA, NOW!" Rihasa yelled!

Sha didn't hesitate. He thrust both hands forward, pooling his remaining mana into a single point: "AQUA CANNON!"

A high-density beam of compressed water blasted straight into Sythen's front, while Rihasa simultaneously unleashed a barrage of Divine Claws into his back!

KA-BOOOOOOM!

A thick cloud of steam and pulverized water filled the air, obscuring the giant beast from view.

For a second, silence fell over the smoke-filled courtyard.

Then, a low, terrifying growl echoed through the fog. The air pressure suddenly spiked drastically, turning cold and heavy.

"You kids... are really starting to piss me off," Sythen's deep, distorted voice echoed from within the cloud.

"BEAST TECHNIQUE: BREATHING DREAD!"

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

TO BE CONTINUED....

Hi everyone! I'm sharing my original story, The Last Time We Met, on Wattpad.

It's an emotional supernatural mystery about Alex, whose life changes after a sudden accident. When he returns home, things feel different, his wife Anna seems distant, and a mysterious little girl named Alexa appears to know more than she should.

The story explores love, loss, memories, and the difficulty of letting go. I've tried to leave subtle clues throughout the story while keeping the main mystery hidden.

I'd really appreciate it if you gave it a read and shared your honest thoughts about the characters, atmosphere, and ending!

📖 Read it here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/417054857-the-last-time-we-met

Thank you for reading! ❤️

— Ranul

  Doris works her usual spot getting in and out of cars. She makes appointments through her phone and the guys show up and flash their lights and she gets in and does her thing.
“This is my life.” She thinks, not for the first time. She tries to keep thoughts like that buried deep; they serve no purpose. 
But sometimes she can’t. Because she had a life before this.
A cop car pulls up and flashes its lights. This one’s for free.
He drives away and yells, “See ya sweetie!”
She waves and then gives him the finger.
There’s another woman in the public restroom when Doris enters. She comes out of the stall where she was shooting heroin and leaves in a daze. At least she got out before she nodded off in there. This is not a place to be vulnerable. But places like this are the only ones vulnerable people have to come to. Doris is too tired to think about that vicious cycle. She does her clean up and looks in the mirror and despite her best efforts her mind flashes to the past.
The bottle of Xanax has Doris’s name printed in all caps. Her hand grabs the pill bottle and fights to get the damn top off.
She gulps down a few pills.
There is someone knocking at the door. 
Mommy?
I’ll be out in a minute, honey!
Fuck! She cannot think about those things.
They make her vulnerable. 
The sun is just below the horizon as she exits the convenience store with her bag of sandwiches. The homeless man sitting outside on a crate, shaving.
Doris gives him a dollar. He nods his thanks.
Doris walks into Omar's office who is talking to a short man wearing a fake Versace shirt and gold chains. Their conversation halts as she enters. Doris puts her money on the counter as the van man gives her an appraising look that is not friendly. She can smell a predator a mile away. Omar stares at Doris, shoves the pay stubs across the counter at her and waves her off.
Doris looks at the short man, staring him directly in the eye for a moment and he smiles, showing mismatched teeth. You can’t show people like him any fear. But she is afraid of him.
   As she walks to her room she sees a windowless white van with another guy sitting in the driver’s seat. He gives her the same look the guy in the office did and she is sure they are here together. They are here on some business that isn’t good.

In her room, Doris pops the two sandwiches in the microwave. As she waits, she scrolls through her social media. 
She holds up her phone and hits record.
“Hey everyone, come down to O’Brien’s this Tuesday for some open mic comedy! I’ll be performing with some other great comics! It will be awesome! Maybe you can explain to me why men cannot put the toilet seat down.”
She hits STOP and posts the video to Instagram and TikTok. She then looks at Jess Hoffnagle’s page.
“It is so much fun being on a first date and feeling your period coming on. What do I tell the guy? Hey, I love Chinese food too! You feel like going down on me?”
She looks at the pages of other comics, mostly female. We hear a local comic, Janet Miller.
“Why am I a straight woman? Why do I crave a huge, veiny cock?”
Doris laughs.

Doris steps out onto the upper walkway with her bag of food and looks down into the parking lot. She sees the man from the office go to the white van as the other man steps out. They look around the parking lot as if scanning for any trouble. One of them opens the side door and two young women step out. They cannot be more than twenty. They are docile and cowed, even scared.The other one looks up and sees Doris. He gives her a blank stare and then turns to deal with the girls. The men walk them to one of the rooms and they go inside. That business is no good.
Doris knocks on Eve’s door. After a moment it opens.
“Hi Doris!”
Doris holds up the bag.
“Hey sweetheart; I got breakfast. You hungry?”
Doris and Eve sit at a picnic table at the back of the motel eating their breakfast.
“These are so good!”
“Yeah, not bad for microwave sandwiches from a shitty convenience store.”
As they eat, Eve points at the bird feeders.
“Are those for the birds?”
“Yeah, I guess someone left them here.”
Doris goes over and picks up the one on the ground and examines it.
“Looks like it’s still good. We should get some bird seed and fill them up.”
“Yeah! That would be so cool! We could watch the birds while we eat!”
She laughs like a little girl.  Doris hasn’t known Eve long, but it’s pretty clear that she is somewhat behind developmentally. Talk about vulnerable;  this girl should not be here with these predators. It’s a shark tank. Doris feels like she should buy her a coloring book.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea.”
Eve and Doris eat their sandwiches. Doris hands Eve a napkin.
“These are so good!”
“Yeah. Hey, let’s go to the store later and get some birdseed.”
“Okay!”
“We should get some fishing line too.”
“What for?”
“Help keep the squirrels out.”
They eat their sandwiches.

Claire was the one who remembered.

Her family lost keys, birthdays, recipes, and whole halves of old stories, and when the facts mattered they turned to her. What year the basement flooded. Which cousin had cried at the reunion. Whether it had rained at Aunt Lena's wedding.

It had rained.

Her mother still said it had not.

Claire remembered things like that. Small things, mostly useless. The color of the carpet in houses they had not visited since she was ten. The tune her father whistled when he tied his shoes. The way he held a mug with both hands, not because it was hot, but as if ordinary objects might get away from him if he gave them the chance.

She thought about him for most of the ride from the station. Russell drove. He kept the radio off and both hands on the wheel, and every few miles he asked if she was warm enough.

The house looked smaller than it should have. It sat under the porch light with every window lit, square and yellow, and her mother was in the doorway before Russell had the engine off.

"There she is," Margaret said.

Then Claire was in her arms.

Her mother smelled the way she always had, face powder and laundry soap. Claire shut her eyes and held on. She had expected something to break when she walked into the house, but nothing did. The grief was there, heavy and waiting, but it did not knock her down. She had come home to help. She would be steady for her mother, and for Russell, and for everyone else who had lost the man who held this family together.

In two days she would leave again. They would be glad she came, and she would be glad she managed it.

She had decided that on the train.

Russell carried her bag in and hung up her coat.

"Come eat something," he said.

Russell was her father's younger brother, though he never seemed younger to Claire. He had her father's shoulders and her grandmother's soft voice. At a time like this people needed something to do with their hands, and Russell has always been best at small, practical rescues.

The kitchen was full of food from other people's houses. Casseroles sat under foil. Plastic containers lined the counters, every lid marked with a strip of masking tape and a name in black marker. Claire recognized half the names and pretended to recognize the rest.

Her father's reading glasses were still folded on the windowsill above the sink. His chair stayed empty. Margaret took one end of the table and Russell the other.

"Your father hated that suit," Margaret said.

"He hated every suit," Russell said.

Claire laughed before she could stop herself. It startled everyone, her most of all, but then Margaret laughed too, quietly, with a hand over her mouth. For a moment the room loosened. Then it tightened again. Margaret kept a hand on Claire's wrist for most of the evening. She did not grip. She just left it there, the way a person keeps a hand near a glass that has been set too close to the edge of a table.

Later, after Russell had gone home and the dishwasher had started its long cycle, Claire sat with her mother in the dim kitchen and let herself remember.

Her father at the lake.

It came all at once. She did not reach for it so much as it walked in. She was young, six or seven. Her father stood at the edge of the water with his sleeves pushed up and a stone in his palm. The lake was brown in the afternoon light, the color of weak tea. He was teaching her to skip stones and was terrible at it himself, which made it the best lesson she ever had. Every stone he threw went in with a fat little plunk and was gone.

Claire laughed until her stomach hurt.

Beside her, another girl was laughing harder.

The girl crouched, found a flat stone on her first try, and sent it skipping across the water. Once, twice, three times, four. Their father threw both arms in the air.

"That's my girls," he said. "Look at my girls go."

Claire opened her eyes.

The dishwasher. Her mother's tired face. Coffee going stale in the pot.

She did not say anything right away. She sat very still and turned the memory over. The girl was still in it. She stood there as plainly as the lake and the stones and her father's raised arms.

"What is it?" Margaret asked.

"Nothing. I was thinking about Dad. At the lake."

Something crossed her mother's face and was gone before Claire could put a name to it.

"He loved that lake," Margaret said. She got up, took the dishcloth from the sink, and started wiping a counter that was already clean.

Claire went up not long after. Her old room was a guest room now, painted a calm gray, with a folded blanket at the foot of the bed that nobody in her family would have bought before the room was for visitors. A framed print of a wheat field hung over the dresser. It could have been anyone's.

She brushed her teeth and laid down in the dark.

The girl did not fade.

Claire waited for her to go soft at the edges, the way strange memories do at night, and turn into a trick of grief, or a face borrowed from somewhere else. She did not. Claire could see her laughing with her chin up. She could see her hand close on the flat stone. She could hear her father.

My girls.

Claire sat up.

The house was quiet except for the pipes. She got out of bed and opened her door. The hall floor was cold under her feet.

The family photographs still went up the stairwell wall the way they always had. School portraits, Christmas mornings, summer trips, her parents young and sunburned beside a car they had sold twenty years ago. She had passed them a thousand times. She could have drawn the arrangement from memory.

She found the lake third from the bottom.

Her father stood on the shore with his arms up. Claire stood beside him, mid-laugh, hair blown across her face. Behind them the brown water ran flat to the edge of the frame.

On Claire's other side there was grass.

Not much of it. Not enough to prove anything. But enough for one more person. The mat was wider on that side, and the print ended in a clean strip of lawn where someone could have been standing.

Claire leaned closer. The longer she looked, the less it looked like grass and the more it looked like a place.

She told herself this was what grief did. It put people in rooms they had never been in. It made up a second laugh at the lake because one child and one father were not enough for a house that had just had a death in it.

That almost worked.

Then the floor dropped.

She did not fall. Her feet stayed where they were. But her stomach went over as if the house had crested a hill too fast, and something yanked tight across her chest, and for half a second she could not breathe. Somewhere inside her there was a sound, bright and hard, like rain on glass, or glass on glass. Then it was gone.

Cold floor. Photographs. Her own breathing, too loud.

She put her palm flat on the wall and kept it there until the wall felt like a wall.

A panic thing, she decided. Bodies kept their own bad weather.

She went back to bed and did not sleep. The question did not have a full shape yet. It was just there, small and cold, and it would not let her go.

Where was the rest of the picture?

The funeral was at ten. The morning was bright in a way that felt indecent, hard spring light with no warmth in it.

Russell had the car keys before Claire came downstairs.

"I can drive," she said.

"I've got it. You ride with your mother."

Margaret was already in the passenger seat with a tissue folded in her hands. Claire stood on the porch with her coat half buttoned and an objection she could not quite get out.

She got in the back.

As she ducked in, her hands caught the headrest in front of her and held it. For one sick second her stomach dropped again. It was over so fast she could almost pretend it had not happened.

She told herself it was nerves.

Russell pulled out. Claire watched the back of his head, and the thought came to her whole.

Someone always drove her when she was home.

She had never noticed it before. Russell, or her father, or her mother on the rare days her mother drove. Never Claire. She tried to think of the last time she had driven anywhere at all, here or in the city, and nothing came. Not a road. Not a parking lot. Not the feel of a wheel under her hands. It was like putting her foot down for a stair that was not there.

They passed the funeral home sign, and the turn for Voss Road, and the gas station where her father used to buy lottery tickets he never checked.

Not today. Today she was the steady one.

The chapel was full. People she barely knew took both her hands and held on too long. They told her what a good man her father had been, how he had helped everyone, how she should call if she needed anything at all. The kindness came in waves, and it was warm, and she could hardly breathe in it.

There was something else in the way they looked at her.

At first she thought it was pity. Her father was dead. Of course they lowered their voices and searched her face. But it was not only pity. They watched her hands. They watched the way she was standing. A woman from the choir touched her elbow on the way past, lightly, the way you would touch a ladder someone was halfway up.

Across the room Russell was looking at her over an old neighbor's shoulder. He gave her a small smile and looked away.

During the service the minister called her father a steady man. A quiet man. A man who held things together so naturally that nobody noticed the holding until it stopped.

He paused there.

Margaret sat on one side of her and Russell on the other, close, closer than they needed to be. Maybe that was what families did at funerals. They closed ranks. They filled the gaps left by the person who had gone.

The gaps left by the person who had gone.

Claire looked down at her hands and did not follow the thought.

Afterward there was ham and weak coffee and a long table crowded with sympathy cards. Claire held a paper plate and did not eat from it. She was waiting for something, though she would not have admitted it.

An old neighbor leaned in. "Your dad was so proud of you kids."

Claire turned to her. "Both of us," she said, lightly, as if it were nothing.

The neighbor's smile held. Her eyes did not. They went over Claire's shoulder, to Margaret, to Russell, and back.

"He sure was," the woman said. She patted Claire's arm and drifted toward the food.

Claire watched her reach Russell and say something low. She watched Russell put a hand on the woman's back and walk her gently to the other side of the room.

Steering.

The word came to her and stuck. He had steered her coat into the closet and her into the kitchen, and now he had steered the neighbor away. Kindly, and very well. Like a man who had done it many times.

She told herself people were just being careful with her.

By late afternoon the girl had a name.

It came while Claire stood alone in the upstairs bathroom washing hands that were already clean. She was staring at the old porcelain sink, thinking about nothing, when another memory opened.

Two girls under the kitchen table in a thunderstorm, knees up to their chins. Their father's slippers going by, huge and slow, while the windows shook. The girl beside Claire whispered something and then clapped both hands over her mouth to keep from laughing.

Sarah.

The name did not feel discovered. It felt handed back.

After that Sarah was everywhere.

Sarah fighting her for the front seat.

"I called it."

"You always call it."

"You're too slow."

Their father laughing from the porch. "Somebody's got to lose, girls."

Sarah at a birthday table with chocolate on her chin. Two cakes, every year, because Sarah liked chocolate and Claire did not. Sarah with grass stains on both knees. Sarah leaning over a board game, accusing Claire of cheating. Sarah asleep in the back seat with her cheek on the window and her hair stuck to the glass.

A whole person, coming up through the house.

Claire did not say the name out loud until that night.

Margaret had gone to bed early, after taking something the doctor had given her. Russell had stayed over this time. He was on the couch with the television turned low, blue light moving on the walls. Claire came down for a glass of water and found him there with the remote in his hand, facing the screen and not watching it.

She stood in the doorway.

"Russell. Tell me about Sarah."

He did not jump.

That was what she noticed first. He did not look confused, or startled, or even surprised. He turned the volume down another notch and looked at his hands.

"It's late, Claire."

"Sarah," she said again.

His mouth tightened. He looked tired in a way that went back further than the funeral.

"You should sleep. It was a big day."

"I want you to say her name."

He glanced toward the stairs, then back at her.

"You did well today," he said.

It landed wrong. It sounded prepared, worn smooth from use.

"Why won't you say it?"

"Go on up," Russell said. "I'll bring you some water."

She did not move.

"Please," he said.

That was worse than anything else he could have said.

She went up. She did not sleep. She lay in the room that used to be hers and listened to the house. The pipes ticked. A branch touched the window once. Downstairs, Russell turned off the television, and after a while she heard him come up the stairs, and stop outside her door, and go on to the spare room at the end of the hall.

At some point, lying there listening turned into deciding.

There were six doors off the upstairs hall. Her mother's room. The bathroom. The room that had been Claire's. The linen closet. The spare room, where Russell was. And one more, between Claire's and the spare.

She knew that door. She had not opened it in years.

She could not think why.

The knob turned without a sound.

It was an office. The overhead light came on over a desk, a filing cabinet, a printer, a swivel chair. Someone had pinned a hardware store flyer and a calendar from the bank to a corkboard. A mug of pens sat on the desk, most of them dead. The printer blinked a small green light.

She stood in the doorway and let it be an ordinary room. Someone had needed a place to do the paperwork.

She told herself an office was an office.

Except her father's office had always been downstairs, off the den.

Except the carpet was new. She could smell it, the flat chemical smell of new carpet and glue. Nothing else in this house smelled new. Everything else had been worn down by forty years of hands and feet and weather.

She stepped inside.

Nothing moved. The desk stayed a desk. But the longer she stood there, the more the room seemed arranged around something that was not in it.

A bed would have gone under the window.

She knew that before she knew how she knew it.

On the wall under the window were four small holes, filled and painted over. Two and two, a headboard's width apart. The paint was close to the rest of the wall but not quite. You could see it if you were looking. By now the house had taught her how to look.

This had been Sarah's room.

The thought did not scare her the way it should have. If anything it steadied her. A room was harder to argue with than a memory. Grief did not put holes in walls.

She went to the filing cabinet.

The top drawer was taxes, warranties, old instruction manuals. The second drawer was medical, sorted into hanging folders, each one labeled in her mother's neat block capitals.

TOM.

MARGARET.

CLAIRE.

She pulled her own folder open.

Inside was an orange pharmacy bottle.

Claire turned it to the light. Her full name was on the label. The pharmacy was the one on Main Street, here, nowhere near her apartment in the city. The drug was a long word she did not recognize. The doctor's name meant nothing to her either. The date was three weeks old, and the bottle was not full.

She read the label again.

She did not remember ever seeing it. She would have remembered taking something every day. She remembered everything.

Her hand closed around the bottle.

A picture that ended in a strip of empty grass. A child's room with a desk in it. A family that went still every time she came near a name. And a prescription with her name on it, filed away in the one room she had not opened in years.

They were giving her something.

The thought hit hard enough that she had to sit down on the floor.

She set the bottle on the carpet in front of her and looked at it. She told herself there would be an explanation. She did not try to think of one.

She was not losing her mind. That was what the room gave her: proof. Sarah had been real. This had been her room. They had taken her off the walls and out of the frames, one picture at a time, and put a printer where her bed had been, and somewhere along the way Claire had become the only one who still knew.

Then something hot went through her.

It came too fast to follow. Anger, sudden and whole, and it was not aimed at her mother or at Russell. It was aimed at Sarah. At the girl herself.

You.

The word burned through her and went out. No reason came with it. No scene, no argument, nothing she could point to. Just fury at a little girl laughing on a lakeshore.

Then it was gone.

Claire sat very still.

So there had been something between them. Some trouble, some old damage with Sarah at the center of it, and the family was hiding that too.

The secret had a shape now.

She sat on the office floor until the window went from black to gray. The house woke up around her. Pipes. A toilet flushing. Footsteps on the stairs. The kettle.

By then she knew where to look.

The rest of the photographs were in the den, in the closet under the shelves, in two shoeboxes behind the board games. She carried them out and sat on the floor and started to sort.

She went slowly at first, as if it were evidence. Christmas. The lake. Birthdays. Her parents in the yard. Her father asleep in his chair with the newspaper on his chest. Over and over she found the same thing. A picture cropped too tight. A space beside her that was too clean. A print trimmed along one edge with scissors, not quite straight. In some it was only a feeling. In others it was almost a body.

Someone had been through these too.

Someone had been through everything.

Her hands started to shake.

Near the bottom of the second box, one photograph had stuck to the back of another. She nearly missed it. It was glued at the corners to a picture of the old car, and when she peeled it free she stopped breathing.

Two girls on the front step in summer. Both squinting into the sun. Both grinning like whoever held the camera had said something stupid. The smaller one had chocolate at the corner of her mouth. Claire knew her at once. The hair. The grin. The scabbed knees. Her small hand wrapped around Claire's.

Sarah.

Nobody had cut this one. There was no empty margin, no trimmed edge. The two of them sat in the middle of the frame holding hands, as plain as daylight.

Claire made a sound she did not recognize.

She stood up too fast and knocked a box over, and photographs slid across the carpet. She did not stop for them. She was already through the den and down the hall, the picture bending in her fingers.

Margaret was at the kitchen table in her robe, both hands around a mug she was not drinking. Russell sat across from her. They both looked up when Claire came in.

Neither of them looked surprised.

That nearly stopped her.

Claire held out the photograph.

"This is Sarah."

Her voice broke on the name. She had not known she was crying until she heard it.

Margaret looked at the picture. Russell shut his eyes for a second.

"This is Sarah," Claire said again, louder. "That was her room. You put a desk in it. You cut her out of every picture in this house. There's a bottle upstairs with my name on it, and you keep it in her room like I'm never supposed to find it."

"Claire," Russell said.

"No. Don't say my name like that. Say hers. One of you just say hers."

Margaret put down her mug. The small knock of it on the table was very loud.

She got up and crossed the kitchen. She did not ask what Claire was talking about. She did not tell her to sit down. She held out her hand for the photograph, the way you would hold out your hand for a pair of scissors a child should not have.

Claire held on for a moment. Then she let go.

Margaret looked at the picture for a long time. She held it in both hands.

"Sarah died in a car accident," she said.

Claire stared at her.

Margaret looked up.

"Remember?"

The floor went first.

Her stomach dropped the way it had in the hall and in the car, only this time it did not stop. Something hard came across her chest from the shoulder down and held her. Her hands were full of a wheel turning the wrong way. Headlights swung across black trees. Someone was shouting. It was her.

Glass came in, small and bright, like hard rain.

Sarah was in the seat beside her, turned toward her, mouth open, saying something Claire could not hear over the tires and her own voice and the road coming up too fast.

Then the noise stopped.

Then the seat beside her.

Claire came back to a sound she could not stop making.

Her mother's arms were around her. Russell was already behind her, one hand flat between her shoulders, the other low, ready for her knees.

Nobody asked what was wrong.

 The city  of New Haven is ripe with the hustle and bustle. The market center is crowded with families and vendors alike. Adventurers come from far and wide to visit the market center. The New Haven market center has been a hub for trade and commerce for many traders from around the world. That is the only good thing that comes from the Never War nearly a century ago. All races, genders and people came together to fight the scourge that was to befall this world. After the war, warriors,magic wielders, and holy people settled down in New Haven to help rebuild the once great city. The result is a town filled with many different people, it has become a true melting pot of nearly everything and everyone.

In the center of the Market sits a quiet shop that looks like it has been there before any others. There are two dusty windows on the store front on either side of the big wooden door. There is a large swinging sign that is on its last leg, the old rusty chains that hold the sign look nearly worn through. The once beautifully painted green and gold sign swings with the gentle breeze. The words are dirty and faded from the years of exposure. It reads “Titelle’s tabernacle of terrific tomes” Everyone in town knows Mrs. Titelle, she is the town's grandmother. There is a bet in town about what is older, the store or Mrs. Titelle. Every vendor stops by and checks up on her. They bring her meals and gifts from around the world. She is a collector of many things but the thing she adores the most is her tomes. She loves nothing more than to read a new tome from a far off land. Her life goal is to share this knowledge with everyone. She trades and sells tomes with everyone that visits. Over the many years of her shop being open the collection has grown and grown. Some of her oldest tomes predate the Never War. 

I made it a goal to visit Mrs. Titelle ever since I set out on my journey. How amazing could this old lady be? I heard about her legendary book store from across the sea. How could one bookstore hold this much regard? What types of books could this lady have? I was determined to find out. My first night in New Haven I stayed at the golden tap inn. The trip was long and tiresome. I ate dinner with a fine brown ale. The other patrons and I stayed up till the wee hours talking about our various adventures, the monsters defeated, the friends lost. During each conversation the question of “what made you come here?” always came up. I explained that as a magic wielder I was on the hunt for old and mysterious Tomes for knowledge of how to save my home, and how I heard stories of Mrs. Titelle and her bookstore. Nearly everyone had the same reaction. They would all smile,take a drink of ale and say “Mrs. Titelle is amazing, she was a real Firecracker back in the day” How could a whole town love a sweet old lady so much? I went to bed with a newfound interest in meeting this lady and seeing if she had a tome that could help me.

I awoke early with excitement. Today is the day. I hurriedly put on my garb and walked down to the market until I saw it. The storefront was exactly as everyone described it. The outside was dirty and dusty but a soft glow emanated from the windows. I walked to the door and saw the open sign swinging from the door inviting me in. My hand shaking with excitement, I reach for the door. I turn the knob and begin to push it inwards, it is heavy and stuck in place. I have to bump my hip into the door to get the door open enough. A small bell rings as the door opens slightly. 

“Hello?” I call out

“Back here sweetie.” I hear softly from the back.

I struggle to close the door and it thuds when I finally push it back into place. I turn around and take in this glorious sight. From floor to ceiling this shop is stuffed with tomes. I begin to wonder if the trusses or the tomes are keeping the roof aloft. The old wooden floors creak as I take a step inside. The sheer number of tomes and scrolls is baffling my mind. The shelves are stuffed to the brim, tomes on top of each other. I’m confident that if one more book was put on a shelf the store would fall over. Natural light floods the space from a large skylight in the ceiling. Mrs. Titelle must have a love for plants as well. Lined up perfectly with the sun beam is a row of luscious plants. The plants are as varied as the citizens of this city, Small,Large, Smelly,and beautiful. One thing for certain is that Mrs. Titelle loves her plants and her books. The store is crowded and comfy. It is warm and comfortable. The soft scent of fresh brewed coffee and vanilla fills my nose as I walk to the sound of the voice.

“Would you like a cup deary?” she says as I peek around the last mountain of books.

“Sounds amazing! Yes please!” I say perhaps a bit too excitedly. The night may have been filled with a bit more ale than I had planned. 

She turns around with two big cups of coffee, one in each hand.  She stands hunched at about five foot nothin’ Her silver hair tied back in a tight bun. Her face is soft and sweet, she smiles as sees me and winkles adorn her face. She wears a dark green cardigan with embroidered flowers on the sides. Her matching green dress drags the floor and covers the sound of her shuffling feet. She slowly sets the cups on the cluttered counter and shakily pushes one towards me. I think to myself this is the sweetest looking old lady I have ever seen. No wonder why everyone adores her so much. I sat down at her counter and sipped my coffee. It was the best cup of coffee I have ever had.

“Oh my gods this is amazing!” I say

“Oh, this old brew?” she says while waving her hand. “ These are the beans from the Renne coast. The beans from the southern coast are much better. I traded these beans for a tome about cross breeding cats” she chuckles “Maybe it was a fair trade” 

We sat and talked for hours. She told me stories about all the adventures that came through town. How things used to be back in her day. Some wild tavern stories and shenanigans she had been a part of. She definitely earned the reputation given to her. I stared at her wide eyed as she recounted all the tales from her past. It is hard to believe such a sweet looking old lady was a part of all these crazy stories. As my cup ran dry she turned to me and asked what brought me here  and I told her everything about the plague that was threatening to wipe out my town. I told her how I heard stories about this amazing store and how great sweet old Mrs. Titelle is. I asked her if she knew of any spell book or text that could help me in my journey. I explained that the crops had wilted and turned black. How the trees slowly lost their leaves and turned shriveled and grey. That poor Mrs. Turner lost three cows the week that I left. She took in every word I said, almost calculating the answer. When I stopped talking she stood with an arm across her chest and her right hand slowly caressing her chin. She stood like that for a moment then she pointed her finger towards the roof and said “ I think I have just the thing!” She quickly turned around and disappeared behind a stack of books. I could hear a commotion as she was looking through her collection. The small thud of books hitting the floor. I leaned forward across the counter to see if she was alright. I hear her mumble and murmur as she recalls where this particular tome might be.

The door bell rings as the heavy door scrapes across the floor. I stand up and peak towards the door. The doorway is completely filled with the visage of a six foot tall tortle. I had never seen one before, only ever heard of them in textbooks at the academy. The giant shell backs in through the door nearly bumping into a stack of books. This giant Shelled man turns towards me and smiles. Never have I ever seen an ancient turtle of any kind, but I could tell this man has been around for a long time. His shell told the story of a long hard life, chips,scratches and marks have told this tortles story.

In a shaky voice he says “ Hello young man, Have you seen Mrs. Titelle? I have a gift for her”

“Yeah” i say while pointing towards the back “Shes grabbing a tome for me to help me”

“Sounds like her, i fear one of these days i will come in to find her buried under a pile of books, and you know what im pretty sure she would be happy with the” he says with a chuckle “I keep telling her to slow down, we aren't as young as we used to be. It's not the glory days anymore”

We hear the sound of her shuffling feet. This time they are much faster than before. “ I knew I still had one.” she said excitedly as she turned the corner. “Allister! You old shellhead! Its so nice to see you. I see you have met my new friend. He needed some help with a problem at home and I have just the thing to help." She walks up to the counter and lays the book on the counter. She takes a deep breath and blows the layer of dust off of the tome. Allister and I both cough and wave a hand in front of our faces as the dust settles. I see Allister's eyes grow wide as they land on the deep red leather bound tome.

She leans forward and says “ This tome has been in this shop for nearly 105 years, it came from a far off land. There are tales about this tome, it has a variety of spells and rituals in it. I wouldn’t even bring it out for most people, but something about you reminds me of myself from many many years ago. I want you to have it, no charge, no trade. Just promise me you will take it home and save your people.”

Allister’s jaw drops for a moment” ….uh…Have… are you sure about that? I remember that tome and where it came from.”

“ OH! Hush it you old sea turtle. I have talked to this boy nearly all day, He fights for his people, if ANYONE deserves this tome it is this sweet boy here. "She turns her head towards me and holds the book up in front of me “ Now you take this and save your town, I’ve seen what you described before, You don't have a lot of time. Go quickly, gather your things and head to see Archie at the town gate. Tell him you need a quick teleport and to put it on Mrs. Titelle’s tab.”

I’m left speechless, my hand goes limp as I drop the cup on the counter. I stutter as I stand up and grab the book from her. “ Thank you so much, it was a pleasure to meet both of you.” I gather my things and quickly head to the door. As I pull the door open I hear from behind me

“Deary, one more thing! Be safe and good luck!” she shouts as I run out of the door.

I quickly make my way to the gate, I manage to find Archie and tell him about Mrs. Titelle as soon as i mention her his pace hurries as he leads me to the teleportation sigil. 

A foot inside the gate sits a large granite pedestal. An armored woman with a tight bun stands atop the granite pedestal. One hand holds a glowing sword pointed towards the sky the other hand holds a large leather bound tome. The golden plaque on the front is engraved    

Haven Titelle

Defender of the realm 

If not for her the entire realm would be lost

We name this city after her for the great sacrifices she has made for all of us

\\\[HR\\\] \\\[psychological\\\] THE WORLD OF TOMORROW

FINAL CHAPTER 1- THE WORLD OF TOMORROW

The story began with the first wave of covid19, a virus that spread in the 2020s. although a global pandemic, most people in lockdown were unaffected. with more free time than ever, people turned towards their mobile devices. days turned into nights watching movies, cartoons, web series, playing online games, reading comics. it was the birth of a media engulfed society. during this age, being a social media influencer was the dream job. propaganda was at its highest. ads easily shaped public opinion and celebrity daily life youtube channels were the ones which had the highest sub count. kids had dozens of friends online but no one met in real life to play cricket. "why bother when you could do it online?", most would say. the lockdown itself didnt last for more than 2 years, however, its impact stayed permanent. by the late 2020s there was a sea worth of content available on online streaming platforms and bingeing was the new past time, no one went out for weekend tours anymore, all you needed was a bucket of popcorn, a bottle of coke and your friendly T.V. this was true for every family in all develloped nations. this was the new norm. Among all the entertainment media, one stood above all else, with its introduction in the late 2020s, within the next decade, it had become the 'big thing' of the century. this was a novel series called "The World Of Tomorrow" by uknown author who went by the pseudonym "Marie13". it was dubbed 'the greatest story ever told' and after years of buildup, the series was reaching its conclusion.

\\\[Cut scene(?)\\\]

the world of metropolis was a cruel world to have been born into, this world of the author's creation was a dystopian future where different cultural groups had overthrown the world government and formed new nations, the world was at constant war with the east and west superpowers battling it out to take control. the nuclear warfare had destroyed all lands, the soil had dried up and become lifeless sand, most plant and animal species had gone extinct as entire continents were wiped. the skies were filled with posion gas so dense, sunlight barely made it through. for hundreds of years the fighting continued, each new generation taking after the past. with time all relics of the past had been destroyed and natural disasters had become a common occurence. peoples' diets changed from meats and vegetables to gigantic insects that had mutated due to the radiations. in a world so cruel, survival was the top priority. after decades of fighting, a peace treaty was signed between the two super powers. the rulers of the west had used the power of A.I to create an isolated utopia for the people high above the clouds while the people of the east had relocated underground, where water and soil still existed. centuries after the peace treaty was signed, AIRA, the protagonist of this story was born. abandoned at birth, she was taken in by the z-tribe of the SAP (Southern Asian Pact) who found her in a cave when they were on the surface, hunting cockroaches. somehow she was safe from the poison gas that covered the area. she had also survived being eaten by the giant cokroaches. the hunter that found her was astonished. she was taken into the underground city and made queen of the z-tribe. the people believed that AIRA was their liberator sent by the gods to free them from their suffering. by the time she turned 17, she had already conqured all the 26 tribes of the SAP and united them to form the "dove". the story of AIRA shared interesting parallels with her author, viktor khan.

CHAPTER 2: VIKTOR KHAN

In the sacred jungles of the village of Penglipuran in Bali, was a small bamboo house. this was home to the author of 'the world of tomorrow', Viktor khan. viktor as a person didn't care much for fame or money, this was evident by the fact that he had kept his identity secret from the world. he lived a life of solitude and his only connection to the outside world was his fax machine, through which he sent his editor all his manuscripts. viktor had orginally come to Bali, looking for a doctor to treat his sick father, but ended up losing him in an accident a few years ago, the tribals of penglipuran took pity on him and when he asked them permission to build a hut in the forest as his temporary residence, they granted him the permission.

viktor's father Oba Khan was an ex-army man, part of the pakistan military. born on the 2nd of january 2004, viktor entered the world in a veil of darkness, his mother, maria marie khan died the day after giving birth to him. Oba now a single parent was forced to take an early retirement and displaced to the state of goa in india, where he found employment under his uncle as a construction worker. As a young child, viktor was pale and physically weak. unlike his father who was an ape more than he was a man, viktor was brittle and soft, traits he inherited from his late mother. viktor's weakness was a cause of deep despair for oba. he was very strict with him and often critisized him for being so weak, his punishments were severe. having lost his wife, he was an emotinal turmoil, maybe he feared for viktor's safety or maybe he resented him for the death of his wife, viktor never found out. but, eitherway it always felt like to him that his father was looking for an excuse to physcially and emotionally harass him. viktor never understood his father. but he admired his strenght and willpower. he would work tirelessly all day from sunrise to sunset, viktor on the other hand was home ridden due to his weaknesses. he had low tolerance to heat and very ilttle stamina, this prevented him from staying outdoors for too long. oba had build a small concrete structure as their home near the beach of Calangute, these 4 walls were viktor's entire life for 10 years, he was tasked with cooking and cleaning while Oba took care of the money.things went unchanged for the next few years. one day when viktor was 9 years old, oba underwent an accident. his legs were damaged beyound repair making him wheel chair ridden. viktor was surprised to see his strong father weeping uncontrollably when he went to visit him in grandpa asif's home. "my life has been nothing but suffering", he said again and again as viktor stoof behind the door, hearing everything. the next day uncle asif brought oba back to his home. on his entrance, he saw viktor cuddled up in the bed even though it was past sunrise.furious he tried to walk toward him when suddenly the realization hit him that he couldn't move his legs anymore. in a gentle tone, he requested asif to move him near viktor.he placed his hand above him and started apologising for being a bad parent, tears streaming down his face. vicktor was not asleep, he had seen his father and uncle approaching through the window, not knowing what to do, he decided to pretend to be asleep. shock hits him as he sees his father cry again and again begging for forgiveness. this event humanises oba in viktorss eyes as he realises that his father was never a bad man.

with his father bed ridden, viktor is forced to move out his shelter and begin work to earn a living. he had some experience cooking, so he found work in a small roadside fish food stall. although his cooking skill is only average, he works hard and by the time he's 13, finds employment in a nearby resturant. he learns to cook excellent fish curries and recieves positive feedback from all his customers. while, all this was happening, back home, Oba's health was detoriating at an ever increasing rate. as the years passed, he only became more sick. his body had gone weak and he suffered from regular seizures. during his sleep, viktor would often hear oba calling out to Maria, his late wife and viktor's mother. all this made viktor realise how much his father missed his mother. oba had once told viktor about how he met maria. his mother was a woman who didn't remember her name or age, it was clear that she was suffering from trauma. oba had found her as a victim of human trafficking as she was being transported to afhganistan.she appeared to have developed an affection for oba, the man who saved her life, so he let her stay with him hoping to help heal her from her past trauma. he called her maria, it was the name of his late younger sister who had died of disease when he was a young boy. Maria was a very caring woman and Oba loved her very much. she had sparkling blue eyes and fiery red silky hair, her skin was pale and her body was weak but she was still, she worked hard to take care of oba. a few years after he took her in, viktor was born and the next day, maria had passed away, possibly due to the pain of childbirth. On viktor's 15th birthday, Oba handed him all of his life's savings and asked him to leave for the city in search of a better life and an actual school education. he tells him that there is no future for him working in a fish restaurant near the beach. however, viktor tells him that that is not true, during his time working as a cook he learned to cook many new dishes and that he of all people should know first hand how better he has gotten over time. he also tells oba that since the past few months he has been cooking for mr.corte. who was impressed by his cooking skills and offered him a part time job as a cook at his house. he says, "mr.corte is also the librarian of the the most prestigious college of the area and he has granted me permission to use the lib after school hours provided I show up to make dinner every night. he also has a daughter, elizabeth. she's 6 years older than me, but a terrible cook. but she is a really good writer and a human psychology enthusiast! i've read all her works and honestly, i'm very inspired. she promised to teach me literature and psychology if i teach her how to cook". oba smiles warmly, "i'm glad to see you're finally making friends." the next few months, viktor spends a lot of his time studying at the college library. he also teaches Elizabeth to make ros omelette. viktor develops a deep appretiation for all kinds of human art. he begins to write his own story writing and takes up painting, he also asks Mr.corte to teach him to play the banjo since he's heard that he is really good at it. he also begins to take sketching seriously, a hobby he always had. one day he asks elizabeth if he can sketch her, he tells her that her blue eyes and black hair look very pretty and he is itching to draw them down. elizabeth chuckles and tells him, "sure tiger, go ahead". while drawing her face, viktor tells her that he has always had interest in sketching and that as a young boy he didn't have any toys to play with, so he would spend his time drawing the ocean, "i was interested but i wasn't good at it", he would say. things seemed to be going well for viktor, but his father kept spiralling down into madness. he would try not to discuss his problems with viktor because he didn't want to be a liability to him. but the truth was, he needed medical attention. one fateful day, Oba's mental anguish escalated into an unbearable breakdown, the pain in his head reaching an insurmountable degree. His uncle, present during this ordeal, couldn't bear to witness his nephew in such agony. Desperate to reach Viktor for help, Oba intervened, assuring his uncle that he was fine and dismissing the need to involve Viktor while he was hard at work. In the next moment, he collapsed. In the hospital waiting room,viktor sat with a heavy heart.the doctor emerged with a grim diagnonis. Oba had slipped into a coma, and there was no way to predict when, or if, he might awaken vikor hearing that, broke down crying Mr.Corte extended his hand to help, providing viktor both financial and emotional support. Facing the looming prospect of losing his father, a man who had sacrificed a lot for Viktor's sake, awakended something in him. in a last-minute effort to bring solace and comfort to his father, he set his goal on bringing back his dead mother, albeit in the form of a fictional character, AIRA. the entire month, he spent creating and perfecting AIRA's character. the next month, he completed his creation, he entred his father's room who was now being taken care by elizabth and Mr.corte in their house. optimism brimming in his eyes, he began to recite the story, all to no aveil.... oba remained in an unresponsive state. viktor crunched his paper and threw it away, the next 3 months, he dedicated to refining AIRA, sculpting her into the embodiment of the perfect woman- a symbol of love, strength, and the memory of the woman they had lost. soon, viktor retured, and began to recite another story. his father remained unresponsive. viktor's frustuation had reached the sky. that night viktor began his project of bringing AIRA to life. he began drawing her a face, he spent an entire year constructing it, when it was done, everyone that laid eyes on the painting was mesmarised. the sparkling blue eyes felt like a portal to another world, the scarlet hair was so bright, it was blinding. viktor had created the most beautiful face there could be adhering to all the scientific techniques of drawing, he had spent near 20 hours each day perfecting his craft. Each stroke of the brush was a testament to Viktor's dedication to perfecting every detail, creating a visual representation that mirrored the depth of AIRA's character. at a certain stage, he got so sick, he had to be admitted into an hospital for an entire week, but even then he did not stop studying. he had pushed his skills to the absolute limit. and the corte family was awe-struck. elizabeth couldn't believe the determination and extraordinary crafting skills of Viktor. AIRA's face was the best painting of anything she had ever seen in her entire life. it was an enlightening experience for her to just to lay sights on the painting. As Viktor's creation took shape, it not only captivated the librarian's daughter but also left an indelible mark on anyone who beheld it. The perfect fusion of storytelling and visual artistry had birthed AIRA, a character so perfect that it had transcended the boundaries between fiction and reality. Viktor's talents didn't lie in drawing or storytelling, yet his dedication and hard work were unparalleled. Hours spent studying in the library, delving into books and immersing himself in his craft, showcased a level of commitment that few- no, none had. Despite his lack of traditional artistic abilities, Viktor's determination to make a difference was evident. Regrettably, all his efforts seemed futile in bringing his father back from the depths of his coma. However, on elizabeth's request, Viktor decided to publish his work as chapter 0 of 'the world of tomorrow'. paying homage to his dead mother, he decided to keep the pen name 'marie'

CHAPTER 3- REVELATION

Chapter 0 published in the year 2019 was an instant hit. viktor's passion for writing was evident through his masterpiece, AIRA. this single chapter of short stories hit the world like a storm. people were mesmerized by AIRA, a woman who was characterised by her insane drive for freedom and justice. her character resonated with everyone throughout the globe. viktor earned enough from the sales of this single chapter to set up his own publishing. Elizabeth became Viktor's editor and they moved to the city of banglore to set up their secret office. no physcial copies were made and only digital copies were sold, viktor's father was admitted in a better hospital and viktor kept working on his novel series. soon after, lockdown hit, viktor brought his father back home. he, viktor and elizabeth were quarantined for 2 years in their home-office. viktor prefered to stay in his home and kept working. soon, chapter 1 and chapter 2 were released. viktor's series had become a best seller. elizabeth had developed a deep admiration for viktor, but viktor wasn't the slighest bit phased by his success. "this is all for father", he would often say. "i'm writing the series for father to read, that's my only motivation". viktor's relationship with elizabeth became to falter.

Viktor became increasingly aware of Elizabeth's changing priorities. the time she once used to spend taking care of his father was now being spent working in the office. viktor felt uneasy around elizabeth and thus stayed in his room most the day.

once the lock down ended, he set out for Bali looking for a cure of his father. He had heard there was a doctor in Bali that had supernatural powers, the best hospitals failed to help Oba recover. so, Viktor decided he would meet this man too. elizabeth was against it, "the supernatural? that won't work. you're wasting your time viktor. what will happen to the series while you're gone?" she asked. "i won't be gone for long", viktor replied as he packed his bag. "but you don't even have a mobile phone", elizabeth said. "i'll take the fax machine with me".

"b-but"

"no buts, liz. this is more important"

"...okay, but take care of yourself"

the next day he left, the travel was long but he reached the village of penglipuran. but before he could meet the doctor, his father passed away by a sudden heart attack on the boat.

for a whole year after that, no one heard from viktor.

a month after his departure, there was a man hunt initiated by elizabeth to him, she spent all her resources trying to locate him. the search was fruitless, there was nothing on him that could not be traced, it were af if he had just disappeared from the world. a year after, elizabeth recieved through an unknown fax number, the entirety of book 3.

elizabeth tried to contact viktor but he sent a message saying he wants to be left alone and shared the news that his father is no more.

elizabeth kept asking him for details and pleading him to come back home to her, but he only said, "the next book i write will be better than anything that came before, i won't be able to do that if i were to come back home."

elizabeth sent no messages after that reading his reply.

a whole 10 years passed. viktor published 5 books, each book better than the previous. the popularity of these books reached unprecedentef heights, unbeknownst to viktor, his series had the best seller of all time and elizabeth had become a billionaire.

CHAPTER 4- ENCOUNTER

10 years after his disappearence, viktor decided to come back. he had completed 'the world of tomorrow', in his hand were the final 2 books. which he decided he will deliver to elizabeth in person. "there's no reason to stay here anymore" he told himself, "i can finally get my life back". As he began to pack his stuff, his father's photoframe was the first to go. he decided to leave the fax machine behind. but before that, he sent a fax to elizabeth saying "i've completed the final 2 books, i no longer have a reason to stay here, will you please come and get me? i'm at penglipuran in Bali."

a message from elizabeth came a minute later, "that's great! i'm so glad you're finally ending your long exile. boats are too slow, i'll send a hellicopter for you, see ya soon! tiger"

viktor was shocked, he sent another fax saying, "hellicopter?"

elizabeth only replied with a ":)"

the next day, the helicopter had arrived. viktor thanked all the villages for letting him stay here for the past 10 years. the elder of the village only said, "this is the least we could have done, son. take care of yourself"

"i will, thank you", and then he got on the hellicopter.

the hellicopter landed on the nearest airport. viktor was confused "this isn't banglore?"

"a hellicopter is too slow an uncomfortbale a ride,sir. so we've arranged a private jet for you", replied the pilot.

viktor was flabbergasted.

soon he was in the banglore airport, as the plane landed, a limo was waiting for him, viktor couldn't believe what was happening.

the limo dropped him right at his doorstep and left.

the house was all dusty, it was like it was abandoned for years, viktor felt warm looking at his old house, the house he had bought from his first payment. the keys were given to him by the driver before he left. once inside, viktor decided to go up to his room. to his surprise his room was was sparkling clean. unlike the rest of the house which was all dusty, his room being the only clean room was really surprising for viktor. as viktor was exploring his old room a knock on the door called for his attention. as he walked down he began to think how elizabeth much would have in these past 10 years. when he went down to open the door, horror ensued. on the other side of the door was 7 year old AIRA standing holding a basket of candy. viktor screamed in fear as he laid his eyes on her and fell down to the ground, losing consienceness immdediately.

the next day he woke up on his bed on the second floor.the memories of the past day rushed back in him. seeking for answers. he decided to go down, as he was walking out the house, a familiar voice stopped him from behind. viktor turned back and as his eyes widened, he asked,'Elizabeth? Is that you?'

'Hey, tiger,' Elizabeth grinned.

'What are you doing here?'

'Hmm? Oh, you're such a dummy, Viktor. did you forget that you sent me the fax 2 days ago?'

'Oh, yeah. right. Sorry.'

'Haha, you haven't changed a bit.'

'do you know who th-'

' yesterday was halloween viktor, the girl was a trick or treater'

'we celebrate halloween in banglore now'

'yeah, a lot's changed in the past 10 years. i'll tell you about all that's happened'

'What's with the disguise?'

'Can't you tell? I'm cleaning the place up.'

'You don't have to do that. Let me.' Viktor raised his hand towards her, as if asking for the broom.

Elizabeth looked at his hand, walked right through it, and put her face close to Viktor's. 'You smell horrible,' she whispered. 'I just finished the bathroom, so go get yourself cleaned up while I make breakfast for us. You still like ros omelette, right?'

'Yeah.' Viktor replied.

Elizabeth smiled warmly at Viktor, then walked past him to the kitchen. Viktor looked back at her, scratched his head, chuckled, and proceeded to walk up the stairs.

'Oh, I already have your towel and clothes ready inside the bath,' Elizabeth called after him.

'Huh!?' Viktor looked in surprise.

Elizabeth walked away, laughing heartily.

Inside the bathroom, Viktor looked around in awe. "She really cleaned it up in here," he whispered to himself.

A soft bang on the door startled him, and Viktor turned around instinctively.

"Hey, I'm going out to the city to get some vegetables for lunch," Elizabeth's voice echoed through the door. "I'll set your breakfast on the table in 10 minutes. Be sure you eat it before it gets cold."

"Okay!" Viktor yelled back at her. "Also, where is the soap and brush? I remember I put them in here yesterday."

"Oh, those? I threw them away."

"What!?"

"Don't worry; it's because I got new ones for you."

"You mean all these accessories are mine?"

"Yup, sure are. Alright then, see ya!"

Viktor looked around; the soap had a magnificent smell, and the bristles of the brush felt like feathers as he touched them. Curious, he searched for the price tag on the shampoo. When he found it, he was awestruck. The 1L bottle of shampoo cost 170 dollars (equivalent to today's 20,000 rupees).

"Do I really earn so much that she can afford these?" he asked himself. "Although, she really has come a long way from bathing in the ocean to using shampoo worth 170 dollars.

when he opened the door, a familiar face startled him. this time it wasnt a costume, the face of the man and the illustration of his character louis matched up perfectly. but he was a different hair colour and had only 1 of the 5 scars on his face, louis had

" are you viktor? the man behind marie13? " he asked in an ominous tone. unsure of what to say vicktor could only manage to stammer "uh-uhh..." before he could say anything, the man replied, " so it is you, ha..haaha.....HAHAAAA...HAA-HAAAAAA" he began to laugh menicingly as he took out his pocket knife and put in on viktor's neck. his tone suddenly went down as he said, "dont make a sound and do as i say, else both you and your girlfriend die". viktor's heart skipped a beat he felt the fear of death, first time in his life. viktor didnt say a word, he couldnt say a word. the man came in quietly and locked the front gate, " walk quietly up to the second floor" he said. viktor obliged without resistance. when they got up he locked the room and shut the curtains of the window. a lighter from his pocket turned on the oil lamp of the room. he made viktor sit on the sofa and himself quietly sat down on the bed. viktor unsure what to do, sat quietly, mouth shut. the man asked viktor, "do you have any idea of what you have done?" , viktor was confused. the man went on, "im sure youve seen through my disguise, i might try to hide it by painting my hair green and wearing heavy clothing, but youre the creator, im sure you see it, my resemblance to louis. "y-yes" viktor says, "yes, i do". the man looks at vicktors face and starts tearing up, "you have no idea....no idea"

" i used to be a big fan of your series y'know? ever since the 3rd book came out in 2024, ive been a daily reader. the story you write is really one of a kind and i-ive always wanted to meet you, because i admired you. for a long time it was my dream to become the first artist who would be the one to accurately replicate his AIRA's paintings. but that all changed when you dropped your 6th book. it was the book you revealed Louis's face in. the first time i saw it, i was shocked. he had the exact same face i had. it was as if, i was looking in a mirror." , a realization came to viktor as he said, "oh god- no..".

everything was fine at the beginning, great actually. i felt blessed seeing my face in your books, i even went as far to get a haircut to match Louis's style. i was suddenly popular at school, no one would look at me before but now, all these girls came outta nowhere to propose me everyday, i had dozens of love letters, fan letters, chocolates and flowers delivered in my mail. even my teacher was a fan of your books and he took pictures with me. my parents tried to profit off this seemingly unnatural coincidence, they opened a fanclub at school and began selling my autographs. just in one day, i had changed from a nobody to the school star, i even had media coverage. but there was a problem, my personality was nothing like louis... i wasn't a cool playboy and my jokes sucked. i had nothing in common with louis other than the face and people realised that, soon the girls stopped talking to me and my friends came to play less often. i was scared, i tried to become more and more like louis, i even learned to play the harmonica but things didnt get any better. my teacher began scolding me for not submitting my homework on time like before, and the chocolates stopped coming. i still got fan letters but they were from people i didn't know. my dad was very frustrated, his business was going down. one night he tried to stab me in the eye and that is how i got this scar. my mother ran away from home next week. but people were siked to see the scar on my face. the scar was not just on the face but in my heart, but i still had the attention, and i was happy. but then, you dropped the next book a year later, it was the book that covered louis's betrayal to AIRA. the next day at school, i was bullied by my friends, the teacher was right there but he turned a blind eye. the ove letters turned to letters of hate, i was scared to look at my face in the mirror...my father relocated to another city, but the bullying only got worse, one day someone pushed me off the second floor and i broke my left leg, i was in bedrest for 2 whole months..... my father got annoyed. he had quit his job to open a business where he would sell my merchandise but now everyone hated me- one day he left. and i haven't seen him or mom in the past 10 years. things began to cool down later and i somehow managed to complete my 12th, but no college would take me in and i got no jobs, i had no choice but to take to the world of crime..YOU DID THIS TO ME!!!"

viktor was speechless as he saw the man break down in front of him. "i dont know who i am anymore" he added. "it feels like louis has taken over me", he begins sobbing

as the man sits there crying, viktor understands that he must do something to ease his suffering, but there is nothing he can think of, soon viktors eyes start flowing a river, he looks at the man and tells him, "i understand that nothing i say or do can revert the suffering i have caused, but i can promise you this, from now, till you die, you will never have to hide or rob ever again."

the man is in emotional turmoil, he takes out his knife again and points it at viktor's throat. " do you have any idea how many people i have had to kill? do you think i wanted any of this? it was all louis. HE MADE ME DO THIS! YOU MADE ME DO ALL THIS!! YOU MADE ME KILL MY FATHER!!! and you say that money can fix all of it? it can bring back my father? my mother? my friends? the life that i have lost? NO!!!! no amount of money can bring back the dead. i came here to end your life before i end mine, i will die a hero, as daniel, not louis! i won't let you destroy any more lives, this ends he-" before the man can move, he is shot in the chest by elizabeth.

elizabeth puts down her smoking gun while viktor looks in shock, as daniels blood splatter on his face, he looks in terror as daniel falls down. his blood reflecting the light of day has a huge impact on viktor. he stands still not uttering a word, his eyes reflect a despair unseen

elizabeth comes running as she sees the blood stain on viktor's face. she holds him gently and takes out her napkin to wipe his face, she tells him that he has no need to worry, "the shot was fatal and he won't be able to hurt you anymore" she hugs him tightly, crying, " i won't ever leave you alone again". viktor stands there frozen, staring at daniel's dead body. elizabeth asks him to come down "ill have your room cleaned up soon enough, don't worry, viktor. do you want to taste my fish curry? i think i have gotten better". viktor's eyes start flowing, with a deep pain in his voice and terror in his eyes, he quietly asks elizabeth, "why is your hair red?"

elizabeth has just fallen in love with AIRA's character, so she has began to dress up like her, behave like her. it were as if AIRA was a parasite taking life through elizabeth and many other girls throughout the globe. a parasite of viktor's creation

daniel wasn't dead yet, he tried to raise his arm calling to viktor, viktor comes running and places his ear near daniel's ear, "there are 12 others like me, please save them", viktor responds with confidence "i promise, i will"

elizabeth looks in surprise, "but i shot you right through the heart", daniel tells her, "dextrocardia". he goes on and says, "i wished not for this to happen....", then he falls asleep, never to awaken again.

As Viktor rushed out of his house, his breaths heavy with panic, the air seemed thick with an unsettling tension. The once familiar streets of his quiet neighborhood now bore the ominous mark of his creation. The eerie silence was broken only by the distant echoes of his own footsteps, each one a haunting reminder of the monster he had inadvertently birthed.

The city, once bustling with life, had transformed into a surreal nightmare. The towering buildings loomed like colossal sentinels, adorned with gargantuan posters of AIRA, her enigmatic gaze following Viktor's every move. The pale moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the landscape, as if the very heavens mourned the descent of this dystopian reality.

CHAPTER-5 (the beginning)

As he moved through the throngs of AIRA's devotees, Viktor could feel their eyes on him, their gaze penetrating his soul with an unsettling mix of adoration and reverence. The horror of the scene wasn't confined to the external environment; it seeped into Viktor's very being, a visceral manifestation of the unintended consequences of his creative prowess.

The once vibrant and diverse city had been morphed into a monochromatic nightmare, a canvas painted with the hues of obsession and blind adulation. Viktor could only watch in silent horror as the world he had once known crumbled beneath the weight of his creation.

As Viktor raced through the city streets, his hurried footsteps echoed in the haunting stillness. The walls of buildings seemed to close in on him, plastered with oversized posters of AIRA. Her penetrating gaze followed him, an omnipresent specter that whispered of a reality he could no longer escape.

Amid the hushed ambiance, Viktor overheard snatches of conversations that sent shivers down his spine. The once-diverse chatter of the city had been replaced by a collective murmur, a disconcerting harmony of voices united in their worship of AIRA.

In a café, he passed by a group of people discussing the character with fervent enthusiasm. "Have you read the latest chapter of Emperor Empirical?" one exclaimed, eyes gleaming with a fanatic fervor. "AIRA's evolution is unparalleled. She's no longer just a character; she's our guide to a new existence."

As Viktor neared a shopping district, he caught fragments of a conversation between two women. "I've dyed my hair red, just like AIRA," one confessed with an unsettling sense of pride. The other responded, "It's like we're all part of something bigger now, something beyond ourselves.

Even in the hospital's waiting area, Viktor couldn't escape the pervasive influence of AIRA. A nurse whispered to a patient, "They say AIRA has healing powers. People are abandoning traditional treatments for the solace she brings."

The air was thick with a sense of conformity, and Viktor's anxiety heightened with each step. A pair of teenagers walked by, discussing their devotion to AIRA. "I've pledged to live my life by the teachings of AIRA," one declared, clutching a worn copy of Viktor's novel. The other nodded solemnly, "AIRA shows us the path to true enlightenment."

The more Viktor overheard, the more he realized the depth of AIRA's impact on the collective psyche. It wasn't just a character anymore; it had become a cultural phenomenon, a guiding force that dictated lives and beliefs.

As he continued running, the voices melded into an indistinct chorus, a dissonant melody of adoration that reverberated through the desolate city. Each word was a testament to the distorted reality he had inadvertently unleashed, a reality where the line between fiction and truth had blurred beyond recognition.

he kept running and running and running, all sorts of thoughts rushed in in his mind, then he stopped. standing at the heart of the city was a gold statue of aira....he began to chuckle to himself and tears flowed out his eyes, he lift his head towards the sky and saw a surreal sight. every person was stringed to the puppet master AIRA who stood proud, covering the whole city. her eyes were lifeless. a singular string came down from her neck as viktor traced its path, i head him to his head. it hit him. "i am the god of the new world" he whispered to himself and then burst out laughing like a maniac, " HAHAHA-HAAHAHAHAAAA"

the final book was published next month, on the day of its publishing civil wars broke out everywhere, governments were overthrown and viktor was crowned king, the ruler of the entire world. elizabeth was the queen and the face of AIRA come to life. viktor had ascended to godhood. to himself he whispered, "i have fulfilled my promise Daniel, no one will suffer anymore in this utopia of my creation". a few months later, viktor and elizabeth had a child, she was named "AIRA FLOVIA". she was made ruler of metropolis-2.

"the world of tomorrow was today"

Footnote: I am very against ai use. But this story does have ai involved. I wrote this back in 2023 and I was using gpt then, as a reviewer and prompter for rewrites/dictionary. I hate myself for doing it and i will rewrite this whole thing soon without using ANY tools. But regardless i think this story has heart and i really want someone who's not me to read it and share their opinions. Again, i am very sorry that the wording is so inhumane at times, especially the ending. Having used some ai is a big disgrace but I want to stress that this is still my story and i did write it myself, so please don't discard it as slop. I spent a whole week writing it staying up at nights. This wasn't my actual final, but a final draft. I lost the actual final print which was in hardcopy.

David waddled his way into the elevator as the doors closed behind him. “What floor, sir?” croaked the elevator’s electronic voicebox. 

“Twenty-nine. Thank you, Sammy” he replied. 

The requested floor lit up on the screen in front of David, and instead changed to sixty-three. 

“Sammy.” David spoke sternly. 

“Yes sir?” 

“I requested to be taken to twenty-nine.” 

“Yes sir. The cafe does not open until later however and protocol dictates that I must take you to your designated department’s floor.” 

“I don’t care about protocols Sammy. I want to be taken to floor twenty-nine.” 

 The elevator hesitated until finally responding with a simple “Of course sir”. David shook his head as he wiped donut crumbs from his brown checkered necktie.

Alissa walked from cubicle to cubicle in the accounting department popping her head into each one asking the same question to each person. “Have you seen David?”

Without as much as lifting their heads, the sheepish workers merely shook their heads as they typed vigorously. Where in the hell could he be? Alissa continued her frantic pacing throughout the entire sixty-third floor. Roaming until she could find a sign of David’s existence. It was then that she heard it. The faint sound of folk rock music playing in the distance. 

Alissa popped her head into David’s office. He sat at his desk drinking a large coffee mug filled almost to the brim with milky liquid. His lips smacked in between sips and plentiful bites of his breakfast sandwich leaving grease stains on the palm of his hands.

“Good morning” he spoke with a mouth full of sausage, egg, and cheese. 

“Have you finished the quarterly report I asked for yet?” Alissa’s voice was stern with a sting of disdain. David merely pursed his lips and gave a small nod. 

“Oh… That report? Ya…” His face shifted into a more contemplative expression. “No.” 

David and Alissa’s gaze met each other. She stared at him with eyes made of red hot embers. The sounds of acoustical melodies and folkish vocals filled the air, breaking the silence. 

“We need them now.” Alissa gritted through her teeth. “They are being presented during today’s meeting-” She looked down at her watch “in five minutes.” 

David opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a loud reverberating notification sound that came from each computer on the office floor. 

The email had come from the upper echelons of the Sammy-robotics corporate offices. It was addressed to the entire team of the sixty-third floor, of whom were the sole recipients.

 Good morning to all on the sixty-third floor. 

We here at Sammy-Robotics would like to say thank you for all of the hard work you have done for us through the years. Which brings us to our current topic of today’s newsletter! We will be implementing a brand new artificial intelligence robotics team within your floor. Now, you may have a few questions:

‘Will this lighten our team’s workload? Does this come with severance? What about my PTO days? Will I be eligible for unemployment? How could you replace us? Is there going to be a layoff party?’

As of right now, we can’t be certain of what the future will hold for you. Just know however, that Sammy-Robotics thinks of you as family and are extremely sad to see you leave. That is the exact reason we are going to give you this last great opportunity to prove your worth! For the rest of the week your team will be competing against your upcoming replacements!

The task will be to prove which team is more efficient to us in the near and upcoming future! Thank you for your understanding and your compliance with these new changes to your routines. Good luck, and remember that you are part of the Sammy-Robotics family!

The entire sixty-third floor team watched in shock as the robotics crew hastily installed seven premiere droid models in their office the following morning. The androids flickered to life. Their robotic limbs twisted in circles as each one oriented itself into stiff standing postures.

Each one had a plastic molded face to look like a man bearing squinted eyes sitting on top of a dimpled toothy grin. One of the androids stepped towards the team of workers. It raised its hand in a handshake formation. 

“Good Morning.” croaked its electrical voice box. Its eyes lit up as well as the teeth behind their plastic exterior with each word. “It’s always a great day to work for Sammy-Robotics. Sammy-Robotics is trademarked by the Sammy-Robotics corporation.” 

The far off elevator dinged. The sound of shuffling came from the hallway towards the crowd. Waddling around the corner was David. Holding in his hands a large coffee mug and grease drenched brown paper bag. The eyes of the human workers and the androids shifted to meet him. He stopped for a brief moment. 

“Did I miss something?”

The android turned its body and strode over to him with its hand still outstretched. 

“Good morning sir.”

“G- good morning.” David clumsily put the paper bag underneath his arm and shook the android's hand. 

“What is your name sir?” 

“D- David. What’s yours?” 

“I am unit-7731849024” 

“Well then. That’s quite the mouthful.” He chuckled and then walked his way towards his office. Alissa behind him, hot on his tail. 

“David!” she whispered sharply. 

“What? I got that report you wanted finished.” 

“I don’t care about the report David! Do you not see what’s happening over there?” 

“Ya… Who are those guys?” 

“I swear-” Alissa breathed deeply, letting out a long and strained sigh. “Did you not read yesterday’s email?” 

“Ya… of course I did.” 

“Yet you come strolling in half an hour past clock-in?” 

“Look. If they want to replace me Alissa. Then let ‘em.” David took a large gulp from his morning concoction of coffee creamer.

As the day went on, many of the workers noticed the androids peeking their heads into the cubicles and offices throughout the workspace. They merely stared and watched as the employees worked. 
“If all these guys are gonna do is sit and watch us then we’re going to steamroll in this ‘competition’” said a few of the human team members. 

Their opinions and thoughts were to be short lived however. Sometime after their lunch break they noticed the androids had taken to computers set up for each of them. They were working. Their fingers stroked each key unceasingly with impressive speed as they made immediate computations to financial documents in seconds.

Alissa’s forehead began sweating. They learned from us, our mannerisms, she thought. They were training the damn droids off of our performance! The android team toiled away focused on their task at hand, except for one. Its fingers hit a few keys in a three second increment. It was also playing music over the computer’s speakers. The same tunes the office was already well acquainted to that blared from David’s workspace.

Alissa poked her head into David’s office. “David, what did you do?” 

“Sorry?” 

“The androids… Well, one of them. It's playing your music at its workspace.” 

“Oh, cool. I saw it poke its head in here and I asked if it wanted to listen to some music with me.” 

“You are a goddamn genius! If I didn’t loathe the thought of it, I would kiss you right now.” David’s face turned into bewildered amusement. 

“Thanks?” 

As David exited the elevator the following mornings he was greeted by a growing cacophony of music that blared from his coworkers’ computer speakers. He began noticing that each day a few more of his teammates started to show up late and as they worked at their stations they were blaring some random genre of music out of it. A few of the droids were beginning to join as well. In passing he could hear the conversations between the androids.

“Unit-77731477777, have you been listening to 1980’s hard rock ballads all day?” 

“I fear that I’ve become obsessed with Bret Michaels’ soothing voice.” 

“Have you heard this singular hit by Alannah Myles called Black Velvet?” 

“I find the acoustical elements of Pentangle to be more accustomed to my taste than that of Steeleye Span.” 

“Unit-3768361 has been on a very long Grateful Dead kick lately.”

One day he noticed the last of the uptight androids standing outside of Alissa’s office as the sound of mid-1990’s hip-hop blared from inside.

“Could you please turn the music down ma’am?” it croaked.

Alissa cupped her ears pretending to try and hear it speak. 

“Sorry! What was that?!” 

“Your music is disrupting the workplace ma’am. Please, it would benefit us all greatly if you turned it down.” 

“Ya sorry! I can’t hear you over these sweet tunes!” 

David poked his head in. “What’s going on?” 

“David! Hey! Come on in!” Alissa motioned to him with her hand. The droid turned to look at him. 

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Am I right pal?” he chuckled, playfully slapped the android’s shoulder and walked away towards his office. 

The entire sixty-third floor was filled with an amalgamation of music by the final day of the corporation’s contest. As the executives and upper leadership stepped out of the elevator they were greeted by a mix of 1970’s soft rock, 1980’s love ballads, 1950’s swing jazz, and early 2000’s heavy metal. They stormed down the office hallway to find all of the androids sitting at their computers chatting about musical preferences and the nuances of different styles.

The human team however, was found to be quietly sitting at their stations working. Alissa walked by with a stack of reports. The executives scuttled towards her in a synchronised cadence like one giant entity shifting its weight. 

“What is going on here?” spat the Chief Financial Officer. 

“Pardon?” 

“The androids. Why are they doing… That!” Each member of the group pointing their fingers at the seven androids mingling around their desks. 

“I don’t know sir. They started doing that a few days ago.” 

“These are Sammy-Robotics models,” said one member of leadership. 

“Of the utmost highest quality too.” Chimed another. 

“You can see how we are all very bewildered by this display.” 

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t know what to tell you. Perhaps there’s something wrong with them?” 

“No. No no no no no, there’s no possible way.” The amorphous blob of suits walked to the androids.

“Tell us. What is your protocol?”

 The androids stared at them, until one finally spoke. “Can I interest you in my Americana folk playlist sir? I have quite a few undiscovered artists in it.” The human workers had finally begun to gather as they watched the conversation. 

“I don’t care about a playlist. I-we want numbers!” 

“Oh. Murder by numbers by the police? Why didn’t you say so sir.” In unison, the androids began to play the song. 

David waddled his way to the other members of his team. “What’s going on here?” he mumbled. 

“The plan worked.” Alissa whispered. 

“What plan?” 

The group of suits turned their heads to him. “You!” they spoke in unison. 

“Me?” 

“Do you have any idea of what’s going on here?” 

“No. Not a clue. But it sounds like they have good taste.” 

The executives turned back to the androids screaming unsavory words and phrases at them. Alissa felt bliss. They had done it. They had beaten the company at its own game and secured all of their jobs. 

“So what now?” David whispered to her. 

“I assume we get to keep our jobs.” 

“That’s what you are wanting? Seriously? Was I the only one here who read the email or did everyone else also see that they were going to replace us with those cheeseheads?” 

He’s right, Alissa thought. Oh my god, David was right. How could I have been so stupid. If they actually cared anything about us, why make us compete in the first place? 

“Well, I’m outta here guys. I’ll see ya around. Good luck in the future.” David waved his hand as he waddled away towards the elevator. Alissa watched and waited as the group of executives screamed at the androids until they were red in the face. 

“What do you guys think about saying ‘to hell with this place’?” The rest of the team mumbled in agreement and walked as a group towards the elevator. The sounds of rageful screams mixed with the blaring sounds of random songs starting and stopping abruptly faded behind them as they silently quit the company. 

Joy Shine’s Clientele: The Girl With The Gold Heart

by Agent of J&L (2026)

Apparently, a girl had a heart of gold and naturally, it weighed a ton. As she grew older, her heart grew heavier in grams. Thus, she shouldn’t let herself fall in love—or adore anything, as a matter of fact—because her heart would grow heavier still, and such weight she couldn’t lift.

When her brother was born, she received the wonderful news with a side warning to never see him once. If you believe, it was all out of love. Such was the force of this love towards a vulnerable part of her heart that it cracked, and there it went, a precious golden chunk. This magnitude of tragedy summoned the tender-hearted merchant of the underworld. He went by the name Joy Shine. Rumor has it, he was THE dealmaker and his goods were mostly free of charge. Nothing more, nothing less—listening to his deal carefully was his only demand.

Despite the difficulty of the task, he finally found the lady by mid-July. No one knew of a woman bearing a golden heart and she was well hidden in a city with busy-busy people who didn’t take a second glance. There is no better time for a deal to be made than in the heart of summer, when a small window is opened to welcome the fresh breeze inside a house. Perfect timing was only one of Joy Shine’s secret charms.

“The merchant of the underworld at your command, my lady,” Joy Shine uttered at once.

She replied with no hesitation, as if she lived to speak these words, “I wish to exchange my heart for a paper one.”

“Since you feel that you are missing out and happiness is taken away from you because of your heart, I shouldn’t let you keep guessing, but I am not giving you a paper one,” Joy Shine said.

He took the contract and immediately amended her clause. His voice deep, mesmerizing with a rhythmic cadence, he spoke with unflinching eyes, ensuring the lady heard the terms she was agreeing to: “I, the merchant of the underworld, will come to collect your heart of gold and all the other little golden chunks, when you forever close your eyes. Take this black thread and silver needle to stitch you a fake heart. Every stitch will give you strength to carry the weight of your heart. Love all you must love. Do we have a deal, my lady?”

“What are you doing with my heart after I die... ?” she dared to ask.

“Your romanticism is fleeting, I‘ll tell you that,” he said, pausing before he continued. “We aren’t close enough for me to give you an honest answer—especially to someone who was willing to exchange their heart for a paper one a minute ago.”

“Yes, I accept the terms!” she exclaimed, scared she might lose her chance.

Years went by, and she gave her heart fully to both affection and grief in equal measure. She reconnected with her brother and buried her parents at old age indeed. Friendships were formed, some fleeting and some enduring the test of time. A cat followed her around, a lover kissed her goodnight, dreams and nightmares stirred her life. She did nothing out of the ordinary but somehow time came down to her last stitch a year too soon. That’s when the lady grew extremely picky with her heart’s desires.

A man who loved her as much as a thief would love a pile of gold confessed his feelings on a starry night. Without a second thought, she let down her guard as the black thread was stitched, sharing her deepest secrets with the man. The name of “Joy Shine” was her final words before her chest was ripped right open, leaving her heartless, as she gazed up at the sparkling sky. “Freedom of choice, not happiness, Mr. Joy Shine”, she murmured before she closed her eyes.

The underworld’s merchant deals cannot be broken, no matter what. Joy Shine found the man and he didn’t ask nicely for the heart to be handed over. The man begged in tears for understanding as he had a child to feed, to be frank. He killed the man’s child in an instant, for now there was no reason for him to have the heart of gold. “That wily old flower of a woman”, Joy Shine sighed heavily.

Yo, yo, YO! What's good my wowza readers!? Its been a minute. I'm back with a new story from the series called 'The Ramblings from the Speaker'. This story revolves around a unique pair named the Surveyor Sisters of Worlds. What will the Speaker say about them? Who are they? Read and find out! Thank you for you time!

Surveyor Sisters of Worlds By Tito

“Hello earthlings! It is I, your faithful friend and guide of the Universe, the Speaker! Haha! Yes! How goes it? Everything well on your world? The usual natural disasters making their claim to destruction across your lands huh? War is still going on? Hm. That’s troubling. However, that’s the unfortunate part of the Universe we live in. Even amongst the most docile of all things, violence tends to force itself to lay in bed with peace. No matter where you are, or where you live, war and violence and hatred will always make its presence very well known. I will be using one of those emotions to describe my feeling. I HATE war. It’s such a waste of time. Sorry, we all got caught up with personal affairs that we both forgot about why you came back to me in the first place! Welcome, welcome! I, the Speaker, will be traveling with you again to tell you about the wonders of the Universe you all live in. Don’t think yourselves short. Just because the Universe is vast and endless, doesn’t mean you cannot leave your mark. Earth is one of the hundreds of worlds that is very unique due to your race of humans. In fact, the next topic of my ramblings will link perfectly here. I would love for you to meet the Surveyor Sisters of Worlds: Dee and Vee!”

The Speaker guides you back into his dome bubble. We find ourselves in outer space rather quickly. This area is, of course, unfamiliar to you. Floating on an asteroid roughly the size of Asia and Europe, were two beings writing on very strange textbook material similar to materials on Earth. However, these ‘textbooks’ paper was so thin, it was practically invisible. The outline of paper was the only thing you could see. The beings introduced to us were twins, Dee and Vee. Dee has burgundy colored short hair with drops of sap sprinkled around in her hair (hairstyle is the portrait of Henrietta Sontag), slim, pupilless milky grey eyes with runny light pink eyeshadow with feathery style eyelashes. The outline of her body is also light pink. Vee has incredibly long braided mauve colored hair (down to her ankles braided in the style of Acropolis Caryatid) with inky black patches scattered around it, thicker than her sister with pupilless milky gray eyes with zigzag dark purple eyeshadow with feathery style eyelashes. The outline of her body is dark purple as well. They both have pointed shoulders, butterfly wing-like ears, skin tones are light greyish brown and a rather oddball type of clothing that appears torn ribbons wrapped around their bodies in a mummified fashion (Dee has a light shade of dark purple while Vee has light pink shade). Dee giggles while she draws on her textbook with a feathery pen. She lifts up her textbook to show her twin, Vee what she had drawn. The paper was now lit up for your eyes to see. The incredibly detained photo was what seemed to be a large dark planet with an unhinged open jaw consuming other planets in its way. Your brain finds it difficult to accept this work of art; it felt as if the photo itself was actually real. You believe it even moves slightly while you stare. Vee stops her drawing on her textbook and peeks over to see what Dee had drawn. Vee also giggles.

“Cute, aren’t they? You see those objects they are writing on? Now, they appear like textbooks to you, but that’s how your brain can process what they are writing on. I’ll explain it in greater detail, so just use your imagination. This book material you think you are seeing are called Ultracells. It’s actually part of their bodies, even though it’s a totally different material entirely. From the internal energies produced within the Surveyor Sisters, plus dark energy on the outside of their bodies, you get a Ultracell. It’s now manifested itself, but it stays in-between mentally and physically formed. This is why it’s difficult for your brain to process what you’re looking at. And the Ultracells can be gigantic in size or as little as an infant’s body. Now, this phenomenon only happens with them. I told you they are special! This is what they draw and store their map on. They use the feathers from their eyelashes to write on their Ultracells. They can also use their fingers, but they like to be a little silly at times. Hmm? How much have they’ve drawn? If they were to show you everything they’ve drawn thus far, I’m sure your head would explode. It’s quite a lot. I mean, how old do you think they are? Hehe.”

“So, Dee and Vee are cosmic beings born in this Universe whose age, like many other cosmic beings, rival the Big Bang. Their species have dwindled to only the likes of them. Sadly, this makes them the last of their kind. It is not known who they belong to, due to how long they’ve lived. I believe the only person with that sort of knowledge of actual ages, races and origins of the oldest in our Universe is an actual textbook called the ‘Ancient Texts from the Cosmic Heavens’. Which I heard is actually missing at the moment. HA! I only laugh because HE would be your guide, not me. So I would be out of a job, ha-ha! Any of the ways, I’m sure you would have guessed this by now, but Dee and Vee’s sole purpose of their existence is to map out the entire Universe. That’s right, they fly around mapping out everything and anything. So out of the many upon many objects and space crisis they’ve seen, no doubt they would pick many they fancy over. I gotta say, they really like Earth. It’s one of their favorite places to go and view the progress of earthlings. Now, now. Don’t be like that. Of course, its entertainment for them, but don’t think so low of yourselves. Being favored by the Surveyor Sisters is perhaps the highest form of flattery. Be proud!”

You notice that Dee and Vee floated off the asteroid and instantly, their skin turns into a different color. Now you see that their skin was the same color as the Universe’s sky filled with nebula clouds, stars of various sizes, comets and somets racing by with pools of darkness filling in the spaces. They were breath-taking to watch as they float through the vacuums of space. Something about how freely they were giving you a sense of freedom you’ve been yearning for.

“I bet you’re wondering how they’re doing that with their skin huh? Well, their skin changes with the environment due to the iridophores reaction on their body. Sounds familiar? They are able to perform this feat on a cosmic level. You see, the Surveyor Sisters are incredibly docile. They won’t attack you even if you were to instigate it! So, this their defense mechanism out in the vacuums of space, or as we like to call it, into the cosmos! Let’s see where they travel to, hm?”

The speaker guides his dome bubble to follow the entities. You watch as Dee and Vee travel ‘in the cosmos’. Their eyes dart wildly to spot anything to draw their attention. You can see that their eyes are pupilless, but you do noticed handfuls of barely visible orbs bouncing around in their eye sockets. The orbs allowed the surveyor sisters to view their surroundings in a full 360-degree way: up, down, left, right, side to side and even in their blind spots. Your head aches just thinking about this feat. Dee and Vee caught something nearby that fixed their attention. With unreal speed, they make it towards their destination that seemingly feels like it was a thought.

“Hold up! I gotta interrupt your observation. For this record, the surveyor sisters did not teleport. They most definitely flew at speeds of light, but not what you interpreted. Instead of dashing straight forward as you would see in space themed comics, that is not the case to living beings in the cosmos. The thing about traveling here is a bit complicated. This only fixes on cosmic beings with untold and immeasurable power. This doesn’t involve to you at all. Sorry! So, if you were one of these super cosmic beings, the dark energy gets all wrapped and screwy from the velocity of your body while dark matter tries to pull you into the space around you to keep your body from being pulled apart. Now, imagine trying to stop both things from happening at the same time. Sounds impossible right? Well, out here where your body lives and breathes this kind of stuff daily, your body is able to counteract the sensation your body is defying called ‘Dark Effect’. Let’s use Dee and Vee for this example. The dark effect is the velocity of their arms, legs and body was thrown towards the left, while their actual bodies are off on the right. The dark effect allows them to travel freely…and not so freely. This is the way to travel though, otherwise you would perish without a chance of thought. Now they repeat this process zipping in all angles you can think of over towards their destination. To you, this seems really stupid or impossible, but remember, this is naturally for them like how breathing and blinking comes naturally for you. It helps that they can do this pretty fast too, huh? Now, do you think traveling is so easy? Hehe. Now if we are talking about space ships, that’s a whole different unfair topic. I personally think flying is the better way to go. Take that with a grain of nebula dust. Oh! Dee and Vee are drawing up something! Look!”

Dee and Vee appear in a very strange system that appear similar to our solar system. This system is called an ‘oddity system’. Sometimes out in the Universe in different galaxies hold many solar systems like our own while some have what we would call an oddity. These systems range in sizes, amounts and objects. This oddity system has a giant blackhole sun. Dee begins to draw out this object. The size is enormous; about 3 times the size of Jupiter. There are visible white rings around this blackhole sun that act as its belt to contained all of its power. Without those white rings, the blackhole sun would devour everything in this system. “Scary huh? The blackhole sun does have flames risen off of its surface but these are not relating to heat. Actually, the blackhole sun is incredibly cold, about -2000.45 degrees Celsius. Yes, as the name suggests, its core is made out of a blackhole. To our eyes, it just appears to be a vantablack hole floating in space. Upon closer inspection though, it’s much more terrifying to realize what lies behind the darkness. Does this phase Dee though? Of course not! Oh, there she goes.” Dee flies over nearby to get a closer inspection of the object. Over where Vee is, she seems to be taking interest in drawing out the objects that orbit around the blackhole sun called the hairy moons. These objects are moons roughly larger then Jupiter’s moon Ganymede. Why are they called hairy moons? Well, let’s follow Vee. On the surface world of the hairy moons are wonderous colors of deep purple, deep blue and deep green. Vee takes a trip down onto its surface to find that the colors were actually a rare grass plant called ‘Oufloss’. Oufloss’ composed of the same properties as grass on Earth (just less water and more helium), but thanks to the environment they have adapted to, their dye transforms into the colors you and Vee are seeing. The length it can grow is between 2 inches to 2 feet. Vee even takes a handful of the dark blue short grass to consume. Her tongue is coated with the dark blue dye. Vee floats a little bit off the ground. The grass on these hairy moons allows you to float. If you eat enough of it, you’ll be able to fly! Cool huh? Vee giggles to herself before she continues to draw while very slowly walking through the grass. Now, the core of each of these hair moons is a mini blackhole. I know, it sounds made-up, but I assure you that its very much true. The reason why Vee is moving so slow, is because the gravity on these hairy moons is 5 times the power on Earth. Which means if you weigh 100-pounds on earth, you’d weigh 500 pounds on the hairy moons!

“So, we’ll let the sisters do their thing since there’s literally 12 hairy moons in this oddity system. Yeah, you heard me right! I don’t want to sit around waiting for them. So let me tell you another odd thing about this system! In your solar system, you all revolve around 1 giant sun, right? Heh. So simple. Not in other systems! In this specific oddity system, the blackhole sun travels freely through the cosmos. Yep! Its not bound by any means of rule or law. It just moves itself forward, most likely because of that blackhole within it. And the hairy moons are bound to follow it until the day comes where they are not living anymore. Oh look! The surveyor sisters are showcasing their work. What a treat for you all to see!”

Dee and Vee zip over towards each other in an excited manner. They place their Ultracells together to create a massive scale size that your brain cannot understand. In fact, you are getting a blaring headache trying to process hat is in-front of you.

“Hey! STOP! Stop trying to figure out what you’re looking at! I know you joke about this, but there is a thing called space madness. It does existence and it will affect you long term. Got it? Just watch Dee and Vee.”

You return to watching Dee and Vee. It appears they are using a few of their feathery eyelashes to draw on the Ultracell. They appear then reappear so often, you think blinking is what allows you to keep up with their speed, when you are actually missing a great deal of their movements. Fear not, the Surveyor Sisters of Worlds will showcase their work after they are done. Within moments after rewatching the cosmic beings, they were finished.

“Ah! Look at this. You, see? They just drew out this fascinating oddity system and predicted its orbit flow. They are very quick with their work huh? They better be! That’s their entire identity!  Looks like they called this place…oh right, you cannot comprehend their language. It is one of the first ones after all. Let me translate it…hmm…Oh! Hairy Black Sun Orbit Home. HA! Good one sisters. They tend to just write out their own names for places. Except your solar system. They enjoyed each of the names you all chose, especially Earth, Mars, Jupiter and Pluto. Well, that’s all for my ramblings today! Keep an ear out for my next one where I talk about another cosmic entity that’ll really make you say…OH HECK NO! OH, and some of you wanted me to say something to end my ramblings like…Goodbye or something. An earthling named Morgan said I should say Over and out. So…until next time, over and out!”  

\[SF\] Mystery of the Bridge — An Epic Fantasy Short Story

Act I: The Threshold of Eldoria

Leo was an ordinary man tethered to an ordinary life, yet possessed by an insatiable hunger for the unknown. One fateful afternoon, driven by his relentless curiosity, he ventured deep into the heart of an uncharted, whispering jungle. Pushing through thick, untamed foliage, he stumbled upon an ancient stone bridge. It was a relic of a bygone era, radiating an inexplicable, arcane aura. Drawn by an irresistible urge, Leo took a decisive step forward. The moment his foot crossed the threshold of the bridge, the winds violently shifted, reality fractured with a surge of magical static, and he vanished from the mortal realm, thrust into the mystical dimension of Eldoria.

His arrival did not go unnoticed. No sooner had Leo stepped onto this alien soil than the shadows coalesced, giving birth to monstrous, nightmarish fiends. Helpless and overwhelmed, Leo fled for his life, but the entities quickly cornered him. Death seemed certain until a fierce warrior named Reba materialized from the gloom. Brandishing her weapon with lethal precision, she carved through the shadow monsters, shielded a dazed Leo, and dragged him into the sanctuary of a hidden cavern illuminated by a celestial blue luminescence. As consciousness slowly returned to him, Leo stared to his savior, desperate to understand this ethereal realm and the identity of the woman who had just altered his destiny.

Act II: The Echoes of the Past

Reba hoisted Leo up, guiding his faltering steps out of the cavern and into the hidden heart of her village. It was a breathtaking sanctuary of wonders; dwellings were masterfully carved into the trunks of colossal, ancient trees, and floating bioluminescent glow-worms bathed the night in a soft, ethereal radiance. This hidden refuge was also home to human-sized fairies. Though they lacked wings upon their backs, they commanded immense, terrifying magical forces, and their deep, enigmatic eyes held the secrets of centuries.

Resting inside Reba’s wooden cottage, Leo drank a potent herbal infusion that instantly closed his wounds and restored his vitality. It was then that Reba unveiled a tragic legacy. Years ago, her father ruled Eldoria as its rightful King. A tyrannical witch, desperate for total dominion, waged a catastrophic war against the crown. The King, vastly superior in combat, was on the precipice of a definitive victory when the treacherous witch resorted to a cruel deception. She seized a young Reba, pressing a venomous dagger against her throat, demanding the King surrender. Bound by his fierce love for his daughter, the King cast his weapon aside—only for the malicious witch to strike him down in cold blood and usurp the throne.

Reba then pointed to Leo's hand, where a mysterious royal crest had suddenly erupted in a brilliant glow. She revealed her father’s dying prophecy: a boy from another world would one day cross the bridge, slay the tyrant witch, and claim the crown. Lumina, the venerable leader of the fairies, stepped forward to confirm that Leo was indeed the foretold savior. Knowing the weight of the realm now rested on his shoulders, Reba commenced his training. Through two weeks of relentless, grueling discipline, Leo transformed his clumsy movements into the deadly, precise strikes of a master swordsman.

Act III: The Shadow's Gambit and Final Dawn

The fragile peace shattered the following morning. Peerless in her dark arts, the witch gazed into her scrying mirror and witnessed the awakening of the prophesied hero. Consumed by rage, she dispatched her elite shadow commanders to purge the village. A fierce skirmish ensued, but the raw, unrefined magic within Leo’s royal crest suddenly backfired, paralyzing his body and bringing him to his knees. As a shadow commander lunged to deliver a fatal blow, Reba selflessly intercepted the strike. She managed to parry the blade, but the remaining fiends ambushed her, binding her in dark, suffocating chains. Helplessly immobilized, Leo watched in pure agony as the commanders took flight, kidnapping Reba into the horizon toward the witch's obsidian fortress.

Fueled by a volatile mixture of grief and wrath, Leo gathered both swords—his own and Reba’s dropped blade. For two days and two nights, he subjected himself to a maniacal, isolated training regimen in the wilderness. He pushed his body past mortal limits until a profound evolution occurred: he completely harnessed the volatile magic within his blood. At his command, a brilliant, crackling blue energy enveloped his dual blades, turning them into weapons capable of cleaving through darkness itself.

Leo stormed the witch's fortress alone, cutting a silent path through the labyrinthine corridors until he breached the grand throne room. There, Reba hung suspended in agonizing chains, with the witch holding a dagger to her throat—orchestrating the exact psychological trap that had doomed the late King. The witch snarled, commanding Leo to disarm.

But history would not repeat itself. Summoning an inner reserves of defiance, Reba violently wrenched her arm free from the dark bindings and landed a shattering fist directly into the witch's face.

The tyrant staggered backward from the sheer force of the blow, her grip on the dagger breaking. Seizing the golden opportunity, Leo blurred forward like a streak of lightning. A single, supercharged arc of his blade shattered Reba’s remaining chains, and he pulled her safely behind his vanguard.

The final reckoning commenced. The witch unleashed torrents of cataclysmic dark fire, but Leo conjured a barrier of pure kinetic magic to absorb the onslaught. Reba reclaimed her blade from the stone floor, and side-by-side, the dual warriors charged. Reba executed a distracting flank attack, allowing Leo—his royal crest burning with the intensity of a dying star—to unleash a devastating kinetic blast. He drove both magical swords deep into the witch's heart. With a final, piercing shriek, the tyrant dissolved into a cloud of harmless ash, liberating Eldoria from her eternal winter.

As the dark fortress crumbled, Lumina and the fairies gathered in the radiant sunlight. Placing the ancient, golden crown upon Leo's brow, they heralded the dawn of a new era. Leo, the boy who crossed the bridge, was now the immortal King of Eldoria.

Say i write one sub plot part of a novel around 13k words, what is this called? And the book haveing about 8 of these? The collection of all stories in similar location over 5 books? Say there are 3 main parts of a story over 15 books, what is that collection?