Just Write January

From the start of 2021, I want to take steps to become a better writer and to build a community. The goal has always been to one day transition to writing and telling stories full time. I want to connect, entertain, and inspire people by offering them works of fiction that they can enjoy.

To date, I have shared very little of my own writing with anyone, even family and friends. To help build a community around what I hope to accomplish, I wanted to start giving people more content that they can (hopefully) enjoy. To that end, I am going to be doing a new thing that I call Just Write January.

Normally, before I dive into working on one of the books I am writing, I like to warm up by writing a short story. Some may be micro or flash fiction pieces, and they can be a bit raw or absurd at times too. In an effort to better myself as a writer, and to provide more content, for Just Write January I will be posting one short story a day all month long.

Do note, these will be mostly raw stories with minimal editing. Some may be odd as I experiment with different ideas too. I am open to suggestions for topics and other story elements. Check back each day this month to read that day’s new story!

January 31st 2021

Last story for the month, then I am going to take a break. I still plan to post short stories monthly, but I am not going to force myself to do one everyday. I am a little tapped out on new ideas at the current moment. I hope to make some progress on the books I have been working on too. I am glad that I completed this challenge and wrote a story everyday, but it will be nice to have a day or two off. As I work to hone my craft and become both a better story teller and writer, I hope you can enjoy the works I make along the way. Some of these are better than others depending on the day and the time I had to write them. I may even revisit some of these stories for future projects. Thank you for taking the time to stop by.

Nalar’s Story

By: Nathaniel

Words have the power to transform the world. It is odd to think that they also have the power to destroy a world too. Many great writers will tell you that it takes practice, that no one person is born with a talent that puts them above others. But every now and then there comes along a child who happens to stand out, one whose skills blossom greatly and early on. This happened to be the case with Nalar.

He was born to two love struck actors. His early childhood was anything but normal but it was filled with laughter and joy. They would travel around the world performing stories to large crowds. Each and every story they would perform, Nalar had memorized by age three. At the age of five, he had written his own play even.

“What are you going to do?” his mother would always ask him.

Each answer Nalar would give would be different. He was going to act, then write plays, then write books. He wanted to tell stories and capture life in words to share it around the world. He would create magic and weave words to share that magic with people. Each time his mother asked him, he always made her smile with his answer. But, traveling had a toll, and his parents knew he needed a good education.

To nurture such a talent, his parents had placed him into a prestigious and private boarding school where he lived away from them. It was expensive, but they managed to cover the cost with the revenues from their travels. Nalar had loved traveling with the troupe as a young boy, but he did enjoy staying in one place for a while. He had made friends his own age and had gotten used to the boarding school’s dorms. On top of all that, he excelled in school. He had finally settled into a place where he felt like he belonged.

“It is not a story about a heist, it is the story of consequences,” Nalar explained. “The protagonist is suffering and has a rough disposition. These things are not rooted in the present, they are rooted in a younger version of the main character. The decisions they made have led to this, they just cannot admit it.”

“Very good young Nalar, does any other student wish to add on to that analysis of the book we just finished?” the teacher asked.

Not a single hand went up, the rest of the children knew, when it came to breaking down a story, Nalar usually had an air tight explanation. He wore a smug smile as he waited, knowing no one would be able to find a flaw with his analysis of the story.

“Very well,” the teacher sighed. “I do hope, however, that some of you aspire to be free from Nalar’s shadow when it comes to literature. Stories are meant to create thoughts and feelings within all of us. There is a lot you can learn from a book if only you have the will to seek its meaning.”

The door to the classroom swung open as the principal entered.

“Excuse me,” the principal said. “Might I have Nalar for a moment?”

The teacher nodded and gestured for Nalar to follow, before continuing with his lesson.

“Now class, I want you to-

The door was shut behind them as they stepped into the hall.

“There is a phone call for you in my office, please follow me.”

There was a rush of urgency in the principal’s steps, but her voice was as calm and smooth as ever. Nalar stepped quickly to keep up as they rounded a corner to the main office. He had been in the principal’s office a handful of times, usually to discuss his curriculum or to claim a reward. He was the kind of child to always excel, to go above and beyond. But a phone call, that was odd, he thought.

Just as they entered the office, the principal shut the door behind them, locking it. She turned to Nalar and an expression of worry caused him to be uneasy.

“What is it?” Nalar asked.

“Please sit,” she said as she took her own seat.

After a moment, the principal began to speak.

“I am afraid there has been an accident,” the principal began to explain. “As you know, your mother and father were traveling and-

The rest of what the principal said fell on deaf ears. Nalar did not need to hear what happened next, he could already tell it was bad. The rest of that day was a blur. When he got to his room, he fell to tears and fell asleep. The next few days went by without much eventfulness, some friends offered condolences, but other than that it felt unreal. Nalar was numb to the world. As the days dragged into the next week, he was summoned to the principals office again.

“We are devastated for you, for your loss. At this time, we are still trying to get more information,” the principal said. “However, the next of kin is now your legal guardian and they have indicated they do not wish to pay for your continued education here.”

“Next of kin?” Nalar asked, trying to dismiss what this new event meant.

“Yes, an Aunt and Uncle who live in the city. It is close by, so you will not be going far. They will be coming to pick you up tomorrow.”

“I have to leave? But I have friends here and I am doing well. Why can’t I stay?”

“We are trying to find a way to make that happen. However, we are not legally allowed to keep you here. Your new guardians must allow it and they have flatly refused,” the principal explained.

It was early the next day when Nalar dragged his trunk out onto the front drive of the school. An older car was idling near by. A man stepped out of it and lit up a cigarette. Nalar looked around, trying to decide what to do.

“Are you my uncle?” Nalar asked.

“You Nalar? Joanne’s kid?”

“Yes.”

“Woa kiddo, nice to meet you,” the man said as he tossed his cigarette to the ground and walked over. “I have to say, I was a bit nervous about all of this, but I heard what happened to your mom and dad. I couldn’t let you be alone.”

“I don’t want to leave here,” Nalar said.

“Oh,” the man said as he knelt before Nalar. “Well, your parents spent a lot of money on this place. Money I don’t have unfortunately. I know you have been through a lot lately but I would love it if-

“No,” Nalar said plainly. “I need you to leave. I just want to stay here, with my friends. I want to go to class and…” Nalar began to cry, the lump in his throat making it impossible for words to pass.

“Come on kid, don’t cry, you’re breaking my heart here. Look, this is not an easy thing for me either,” his uncle said as he pulled Nalar into a hug. “I wish I could give you what you want, I really do. Your mother was my older sister and I loved her.”

“But, this isn’t how my story is supposed to end,” Nalar pressed through the tears. “I’m not supposed to lose them in the last chapter. I was supposed to graduate and go on with them, traveling around the world.”

“End?” his uncle said as he held him by the shoulders. “I can guarantee you, your life is changing, but your story does not end here. Did your parents ever tell you about me?”

“No,” Nalar said as he regained composure and wiped away the tears.

“I know things between me and your mom were not always the best, I staid home and took over the family business from our father when he passed. We had our issues and all. But she was my sister, and you kid, you are my blood too. I know things will not be the same, but in every story I have ever read, the hero suffers first and wins later.”

“I am certain that is not always the truth,” Nalar said. “You are probably just taking the story at face value without understanding the true meaning behind it.”

“What I am trying to say is, you got a lot of story left. You might not have chosen this chapter, but it’s not the last chapter. The next one is up to you. What are you going to do?” his uncle asked with a familiar smile.

“I guess, we continue on?” Nalar said as thought of his mother’s smile.

“Damn right kid, let me help you with that trunk and you can fill me in about yourself on the ride.”

January 30th 2021

If you want to read some of my other stories, scroll down. There has been one for every day of this month, technically all of this year to this point. I hope you enjoy!

Ralph’s Regret

By: Nathaniel

The sheeting rain fell on the parched pavement, a burst of weather that came unexpectedly. The oils from the old black asphalt rose to the surface creating a thin film of slick. The broken glass and twisted metal that sprouted from the collision had spread across the intersection spilling off the sides of the road.

“That could have been me,” Ralph said. “I turn on to this street every day.”

He was staring at the wreckage as an ambulance fired up and hauled off down the road with lights and sirens going. The scare he had witnessed had left him feeling odd, as if he was not whole. Ralph took a deep breath and attributed it to the adrenaline that had pumped through his body. The state trooper was taking down a statement.

“Can you tell me what happened?” the trooper asked.

“I was driving down the road, then this guy cut me off,” Ralph began. “I did need to take a left, and I was in a hurry. I don’t suppose I will make it on time now though.”

Ralph thought of the party, the celebration of a newborn life he was supposed to be at. He wondered if they knew or if they had heard what had happened. He would try to contact them as soon as things were done.

“Can you tell me what happened next?” the trooper continued.

“He sped through the intersection, the light was yellow, and I tried to follow. That is when it happened.”

The brain tearing sound of crunching twisting metal on metal impact and the sight of the sudden inertia played through Ralph’s mind.

“It was all so fast,” Ralph said.

“Did you see the driver of the red pick-up, was he driving sporadically?”

“I was the one in the red pick-up, sir, the other driver was-

“Thank you,” the trooper said as he handed his card to a woman he had been facing.

“Oh, sorry,” Ralph said as he followed the trooper. “I thought you were talking to me, do you need my statement now offic…”

Ralph let his words tumble to a stop as his mind made room to process the image of his twisted red truck. Fear took hold of him. It was strapped onto a flatbed at the side of the road.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Ralph shouted. “WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?”

“Don’t you remember?” A timid voice asked.

Ralph turned to see what appeared to be a man hiding behind one of the police vehicles. There was something familiar about this man. Ralph stepped closer to see him.

“What is going on?”

“Our truck,” the timid man said.

As Ralph go closer a flash of anger took hold.

“WHAT THE HECK?! Why do you look like me?” Ralph asked.

“I’m sorry,” the timid Ralph said as he hid his face further behind the police cruiser. “I am just… I was so afraid.”

“Afraid? Are you the one who did this? Did you ruin my truck?”

“No jackhole, it wasn’t him, it was me,” an angry voice interjected.

Ralph turned to see another version of himself sporting a scowl.

“Is this some sick joke, who put you up to this?” Ralph asked. “Am I going crazy? What is going on? Who are you?”

Nothing seemed to make sense. Ralph tried to focus on what had happened, but there was a fuzzyness to his memory. How did he get there? he wondered.

“You drove,” another Ralph said casually.

This new Ralph seemed to appear from nowhere and walked over from where the truck was, completely naked.

“WHAT THE,” Ralph yelled at the naked version of himself. “THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE HERE, COVER-UP.”

“Yeah,” Angry Ralph agreed. “Cloth yourself idiot.”

“That is so scary,” the timid ralph wined as he hid his head again. “I would hate to be seen in public like that.”

“Come on, the world is our oyster. You got to show the people what you are working with,” the naked Ralph argued. “Besides, I don’t think they can see me, or, us.”

“What are you getting at?” Ralph asked.

By now, Ralph had grown strangely accepting of the other versions of himself. Each of them seemed familiar in a way, like he had known them. What he was confused about though was his wrecked truck. He was still bound in that web of confusion, the way the cab of truck was caved in on itself, no one could survive that. He checked his watch, but he could not see the time. Despite this odd turn of events, he wondered if he could still make it to the party.

“I love them, I hope this does not ruin their day,” a new reflective Ralph said. “Do you think the baby, once it is born, will know about me?”

“What, some asshole uncle who died before he could ever meet the kid, sure. How selfish can you be. I am certain the kid will have more important things to worry about,” the angry Ralph spat.

“What I don’t understand is, what are we doing here?” Ralph said. “Who wrecked my truck, who are all of you?”

“Well, who normally drives your truck?” the naked Ralph asked.

“Who do we look like to you?” the reflective Ralph followed.

“Say it isn’t so,” the timid Ralph said.

“Of course it is,” the angry Ralph grunted. “It was-

“Me,” Ralph said softly.

His words were not forceful or loud, but they cut through the others clearing them away. When Ralph looked back up, he was alone. He felt whole again, the fog from his memory washed away. He was able to feel his anger and fear, to sense his longing, to understand what had happened.

“I was late, it was raining,” he said softly to himself. “I got angry at them, they were going to slow. I tried to shoot through the intersection on a yellow light, but it was to late.”

The memory of pain tore through his being. He stood there, realizing that the rain was not settling on himself. It was falling to the ground as if he were not there at all.

“Am I dead?”

“Maybe,” another voice said.

Ralph turned to see yet another version of himself, but this one was different than the others. It did not seem to embody any one part of him like the ones from before. Ralph could feel it like a reflection.

“Do I have to?” Ralph asked his reflection.

“I don’t know, it will take a lot of fighting to stay here,” the reflection replied. “Do you want to fight?”

“I don’t want to die, not before I get to see my nephew born. I would like to be there for him.”

“It was what we did that placed us here,” the reflection reasoned. “Our own actions led to this.”

“I regret it,” Ralph said. “I was just so caught up in the frustration of the moment that-

“You risked your life to shave a minute off your drive,” the reflection said. “That is regrettable.”

“I know, but I… I still don’t want to die. Not yet at least,” Ralph replied.

“Then fight to live, if not for yourself, do it for your nephew.”

The image of a small boy appeared next to the reflection, Ralph looked down at him. He knew, without having to be told, who it was. His reflection reached out and pressed a palm against his chest.

“Fight,” the reflection said before pulling his palm back and punching him in the chest.

A gasp of air, the sound of sirens. Ralph tried to open his eyes, but the pain was to much. He felt the shock course through his body as they pulled the paddles away.

“I HAVE A PULSE,” he could hear someone yell.

Then he was unconscious again. When he finally woke up, he got to meet his nephew for the first time.

January 29th 2021

If you are looking for more stories I wrote this month, scroll down. I have written one each day of this month.

Forest Magic

By: Nathaniel

Have you ever noticed that some streets are different from others? Not to say that any one street is identical with another one, but sometimes things are just undeniably changed from the street before. You can expect, in most places, for there to be a bit of continuity in the way things look and feel. But sometimes you turn down a street where the trees are a bit thicker, the grass is a bit more wild, and the feeling is weighty. The magic in some places is just different sometimes, even from one street to the next.

The terms witches and coven have such a demonstratively negative connotation. But, I have come to learn that it is not so black and white. There are, as have been among normal humans too, those who would commit unspeakable acts. However, the 400 block of Cherry Lane was far from the stereotypes held by modern society. When I bought my house on that street, I had no idea what was instore for me.

“Hey, welcome to the neighborhood,” the lady said.

She had caught me half way between the moving truck and my open door. She was wearing a floral pattern sundress accented with bright red lipstick and curled hair. In her hand, the crisscross pattern of a homemade cherry pie crust was visible. She was straight out of an old sitcom, the kind where Lucy used to whine to Ricky.

“Oh, thank you,” I said.

I was holding a box of kitchen stuff, as the sharpie written label indicated. I set it down to take the pie.

“I am Ida and I thought I would come introduce myself. What is your name?” she asked.

“Phil,” I replied. “Nice to meet you,”

I extended my hand to her. She hesitated for a moment, as if afraid to shake hands. Just as I was about to pull my own hand away, she shot forward with her strong gripped greeting. In that moment, I could feel a chill course through me, but I ignored it. It was summer, and I had been moving boxes in the heat. That, combined with the fact that I had dropped the ball on getting the electricity hooked up for air conditioning, I thought it was the beginning symptoms of heatstroke. Our encounter was brief then, but pleasant.

It was almost three months before I saw anyone else who lived on my street. To be fair, it was summer through most of those months and I did work from home. This meant that I rarely needed nor chose to leave the comfort of my air conditioning. I had gone to the local store a few times, but I had very little else that took me out of my home. When fall came, it was like a breath of fresh air. The entire energy of the street felt different, like I had somehow been transported to a new place altogether. One such fine transformative fall day, I found myself in a mood of desire, I chose to take a walk.

This was the first time I had chosen to go for a walk in my own neighborhood. Looking back now, I do not quite know what I expected from the whole ordeal. I can say that something called to me, call it a powerful curiosity. It was as if some part of me could feel something magical, drawn to an excitement that it bore within me.

I am by no means the type of person who is acclimated to the outdoors and my physical exercise was limited to a defunct gym membership that I have neglected to use in any meaningful way for years. My brief encounters with any kind of trail were often the guided tour kind on vacation where I got to ride comfortably in a vehicle as someone pointed out the fleeting majesty of the wilderness around us. Despite all of this, on my first walk through the neighborhood I decided it would be a good idea to venture off the beaten path.

When I came to the trail leading into the tree line, I looked at it, then looked back to the road I had been traveling. There was hesitation, but that part of me was soothed by curiosity. From this, a desire to press forward was born. I stepped off the road, went down the path, and carried on for a good part of the day.

When the time came to admit I was lost, I was not in the good spirits I had been in when I chose curiosity. I had turned around more than once, fallen on a steep hill face first into the dirt, stubbed my toe on a tree stump, and cried. It was not my best moment, but I pushed on.

When my phone’s last bit of battery failed me, the reality of a darkening sky became apparent. Like little bits of uncomfortable sand stuck in a shoe, fear began to slip into my thoughts. I knew that no one would realize I was missing, nor would there be any notice until my work was lacking. If I stopped, then maybe I could find shelter, but if I carried on, I might just be in my own house again soon. These thoughts played through my mind like a broken record, over and over.

With each thought, the grain of fear that created discomfort became more apparent. Every sound and sight was potentially a sign of the end, some unnamed beast come to take revenge on humanity for our hubris. At least, that is what my mind assumed and it was only getting worse.

I heard something crashing through the branches, the methodical bending and snapping. This was not an isolated thing. It moved, shifted, circling about in the woods. I stilled myself, somewhat unintentionally, as my imagination tried to form the most sinister explanation possible. Where there was once a curiosity, it had been replaced with a dread. The magic had changed.

When I saw her, I thought it was a hallucination at first. Something my mind created to cope with the situation. She came to me as I was accepting an uncomfortable truth, that I might not make it home. Like a force I can not describe, her image filled the clearing where I stood. I could feel that same chill from the day I first shook her hand as her eyes fell upon me now. That chill brought me out of my imaginings and into the present for the moment. The same lady who had sweetly brought me a homemade pie now stood fiercely in the waning light of the wild forest that had so thoroughly defeated me.

“What are you doing here?” she asked sharply, each word cutting into the sensibilities that I had ignored until now.

“I got lost,” I said dumbly. “You’re Ida, right?”

I tried, as most men would, to project strength. But, my tears had been long smeared across my face with the dirt from when I had fallen.

“Be quiet, follow me,” she said.

With a reassuring precision, she weaved her way through the trees. I followed without a word and it felt as if we might just make it out. But, as we rounded a small clump of trees, her movement changed. I thought nothing of it, so relieved to be found, then she stopped. Her arm shot out like a solid block of wood cutting away my path and colliding against my my chest with a hollow thud. The pain made me wince and I meant to say something to her, but that is when I actually saw her then for the first time.

She was not in her floral sundress. The headdress she wore sprouted antlers from her brow. The clothes were simple, leathers adorned with feathers and strange symbols that were stamped into them. Her gaze drew mine in as if it were magnetic. Her eyes, however, were not looking back at mine. They bore down on the forest with an intensity I have never seen matched.

Tearing my own eyes away, I followed to where she was looking. I do not know what she saw, I could not see much of anything squinting at the darkening silhouette of the forest. Then, I almost fell backwards, or at least I would have. It was the trees themselves, not all at once, but only a few at a time. They were moving, shifting away from where they they stood as if revealing a hidden path.

Like great spiders, they slowly crawled with their twisting roots. I could feel the air growing cold, twigs and branches snapped. The grains of fear I had before fell away. With each shifting tree, with the sense of the sudden cold, and the fact that I knew nothing of what was happening, I was now horrified. But Ida’s firm arm still held me in place, an anchor in the face of this horror. Despite my own worsening thoughts, her focus remained locked on to what was happening before us.

Her arm should have only kept me back, but it held me in every way possible, I could not move. The strength to even try to move was drained from me, her eyes still intently focused at the center of the cracking and shifting roots. It drew closer to us still. I wanted to cry out, to scream, to say something. All the wits I had were now shattered against my inability to understand what was happening. I wanted to run.

“No,” Ida whispered firmly, as if she could hear the thought, I felt bad for even having thought it.

She stepped back, moving me with her. It was much in the fashion that a child might guide a balloon, effortless. As the crawling trees neared us, she shifted around the clump of trees we were stopped near, still guiding me with her arm. Her eyes never looked back at me, never strayed from what she saw. Although I could see the forest moving, I doubt I could see the same as her.

Slipping into the pocket of shadow beneath a large tree, her other hand pressed against the trunk and the shadows grew thick around us. In the moment that the moving trees came the closest, even my breath was stifled by an unknown force, one I assumed to be wielded by Ida. The commotion passed, the tress settled and all became quite for a moment. I was held there, motionless, breathless, and fading into the dark of night. Then, I was released.

I almost fell as the weight of my own body was returned to my legs. I gasped the night air, drawing in a deep breath. Ida caught me at the last moment of my imbalance allowing me to steady myself. Her eyes, the ones that had been so intently focused on the disturbance in the forest, now turned to lock with mine. In that glance, she conveyed all she needed to. I did not ask questions nor did I let the fear rise up again. As she turned, I simply followed. After we had walked a ways, she stopped and looked back at me.

“Are you ok?” was the first thing she said to me then.

“I think so,” I replied.

“You are fortunate that I sensed your situation,” Ida said.

Just then, something deep within me, an uncontrollable expression, burst forth. I fell to pieces, heavy warm tears streamed down my face. As I sobbed, she held me. I do not now how much time passed from when I began to cry to when I finally stepped back from her embrace. When I did, she smiled and took a piece of cloth to wipe away my tears.

“It is ok to be afraid,” she said. “What you saw, it is not something you should understand. Most mortals do not know of it. I know it is strange, confusing, and ominous even. If you could only see it, you would know it to be something different.”

“What was that?”

“Sometimes, the magic in some place is just different than others,” she explained. “Here, the forest does not simply exist. It breathes and thinks and wanders. It is not wild or angry, but it is not safe for you either. That is why I watch over this forest, protecting it and the people who might venture into it, it is my duty as a witch.”

There was a sense I could feel, the kind of feeling you get when the person you are talking to is not supposed to tell you any more, or perhaps, has already said to much. I had not felt that feeling so strongly since I was a child inquiring about Santa Claus, but this was different. Then, I had hoped to believe in magic, now, I had witnessed it.

I woke up, still fully clothed, on the couch in my living room. I had no idea how I had gotten home, but I did find a sweet letter explaining I had been found unconscious and to seek medical attention if I had any other symptoms.

I asked her once, a week after that night, what had happened. I saw her as I was getting my mail. She smiled a knowing smile, shook her head, and asked how I had been feeling. I let her know I was feeling fine, just confused. I asked her about what she said, about a witches’ duty. She frowned, an anger I could feel in her gaze, then I felt the sense that other people were watching too. I have not asked since, I am thankful for what she did and I leave it at that.

I still smile at her, wave when I pass. We even exchange brief bouts of casual conversation. But I know there is something more to her, more to this particular street and the woods beyond it. It is hard to explain, a sense that it is fierce and untamed but still more natural than I could know. I am so used to the modern confines of my life that I had mistaken it for something unnatural at first, but I have grown to respect it. The trees here are a bit more thick and wild, the grass grows taller, and the magic is more present. That much I have come to know.

January 28th 2021

Cedair’s Story of Friendship

By: Nathaniel

I look around now, I see all that we have built, how we brought the world to its knees, and now we rule over it. My story, albeit impressive as you surely can tell from that first line, had a humble beginning. The kind of beginning that doesn’t seem like much, hence why I used the word humble. It all started in a small town grocery store parking lot, at least, that is where it started for me. There was not much to my life before I met him, my best friend.

I was sitting in my car scrolling across social media on my phone. I had gone out to get groceries, but, I had nowhere in particular to be. So instead of getting it over with, I sat there in my car for half an hour while the engine idled to keep the cold air flowing. I am not sure if I got bored or if I just finished what I was doing, but at the end of that thirty minutes, I shut the car off.

It was summertime then, once the car was shut off there was not much more time I could spend inside of it before it got to hot. I got out, walked into the store, shopped, paid, and left. But, before I could get to my car again, something caught my eye. I had shopped at this store countless times before, but I had never really taken notice of them. There, out in front of the store in a neat line, were seven of those newspaper dispensing boxes.

I don’t know why I looked over at them, or what possessed me to reach into, not the nearest one, but the one next to it. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was nothing. I pulled that newspaper out of that second box and looked at it. I almost had the notion to put it back or toss it out. But, I kept it.

“Does anyone even read these anymore?” I asked a guy as he walked past while I held it up for him to see.

He nodded politely but moved more quickly. I assumed he was not the kind for passing words, just passing by.

Three weeks, the newspaper sat on my coffee table for three weeks. I had not had that coffee table long. In fact, I got a great deal on it just a week earlier, that part seems more like fate than the rest. I still have that coffee table.

I am not sure if it was sheer boredom at everything else, or, a slight and lingering interest that made me pick up that newspaper after it sat there for three weeks. But, as fate would have it, on a Friday evening I started to read it. I thumbed through a few pages, read an article about the upcoming football game for the city high school that had already passed by then. I checked my phone, they had lost. Then, I found something I had only ever heard about in old movies.

At first, I thought they were just more advertisements, but then, I realized they were something different. The personal ads were like a hidden treasure trove of local goings-on. One man was selling a 1992 station wagon, a church up the road had a fish fry, a lady who could patch clothes was offering her services, and so much more. It was fascinating to me.

I glued myself to that personal add section and read every single one. I don’t even like fish, but I still wondered if there would be another fish fry at that church. Then, I came across the ad. This was the one. If my life to this point had been an odd collection of twigs, dried grasses, sticks, and leaves, then this would have been the gasoline and matches.

Man Seeks Friends For World Domination: I plan to rule this planet one day, but it would be foolish to think that I could do it alone. I am looking for more than an ally, I seek powerful friends who will rise with me. If you are not afraid to take the world with me, contact me at 512-*********. Serious inquiries only.

(He still has the same number, so I didn’t want to use that here. He is the supreme chancellor of the world and all now).

It was just below a personal ad looking for a fourth member for a D&D group and above another ad selling locally handcrafted jewelry. My phone was in my hand before I even thought to pick it up, the number was dialed on the screen. For a second, my thumb hovered over the call button. Who was this guy, I wondered. Is this for real? The phone was ringing.

A strange series of thoughts passed behind my eyes as I waited for the person who had placed the ad to pick up. Should I use the speaker phone, is holding it to my ear to intimate? What if he does not like me? He did say powerful friends, I have no power. I should just hang u-

“Hello,” the voice said on the other end.

It was not what I expected, warm and cheery even. If it had been cold and harsh, that would have fit the bill. Someone bitter to the core who had suffered and wanted to make the world suffer too. But, in that single word, this entire idea was shattered. This was not a man who would be like that, in fact, it was a woman’s voice.

“Is anyone there?” the woman asked.

“Uh yeah, I called about the personal ad.”

“Oh, do you want to buy some hand made jewelry?” she asked me enthusiastically.

“No… no thank you. I called about the other ad… a man seeking a friend,” I said, the last words coming softly off my lips.

There was a moment of silence. I thought about hanging up the phone again.

“Oh, you mean my little Leland’s add. Let me get him for you.”

I could hear her in the background of the phone, sweetly calling for Leland, referring to him as sweetie and honey. Then I heard another phone receiver click on to the line. Which was an odd thing at the time, most people did not have land line based home phones anymore.

“Can I help you?” a voice asked.

This voice did not meet my cold-hearted villainous expectations either, but it was not as sweet as the woman’s voice. He seemed nice enough though.

“I saw you were looking for a friend,” I said.

“Meet me at the park off Brushy Dr,” the voice replied. “I look forward to meeting you.”

Then there was a click and the call ended. Again, strange to have a land line home phone still, but I dismissed it.

I sat there for a while, unsure of what had just happened. Did he mean right now, I asked myself. But, just as I had been that day when I sat in the car at the grocery store for thirty minutes, I had nowhere in particular to be. So, I grabbed my keys, spent five minutes trying to decide what shirt would look cool, and drove to the park.

It took about five minutes to locate him. I would describe him here, but it would not do justice to our leader. Suffice to say, he was not the man he is now, just the clay yet unmolded. He would become my best friend in the entire world, but I did not know that then. I walked up to him.

“Are you the one looking for a friend?” I asked.

“To take over the world with, yes,” he said as he extended his hand.

I shook it.

“I’m Cedair, what should I call you?” I asked.

“I am Leland, the future leader of this planet,” he replied confidently.

I could not help but scoff. The idea, ruling the planet, when I heard someone say it I realized just how silly it was. But still, I had come to the park, so I was willing to see where this went for now.

“What makes you think you can take over the world?” I asked.

“I have a superpower, but I am not going to use it on you.”

“Super power?”

It had been less than a minute, I could have turned around. In all honesty, I had every right to cut the guy off right there. But, there was something in the way he said it. Something that leant itself to an air of credibility with the way in which he answered me so confidently.

“I have the power to make people agree with me.”

“What?!” I snapped. “That’s not a thing.”

When he said power, I thought strength or speed. Or, perhaps he had some body part that shot lasers. The more I processed these expectations, the more foolish I felt for even considering he had any kind of power. I wanted to believe, but, I was also a practical person. I knew super powers just did not exist, even lame ones like being agreeable. But he insisted.

“Yes it is.”

“Then show me,” I challenged.

“Ok, but only a demonstration. If you want to be my friend and help me take over the world, I want it to be your decision, not something I made you agree to.”

“Fine, please proceed.”

“So,” he began. “I think you do not believe that I have any power, is that right?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“See.”

“See what?”

“You agreed with me right there. I think you believe I don’t have powers and you also think you believe I don’t have powers. We both agreed.”

“That’s dumb. You agreed with me, I did not agree with you. Your logic is flawed,” I argued.

“You think it’s dumb,” Leland sated.

“Yes, I do.”

“I hate to say it,” he said, a smug smile stretched across his face. “But you agreed with me again.”

“This is not a super power,” I scowled. “If anything you are just saying things I already agree to and acting like I am agreeing with you. If you really had the power of agreeability, you would change my mind or make me do something.”

I was one part amused and one part frustrated with the whole thing. I wondered why I had even agreed to meet someone at a park after reading a personal add. It was the kind of thing horror movies are made of. But it was not boring.

“Besides, even if you…” my words fell silently before they could be spoken.

I was no longer standing in the park off Brushy Drive facing Leland. I was on the edge of a parking lot next to a road. There was a loud pop sound behind me, I turned to see a gas station on fire. Below that, a man who appeared to be the gas station clerk was tied up, blind folded, and gagged in the parking lot. As I surveyed the scene, I could feel something swinging in my hand. I held a bag that I had not been holding just a moment before.

“Thanks for agreeing to do that,” Leland said.

“What, what just happened?” I asked. “How did… why is that building on fire? Where are we?”

I was all questions and no answers.

“You weren’t believing me,” Leland told me casually. “Can I have the bag now?”

Without a thought, I handed him the bag I was holding. He opened it and pulled out a small wad of cash.

“What is happening?”

“You didn’t believe me when I told you I had a super power, so I turned the power up a little on you,” he explained.

“What does that even mean?” I asked, as if I could only speak in questions.

My mind raced, twisting and contorting itself to see fuzzy images of what had happened.

“Don’t worry, you will remember soon. My power can make things seem fuzzy at first after it happens. I basically asked you to do a bunch of things you would never do to prove my powers to you. I hope that doesn’t weird you out. I still want to be friends if that’s cool. I can’t rule this place on my own.”

A hint of a memory came back to me, a lit match in my hand.

“Did I set that gas station on fire?” I asked.

“Yeah, but not before you tied up the clerk and robbed the place for me. Don’t worry, I made sure the clerk was out of the building. I also made him agree to not tell on you. He is going to make up some wild story about a party gone wrong.”

“This is crazy,” I said, terrified.

“Yeah, I know right? Also, you might want to lay low for a while, you did just rob that place and burn it down,” Leland said pointing to the gas station.

I looked over just as the front of the building crumbled to the ground in a melted twisted display of carnage.

“You’re crazy, I didn’t do that, I couldn’t have.”

“Hey, you are the one who answered a personal ad asking for a friend to rule the world with,” Leland pointed out. “Who is the crazy one?”

At that moment, the fog of my mind cleared. My eyes widened with sudden realization, the memory came flooding back as if injected into my mind all at once. The clerk, the arson, and the robbery. I had done all of those things. A feeling gripped me inside, threatening to burst out. It should have been sheer horror at the thought of what had just happened, what I had been forced to do, but it was something different.

“HOLY COW!” I yelled as I looked back at Leland. “YOU HAVE A FREAKING SUPER POWER, THAT IS SO COOL!”

“I told you,” Leland said as a genuine smile flashed across his face.

“Why take out the personal add, why not just make people agree to help you?”

“They might help me if I did, and they often do, but that is not friendship. I am looking for real friends. I told you, I was not going to use my power on you, but then you insisted,” Leland said as he gestured to the flame engulfed half collapsed gas station. “When I said that, what I meant was, I was not going to force you to be my friend. If I am going to do this, I need a real friend by my side.”

“Well then,” I said as I held out my hand. “Count me in friend.”

January 27th 2021

Gronda’s Case

By: Nathaniel

“Why is everyone so obsessed with love?” Gronda snorted before she sloshed the cup of wine towards her face. “I had a pet once, and now it’s dead. Love only brings pain.”

The bar was mostly empty, with a few derelict thugs here and there. Gronda had been woken up on the floor from the night before and started in again. The scent of cheap sugar-sweetened wine seemed to emanate from her pores as she threw one after the other back while spouting about her problems. Who was she sharing these deep and painful feelings with you might ask? No one really. At least, no one in particular. For an hour, maybe two if she were lucky, she could lure some poor patron to her table with the promise of wine.

“Do you get what I’m saying?” Gronda asked.

“It seems like you have lost before?” the man said who had recently sat across from her at the promise of wine.

He had only been in the bar for half an hour when Gronda grabbed him by the sleeve as he passed by. She offered him a drink in exchange for a chat. It was an innocent exchange, nothing she had not done several dozen times over in the past week. The man obliged, sitting across from her now with his own cup of cheap sugar-sweetened wine.

“Yeah, I lose big time, I lose every time. Isit too muchta assk for to win every nown then?” Gronda’s words began to trip over one another prompting her to take a deep breath and sit up straighter.

“But, to have experienced loss is to know you had love. Is that not worth it?” the man asked.

“You know, you’re a lot more talkative than the other deadbeats in here,” Gronda said as she eyed the rest of the bar before throwing back the rest of her wine. “What did you say your name was?”

“I am so sorry, where are my manners, I have not properly introduced myself. I am Raul, at your service,” he replied with a slight bow from across the table.

“Well, Raauullll,” Gronda said shaking her head mockingly before offering a bow. “You can call me Gronda, the pleasure I am… you are… meet you”

“You tease,” Raul laughed. “That is funny, you are funny. So, where were we.”

“Yeah, I can be a real hoot when I wanna be. All these other guys are,” Gronda set down her mug and cupped her hands in front of her mouth to amplify what she was about to say. “LOSERS!”

A handful of eyes rolled her way, but no one paid it much mind.

“And you are a winner? Was it not you who just said you yourself lose every time?”

“Well look who is actually listening, isn’t this nice.”

“Well,” Raul lowered his voice. “It’s not every day I find a bounty as deliciously high paying as yours.”

There was a sudden sobering sinking sensation that gripped Gronda. The whole act of if seized her up, as if her sluggish drunken thoughts needed time to process it all before even taking another breath.

“You look like you have seen a ghost,” Raul whispered with a wink. “Do not worry, I will not harm you. You are wanted alive.”

“What was your name again?” Gronda asked more clearly, the slur from her speech having lifted.

“Raul.”

“Rulu?” Gronda asked.

“No, Ra-ul, spelled R-A-U-L,” he said slowly.

“Sorry, still not getting it, you are,” Gronda smiled and glanced around the room. “Wait, I know you, you are that one guy, the BOUNTY HUNTER. Who are you here for?”

“See, I knew you were funny,” Raul laughed as he flashed the weapon he had hidden under his jacket.

“Oh, what are you going to do with that little thing?”

By now, the attention of the bar rested squarely on their table. This was not the kind of place anyone goes to just to get a drink. In fact, for a business that supposedly relied on patrons, it was fairly well hidden. This in itself suggested an alternate source of income. If you could not deduce the nature of the bar from that, then all you needed to do was to look at the other patrons. Gronda was a little rough, but mostly because she had been in the bar for two straight days now. The rest of the people there, they were the definition of thug, criminal acts personified in so many ways.

While it is not polite to judge people on their appearances, it was clear no one was trying to hide anything here, or so it seemed. Also, it should be noted that Gronda knew, on good authority, the extensive criminal histories of the other patrons. She was, after all, an undercover officer.

“Nothing, that is, if you come with me,” Raul said, covering up his weapon.

Gronda’s eyes floated about.

“What?” She asked loudly as she looked around. “No gentlemen in this bar, can’t you see there is a damsel in distress over here? Come on, surely one of you wants to be the hero, get the cute girl in the end.”

Just then, the barkeeper stepped up to the table.

“I can tolerate your drunken whining, but it seems like your business is spilling out,” the barkeep said. “I have strict rules, no questions, no business, no fights. You don’t have to leave with him, but you will have to take this conversation outside.”

“Shall we?” Raul asked as he slipped from his chair and held out a hand to Gronda.

“Also, pretty boy,” the barkeep said. “If I was you, I would make myself scarce. These fellas don’t take too kindly to bounty hunters outside the bar. I don’t want you causing my patrons any trouble if you’re working for the law.”

“I would not dream of it sir,” Raul said. “Besides, I don’t work for the law. I just make sure little birdies get back in their cages before they get hurt. A lot of hungry wolves in these parts, if you catch my drift.”

“All right wise guy, like I said, take it outside if you have to.”

“That’s it?” Gronda fumed, still seated. “You’re just gonna let him take me, you coward. I thought you said no business, sure seems like he is conducting business to me.”

Raul opened his jacket slowly and pulled out an envelope that he pressed into the barkeeper’s hands.

“I assure you, this is a personal matter,” Raul said. “A favor for her father.”

“So it’s my father, that bastard. I told him I can do more than just be a pretty face,” Gronda said.

“I sure hope so,” the barkeep huffed as he peered in the envelope to see the cash. “That face has seen better days.”

Gronda glared at the barkeeper, then at Raul before she stood up and stormed out. Raul tilted his hat to the barkeeper and the handful of other patrons with a smile before following after her. Once outside, they moved in silence, Raul directing Gronda with a firm grip on her shoulder. They passed by one block, entered an ally, and approached a van.

“Is this it?” Gronda asked. “Is it him? Are we taking him down?”

Raul pulled the van doors open, two other people in suits were inside seated in front of monitors with headphones.

“Yeah,” Raul said. “I know you’ve been working that undercover job for a few days now, but we needed you on this one. It came straight from the top to pull you out.”

“You did good back there,” Gronda said as she lifted herself into the back of the surveillance van.

“Thank you,” Raul said as he climbed in after her shutting the door behind him. “I wanted to give you a chance to get back in with them once this was all over.”

“What do we have?”

“Pull it up,” Raul told one of the seated people in the van as a security camera image splashed across the screen. “We got a positive ID on him. Our sources say he is going to be leaving the country again in three days’ time.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Gronda said as she studied the image. “It’s been six years, what brought him back now?”

“We don’t know,” Raul replied. “We were hoping you could tell us, you were the lead on this case last time.”

“Last time, we had him, dead to rights. Then he pulls some Houdini bullshit and escapes. When we regrouped and mounted back up to go after him, a lot of good people lost their lives,” Gronda said. “Are you sure they want me on this case?”

“Like I said, it came straight from the top. That is why we pulled you out. Are you up for it?”

“Yeah, let’s hope it was worth it.”

January 26th 2021

For better or for worse, I am going to keep writing these stories until the 31st. Then I will spend soem time getting back on track with my book projects and write a short story every now and then. This one got a little weird on me. I hope you enjoy it!

Bad Shrimp

By: Nathaniel

Bernard had decided. He took a single step, paused, and stared at his foot. This is it, he thought, that was the actual first step. To date, Bernard had lived the so-called good life. He had a house, a decent job, a healthy 401k, a dentist he saw annually, and a pet pug named Bugsley that he adored. He was not wanting nor was he sad, but he felt lacking in some way. All the self-reflection had always come back to where he was in life, how it was a good thing.

Today, however, as he stood waiting for a sales representative inside of a mattress store, he had an epiphany. This epiphany rose within him like a spicy hot burp and knocked his usual way of thinking on its head. Why don’t I just go do what I want to do? He thought. But what is it that I want to do?

After twenty minutes he was still undecided on what he wanted to do, but he knew it was not what he was currently doing. He could have just dismissed this thought, but something deep within him clung to it like a crab holding a kitchen knife in that one viral video online. He let out a slight laugh, thinking about the crab waving the knife around.

“Excuse me,” a man in a suit asked as he approached. “Can I help you?”

“Honestly,” Bernard said. “I don’t know if you can.”

“What brings you here today?”

“Society mostly, I thought that getting a college degree and finding a good job was part of what I was supposed to do, what I wanted to do,” Bernard said as he shook his head slightly. “But after some thought just now, I am not so sure if that is the case. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Wow, that is pretty heavy stuff, sorry you had to wait,” the man in the suit said, visibly unsure of what to do as his eyes danced around. “Was there some reason you chose to come into the store today?”

The man gestured around himself to the mattress store they were in. Bernard had been standing next to the memory foam section when the epiphany had stopped him in his tracks. The name badge on the man’s suit jacket indicated he was one of the sales representatives.

“Oh yeah, I forgot why I came in here, I do need a new bed.”

“Well that is something I can help you with,” the man said as he relaxed.

“Yeah, but now, I am not so sure about that either. I mean, do I need a mattress? Maybe I should just, get rid of all of it, sell everything. Really breakaway and figure it out later.”

“Well, when I am troubled with something so big and existential, I often have trouble sleeping,” the salesman said. “Perhaps, if it fits in your budget, a new mattress can help you get some sleep and come to terms with those thoughts.”

“Yeah, that is why I came in here,” Bernard said as he looked over the mattresses.

“You know, you might find clarity in a dream too, they often say dreams are the windows to the subconscious. It can be hard to have a good dream when you aren’t even getting a good night’s rest. Plus, if you are tired, it’s even harder to think positively, especially if you are cranky. With everything you are considering, positive thinking can help you see things in a better light.”

Bernard walked out of the store, having gained one new mattress to be delivered in three days’ time. He smiled, thought about it, frowned, thought about it some more, then shook his head and smiled.

“This is good, he was right, sleep is important,” Bernard said to himself in an attempt to boost his confidence in the matter. “I have to think positively,” he mumbled before exclaiming, “I cannot wait to try my new mattress!”

The only thing was, Bernard would never get to try that new mattress, at least, he has not yet. It would be brought for delivery in three days’ time, but there would be no one there to take it. To this day, it is in the mattress stores storage, paid for, waiting to be delivered. That salesman would also go on to get an award for his uncanny ability to make sales that year.

Despite the matressless yet unknown future, Bernard went about his day. He tried a menu item he had never tried at the restaurant he frequented for lunch. When the shrimp platter came, he hesitated. The reason he had never ordered it before was that he did not like shrimp. But ever since the man at the mattress store had altered his perspective on positive thought about thirty minutes ago, he had resolved to embody that ideal.

For some reason, for Bernard, thinking positively translated to trying new things, things that were out of his comfort zone. He ate half of the shrimp before ordering a second entre. He would find himself experiencing a unique intestinal trial the next morning as he sat on the toilet, unsure of whether it was the shrimp or the second entre that did it to him.

The night before had passed without an additional incident. He smiled awkwardly at strangers on his walk home, stopped on the corner to buy a piece of candy because he felt like it, and got home to tell his Pug Bugsley all about it. Then he went to sleep. It was the rumbling in his gut that awoke him earlier than normal and brought him to this current predicament.

“Think positively,” bernard said as he sat on the toilet. “Maybe I am flushing out some bad stuff, like a cleanse. That’s right, I ate the shrimp and it came with a free cleanse.”

Just then there was a knock at the door. This was odd for two reasons. First of all, Bernard was not expecting anyone. Secondly, the building he lived in had a buzzer, and to get up to his place they would have to have been let into the building. Unless it was a neighbor, Bernard reasoned. He wrapped up his cleanse and went to his living room to look out the peephole.

When he did not see anyone, he opened the door. Peering down each direction of the hall, he still could not see anyone. As soon as he closed the door, another knock came, but it was not on the front door. He turned about to see a face looking at him from the fire escape, a shot of fear welled up in him as it would in any sane and well-adjusted person. It was also that moment that he realized he was not wearing pants, just a shirt and a pair of underwear.

“One second,” Bernard cried out as he rushed to his room and grabbed the first pair of basketball shorts he could find.

Almost stumbling as he tried to put them on while walking, he came back out into his living room and went to go investigate this strange and uninvited guest. But there was no one there. He opened the window and peeked out, looking up and down the fire escape. Not a soul could be seen. Then, another knock, this time from the opposite direction, the front door again.

Bernard hurried over to the door and peeked through the peephole. It was the same person who had been out on his fire escape, not more than a few seconds ago. He stepped back and took a deep breath to steady himself before pulling the door open.

“Oh, the window is open,” a voice with an accent said from behind Bernard. “Did you want me to come in through here, or is it the door. I must admit, I have observed both. Your human entry protocols are quite confusing to me.”

Bernard turned, a forced smile plastered across his face as he fought back the innate fear.

“Can I help you?” Bernard asked.

During the start of the ordeal, Bugsley had been happily asleep, snuggled under the still-warm blankets that Bernards bowls had driven him from earlier. But now, the plump little plug waddled its way into the living room and took a seat, observing the strange guest.

“Are you Bernard Christoff?” the man asked as he pulled himself in off the fire escape.

The man in question was tall and slender dressed in a trench coat with a bowler hat and long blonde hair coming out the side of it. Bernard was about to reply, but someone else spoke.

“Oh great, an alien,” the voice said.

“Who the heck was that?” Bernard asked as he looked around.

“Me you big dumb idiot.”

Bernard looked down to his adorable pudgy pug, Bugsley.

“Did you just talk?” Bernard asked.

“No, I farted in English. Of course, I talked,” Pugsley said.

“What the heck, you have never talked before.”

“That’s because there was never anyone intelligent to speak to,” Bugsley replied.

“Ok, that is the second rude thing you have said to me and you have only ever said two things to me,” Bernard said.

“Excuse me,” the man in the bowler hat interjected. “Who is that?” he said pointing at the now talking pug.

“Well, that is my Pug, Bugsley,” Bernard replied.

“Nice to meet you Bugsely,” the man said.

“What do you want alien?” Bugsley asked.

“Ok, this is getting strange, what makes you think he is an alien?” Bernard questioned.

“The bowler hat, it’s a dead giveaway,” Bugsley replied. “When is the last time you saw a person wearing one in everyday life?”

“Fair enough,” Bernard said. “Anyways, what are you doing here?”

“I am here to retrieve one of the greatest minds on this planet for our collective off-world. You are Bernard Christoff, correct?” The man asked.

“No, I am Bernard Christon.”

“Oh, my mistake then,” the man said as he turned to the fire escape, but before he could go, he paused and turned back. “You wouldn’t be interested in living in a collective on another planet and helping advance the science of over a hundred worlds would you?”

“Are you kidding?” Bugsley said. “This human can barely do basic math, he is not fit to be a scientist.”

“I see, then I regret my invitation, but the offer still stands. It would be rude to say no now, that is, if you wanted to go.”

“I think I am good,” Bernard said.

“Very well,” the man replied.

He turned and stepped out onto the fire escape disappearing almost instantly.

Just then, there was another knock at the door.

“Who is it this time, the Easter bunny?” Bernard said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pugsley replied. “There is no such thing. I’m gonna go pee on some stuff now.”

Bernard shook his head, ignored the fact that his dog was suddenly talking, and answered the door.

“Hi,” a woman said. “I am your neighbor, do you think you could keep it down. I have children and they get a bit cranky if they don’t get their sleep.”

“You should get them a new mattress, I hear that helps,” Bernard said.

“I will consider that,” the woman replied. “However, the noise thing might still be an issue.”

“Sure, I will keep it down, in fact, I think I need to go for a walk.”

After a brief argument with his pug about the implications of peeing on things in the apartment that devolved into an argument over always being able to speak and choosing not to, Bernard went for a walk to clear his head.

There was still a lingering pang from the morning’s incidental cleanse, but Bernard held true. He walked along a bit before a large object in the sky caught his eye. A great saucer-like ship hovered above him and a beam shot down directly in front of him, the man in the bowler hat, or as Bugsley pointed out, the alien, had returned.

“So sorry to do this, but do you perhaps know where I can find Bernard Christoff?” the alien asked. “Your human directories are so difficult to use.”

“No, I don-

Suddenly, an orb of fuchsia colored light appeared just a dozen feet or so off to the side of them. The orb expanded and spread until it was larger than a person.

“What is that?” Bernard asked.

Just then, two people stepped out, a man and a woman. Each of them wearing a grey suit with a matching fedora.

“I can’t believe they came here too,” the alien sighed. “Extradimensional beings.”

“WHAT?!” Bernard shouted.

At this point, he was less shocked than he was upset that his walk would now be delayed. The thought of having to clean up a sentient pug’s pee when he got home was also unpleasantly hanging in the back of his mind.

“We too seek the Bernard Christoff, he is the only hope our dimension has,” the woman in the fedora said.

“Get in line,” the alien replied.

“What is going on here, first my pug, then the alien thing, now… what are they?” Bernard asked.

“Extradimensional beings,” the alien replied. “You can tell by the fedoras.”

“Right, and you have the bowler hat because you are an alien.”

“Exactly,” the alien said. “But bowlers are way cooler.”

“Is this Bernard Christoff?” the man in the fedora asked as he pulled out a small device.

“No,” the alien replied. “He is Bernard Christon.”

“Are you certain?” the woman in the fedora asked. “The readings said he would be right here.”

“Perhaps the human lies to you,” the man in the fedora suggested.

“Would you do that? Would you lie to me?” the alien asked.

“No, I am not this Christoff guy, I am Bernard Christon.”

“I don’t buy it,” the woman said. “I need you to come with us through the portal.”

“No,” the alien said as he stepped in front of them. “If anyone is taking him, it is me.”

“I am afraid not,” the man in the fedora said as he pressed a button on the device he held.

A static ball of energy shot out from the fuchsia orb and struck the alien’s ship. The conversation did not resolve in words. The ship fired a great blast, destabilizing and closing the portal. Then, the interdimensional beings did as any interdimensional being would if an alien destroys their portal, they whipped out laser swords and attacked.

The fighting was intense, Bernard had managed to slip away and take cover in a side ally. He looked up to see a growing number of ships arriving. More an more people in bowler hats with ray guns were being beamed down. In opposition to them, a small army of laser sword wielding fedora wearing people emerged from a number of fuchsia orbs that had appeared in kind with each newly arrived alien spaceship. The fedoras and bowlers were in full-scale conflict. Bernard wondered if it were the end times.

“Hey, it’s you,” a voice said from behind bernard.

Turning, bernard saw the mattress salesman.

“It’s not safe here, come with me,” the salesman said.

With nowhere else to go, Bernard followed. They entered the sewer through manhole and moved away from the fighting. After a while of walking the salesman stopped in an open area underground and sat. the place it self was strangely lit and pleasant, without the atmosphere of the sewer. It seemed calm.

“Sit,” the salesman said.

“Sure.”

Bernard did as was requested.

“I want you to know you are safe,” the salesman said. “But I am not who you see before you. I only took this form, because, for some reason, this is the form of someone you trust implicitly.”

“Seems about right with how today is going,” Bernard said.

The salesman’s form began to shift and a green-scaled skin emerged.

“You’re a…

“Yeah, lizard person, I know. There is some truth to the conspiracies, but to be honest, we aren’t all bad. A handful of jerks eat a few babies over the centuries and suddenly our species is the embodiment of evil or something. Babies get ate all the time in the wild, they don’t call foxes or hawks evil for eating a baby bird, do they?”

By now, the lizard person was breathing a little more heavily, both fists clenched as they spoke.

“Woa, I am sensing a lot of pent up frustration on that topic,” Bernard said.

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s a huge thing with my people. Anyways, the name is Gertrude by the way.”

“Oh, so you’re a woman?” Bernard asked as he eyed lizard person.

“No, not exactly, my species can change as needed,” Gertrude said. “But I identify as a man personally.”

“Oh, I thought Gertrude was a woman’s name.”

“It is very much a masculine name where I come from, not that it matters though. You humans with your masculinity and toxic complexes.”

“I’m sorry, that was rude. It is a great name, but, what are we doing here exactly.”

“Oh right,” Gertrude said. “I am part of your subconscious, this is all a dream spurned by your radical shift in thought that occurred yesterday at the mattress store combined with the bad shrimp you ate yesterday.”

“What?”

“Well, to put it plainly, I am you, reaching out to you, trying to tell me, which is you, what I, you, want.”

“Ok, I am all ears, what do I, or, you want?” Bernard asked.

“Well, we don’t want shrimp again, that is for sure,” Gertrude laughed.

“Agreed,” Bernard said with a smile.

“But to be honest, as much as I would like to tell you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we, meaning you, don’t really know. But, if we can gather anything from this, it would be definitely be no more shrimp and keep on just doing your best. Keep on keeping on, as they say.”

“That’s it?” Bernard asked as he deflated. “What was the whole deal with the fedoras and the bowler hats? Why are you a lizard person?”

“It’s a combination of a few things, some of them are issues you have to deal with, other’s are precognitive visions that got mixed in here.”

“Pre- what?”

“Seeing the future, shrimp really does a number on us,” Gertrude said.

“What about the guy in the mattress store?” Bernard asked.

“What about him?”

“He said to think positively and that felt important, like it meant something to me. I guess, should I do that? Think positively or something?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Gertrude said.

“You are my subconscious and all you can tell me is that following the advice of a mattress salesman couldn’t hurt?” Bernard huffed. “I am looking for advice.”

“I don’t know, take a vacation? You are asking yourself, just to remind you who I am. If you don’t know, then I probably don’t know either.”

“That sucks,” Bernard said.

“Don’t get down, you had an epic dream right?” Gertrude asked. “And speaking of that dream, it is about over. That part where you sat on the toilet, that was more the precognitive thing, or glimpse of the future. Get to the toilet, now.”

Bernard shot awake, he tried to think about what had just happened, but he had to hurry to the toilet. When he was done, he sat for a moment in silence.

“Maybe I should take a vacation,” Bernard said out loud to himself.

“Probably,” Bugsley replied.

January 25th 2021

The Life of Nor

By: Nathaniel

The scraping shovel came to a sudden stop as it slammed into Nor, pinching the skin of her arm against the hard ground she had slept on. She kicked back, trying to get away from the sudden pain, and shot upright. The garbage she had compiled for warmth exploded off of her causing the man who was cleaning the street to jump away almost dropping his shovel.

“That hurt, what did you do that for?” Nor asked as she rubbed her arm.

“I didn’t mean to,” the man said, wide eyed, as he looked down at her.

“You better watch where you go with that thing,” Nor warned as she stretched and stood up. “You could really hurt someone.”

“I’m just doing my job,” the man replied. “Besides, what were you doing down there in the garbage?”

Nor thought for a moment. She could easily ignore the man or run, but she decided to have some fun with it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Nor asked. “I was trying to sleep, until some ass woke me up with a shovel.”

“Hey, you little freak,” the man scowled.

Nor took a step towards him and he stepped back, visibly concerned as he lifted his shovel between them. She smiled and stepped forward again as if it were a game for her. The man used the shovel, holding it out, to keep the distance between them. For as long as Nor had lived on the streets, which was almost all of her life, she had learned to read people. This man, the one who was painfully unapologetic, was what she would call a district kiss ass. He was the kind to follow all the district rules, do his job, and kiss as much ass as he could to move up in the district. But more than anything, he was the kind of man that thought highly of himself despite his lowly position, the kind that would fall to pieces over any insult she could hurl at him.

“I’m not going to bite you, even though that would make us even,” Nor said.

“It was an accident, plus, you ain’t supposed to be there on the ground anyway.”

Nor looked down to inspect her arm.

“Good going you ass,” she said trying to keep the grin from showing on her face. “It’s going to bruise now.”

“Shouldn’t you be in a facility you little jerk?” the man said as his cheeks flustered red.

“Aren’t you going to apologize?” Nor asked, ignoring what he had said and pointing to the budding bruise on her arm. “You attacked me.”

“YOU’RE THE ONE SLEEPING IN A PILE OF GARBAGE!” the man shouted before collecting himself. “That’s not my fault. But, if it makes you feel any better, I will report the incident all the same. What is your ID number?”

“That still hurt though,” Nor argued.

“Fine, I’m sorry, now give me your ID number so I can report this and we can both get on with our lives,” the man said as he produced a small pad from his pocket.

“No need, the apology is enough mister. You are such a nice guy, I wouldn’t want this to go on your record.”

“Nice guy? You just called me an ass twice, so don’t paint it differently, just give me your ID.”

“I’m sure you’re busy,” Nor said. “Just like me, I have to get going.”

Nor moved to leave, but the man stepped in front of her blocking her path.

“And I have to report this, if I don’t then I am breaking protocol. Now, give me your ID,” the man said through clenched teeth.

“No,” Nor said plainly.

She had hoped that the man would let it go, but she knew that was not going to happen. If he was the district kiss ass type, he was most definitely the kind to follow protocol and report what happened during his garbage collection route, even if it made him look bad. What was even worse though, she knew, that if he thought he had something over her, like her not having an ID, he would use it to every bit of his own satisfaction.

“You don’t even have an ID number, do you?” the man asked as a grin curled over his scowl.

He stepped slowly towards his supply transport and picked up his radio, only dropping his eyes from Nor for a second to call it in.

“This is refuse collector B1114428, I need a district security patroller here now,” he said quietly into the radio. “I got a little girl, possibly a reject, sleeping in a pile of garbage.”

“Copy that, we have your location, can you provide a description of the subject?” a voice replied over the radio.

“Yeah, she is… “ he looked back to where Nor had been, but she was gone.

Turning around, he tried to find her, but there was no sign of the little girl that had been in the trash pile. Just him and his supply transport were in the ally now.

“Come in refuse collector B1114428, are you still there?” the person on the other side of the radio asked.

“Yeah, but she is gone now, she was just here a second ago.”

“Copy that, we will be dispatching two patrols to your location, stand by,” the voice replied.

“Thank you,” the man said with a sigh of relief. “If she is a reject, I don’t suppose you can put who found her in your report, can you? I just want it to be known that I stand with our district security and-

A noise caught the man’s ear as he turned to see his supply transport barreling down the ally and out of sight.

“HEY!” he shouted after it.

“You should probably go after that,” Nor said with a devilish grin as she stood next to where the transport had been. “Might have to file another report too.”

“Why you little piece of,” the man grumbled, but he had not time to waste.

He took off running after his runaway transport as Nor laughed to herself and turned to go the opposite way.

“Serves that ass right,” Nor said under her breath.

Out of the ally and around the corner, she found herself moving with the crowd of people already on the streets that morning. It was a brisk day, everyone bustling about to their assigned district roles. She passed three more refuse collectors and smiled at each of them to balance out her karma. She was not sure if she had been to hard or not on the man who woke her up. She knew she could be cranky first thing in the morning, but he was an ass, she concluded.

Normally, the refuse collectors didn’t pay her any mind, this was not the first time one had woken her up. But every now and then, one who was hoping to earn a bit more favor to improve their station in life would raise a fuss about the whole situation. She would usually run away, but lately, she had gotten tired of running. It was so much more satisfying to cause a little trouble first.

She rounded another corner and heard the familiar blare of the worn out speakers indicating that the district announcements were to begin. The entirety of the crowd stopped moving, each facing the nearest speaker or screen to wait for the news. That is, everyone except for Nor.

It was against district regulations not to listen to the morning and evening announcements. Of course, you might argue that you can listen and walk at the same time. In fact, people had argued that in the past. So, in order to eliminate any confusion on the matter, another regulation was implemented to require all people to cease any and all activities and physically face the nearest speaker or screens around the the district.

But, part of being a reject for Nor was being a rebel. She did not conform to the rules because there was no benefit for her to do so. Being a reject in this society meant you had no ID, without an ID you could not register for work, and if you couldn’t register for work, you might as well not even be a human. As far as she was concerned, she was just another piece of garbage cast into the streets, and that was the way she liked it.

She didn’t know why she was a reject, but she made the most of it. The registry that assigns IDs keeps track of everyone, their lineage too. It makes sure to take into account various aptitudes and family history. As it was told to her when she was a young child, the registry rejected her. Probably a punishment levied on a past relation of hers. Regardless, she was not one to let it get her down.

“Greetings citizens of District 347,” the district executive said over the speaker system.

The streets were nearly still and almost completely quiet despite being filled with people.

“I hope you are off to a productive start,” the executive continued.

“Whatever,” Nor mumbled as she rolled her eyes and passed through the crowd ignoring what came next.

She knew that as long as she was not seen by security, she would be fine. Plus, this was often the best time to pick a few pockets, not that Nor liked to do so. But, when there is low hanging fruit, that is usually the one picked first. She stepped through a handful of people and emerged with two meal tokens on the other side smiling at her good fortune.

Food was not hard to come by, she could always nab the scraps of trash from the licensed food dispensaries or the district cafeteria. But, a meal token meant fresh still warm food if she wanted it, as long as no one ID checked her. Sometimes that would happen and she would be out a meal token and have to run. She entered another small crowd as the announcements continued and brushed by them, nothing this time.

“Hey,” a woman shouted as Nor emerged.

Nor looked up to see the tell tale uniform of a security patrol just as the announcements ended.

“Come her,” the security woman said.

But Nor knew better, with the closing of the announcements, a collective thank you went up from the crowded street. Then the crowd began to shift. First one person passed between Nor and the approaching security patrol, then two, then three. Then Nor was gone, allowing herself to be swept along with the crowd.

As the morning shifted into the early noon, Nor decided to go visit a friend. She had been walking around aimlessly with the district crowds, but now she cut in and set her own path. She had spent most of her early life in and out of the various shelters that helped people like her. Although she was a reject, she had managed to get to know a few people during a handful of shelter stays.

Without a care in the world, she turned down a side street, one that brought her close to where she had been woken up that morning. She began to see a heavier security presence, but pressed on normally with the rest of the crowd so as not to raise any suspicion. Then, that is when she saw it, the man who had woken her up. He was on the ground, cuffed by security, his transport upended over over a security patrol’s transport.

It was everything she could do to keep from laughing as she passed. She slowed down, savoring the street justice, the beautiful nectar of the sweet karma that he had received. The man looked up as she was walking by and she was all smiles until she heard five words.

“SECURITY, THAT’S HER RIGHT THERE!” the man shouted so hard that his face turned nearly purple.

The entirety of the passing street froze at the sudden outburst, even Nor. The security patrols nearby began scanning the crowd for, what Nor assumed, was the unflattering description of a little garbage girl that the man had given them. Part of her wanted to slip into the crowd and run, but the other part of her, the one that was tired of running, had other plans. She wanted to have a little fun again.

“Who me,” she asked, trying to contain her laughter as she drew the attention of the entire street to herself.

“YESSS!” the man hissed. “IT’S HER, she is the one the sabotaged my supply transport.”

“I have never seen this man before in my life, he must be a lunatic,” Nor said. “Does he even have an ID?”

“You little brat,” the man growled.

As much as Nor wanted security to believe her, she knew they wouldn’t. Still, she thought to herself, it was worth a try if for nothing else than a good laugh and some fun. As the security rushed towards her, the part that had wanted to run earlier suddenly took over, she was off again. Perhaps, if she had time, she would visit that friend later, she decided. No rush, she thought, before laughing out loud while she ran.

January 24th 2021

When choosing to write one short story a day for the month of January, I did not consider burnout. I have found that at number 21 it was getting harder to crank out something new and creative. Now, at 24, without any days break, it is becoming more of a challenge. However, it is a challenge I am up to meeting for the rest of this month. Only 7 more to go, I hope you enjoy!

The Gentleman at the Tilting Hat Bookstore

By: Nathaniel

When Mavis found the Tilting Hat Bookstore, she had no idea what lay at the heart of it. She assumed, just as every other passer-by would, that it contained books. It was late in the afternoon, a cloudless sky let the sunshine down, but the shadow of the building covered the sidewalks and streets. Of all the stores she could have chosen to enter, this one stuck out.

It was not that she was an avid reader, in fact, she often neglected reading when possible. She would lament not reading more but took no action to change that fact. She was actually looking for a clothing boutique that had been prescribed to her by a classmate at the university where she was studying medicine. However, her classmate did not provide the best directions, and, she was unable to remember the name. Before Mavis could realize she was lost, she came upon the book store.

It was the smell, more than anything else, that brought her attention to the old brick front of the bookstore. It somehow reached out into the street, that woody earthy smokey vanilla smell that a good book carries in its pages. The briefest memory of joy came back in that scent, one from her childhood when she had read and enjoyed a lovely book. It was enough to pull her in.

The old door swung open and the bell rang to signal her entry to the staff. She waited, politely, for someone to come and greet her. When no one came after several minutes, she wondered if it would be best to leave. Glancing back at the door, she noticed that there was a sign on it, one that said help wanted. She had been looking for a part-time job, and this place seemed quiet enough to study while working, the perfect type of job for a college student.

When the bookstore staff failed to show, she decided it would be ok to browse for a little bit. There were several shelves of normal books, a rather large romance section, then three doors at the back. The doors were tall and made of solid wood. The trim and doorknobs for each were different from one another with unique and ornate carvings. Above each of them was a symbol, none of them she recognized, but one seemed more interesting than the others.

She wondered, judging by the large romance section, if one of these doors lead to a more promiscuous adult section. Logically, to her, it only made sense. Small bookstores were hard-pressed to compete with the larger online retailers in any meaningful way. In fact, offering something that you could not get from a big box book store or online would be a great niche for a local bookstore, she thought. Her hand was already on one of the doorknobs, half twisted, the door cracked open.

“Ahem!” a man cleared his throat so loudly it made mavis jump and squeal. “Not a fan of the scarier genres it would seem.”

“Oh, my,” Mavis said, her free hand falling to her chest. “You surprised me.”

“Here at the,” the man nodded titling a top hat towards her. “Tilting Hat Bookstore, we are full of surprises. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“I was just browsing,” Mavis replied, blank of anything else to say.

The middle-aged man before her was well dressed, a three-piece suit of a peculiar color. He wore a top hat and sported a rather retro pair of eye-glasses also.

“I am afraid we are closed for the evening,” the man said. “Adjusted hours for today, but if there is anything I can help you find before you go, I would be happy to.”

“I was wondering, what do you have behind these doors here,” Mavis said, her hand still resting on the doorknob of one.

“Those rooms contain our most expensive books, signed copies, first editions, collectibles, and the sort,” the man said. “They are open by appointment only, I am sorry, this one should be locked.”

The man slipped gently between Mavis and the door forcing her to let go of the doorknob. He produced a large key ring with old heavy keys and proceeded to press the door shut and lock it. When he finished, he turned back around to see her.

“Now, will there be anything else before you leave?” the man asked with a smile.

“Um, the door,” Mavis said.

“Yes, I am sorry, I cannot allow you into these ones without an appointment s-

“No, I meant the front door,” Mavis interrupted. “I saw that you had a help wanted sign.”

“Oh, do I?” the man said as he craned his neck to see around Mavis and down and aisle to the front of the store. “I had forgotten.”

“Are you still looking?”

“Looking for what?” the man asked.

“For an employee? I go to university right now, but I can work part-time and weekends.”

Just then, the store rumbled, a brief flicker to the lights ensued, then it was quiet again.

“I will have to think about it, but for now, you really must go,” the man said.

“What was that?” Mavis asked.

She had felt the shift in her legs and had dropped to a half squat to keep her balance.

“Its an old building, please now, I must lock up.”

“Is that normal?” she asked.

“Happens all the time, now if you will be so kind, I must close the store.”

Should I leave a phone number or is there an application for the job?” Mavis asked.

She was not altogether uncomfortable, but something about the conversation was making her uneasy. The rumble had felt like a slight earthquake but was dismissed by the man. Also, this man, in his peculiarly colored three-piece suit, seemed odd, for lack of a better term.

“No need for that,” the man said as he gestured for her to walk towards the front.

“What are the normal hours for the store?”

“I don’t know really,” the man said as he gripped her by the elbow and forced her along with a few steps.

“EXCUSE ME!” Mavis shouted at the man as she pulled her arm back. “I am capable of leaving on my own.”

“Of course madam, I just need you to leave,” the man said.

He turned to lead her but was stopped short. The store lurched again, now strong enough to shake the bookshelves. The man fell, grasping at the shelf of books next to him.

“What’s wrong?” Mavis asked as she rushed to catch him. “Is this an earthquake?”

“Nothing my dear,” the man said as he corrected himself to his feet. “Just a bit of a rumble is all.”

“That is not normal, it feels like an earthquake,” Mavis said as she noticed the man still shaking. “Are you ok, do I need to call someone?”

“No, heavens no. I am fine, I just need to rest a little bit.”

As the man stood upright, Mavis could see a stain growing on the collar of his white undershirt.

“You’re bleeding!” she exclaimed. “You need medical attention.”

“I assure you, I am fine,” the man said, his breathing growing labored. “I have everything under control. I just need to lock up and get some rest.”

“NO,” Mavis said. “Something is wrong, you need help. Also, if this is an earthquake, we should get to somewhere safe.”

She pulled out her cell phone and began to dial, but the man slapped it away from her hands.

“FINE!” he said. “YOU MAY HELP ME,” he yelled before taking a deep breath and letting it out. “It is not an earthquake though.”

Mavis took a step back, she was afraid of what was happening. The man sat on a table near her and unbuttoned his waistcoat before revealing the blood-drenched shirt underneath.

“Can you help me?” he asked.

Opening his shirt, he revealed what appeared to be a shallow stab wound.

“You need an ambulance or something,” Mavis said. “I.. I can call for help.”

“I need your help, I cannot have anyone else poking around here. Please,” the man said.

“I don’t know what to do,” Mavis replied.

But that was a lie, Mavis did know what to do. She had read about it many times in her studies. How to stop the bleeding, how to clean it, and finally, how to stitch it up. She had never done it on a real person, but she had practiced in one of her classes.

“Aren’t you a medical student?” the man asked.

“Well yes, but…” Mavis stopped talking.

She looked up at the man locking eyes with him. She had not shared anything so personal about herself. A sense of fight or flight rose with her, but she could not bring herself to leave him as he was, wounded without any help.

“Did I overstep there?” the man asked. “Perhaps it is the blood loss, it is not a bad wound, but it is getting worse with the more blood I lose.”

Just then, the entire building shook again, but harder than before. The lighting dimmed for a moment, the front windows clattered, and a few books fell from their spots.

“What was that?” Mavis asked as she gripped the table to keep from falling.

“I need you to help me now Mavis,” the man said. “Once I am patched up, I can protect you. Only then, once this is over, can I explain everything.”

Mavis looked him in the eyes and nodded. It was something she did, not because she wanted to, but much like how the scent had caught her nose outside, she felt drawn to it. It was not pretty, but she managed to stop the bleeding and bandage him, a small feat considering the supplies she had at hand. When the man was bandaged, he produced a fresh shirt from seemingly thin air, redressed himself with his waistcoat, jacket, and hat.

“Thank you,” he said. “I am afraid I do not have time for an explanation right this minute though. However, if you would like to inquire about the job opening, come back tomorrow.”

Then, he tilted his hat at Mavis and turned to walk towards the back of the store.

“You should be resting,” Mavis said. “You are in no condition to do anything while that heals for a bit.”

The store shook violently again, whole shelves seemed poised to topple as the lights flickered on and off, but somehow they held. Mavis gripped the table next to her, hoping nothing fell that could injure her or the man.

“You should leave now,” the man said over his shoulder. “We can talk tomorrow.”

It was now nine in the morning the next day, Mavis stood outside the door waiting for the book shop to open. When she had gotten home the night before, it felt like she had awoken from a dream, like the memory was fading. She did not even recall the walk home to her dorm and was up most of the night contemplating if what had happened was real or whether she would venture to return. But she was here now, if for nothing else than to see if the man was ok.

Wearing a different, but just as peculiarly colored, three piece suit, the gentleman in the top hat came to unlock the door. He tilted his hat towards her with a smile.

“Good to see you again Mavis, I am glad you chose to remember. Come on in.”

January 23rd 2021

I have written as many short stories this month as there are flavors in Dr. Pepper. To be honest, today’s story took some effort. Many of the other ones seem to flow when I hit that right state of mind. But, I suppose after doing it every day for twenty-three days, it is hard to keep that going. I look forward to February 1st, when I get to take a day off. But, until then, I am still committed to one a day through the end of the month.

Hughley’s Dream

By: Nathaniel

“Hey, how is it going?” Hughley asked as he passed Bryant in the hall.

He stopped for a moment, waiting for a reply. The artificial gravity that held him in place did not feel quite right to him, less encompassing that how he had remembered. But it had been a while since he had felt the real thing.

“Same old same old,” Bryant replied. “Just another day in search of paradise.”

“Oh yeah,” Hughley said. “That sounds nice.”

The ship rotated at a steady rate as the thrusters moved into loose orbit around a planet. Bryant was monitoring the ship’s sensors looking for specific readings. Hughley took his seat in the pod that he worked out of and began his preflight checklist.

The crew of this ship had been in deep space for over a year now on a mission to collect data on different planets. They had just managed to reach only their second one, something that should have been exciting, but for Hughley, it was not. To him, it seemed like another less boring step in a series of much more boring events.

“I am ready for departure,” Hughley groaned after completing his checklist.

“What was that?” the captain asked sharply over the comms.

“Pod one, ready for departure sir,” Hughley responded in a much more professional manner.

The hatch sealed and the pod was detached. Hughley set his trajectory in a decaying orbit and then sat back and began listening to some music as he read the latest news transmissions from back home on a data-pad. He had several hours before he would enter the atmosphere and sought to fill the time as best he could. A quick check of the research instruments on the pod made him even more bored though. His mission was to land, take readings, and then return to the ship with samples and data.

“This is August Moon to pod one,” the captain said over the radio after an hour had passed. “Can you provide a status update?”

Hughley sighed before pressing his reply button, “This is pod one, yes sir. We are on course and should touch down within half a day’s time. Nothing on the scans suggest anything out of the ordinary.”

“You will be the first human to ever step foot on this planet, have you given any thought to what you might say for the media back home?”

“No sir.”

“The corporation would like to be mentioned in your statement if that is at all possible,” the captain said.

“You got it, captain, a heartfelt thank you to the corporation that made this all possible, the ones who convinced me this was the right job for me,” Hughley said with feigned enthusiasm.

“I knew I could count on you, your consideration will not go unnoticed at next cycle’s evaluation either. This is the August Moon closing communication, let us know if you find anything, God’s speed,” the captain said.

“Yes sir,” Hughley replied.

For another hour, his pod continued its planned path. Hughley engaged the monitoring alarms and leaned back in his seat to get some sleep. When he awoke, he hoped to be transitioning to the landing phase.

In his dreams, Hughley found something a bit different than his current reality. Suddenly the pod shook and he was torn from sleep. He eyed his instruments and tried to see if the shaking was part of a dream or real, then the pod shook again. The alarms blared and the gravitational readings began to fluctuate.

“This is pod one to August moon,” Hughley called over the comms as he quieted the alarms.

“We read you pod one.”

“I am getting some strange readings from the planet below, are you picking this up? It is causing some turbulence for me.”

“Yes, we just picked it up, we are working to pinpoint the source on the planet, but it seems to be intermittent.”

Hughley disengaged the auto trajectory and took over piloting as he was trained to do in such emergencies.

“Should I abort?” he asked.

“Yes, return to-

The communication from the ship cut out, a flash out light outside the pod ignited. The beam rose from the planet’s surface and struck the August moon. When it went dark, there was a second where it was still, then like a great swooping bird, the August Moon was falling towards the planet.

“August Moon, what was that?” Hughley asked.

He maneuvered his pod to get a line of sight on the ship and saw it coming towards him. Engaging his thrusters, he moved out of the path just as the great ship came falling past him, completely dark. It broke the outer atmosphere but seemed to not be burned up as it descended. As the ship fell, disappearing to the planet below, Hughley acted.

He engaged the pod’s thrusters again, broke from his decay orbit, and jettisoned the research equipment he had onboard. With every bit of speed he could muster, he dove towards the falling August Moon using it as a break against the atmosphere while it fell. He knew he might not be able to save the ship, but he could at least buy them time if he could latch onto it and slow them down.

As the atmosphere began to resist his ship, he pressed on, sending all power to his forward shielding. The large ship was falling too fast for him to gain on it, but he still tried. Dumping all power to only his essential systems, he tried to find more thrust by bypassing the controlled burn system in place. It was not perfect, but he managed to do it in less than a handful of seconds. His speed increased as a piece of debris broke off the ship below him and struck his pod sending it spinning off course.

Hughley reengaged his thrusters and aimed downward again. Dodging the bits of debris that began to cascade off the August Moon, but he realized he could not reach it in time.

“DOES ANYONE READ ME,” Hughley shouted.

“Stand clear,” the captain’s voice came over the radio. “We are about to launch auxiliary life pods.”

“YES SIR,” Hughley shouted in reply as tears began to fall from his eyes.

He had hoped they were still alive, and he smiled as the line of life pods jettisoned from each side of the ship. Targeting the nearest one, Hughley directed his own pod towards it. He knew the life pods did not have the same flight capabilities as his own. They were only meant to fall with a bit of grace and a series of short thrusts preventing them from slamming into a planet’s surface.

Hughley neared the closest pod and prepared himself to land near it’s calculated impact point. The August Moon was still falling, crashing to the surface in a massive explosion. Just then, there was another shaking sensation as Hughley’s pod shuttered. He looked out the window of the ship to see a flash of light. The strange readings from before spiked again.

In an instant, the beam cut across the sky. Half of the life pods burst like small fiery bubbles. When the next shake hit his pod, Hughley knew what was coming, there was another blinding flash of light from the planet’s surface.

Jarred from his nap, Hughley woke up with a start, his hands gripping the controls of his pod, but the auto trajectory was still in control. He checked his readings and then looked to see the August Moon still in the sky.

“This is pod one, are you picking up any strange readings?” Hughley asked over the comms.

“This is August Moon,” one of the ship’s controllers replied. “It seems that we are. Are you experiencing the same readings?”

Just then, Hughley’s pod shook.

“WE NEED TO ABORT,” He shouted over the comms.

January 22nd 2021

This story is one from the world I have been building in one of the novel’s I have been working on for a while. It is an event of the past that set in motion so many other things. It was fun to write, I hope you enjoy it!

Tora’s Time

By: Nathaniel

It had been over twelve spans since the kingdoms court had fallen into a disagreement between the loyalists and the lord’s faction. With each passing day, the lords of the various lands within the kingdom grew further and further entrenched. Blood had been shed early on, but envoys from each lord still met in the capital each day in an attempt to negotiate for peace. For now, the fighting was relegated to small skirmishes and border disputes in the outskirts of the kingdom, but it was the makings of a civil war in every way except for name. For many, it was too late to turn back, and soon, it would take a turn further.

“We have one shot at this,” Tora said. “Are you ready?”

“I think so,” Bugak replied.

They had just arrived at the capital city and were beyond the first wall as night began to fall.

“There can be no doubt, this mission is not going to be easy. Even if we succeed, we will surely be killed or captured. I need to know, are you ready?”

“For your father, yes,” Bugak said, clenching his fist.

“Very well, do you have any questions about the plan?” Tora asked.

“If we kill the king, then the leaders who support him will crumble, it seems straight forward to me.”

“Good,” Tora said.

It was night now in the capital city, Tora had traveled with Bugak from their home in the northern mountains over a few days. They were, by trade, miners, never meant to be warriors or assassins. But sometimes a fate that is unintended is born from necessity in the face of cruelty. The demands of the king and his loyalist came after the start of the burgeoning disagreement. To weaken his opposition within the lord’s faction he enacted a series of edicts. Each one was harsher than the last, and in the end, it was not the lords who suffered, it was the people they presided over that were the recipients of the king’s cruelty.

In the northern lands, the mountains contained a bounty of metal ore. The people there had always made a living from what they could pull from the mines. Then, the king declared all ores and precious metals from these lands as the property of the kingdom. Suddenly, mining had no benefit, you could not sell a single thing on your own without being arrested. As a result, they did as most might do when a job stops paying, they quit and started looking for other work. At least, that is what they tried to do.

It was not the first bloodshed as a result of the disagreement between the king and the lord’s faction. But, it was perhaps the most consequential. Tora’s father, the owner of a large and profitable mine, had shut it down. He told his workers to find new work and that there was no point in mining any longer. Angered by this and considering it the actions of a rebellion, the king sent soldiers. Armed with weapons and led to war, they did not find an opposing army. Instead, they came upon the people. Normal folks with families and problems of their own.

But anger is not quelled so easily, the show of force would be foolish if it had no purpose. So it was decided that dissenters would be put to death. At first, the lord of the northern lands tried to prevent this, intervening with his own personal guard. To some, he was seen as a hero, but as the occupation wore on, it became clear he had no real power against the king’s forces. Eventually, he too went into hiding. With no one left to fight, the people were on their own.

“THIS IS WRONG!” Tora’s father had shouted as the soldiers dragged him up onto the viewing platform.

He was the first dissenter led to the town square in chains. Tora watched, waiting in the crowd, ready to take action. When the verdict was read, orders of the king that this man’s life was forfeit, that is when the people rose up. I would like to say they drove the army out, that Tora’s father was saved that day, but that is not what happened.

“There,” Tora said as she pointed to a back alley. “The north lord said that leads up to the palace, let’s go Bugak.”

Dipping behind buildings and through shadows, the pair made their way through another gate in the secondary wall. One more wall and they would be on the palace grounds. All of the planning and preparation had led to this. Everything sparked from the events of one fateful day.

As her father stood on the viewing platform, facing execution on that day, Tora and the people she grew up with gathered together. They had decided that they had had enough. Up against the wall, no other way out, they drew their weapons as mere citizens. They had no training or experience, most did not even know how to handle a spear or sword and some were equipped with the very same pickaxes they once used to mine. But they came like a storm, brewed from discontent and sorrow, now thundering with rage.

The soldiers present were slaughtered, but not before they managed to kill several dozen townsfolk in the fighting. Tora’s father was among the dying, wounded by the last strike of one of the king’s soldiers before they were killed. When the fighting was done, when Tora was finally able to lower her crimson-stained weapon, she went to her father. He smiled at her, then bid her farewell, he knew she had to leave him, he knew that the army outside of town would soon come to wipe them out.

“It is not your time yet,” her father told her.

“Why does it have to be your time,” Tora sobbed as she held him.

That was the day they left their homes for the mountains, that was the start of the true rebellion. The fighting had hardened them, but they were still outclassed by the king’s forces. It was only through careful strategy and tricks that they had managed to hold out, each time learning and growing as warriors, but they knew their luck would not last forever.

Now, after everything they had been through, after being subjected to cruelty, losing their loved ones, and having to flee their homes, they were ready to strike back. It had taken several spans of planning and preparation. Tora knew they might not succeed, but she had to try, everyone was counting on them. To the heart of the enemy, they set their sights.

“We need to sneak into the castle, do you see those guards,” Tora asked as she peaked around a corner.

Tora and Bugak had managed to get to the edge of the third and final wall, the last obstacle between them and the palace grounds. There were guards and several patrols, but security did not seem to be on any special alert. Up until now, the fighting had been mostly in the outermost parts of the kingdom, so they had no reason to expect anything. Their plan depended on the secrecy of their intentions, they knew the king would not expect such an attack either, especially when the lord’s envoy was there still.

The envoy was a consideration when planning this mission, the individual the lord of the northern lands had sent to negotiate under protection of the capital laws. Though the envoy spent the day in debate for a peaceful solution, nothing had come from it. Now, if Tora and Bugak were to succeed, the envoy’s protection would be forfeit. Despite this, Tora had made the call, one more life, after so many others had died, would be the cost of victory.

The lord of the northern lands did not like this, but he could not disagree. Tora and the others who led the rebels had earned the faith and admiration of the people. All the lord could do was stay in hiding and offer support when possible. The leaders of the rebellion had eclipsed his own power, and he knew it. To go against them would only mean a swifter end to his own ambition. So, reluctant as he was, the northern lord provided them with all they needed to plan this final attack.

“If we can just take them out, I think we can slip by mostly undetected. Then, we can settle in and wait for the right moment,” Tora said.

“Sure thing,” Bugak said. “Let me see what I can do.”

There are moments, brief whispers of fate, that show glimpses of another path. At times, it has the riches and warmth of a happier fate, then at other times, it shows a glimpse of despair. These, like echos of a destiny that went unchosen in the past, often give pause to the person who feels them. Whether they long for that reality or are glad it did not come to pass. There was a moment on their journey to the capital, a brief part of a passing second, where Tora got a glimpse of a different path. A life without the conflict and cruelty that had molded her into what she was now. It had made her stop for a minute to think then, but now, there was no doubt in any part of her. She would not allow it, not when they were so close to what had to be done.

THWANG, a dull metal hum rang out as Bugak used his club to smash the helmet of one of the guards. The man was dead instantly, but the other guard was not. Wide-eyed, the guard’s hand went to his sword, he tried to speak, but another hand covered his mouth and the pain and warmth of spilling blood overtook him. At the sight of Bugak’s attack, Tora acted. Drawing a small blade, she darted from the shadows.

“You could have warned me,” Tora said as she hurriedly dragged the limp body of the guard to a small alcove.

“I figured you would catch on, besides, we took care of them,” Bugak said as he heaved the body of the other guard.

With the bodies safely tucked away, they slipped through the gate killing three more guards that they knew would be there. When the additional bodies were all hidden they continued on. It was only the early part of the evening and the guards would not rotate for a while. Unless a random patrol came by and raised a fuss, they assumed they would be able to slip in undetected.

Under the cover of darkness, they moved like children of the shadows, avoiding even the faintest sliver of light as they went. So far, everything was going as planned. Each gate and passage were just as the northern lord had described to them. When they reached the courtyard outside the king’s quarters, they hid in the garden.

“Wait here,” Tora whispered. “I have to check on something.”

“Sure thing,” Bugak said.

Tora hurried off, a tear forming in her eye. She knew it was all a lie, that they would both die there, but she could not turn back now. Despite knowing what she knew, she had to press on. She recalled the last conversation she had with the northern lord.

“You will die,” the northern lord had said to her. “I have told the king of your plans.”

“Why?” Tora had asked.

“You, the leader of our people’s rebellion, so willingly forfeited the life of an innocent man in your planning. You knew my envoy would be killed for this treachery, yet you had no qualms in deciding his fate. How can you purport to be better than a cruel king when you allow the blood of innocents to line your path. Though you have taken from me my right to rule, when you are gone, I will reclaim that right.”

“To what end? Do you wish to disband the rebellion?”

“No, I will simply become it’s leader. There is no forgiving the king for his actions in this matter, but there is a right way to go about this. He must be stopped, and I think you can still succeed,” the lord had replied.

“How?” Tora had asked as her bitter hatred for the king stained her thoughts of the northern lord.

The northern lord had slipped her a small vial, and to her alone, he gave additional information. She clutched the vial now as she entered into the king’s chambers from a secret passage. She applied it as she had been instructed to the specific items that were most likely to be effective. Tora turned to leave, her thoughts still heavy with the words of the last conversation she had with the northern lord.

“The truth is, the king is a monster, but his son will still take his place. Killing the king does not end things, it only changes them. I can help make that change a positive one, but to do so, I cannot let the lives of innocent people be sacrificed. Also, I must earn some trust with the young prince,” the northern lord had explained. “You will succeed, one way or another, but the king will be well guarded away from his quarters, most likely in the throne room. They will be ready, though they will make it seem as if they are unaware to lure you in. If you can place the poison, even if you die, they will be none the wiser.”

“I suppose I have no choice now, you bastard,” Tora had screamed at him.

“You could still prevail and escape. If you do, the king will be dead and I will still have earned some trust with his successor. But, my envoy will die. I do not purport to be innocent in all of this, but neither are you and your allies. I have heard of your cruelties in battle, and I understand the treatment that drove you to such vile acts. But, acts of hatred only serve to create more hatred.”

“You have killed us,” Tora said.

“Like I said, I am not innocent, I am only choosing the path that I think gives our people a better future. You fight for that same future so I could not let you go without knowing the truth. Will you still go?”

Tora slipped back into the courtyard where Bugak waited. She hid for a moment and tried to formulate a plan. The trap had been set, but the northern lord expected them to make a show of their attack, so that he could capitalize on the information he provided.

“Maybe we should just go,” Tora said to Bugak. “I have a bad feeling about-

A horn sounded from the gate where Tora and Bugak had entered. Muffled shouts could be heard in the distance.

“I suppose they found the bodies of the guards,” Bugak said. “There is no turning back now.”

“They will be ready for us,” Tora said, knowing the truth of it all.

“I know,” Bugak replied. “But we have to do what we came here to do.”

“For our people,” Tora said as she stood from the shadows.

“For your father, he was a good man,” Bugak said as he followed.

“I guess it is my time,” Tora said.

They knew exactly where the kings throne room was and made there way there. I would like to say they were victorious, that after fighting off a couple dozen royal guards that they managed to kill the king and escape. But only part of that came to be true.

After surviving an assassination attempt, the king would fall to a mysterious illness the very next day and would succumb to it within a few more days. The war would soon begin.

January 21st 2021

This story is a bit of a different one, something I am not used to. It is an epistolary short story, or, a short story in the form of a letter. Today, when I got off work, I had a few story ideas, but I lacked the sight to see where they would go. So, to gain some inspiration, I turned to a google search for writing prompts. I found it here: Set your story in a remote winter cabin with no electricity, internet, or phone service.

Jack’s Letter

By: Nathaniel

To my future self and any other whom it may concern,

I write you now to provide a glimpse into my state of mind. In a way, I feel as if I am transformed. When I endeavored on this trip, I thought it would bring me to some great awakening. I hoped to strip away the layers and connect to something I felt was lost in society. I thought that cutting away the ties I had to technology, social media, work, and the burdens of the world would be easy. It was not. I curse the cold and am made weary by the wind, but it is almost over.

It has been 87 days since I came to the northern cabin for my 100 days stay among the frozen wilderness. My inexperience was quickly shown in those first few hours. As the sun began to set, I went to gather wood, but I did not bring in enough. Freezing, I awoke in the middle of the night after the fire was nearly out. Fighting through fits of shivering cold, I got dressed and ventured beyond the safety of my meager four walls. That first night is when I felt something, but it was not what I had set out to find.

I can remember every inch of me in fear as if I had stumbled onto the premise of something powerful in the dark, an ancient presence that I did not understand. I could not help but get the feeling that I, in my current state at the time, was unwelcome. It was not a malicious thing, and I think it may have only been a mental manifestation of my own fears. But still, I was careful from the start, keeping my eyes on a swivel as I moved, using my light to dash away the cover of darkness in which the unwelcoming presence seemed to settle. I gathered the life-sustaining wood I needed and ever since, fuel has been the first priority.

The second priority, as you might expect, has been food. The cold stings to the core, stripping away calories as I struggle vainly to stay warm, the idea of comfort is a foreign thing now. I have plenty of provisions, I knew that was one thing I would not be able to find so easily given my lack of experience. I have trapped a few small creatures though, they add a delightful change to the standard canned food meal I have become accustomed to. I think back to ordering food, having it delivered, it was a vital thing made simple. But here and now, trapping and hunting is a simple thing made vital. There is a subtle pleasure in taking sustenance from the wilderness, a nod of approval from the ancient power that is nature.

I still feel the presence, the one I felt on the first night. I view it another way now, like some indifferent giant. It is made of the winds and snow, of the earth and trees, of the night and day. It is hard to describe, but each of these things I have come to respect in different ways. Through small acts, things I do to simply survive, I provide little offerings and receive in return small bounties. In this way, I think I have found a connection and earned the right not to be unwelcome, so I do not fear it. At first, I was so disconnected, out of place, but now I know to respect its power and in return, I feel almost accepted.

Although I speak as if it is an entity, I know that is not the case. It is more a thing born of feeling, of trying to connect to something outside of myself and searching for the meaning in that connection. With this strange feeling that is my connection to the wild, I can see how humans might create gods to worship in their imaginings. On occasion when I can feel that strange presence oppressively so, that is when I wish I was not alone.

I do not know who I would have brought, or, who would have even wanted to come with me for one hundred days. I suppose, even with all the conditions of survival, the fact I have time to think of these things is a sign of my true privilege as a human. Even alone, stripped of all modern technology, and without the convenience of a familiar home, I am still a force. It is an empowering thing to be so utterly disadvantaged from modern society, yet still, to survive as I have done, so easily as it seems. I did worry after that first night, but those worries were a reflection of my old connections.

In the beginning, I was occupied with learning and I longed for the life I left. It is still tricky, but time has made me more whole and capable in this place. I could have chosen a cabin near a small town. Nothing fancy, no electricity or running water still, but a place where people are near that I could hike to in fair weather. I think that might have cheapened it somehow though, taken away from all that I have gained. I am glad I chose this cabin. Alone, I have found myself connected to the wilderness. Despite this, I still long for a connection to the people I left behind, the wilderness has made me cold and weary.

There is a state of mind I have heard about, one in which all things become clear. I have heard soldiers tell about it, how war and the threat of death made everything in a single moment so simple. I think I was chasing something like that by coming here. Perspective is the greatest treasure I have been given since I arrived, a reminder from the wild of how vast and large it all is and how small I am. I found myself among it and I have come to see how important the world I left behind can make someone feel. Society teaches us to center our world on ourselves, but here, I have realized just how far from the center of it all I really am.

There is a part of me that belongs here, one that could survive until the end of my days. But there is a part of me that belongs to the world I left, connected to people I care about and love. While I would not trade this experience here in the wilderness for anything, I would not trade anything from the life I left to stay here longer than I have planned. I don’t think I will be coming back here, but I will always treasure this place.

In 13 days, when I start my hike out of the northern lands, I will be leaving a bit of myself here. A piece of my own presence to join the collective wilderness. A part of the ancient power that I sensed that first day. I will also be taking something with me, a way of seeing the world that is unmarred by vanity and pettiness. When I make it back to civilization, I think I am going to call home, see how my family is doing.

I hope you remember the beauty of this place. I hope you stop to breath deeply every now and then. And, I hope you are doing well.

With Love and Reflection,

Jack Wander

January 20th 2021

I wrote this story based on some suggestions I got from my Aunt Ave. I am not sure if this is in line with what see asked for, but I enjoyed writing it.

Gerald’s Hurry

By: Nathaniel

“I have to make it,” Gerald said under his breath.

He was running now, sprinting down corridors where sprinting ought not to be allowed. Of course, there was no rule against it. No one had ever tried to sprint through the building, so there had never needed to be a rule. Still, breaking the polite norms of modern corporate etiquette, Gerald ran.

He did not take the elevator, he knew at this time it would stop at least four more times on the way down before letting him out at the bottom. There was another reason too, Gerald was well known. He had been at the company for a while, if he were to get on to the elevator, he would surely see someone he knew. He had a penchant for small talk, but today, he had no patience for it. So instead, the door to the stairwell burst open with Gerald flying through it.

Gripping the hand railings to keep from stumbling, it was less of running downstairs and more of a graceful fall. With each step, he let gravity do what it does, pulling him down until he was at the bottom of the seven flights. Another bursting door opened into a new corridor. He ran still but had to stop short.

There was a choke point, a very literal gate. Before him, one by one, a line of employees swiped their badge to engage the swinging security gates that separated the front lobby and the rest of the building. Gerald wanted to jump over them, but he also did not want to get in trouble. He wanted to ask to cut, but he also did not want to sound like a jerk. Like a loaded spring, he compressed his urgency as each person passed through the gate.

Finally, it was his turn. He reached into his pocket and pulled out nothing. Sudden dread hit him as he realized he had left his badge on his desk. He thought about asking the security guard to buzz him through. If he did that, he could figure it out in the morning when he returned to work. Maybe he could ask someone to bring his badge down, or, he could perhaps have security give him a temporary one. The sad truth was, all of that hassle the next day could be avoided if he simply turned around.

“Damn,” Gerald whispered as he turned, surrendering his place in line to the next person.

A bit dejected, he did not take the seven flights of stairs up. Instead, he found himself in front of the bank of elevators pressing the single button indicating he was trying to go up. It did not take long for one to open as some of the employees were leaving for the day. An exodus of the 9-5 corporate creature poured out as Gerald stepped aside, reluctantly, to wait as patiently as possible. Once inside, he pressed the number for his floor and hoped above all hope that the door would not open again until he was there.

“Oh, hey Gerald,” Denice said as the doors opened on his floor.

He had gotten his initial wish, but he had forgotten the risk of small talk that lay in wait on the floor where he worked.

“Hey Denice, heading out for the night?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well don’t let me keep you, have a great night,” Gerald said in step with his escape.

“You too,” Denice called after him.

He was around the corner going down a back hallway. A small sense of pride rose within him, he had handled that encounter much better than he thought he could. The word smooth came to mind as he mentally celebrated the time-saving victory and headed towards his desk.

At last, the prize of his negligence born quest. In his hurry, he had forgotten his badge to exit the building. But, more than that, he now saw that he had left his computer screen unlocked. In the industry he worked in, despite building security, this was a big no-no. The kind of thing verbal warnings are born from. He quickly shut down his computer before heading for the exit this time.

Stairs, falling, bursting door. He repeated it all, just not as urgent. By now, the flowing line of departing employees had slowed to a trickle. He was able to breeze through, badge in hand, and activate all 32 inches of the security gate, commanding that it release him. Vindicated by this new development, he only had a short walk to the parking lot.

There was no checking his phone or stopping to admire the landscaping as he often did. He did not even think to text or call anyone, much less open up an app. His will might cave to that little LCD screen addiction on most normal days, causing him to, dare I say, mosey about as he stared at it. But today, he had a purpose, he had to-

“Get going,” Gerald said quietly as his thoughts poured out of his anxious mind.

The car started, the plethora of small lights forming a brief aurora-car-ealis across the dash. Then, as expected, all of them went out, except one. But in truth, that one was not expected. Gerald sighed heavily as he looked at the glowing low fuel symbol. He did a few quick mental calculations, thought about the one time he had to walk home from school in eighth grade, and gave a vigorous nod.

“I can make it,” he said as he turned to see if any cars were behind him before backing out.

Normally, he would exit the parking garage and cut across some back roads until he was home, but today he had to get somewhere. With the might of a Global Positioning System, he made his target clear. The route was marked, the destination would be in twenty minutes, and the red light he had just stopped at turned green. All systems were a go.

On most trips, being the courteous person Gerald was, he would stick to the two outer lanes on the highway, but not this time. Channeling his inner Ricky Bobby, he positioned his four-cylinder economy class sedan at the edge of the lane just before the innermost one. He disengaged the eco mode and opted for the scandalous sport mode for quite possibly the first time ever.

“I can pay a little extra for fuel,” he reasoned. “I just have to get there on time.”

With that, Gerald took the plunge. Leaping into the fast lane, he pressed down hard on the gas. Part of him was excited, he wanted to see what this puppy could do in the sport mode. The other part was trying to recall the inner workings of traffic violations and the court process that goes with handling a speeding ticket. As he tore through the highway, like a bat out of-

“In 500 feet, use the exit on the right,” the GPS said.

Gerald broke off from setting his land speed record, applied the brakes sparingly so as not to slow anyone too much, and changed lanes. The rush was over, but the thrill of having lived it coursed through his mind.

“In two hundred feet, keep right. Use the exit on the right.”

With the grace of a mid-size sedan, Gerald slid into the outermost lane and exited the highway. A ding noise came from the dash, the low fuel indicator said he only had fifteen more miles. A quick glance at the GPS told him that he had only two more miles left to go, then he stopped. Of course, with nearly no fuel and a few precious minutes left until he was late, there would have to be a red light now.

It was only now that Gerald realized he had been driving in near silence. The radio turned down all the way. He turned it up, selected a familiar station, and accelerated with traffic as the light turned green. The thought of seeming cool with a rock song playing loudly through his windows crossed his mind.

“Your Destination is on the right,” the GPS said, dashing any ill-advised idea of blaring his music as he pulled in.

The parking lot was full, but he managed to secure a space near the building. The only problem was, he was not sure which building he needed to be in. He had to change his shirt, so he did so quickly. Then he walked around, eyeing the area for clues. With no definite direction as to where he was supposed to go, his frustration began to rise. Each minute and second that passed was a step closer to him being late. He thought of the badge, lamenting the five minutes it took to retrieve it.

“Excuse me,” Gerald said to a man in a tweed jacket. “I am looking for-

“Right over there,” the man said pointing to a pair of double doors.

“How did you know?” Gerald asked, assuming that man actually did know and was not pointing him in some arbitrary direction.

“Your shirt,” the man replied.

“Oh yeah,” Gerald said with a smile as he looked down. “Thank you!”

Like the wind, Gerald took to sprinting again. It was something that would probably be more acceptable here than it had been in the corridors of his office building. He burst through the double doors, passed a handful of people, and stepped through another set of double doors into a large space.

“Thank god you are here,” a woman said who was waiting by the door. “Her game is about to start.”

“Where is she?” Gerald asked her.

But before he could get an answer, he knew.

“DADDY,” a little girl yelled as she ran across part of the gymnasium. “You made it!”

She leaped into the air, on faith alone in her father. Gerald caught her with a great heave and spun around, planting a large kiss on her cheek as he held her.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” he said.

January 19th 2021

Today was a busy day at work, I thought about skipping my short story for today, but I am getting close to the end of the month. This story took a turn I did not expect, I always enjoy it when that happens.

Three Travelers

By: Nathaniel

The streets were windswept by the cold winter air driving most people inside the stone buildings. A handful of beggars huddled around an open fire in a side ally as they took turns eyeing the main road for passersby. In warmer months, these streets would enjoy a steady beat of traffic, but now, it was near barren.

One of the beggars had spotted a group of three small children coming up the road and approached them. He was nearly three times their average height, and he stood over them wielding every inch of that advantage as he stopped them in the road.

“What are you doing out in the cold like this,” the large beggar croaked. “Aint you got parents eyeing you?”

The children stopped in front of the beggar, huddled together in the cold under what seemed like one blanket. They did not speak.

“Alright then, I won’t say nothing of it, no shine off my shoe if you want to be running amuck in the cold.”

The large beggar turned to leave them and the glow of the fire in the ally caught one of the children’s eyes.

“Please sir, can we warm by that fire?” the child asked.

With a wide grin, the man turned back to them.

“Oh I don’t know, heat is in short supply here these days. We got an awful lot of people around it already too. Perhaps,” the large beggar eyed the three of them for a moment. “Two bits each toll to use the fire,” he finished with crossed arms.

“Very well,” the child who spoke replied.

The man smiled, his grin growing almost wider than his face at the clever sort of luck he had. Then, the child who had spoken turned the other two away and they continued walking.

“Wait a moment there,” the beggar called after them as the grin slipped from his lips. “Where are you off to? It’s just two bits.”

The children stopped again, huddling together still.

“We cannot afford it,” the child said without turning his head.

“Come now, I ain’t fit to let some poor kids freeze on my account. You must have something, anything.”

“We barely have the clothes on our back,” the oldest child said, lifting the blanket they all shared.

Beneath it, the three children were dressed in what appeared to be an odd assortment of sacks and scrap cloth. Each of them ripe with holes and stains from every color of dirt you might imagine. But what was most disturbing was the appearance of blood.

It was not all dry, most of it. It had congealed into a dark sticky crimson across their clothes and arms. It made the large beggar’s face flush to white.

“My gods, what is this, what happened to you babes?” he mumbled. “HENRY,” he called over his shoulder, “COME LOOK AT THIS.”

Another beggar, a bit more stout but just as tall, came over.

“What is it Turin?” Henry asked as he approached.

“I found these here three kids, they are each dirty and covered in blood-

Turin’s words fell silent as he looked back to see no one there. Just the ragged blanket on the ground.

“Wait a minute,” Turin said. “They were just here.”

“What did you say they looked like?” Henry asked.

After a detailed description, approximate height, weight, hair color, and of course the blood, Henry’s own face had fallen white. He went and rallied up the other beggars in their bunch and set them about to look.

“Blood?!” the youngest looking child whispered. “They think it’s blood. Do these humans have no sense of magic?”

“Why did you ask to sit by the fire Albes? You know we did not need it,” the one who appeared to be the oldest asked as she peered through a slit in a door from where they hid.

“Sorry Matigan,” Albes replied. “I was just trying to fit in. For them it is cold and I did not want to arouse suspicion.”

“Arouse suspicion? You heard Graslin, your antics have half the town’s beggars looking for three blood-covered children. We should have just kept going,” Matigan said. “Why did we decide to go through a human town? Your interest in them is far to great Albes.”

“You are the one who showed the man the sight under our blanket,” Graslin, the youngest-looking child said. “Besides, it does not matter that they think it is blood, they are all superstitious, the lot of them. I am sure they will dismiss it as some evil spirit, the way they fear things. We have a journey to complete, which is made even harder now.”

“You are right Graslin,” Albes replied. “I don’t know what I was thinking, it seemed like such a natural human thing to say in the moment.”

“What are bits anyway?” Matigan asked as she continued to watch the men through the crack in the door.

“It’s those strange flat pieces of metal that the humans have, you know, the shiny ones,” Graslin replied.

“Oh right,” Matigan said. “I know them. Why on earth would that man want those so we could stand next to that fire?”

“Maybe he collects them because they are shiny?” Graslin suggested. “You know humans, simple minds enjoy simple things.”

“No,” Albes said. “They use them for trading, it represents value to them.”

“Never mind all that, we need to get to the river soon,” Matigan said. “Before it freezes, otherwise you know what happens.”

“This was a much easier journey a few hundred years ago before those humans took root in these parts,” Graslin said.

“The area appears to be clear,” Matigan said, still looking through the crack in the door. “Lets go.”

Gently, Matigan pressed the door open and let the other two go first.

“We need to keep to the back of their buildings,” Albes whispered. “We can slip through more easily that way.”

“Let’s go the-

“HEY, YOU KIDS,” a man shouted.

Two more men appeared and they began to hurry after the supposed children. These men were not the beggars like before, they wore amour and carried small arms as city guards.

“Great, they must have told the guard,” Graslin said.

“Run,” Matigan instructed.

With a fit of grace unknown to human forms, the three children burst from where they stood, scaling the wall of the building near them. The act, though beautiful, was unnatural.

“WILDLINGS!” a guard screamed. “READY WEAPONS.”

The cries went up across the city, people began to stir and stumble into the streets at the commotion. Ignoring this, the three who appeared as children flitted across the rooftops. A hail of arrows flew at one point, each landing just short of the next step they took.

Another hail of arrows was loosed, but this time, Albes turned and took a deep breath. With all of his strength, he exhaled and sent a gust of wind that scattered the arrows, clattering them to the ground. The force of teh breath propelled Albes as he turned to find his feet and kept running, the guards could not reposition fast enough to fire again. They were nearing the river now, the guards unable to keep pace at all.

“Quickly, we must enter the river,” Matigan instructed.

They dove from the final row of roofs, rolling and somersaulting across the ground upon impact. Without stopping, they made a mad dash to the docks that lined the deep part of the river. Before anyone could even ask what was happening, they each dove into the frigid partially frozen waters.

Graslin flipped just for show. As they dove, the crimson concoction that was smeared on them began to wash away, and so did their human appearance. Three minor celestials, or as the humans call them, fairies, now emerged as they swam. They only hoped they had enough time left.

January 18th 2021

Avel’s Answers

By: Nathaniel

Avel circled around the dark being slowly, eyeing the shining dark metal shackles that held it upright in the middle of the stone chamber. Each step echoed out of sight, they were deep within the mountain. With two trusted guards, Avel had traveled down the sacred mountain passages to a place that knew very little of light. He bid them to wait just outside the final chamber and entered by himself. Here, in this pit of pits, where his ancestors had come to gain great knowledge, Avel had also come for answers.

When he first entered the space, he thought it held only carvings and statues of the past. But when the torchlight fell upon the imprisoned being, it pulled back rattling it’s chains. There, in the center of the round chamber, was a person suspended upright by chains that disappeared into the darkness above. Though fear gripped him, Avel still needed his answers, his father, the king, was sick and he did not know why. So he approached, being sure to keep some distance as he circled about the prisoner. That is when he realized, it was not human.

“What are you?” Avel asked.

“What are you?” the dark being replied, its face shrouded in shadows despite the glow of Avel’s raised torch.

Avel had expected the creatures words to be dark, the sound of fear itself. But, the words were prompt and not unpleasant. The creature seemed to have a grasp of the kingdoms common language.

“I am Avel, first prince of the Asaria.”

“You are Royal then?”

“I have told you who I am, would you do me the courtesy of telling me who you are?”

“I believe your first question was what, not who, so I will tell you what I am,” the being said. “I am that which was forged by the ancient celestials who came to this world in search of purpose. A byproduct of their conflict, made as a warrior for combat. I was stitched into existence from shadow and earth, powers given to the first Giuen by the lady herself. Even now, the sealed one who forged me into existence tries to reach me. I am a member of the elder races of this world, before humans ever existed here.”

“That is quite a title,” Avel said as stopped circling and faced the being where he assumed the face would be beneath the shadowy veil. “Do you have a name that I might know you by?”

“I am Badara, first leader of the Umbran race, former servant of the Giuen.”

“Tell me, great warrior Badara, why is it that you are imprisoned here?”

“You mistake yourself royal, I am not imprisoned, I have merely chosen exile.”

“Why is this?” Avel asked.

In all things, Avel’s father, the ailing king, knew the workings of truth and lie. It was a gift that he held, a true sight, that Avel wished he had now in this dark place. A slight fear for what forces he meddled with and what consequences they may bear rose within him. But despite this fear, Avel did not feel as if the creature was being deceitful.

“I told you, the Giuen call to me. I was made for them, a weapon. Here, my power is such that I can resist these calls. I can hold back the influence of my former masters. In doing so, my people are mostly free.”

“What would they have you do?”

“They seek many things,” Badara said. “But above all things, they seek to end their conflict.”

“Is that not a good thing,” Avel asked.

“You are your father’s son,” Badara commented.

“So, you know the king?”

Avel thought of the many healers who had come, each one attempting to ascertain the source of his father’s illness. Each one yet unable to help the king. Rumors of ancient knowledge and what it might hold had driven Avel to this point.

“I do know your father,” Badara replied. “And I know why you are here too. I can see the pain of it inside of you, it dwells within the shadows of your heart. I can also sense the influence that has found it’s way to your father, the stench of the Balal.”

“Then you must know the truth of what I am seeking,” Avel said, taking a step closer. “Will you help me?”

“I know that the Balal could not bend your father’s will to their desires. So instead, they have set a sickness against him, hoping to remove him as a resistance to their own goals. But I cannot help with that,” Badara answered.

“Why is that?”

“If I were to help, then I would play into the hands of the Giuen. They would turn me back into the weapon I once was and use me to destroy the Balal who have driven their influence into your homeland.”

“Would that not be good,” Avel Reasoned. “If this Balal you speak of is expelled, would it not benefit my people and allow my father to heal?”

“It would be good, if it were done a different way. I am afraid that if it were done by my hand, the action would have a greater consequence. In the void of power, the Giuen would spread their own influence. You would not free your people, you would only exchange one master for another. That is who the Giuen, my former masters, are in conflict with, the Balal, and they seek to end the conflict by any means.”

“Then let them end it,” Avel said as he held his torch higher.

“You are young, first prince, I do not expect you to be versed in these things,” Badara said as he pulled his head away from the light. “I am very old, and for your benefit, I have learned patience. Their conflict moves in ways that you mortal humans cannot comprehend. It slithers and snags across centuries, entire lines of kings and there kingdoms merely a series of pawns to be manipulated. Even those you trust, some you call family, have small hints of influence from either Balal or Giuen. An open conflict between my former masters and their eternal enemy would only bring ruin to your lands.”

“Why?” Avel asked. “Why do they fight in this way?”

“It is the only way left, for they are imprisoned for all of time. It is only through their influence that they can stir the hearts of mortals to their bidding. Devout followers exist, and they lay the groundworks for these ancient fallen sects of the celestials to continue their conflict. They have shaped this particular world in secret, competing for supremacy over the course of many generations.”

“This is a lot to take in,” Avel said as he lowered his eyes and his torch towards the ground in reflection. “Does this mean what we do now would be meaningless?”

“Your father, the king, asked me the same question when I had told him of this truth. I will give you the same answer I gave him, which is another question. What is the meaning you seek?”

“I seek to be a good leader, to protect my people, to provide safety and allow them to be happy. I seek to prevent war, abuses, and famine. I seek to rid our world of the powers that would invite any of that for their own benefit.”

“Then you m-

“I also seek to save my father,” Avel said, drawing his eyes up towards the shadow covered face of Badara.

Only this time, the shadows were not there. Avel gazed upon the ancient face, the large dark eyes looking back at him. After a moment of silence, Badara spoke.

“For all that you seek, there is a cost,” Badara said. “Do you see these?”

He pulled at the chains that held him, making them shake and jostle with an unpleasant clatter.

“This is my cost for freedom, the cost I paid willingly to protect my people, to spare them from conflict and death. The burden of leaders, of those who have been given the mantle of responsibility, is far greater than most would know. If you refuse it, if you act selfishly, then you doom those you claim to want to protect. If that is to happen, there is an even greater conflict, one that transcends even my old masters, that could consume this world.”

“Does this mean that my father is lost?” Avel asked, still looking into the deep dark eyes of Badara.

“It means many things, some are certain, others less so. Your father may survive this yet, but it cannot come at the cost of your people. You must not invite the Giuen in to drive out the Balal, and, you must not seek to destroy the Balal in your presence. Either action would turn you into a tyrant whose legacy is defined by bloodshed, another pawn. There are other paths, my former masters are not all powerful, but they are cunning. Your own will can carve out a new direction, but you must act quickly and have no doubts. That is where they enter, where resolve turns to doubt. Even now you are vulnerable to them.”

“What must I do then?” Avel asked.

“Seek out understanding, with it comes knowledge. With knowledge, you can find truth, the enemy of doubt,” Badara replied. “Now leave me, you have offended my quiet darkness long enough.”

“Where can I seek understanding? I need to –

“LEAVE ME,” Badara shouted, his voice shattering the civility of the conversation.

All of the shadows seemed to swirl, extinguishing Avel’s torch and rattling the chains of Badara’s exile. Avel dropped the extinguished torch and scrambled back towards the far wall and sat in silence. The darkness bore down on him, stretching out infinitely before his eyes as the world grew unfathomably silent. All desire to know more and even the desire to return home began to falter. Avel wondered if he were even still alive.

“I apologize,” Badara said after a moment, breaking the spell of silence within the dark. “If you do not leave, I will corrupt you towards the Giuen. It is in my nature to do so.”

Just then, Avel’s torch reignited with a small flame and the oppressive darkness waned.

“Go now, I cannot help you any more,” Badara instructed.

In one motion, and without a word, Avel sprung to his feet and took up the relit torch as he headed to the exit. Outside, his men had their weapons drawn, unsure of who might emerge after hearing another voice inside. Upon seeing their prince, they went quickly to his aid. After a bit of rest, they began the long trek back to the surface of the mountain pass. Avel had gained new knowledge, but he was not certain if it was the knowledge he had been seeking. He still hoped to save the king.

January 17th 2021

Mera’s Burden

By: Nathaniel

The gold etched image on the spearhead glinted crimson as it was awash with blood. The dark shaft attached to it was held firmly in Mera’s hands. As she fought, it was as if it were an extension of herself. Each strike and swing of the spear worked as an intricacy of movement and lethal force that both positioned and struck down her enemies.

It had been over half a day since the fighting began under the morning fog, it was now the evening sun. Soldiers had been rotating out to rest as new troops came up to support the line on either side. The conflict waged in a world that was weary with war, one that had forged warriors that were well equipped and experienced on both sides.

“One,” Mera counted under her breath as she used the length of her spear to slow an enemy. “Two,” she said as she directed that same enemy to one side. “Three,” she continued calmly as she drove her spear into that enemy’s chest.

She moved as water flowed, pressing through the weakness in her enemies before flowing back to recover. Instinctually aware of her immediate surroundings, she used the reach of her spear to control the space around her. It was a skill that very few knew, one her master had taught her as a child.

“You show promise Mera,” she recalled her master Lugal saying. “But you must also learn control, try counting each movement, use as little as possible against your opponent. When you can command the space around you, with minimal movement, then you will have mastered part of what I have to teach you.”

The flow of battle was natural to her, a place in which she could meditate and move. Her instinct was focused, but her thoughts wandered.

“One two,” Mera counted, the blood dripping from her spear, another life snuffed out as easy as that.

She wondered if her master would approve, was this the control he spoke of?

“MERA!” a rough voice called out from behind.

“One, two, three, four, five, six,” Mera counted under her breath.

This enemy was strong, why did Revon have to see me fight that one? Mera thought. She gave a glance over her shoulder to see him.

“FALL BACK TO THE LINE,” Revon yelled out.

It was only then, as Mera looked at the piled bodies around her, that she realized she had been pressing forward on her own. She had been so distracted by her thoughts, moving so naturally through combat, that she did not realize when she became surrounded by the enemy on all sides. It did not frighten her to realize this, it only emboldened her. Another enemy soldier came forward, frothing and screaming, rage in his eyes.

“One, two, that was easy,” Mera mumbled, her mind refocused on the fighting.

The rage in the man turned to fear as his body fell limp upon her spear. Mera could feel the toll now, the cost of fighting for hours without rest. Her muscles ached and screamed, withered with fatigue, her strikes had begun to slow.

“I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME,” Revon yelled.

Mera broke into a smile, the first expression she had shown since the fighting had begun.

“I’M NOT FINISHED,” Mera replied.

“YOU HAVE BEEN UP THERE ALL BATTLE, REST FOR A BIT.”

“BUT WHAT IF THE BATTLE ENDS WHILE I REST?”

Revon and Mera went back and forth a few more times, bickering like siblings squawking over chores. Mera counted her moves six more times during this exchange, not once going past three despite her fatigue. Revon would not relent and insisted that she fall back for now.

“FINE,” Mera said reluctantly. “One..”

Mera drove her spear forward in a fit of brief defiance, it’s tip taking with it another life, leaving only a last breath. She recoiled and moved towards the shields where Revon waited. Her spear flashed around her, it’s blade singing with each move to stay off any other enemies as she retreated for now.

“About time,” Revon said as Mera was allowed past the shield wall.

The enemy’s line reformed and the battle was restored at this point.

“You have done well though,” Revon said. “You allowed our troops a chance to swap out and you have taken a good amount of theirs down. Now go rest, I want you ready to go in two hours time.”

“Very well,” Mera said. “But don’t try to be a hero until I am back.”

“I would not dream of it Mera,” Revon replied. “I will make sure the war continues until your return.”

Mera cracked another smile at this. For what it was worth, the war was hell even for the most skilled of fighters. These moments, brief bits where they get to be human and make jokes, that was often the only bits that kept them from madness.

“AAAAHHHAHA” a great cry went out, echoed by the enemy soldiers. “A heavily armored champion broke the line and brought his club down.”

Mera turned and moved to avoid it, but it was to late. She was caught by part of the blunt tool on the side of her head. Her body went limp, but by instinct, her arm thrust forward, the spear tip loosening another soul from its mortal confinement.

“MERA!” Revon cried out as he finished the champion off, gutting him with a small blade and shoving him to the ground.

A brief moment of chaos ensued as the enemy tried to take advantage. Revon guarded Mera as she lay unconscious, like a rock against the sea, the enemy broke upon him in his rage. Mera, however, was unaware of this. She was not yet dead, but she was no longer on that battlefield.

The snap of the wooden stick against the training post echoed in the early morning air. Each thunderous strike was accompanied by a scream from the little girl. She went through her exercises one by one.

“Control Mera,” Lugal said. “You have mastered the movement, but now you must master yourself. You waste much of your energy when you scream like that. You need to focus on it, harness it for your strength. Once you can do that, you will be able to make your spear sharper, your strikes stronger.”

“Yes master,” the young girl answered.

“Come with me now.”

Mera followed Lugal next to him.

“Tell me, what are your thoughts about the day?” Lugal asked as they walked.

“I have learned a new lesson,” Mera replied. “It will help me to become a better warrior. It is a good day.”

“That may be true, but I want to know your opinion of the weather, or, perhaps a thought on the day’s beauty?”

“It is nice out?” Mera questioned.

“It is nice out, a time for working fields too,” Lugal said as he stopped at the edge of a cliff. “What do you see down there?”

Mera looked, the fields of grain and other plants filled the valley.

“I see the fields,” she replied. “There are people down there, working in them as you said.”

“Very good,” Lugal said. “Do you think those people like their work?”

“I do not know?”

“As you are meant to be a warrior, they are meant to tend and harvest the bounty of the earth. What would you say to that?”

“If it is their purpose, then yes, I think they would enjoy it,” Mera answered.

“Very good Mera,” Lugal said warmly. “Now, imagine that the king of our lands chooses to wage war. What do you think becomes of those people?”

“I…”

Mera thought for a while as silence settled in.

“It is not something a child should know, but it is something a warrior should be aware of,” Lugal said, breaking the silence. “If war falls upon our land, then their lives are forever changed. They will need to supply food still, but only the very old, infirm, or very young would be able to remain here to work. It is the strongest that will be called to fight and many of them will do so gladly for their leader and homelands. But I ask you this, do you know how to work in a field? How to nurture and grow a seed to fruit?”

“I do not,” Mera answered.

“It is the same for them to you, they do not know how to fight or how to kill. You must protect them, you must grow strong so that they can live a life of peace, that is the burden of the noble warrior.”

“How can I ensure peace? If the king were to declare war, would we not be required fight?”

“That is very wise for such a young warrior,” Lugal replied. “If you are to ever find yourself in war, then you must do all you can to fight, you must lay down your life if needed to allow those who are not warriors to go on living. This is also the unfortunate burden of the noble warrior.”

“Lay down my life?” Mera asked.

“Does the idea trouble you?”

“No, but if I lay down my life, who will be left to fight?”

“There were always be more warriors, just as there will always be conflicts. If you can live, then do so, but if you must die, then you must also do so. This is the way of war,” Lugal explained.

“I think I understand master,” Mera said.

“MERA!” Revon screamed.

The little girl heard her name as if it were being said from a great distance.

“Go to them,” Lugal said. “They need you.”

Mera nodded, then she felt the aching pulse of pain in her head all at once as she opened her eyes. It dulled after a moment of concentration and she stumbled to her feet. Retrieving the spear from the fallen man who had struck her, she saw the carnage that had befallen the soldiers on her side. Revon did well to defend her, but the rest were being overrun.

“THANK THE GODS,” Revon cried out as he smashed the skull of an enemy. “We need to retreat.”

Revon gripped Mera’s arm to lead her away, but she did not move. Her spear held firmly in her hands again. She looked around at her allies and she saw them. Craftsman, woodworkers, artisans, and farmers. They were not meant for this burden, yet they suffered.

“Come on,” Revon urged.

A small group of warriors had come to their aid, forming a circle around them.

“No,” Mera said firmly.

She stepped forward, catching the downward strike of an enemy, prevening it from killing one of her allies.

“One,” she counted with the block. “Two, three, four,” she said the final number as she killed the enemy soldier, saving her ally.

“WE HAVE TO FALL BACK,” Revon urged.

“Then do so,” Mera replied. “My place is here, this is my burden. Help the others regroup, I will do all I can.”

“You will die.”

“Then that is my fate, for this is my burden,” Mera said.

Revon saw her eyes, he knew there was no change to be found within her mind or heart.

“Right,” Revon said. “Then I claim you as my burden, I will stay.”

Mera smiled, she counted again, and took a step forward allowing the few soldiers that had come to their aid to fall back so that they could regroup with the others. Revon stayed by her side. The battle raged on.

January 16th 2021

Yalla’s Demon

By: Nathaniel

The world did not end in an instant. Nor was there a band of righteous heroes racing against time to save it as ancient fiction would have you believe. In fact, if it had ended quickly, that may have been a mercy. The truth is that the world fell to ruin over the span of generations; slowly, painfully, and without grace.

That is not to say there was no grace among the people. Some individuals, many of them leaders, fought the good fight. They worked to change the course of what was coming, but they failed to see how it had already been set in motion. It was not the product of a single event, rather, it had been the quintessence of the human experience on earth. For all of their advancements, knowledge, and experience, they could not stop what had been set in motion by their own past. It has been approximately five hundred years since the old world was broken in the final war.

My people, descendants of the survivors, live in the remnants of a world that once was. I am Yalla, a keeper of knowledge just as my master Katan was before me. I was taught the sacred written language so that I could read the ancient texts and try to reclaim the knowledge of humanity that was lost. They tell a story of a time before the earth was broken, before societies crumbled to dust. Mystical machines, great buildings that touched the sky, love for the arts, and war. This is the legacy we know, filled with many gaps, shared from one keeper to the next in an attempt to make it whole.

The new earth is an amalgamation of what remained, and it is still a broken place. A place without the experience of a distant past, or, a path to a future. But there is hope, a hope that was passed to me and others from my master Katan and others like her. Of the ancient texts that survived, I have seen a glimpse of a different time, of the magnificent and cruel minds that existed. It is for this reason, the ability to see across time, that I have chosen to write my own story.

I do not know where it will end, but I have an idea of where I should begin. My mother died in childbirth with my brother when I was not yet three. My brother passed away when he fell from a great height only a few years later. My father went hunting for food one day and was wounded, he eventually had succumbed to the wound. With no one close to me, Katan took me in and made me a keeper like herself. I share this to say that life was not safe and that I grew up well acquainted with death. As you might expect, to survive it was best to stay cautious and hidden.

I do not know why I saved the demon that day. The rain had not stopped falling, all throughout the night. I watched them, hoping they would leave so that I did not have to remain. I wanted to be anywhere but there, but Katan would not hear it.

“It is our duty to seek and earn knowledge,” Katan lectured me. “We do not know what these demons want, without that knowledge, fear will soon replace the void of understanding in most people. If that is to happen, they may seek conflict. You must go back and watch them.”

“But I have watched them all through the night, I am drenched to my bones and have learned nothing. Does it matter what their goals are?” I protested. “As long as we stay hidden-

“And if their goal were to bring us ruin, to end our legacy here, what would you say to that?”

I sighed. It was only half an hour before I was back in the rain, nearing my spot on the opposite side of the river from where the demon camp was. A loud crack rang out and I came over the ridge just in time to see the encampment being carried away by the force of a full and flooded river. I could see the heads of the demons bobbing along the surface.

I began to run, following them down the river. I could hear one yelling, squawking with strange words, then another responded. It was further downstream, too far from the others to be noticed by the great machine that came roaring with flames above the earth.

I watched the machine hover above the river’s surface. One by one, the demons were plucked from the river until only the last one further down river remained. But before they could retrieve the final demon, a great crack of thunder tore through the sky. Lightning struck the machine and it jerked upwards lifting up high and out of sight.

I do not know why I did not turn and run back to my home to tell Katan of what I had seen. I knew this was important, but I also knew that a demon was still in the river. Without thought, I was already moving forward, dodging through hanging vines and thickets of trees. I followed the edge knowing that I could not keep up with the strength of it, but I still ran.

I had covered just over two miles when I saw it. A part of the demon’s camp was washed up on the shore. The rain still fell heavily on the ground, it was not safe to be near the river, but my curiosity outweighed my caution. I squatted down near the strange material, reaching out to touch it. That is when it moved.

By instinct, I darted to the edge of the trees to hide. After a moment, I peeked out. The strange fabric from the ruined demon camp sat motionless, partway in the river’s water. Then a wave from the river came catching the bundle of fabric. With a lurch in opposition of the rivers current, the fabric appeared to resist being swept further.

It unfurled awkwardly, falling and spinning open. That is when I saw the demon emerging from the fabric’s grip before the river took the fabric downstream. It heaved forward away from the water and tossed a clear box like object towards where I was hidden. I looked down to see that it contained an old cup. When I looked back up, I noticed the demon’s eyes had found me.

The rain still fell, the winds howled, and thunder tore from the path of lightning. I watched as the demon reached out to me, it said something in that strange tongue. I did not move. Then, it’s eyes went wide.

“Help me,” the demon said in the ancient human tongue.

It’s head fell into the mud. I hesitated, trying to think of what I should do. It was then that I reacted to the flash of lightning. It had struck a tree next to me and sent splinters of wood flying. In one motion, I sprinted forward and scooped up the demon, diving out of the way just in time for the tree to fall and miss us both.

The demon and I scattered onto the mud and rocks as we fell, tumbling a bit. I recovered to my feet and approached the unconscious demon, it’s blue skin looking strangely vibrant against the mud that streaked its face. I could have left it there, perhaps I should have left it there, but I knew it would not be safe in the storm.

It was a slow trek to return to Katan with the demon in tow. She was not happy about the situation, but she was not angry with me. As the demon rested, the roar of the great machine came again.

“Quickly, return to the river. They may be looking for this one,” Katan instructed.

“What should I do if I see them?” I asked, fearing what should be done.

“This one spoke the ancient tongue, so try to speak with them.”

My heart sunk, but I nodded knowing that I had no room or time for disagreement.

When I reached the river again, the mud held many footprints, and the clear box the demon had thrown towards me was gone. With no sign of the great machine in the sky, I returned to Katan’s, no longer concerned about the rain as it still fell.

From that day on, nothing would ever be the same.

January 15th 2021

Ari’s Sedition

By Nathaniel

Eric stepped out onto the deck of the ship and stretched his arms wide, letting the sun blanch his face with its mid-day shine. He walked with the roll of the ship, feeling the waves beneath his feet. Taking stock of the day, he saw a small gathering had formed at one end of the ship near the captain’s quarters. No more than twenty stood, listening to a man speak.

“It is broken,” the man’s voice said as Eric approached. “Our sacred truth, our vow to glory, it has been broken.”

The few who gathered screamed in adoration and agreement, as their petulant thoughts swirled with rot from stagnation. They bit and stamped and chomped to the words of their leader.

“Great,” Eric mumbled to himself.

He recognized the speaker, it was the captain’s restless son. The captain was both the leader of the ship and the head of their tribe. But his son was one for drastic ideals. An entitled brat by the name of Ari who had tried to seize power more than once from his father.

“But we can fix it, we can make it whole,” Ari continued. “With not a home to call our own, we will forge one, carve out from the rest of the world a place that is our own.”

The small gathered crowd, sun-drenched and sea weary, applauded this rhetoric. Three long years ago, at the direction of Ari’s father, they had boarded their ships for more forgiving lands. Their homes awash with pestilence and hate, they hoped for more. During those three long years, they searched for their promised land, but they would not be delivered to it yet. Making port each month to trade fish for supplies, they kept to the seas. Now, beneath the beating sun and above the rolling waves, they still remained on their ships.

“We can go home, we can make for ourselves something that is better than what we left behind,” Ari said.

“Does your father know?” Eric shouted.

Ari let out an audible groan. “If it is not one of my father’s dogs,” Ari sneered at Eric. “He too will have to see the truth in my words, I have been gifted a vision from the gods!”

“The gods you say, and what was this vision?” Eric challenged.

A murmur washed across the small crowd as they were given the task to claim a thought of their own.

“I will tell you,” Ari said, not wanting to lose his momentum. “We left behind hatred and evil ways. We turned away from those who did not follow or accept us. We chose to banish them from our lives by making our lives elsewhere. What has it gotten us?” Ari asked, pausing to gauge the crowd. “NOTHING!”

The small crowd fell silent.

“NOTHING!” Ari shouted again. “We have only lost. For our patience, we have been asked to wait longer. For our tolerance, we have been asked to endure more. I say to you now, I have been gifted with a vision of the gods. Why suffer longer when we can find our promised land in the land of our forefathers?”

“What do you mean?” Eric asked as he stepped apart from the crowd. “Do you think your father, our leader, has guided us down a wrong path?”

“I think the path was not clear, but now it is,” Ari replied.

“Pray tell my son, what path is that?” A large man asked as he emerged from the cabin of the ship.

“Captain Orin,” Eric greeted. “It seems Ari has found a solution to our plight.”

“Ari, my boy, have you found a true path for us?” Orin asked.

“Truer than this hell of endless rolling waters,” Ari said quietly.

“What was that?” Orin asked, his voice like smooth thunder above the sounds of the sea.

Ari’s eyes averted his fathers as he looked to the decking of the ship. Eric made sure to have his blade ready for his captain’s command.

“Do any of you believe this?” Orin asked, stopping just short of his son. “That my son, the sheepish, has found your deliverance? Do you think my wisdom and my leadership are failing you?”

The small gathered crowd of fervent supporters was at a loss for words, gripped by a fear of the unknown consequences for supporting Ari.

“You have failed us father,” Ari said through gritted teeth.

“And what would you do?” Orin asked as he stepped toe to toe with his son, a full two heads taller.

“I would not turn away from those who persecute me, I would turn against them.”

Ari drew the small dagger from his pocket, the blade glinting in the sun. His hand tried to go forward, but Eric’s blade landed true. With a cry of pain and burst of crimson blood, Ari dropped his knife to the gourn and recoiled with his wound. The guards rushed to surround him.

“This is your savior?” Orin bellowed, a hint of rage in his voice. “The leader who you wish to deliver you from our fate? Why is this man, my incompetent son, the mouthpiece of gods? Perhaps it is delusion and fear that crowds his small mind.”

Ari held his hand limply, Eric’s blade was sunk to the grip, as blood dripped to the wood of the deck. The guards who rushed him had drawn their weapons.

“Hold your blades,” Orin ordered. “I have the sense to grant mercy still, it is my own blood he spills,” he continued. “In his youth, he does not realize the weight and consequences of such rash actions and dangerous words.”

“Mercy sir,” a man in the small crowd requested.

“Mercy captain, please, mercy to your son.”

“He tried to kill me though, you saw the blade in his hand, I am unarmed. It does not serve anyone well to have such a danger on a ship.”

“Mercy, then be it exile,” Eric shouted above them.

“Now, there is an idea,” Orin said. “He wishes to return home, then that wish I will grant him. Hear me now and know it as the way of our people. My son and any who wish to follow him will be allowed to return home. I grant mercy for his ill will and intent against me, but I can no longer bear him aboard my own ships.”

With a booming voice and gestures, the captain made a great show of his proclamation. When it was done, Ari was accompanied by armed guards to be bandaged. That evening, in a reverent affair, they were let off at a nearby port and allowed to leave. Orin bid his son farewell and handed him a sack of coin.

“Spend it carefully, for this is the toil of your people. I give it to you now, for you do not know the cruel cost of this world,” Orin said.

Bandaged, and accompanied by a handful of his supporters, Ari left the ship. He did not speak or refuse, he simply left, a look of contempt in his eyes. Before the night ended, all of the ships in Orin’s command knew of his son’s treachery. There was not a person Ari knew that would dare support him now outside of the small band of followers he had taken. Raising a weapon against the leader meant certain death, but in this case, nepotism seemed to spare Ari and shown Orin as favorable for his mercy.

“Eric,” Orin said as he watched Ari sulk away into the port city. “I have a task for you.”

“What is it, my captain?”

“Follow me,” he said as he retired to his quarters.

Once inside, and the dim lamplight lit their faces, Orin gave his orders.

“I want you to take two of your most trusted men, those who would give their lives for you. Then, I want you to make sure my arrogant son and his followers can never attempt to harm me or our people ever again.”

“You rescind your mercy?” Eric asked.

“I have given our people the show of compassion and strength that they needed, what happens now is of little consequence. However, he is foolish, I cannot risk him falling into the hands of the enemy we fled three years ago from our homeland. That enemy still seeks us even now. Whether he would be their ally or prisoner, it would pose a great risk to us all. It is for this reason, and for the attempt on my life, that Ari has made himself our enemy. It gives me no joy to give this order, but I trust you understand,” Orin said.

“I do.”

“If only I had a son like you Eric. I am sure I do not need to underscore the need for this to be discreet.”

“Consider it done my captain,” Eric said with a deep bow as a slight grin formed at the edges of his mouth. “We will return before dawn, I promise.”

January 14th 2021

Lorn’s Walk

By Nathaniel

Lorn was walking down the sidewalk making sure not to trip. The concrete was broken and uneven from years of neglect. The sun had been set for a while and the last sip of orange sky poured into darkness. On his walk, he kept a single earbud that he wore in his left ear. On his way home from work, an audiobook filled his thoughts distracting him from the grim reality that was the deteriorating neighborhood around him.

“… trapped inside. To be beautiful and broken,” the audiobook said.

Lorn paused the recording as he himself paused to look at something. His eyes were drawn to a particular house, one that had long been abandoned. In the front were large clay pots that held overgrown shrubs. There was a front porch with large sweeping columns that ran the full length of the home and wrapped around the corner. The paint was peeling with spots of fresh graffiti spread about and the driveway was cracked. All the windows on the lower level were boarded up as you might expect, with only two windows showing on the second level still intact. He held the words from the audiobook in his head, beautiful and broken.

It was a passing moment, a coincidence if anything, but he wondered what had happened to the people who once lived there. Lorn put an earbud back into the one ear and went to press play. Before he could, he leaped backward and tore the earbud out. His heart was beating fast, his eyes focused, the girl that stood there said nothing. Fear caused Lorn to become an immovable and mute object, he simply stared.

Before him, the girl cocked her head to the side somewhat childishly. He had not even noticed her approach. The more he looked at her, the more his fear gained hunger and consumed him. Her skin was unnaturally fair, almost pure white, as was her dress. But the most unnerving thing was the absolute pool of dark thick pitch black that each of her eyes held. There was no pupil nor iris, just darkness that seemed to draw in all the light and made her pale complexion and clothes all the more vibrant by contrast.

Lorn stood, still frozen as if he had fallen into the thick sticky pools of darkness in her eyes. His thoughts slowly returned to him and began to multiply, time seemed to be slowed. What is she? Where did she come from? She is so frightening, yet beautiful. That final thought was strange to him as if he himself could not determine which deep and hidden part of his psyche it had come from. The girl smiled, almost in response to it.

“What-

The strange dark-eyed girl’s smile dropped, in an instant she was only inches away from him. Holding a single finger to his lips, he fell silent.

Her eyes locked with Lorn’s and she turned her head slowly to look at the beautiful and broken house. Lorn matched her, his head turning as if compelled, the finger still pressed against his lips. He looked at it, staring for a good while, afraid to look back and see the girl standing before him again. There was something more now to the house than he had seen before.

A sense of calm leisure overtook him. As his eyes took in the home, he was reminded of things, memories. No, they could not be called memories, rather it was a faint echo of something. They trickled through his mind slowly at first, each one pinging an emotion of the heart like the note of a song. A familiar scent, a color, a pleasant sound. It was only once each note of the song had been played that the notion of knowing came.

A mother’s singing in the backyard, a father’s strong shoulders heaving with laughter. The fear in Lorn had lost its appetite and grew smaller. He was overcome not by memory, but a sense of happiness that good memories might give someone. It was pleasant and calm, a sense of good times. Then, the song within his heart changed.

The pings and sensations came more rapidly, the pleasant calm gave way to uncertainty, and then sadness. Hiding, knowing, not being able to say what it is, then dread. Lorn tried to look back towards the girl, but her hand gripped him by the chin and held his gaze towards the house, he did not resist. He simply let the song play out, but now it came with images. An old painting with angry faces, a burst of violent words, resentment, something moved in the shadows.

Lorn gasped as his vision went dark at the edge, his body trembled and then he saw the girl again. But now she was much smaller, a little girl in this moment. She was not pale and there was no darkness in her eyes, they were brown and bright. Together, they were inside the house it would seem, a time before it was broken. The little girl was sitting on the carpet, a toy sat innocently in front of her. Lorn stepped towards her, that is when he felt it, she was not alone. The girl looked at Lorn and she began to weep. Unsure of what to do, he fell to his knees and tried to comfort her.

“It’s no use,” she said as she closed her eyes and continued to cry. “It wants them.”

“Want’s what?” Lorn asked.

“Everything!” she said as she looked back up at him, her brown eyes now empty bloodied sockets.

“HOLY SHIT!” Lorn screamed as he stumbled backward.

“It’s heard you,” the girl said as she looked to the shadows. “Go now, run.”

Lorn followed the little girl’s gaze and saw. The tip of the jagged maw pierced out from the dark, one large spindly claw emerged below it, and what appeared to be a tale crested out of the shadow above. The girl looked back at Lorn, her bloody sockets now the dark pitch black that he had seen in the older version on the street.

“RUN!” she screamed with an inhuman depth to her voice that shook the house and made every fiber of Lorn quiver.

He turned and put all of his strength into his first step towards a door. The sound of hard claws on the wooden floor and a insidious cackle prevented him from looking back out of fear for what he might meet. Reaching the doorknob he burst out of the home and saw himself, standing there, staring at it. Without hesitation, as if he already knew exactly what to do, he collided with himself. Falling backward, he landed in the street and scrambled to his feet.

Turning to look at the house, certain that the creature would catch him, he prepared for the worst. But, there was nothing there. He looked towards the white dark eyed girl, but it was only now that he did not feel her finger on his lips, she was gone. He looked up at the house, uncertain about what had just happened, trying to make sense of it.

As his eyes crested the window of the upper floor, he saw it looking back at him.

“Run,” the whisper in his ear told him.

It was nearly half an hour later when he finally stopped running.

January 13th 2021

This story is based off an old idea I had. I might revisit this one and build on it further later. I hope you enjoy it!

Vera’s Virus

By Nathaniel

Vera smiled and waved as she stepped out onto the palace balcony, the cheers from the crowd in the palace square rose at her presence. There was a sweet scent in the air, but it seemed sickly to her. Her thoughts bore a tremendous burden, one she hid well behind her smiling veneer.

“Welcome,” she said. “It gladens me to see the great people of Paradesia,” she lied. “For a few days, there have been rumors of an illness among our people. One that could not be tamed nor cured.”

The crowd held a collective breath, waiting for what news their queen would give them.

“I Vera Paradesia, give you my word, we will not be beaten!”

The collective breath unleashed in a roar of cheers. Long live, and, Hail the, could be heard spotted about the crowd. Some stood on the ground, others hoverd on floating platforms that encircled the palace square. Vera smiled, assured that she held the faith of her people, all the while she crumbled on the inside, knowing full well her words meant nothing.

There was a meeting inside palace hall just the day before which had borne the truth. There, along with Vera and her advisors, the realms most accomplished doctors and scientists laid out their collective findings. They each concluded with the same, that their study was direly inconclusive.

“What do we do?” Vera asked. “What can we do?”

She was seated at a table, flanked by advisors.

“I fear we must tell the people of this news. It is only a matter of time before the direst of scenarios come to pass. By then, there will be no hiding from it,” a woman in white robes said.

“Are you mad?!” a man in a black outfit snapped. “Panic, that is all they will give you in return for the truth. While it doesn’t look good, we still know very little. As long as there is hope, we should not make our people believe it is the end.”

“Hiding the truth is reckless,” the woman in the robe said. “Would you not want to know the truth?”

“I would, anyone would,” the man in black admitted. “A person can do a lot with information, they can prepare, make wise decisions, and set their affairs straight. But we are not dealing with a person, we are dealing with people, the masses. Put the masses together with the truth, and all you will get in return from them is their collective panic, anxiety, and fears. It will fester and grow in them until there is anarchy.”

“Your words hold a truth that assumes the worst in our collective people,” the woman in the robe replied. “I pray that we have a solution, that lives are saved. But, it is our moral obligation to make them aware of the situation that they are, that we all are, in.”

“Very well,” Vera said, cutting the debate short. “I will have to think about this.”

Vera spent the rest of that day going about the palace grounds, doing her best to observe people from a distance. She asked herself, in each observation, what would that individual want? Holding both possibilities in her mind, trying to understand the consequences of each, she was still grappling with this conflict as she stood on the balcony above the palace square, speaking to her people.

“But, our victory will have a cost,” Vera continued as she addressed her gathered subjects. “I have also come to provide clarity to you today.”

Vera pulled out a datapad, on it were the notes from the briefings with the doctors and scientists from the day before.

“What can you tell us about the disease,” the woman in the robes had asked of one scientist.

“We know it was made by accident by a pharmaceutical group. They had been experimenting with viral genetic manipulations. Their original virus was designed to die out shortly after exposure to eliminate the possibility of contagion,” the scientist said.

“What happened?” the man in black asked.

“They created several variations of the virus, each one designed to illicit a different color,” the scientist said.

“Color?” Vera questioned.

“Yes, the original intention for the virus was to cosmetically alter the eye color. The design is quite genius, to be honest. However, one color seems to have been the source of the current outbreak,” the scientist explained. “There was a flaw in the viral strain meant to turn the iris gold. This flaw altered the virus and allowed it’s genetic material to mutate.”

“What does this mean?” the woman in robes asked.

“It now can survive outside of a human host. It is highly infectious and resistant to extreme temperatures and known treatments. At last check, our study was inconclusive. At our lab, we took a sample of the virus and left it in a contained environment that simulates a natural space. That was two weeks ago, the virus is still present there as of today. It has been detected within the environment’s surfaces and air particulates. It almost seems as if it managed to multiply without a host somehow.”

“Thank you for your expertise,” Vera said.

“Yes my queen,” the scientist replied as he bowed before leaving the chamber.

The subjects in the palace square and on various floating platforms jostled about, each one catering to their own expectations. An air of apprehension gripped many of them as they waited for what their queen would say next.

“The virus is real, and it is resistant to known treatments at this time,” Vera said, reading her notes. “However, research is still ongoing, we have our world’s top minds working towards a solution.”

She continued to the next page, the list of symptoms and warning signs.

A projection bloomed to life, the image of a woman stood in front of the queen and her advisors in the palace hall. She was the next expert they had seen at the meeting from the prior day.

“What can you tell us doctor?” the man in black asked.

“I am sorry I could not be there,” the doctor began. “I am quarantined along with my staff at the moment.”

“No apology necessary,” Vera said with a nod.

“Thank you, my queen,” the doctor replied with a bow before continuing. “I am afraid the symptoms are progressive.”

A hint of gold shone from the doctor’s eye in the projection.

“As you know, those infected begin to develop a change in eye color within hours. Soon after, they experience muscle fatigue, general weakness, and episodes of regional paralysis. Eventually, the paralysis becomes widespread. All of our advanced stage patients have slipped into comas and are on life support now. With the council’s permission, we have tested a variety of therapies and medications, but nothing has shown any sign of slowing or reversing any of the symptoms. In addition, they do not close their eyes after succumbing to the coma, it is quite strange.”

Still addressing the crowd, Vera thought of the gold specs she saw in the doctors eye as she read the list of warning signs and symptoms. She said each one forcing a confident smile and firm posture when all she wanted to do was shake.

“I know this may be frightening, but trust that our people will overcome,” Vera said firmly. “We have discovered much in the two weeks since the first case and we will continue to unravel this new illness in the coming days. In the meantime, I urge you all to take precautions as necessary, report anyone who exhibits symptoms, and remember, together we are strong!”

Vera waved to the crowd, blowing them kisses, they cheered, still enthusiastic as ever for their queen. Then, when she was done, she turned towards the opening of the balcony and walked out of sight. Her advisors were there to greet her, each with their own opinion on her address, but it would not matter what they thought.

When Vera awoke, she was told she had collapsed after leaving the balcony. She asked for a mirror, a still shock settled over her as she saw the gold color prominently displayed in her eyes. Over the next few days, as long as she could, she ruled her people. She issued orders and had people take down notes of instructions if she were to fall into a coma.

As things got worst, all off-world travel was banned. In the colonies, communications came less and less frequently from their home world. The brunt of the exploratory forces and military that were engaged in off-world humanitarian and peacekeeping missions found their commands less frequent too. Spread among the stars, the people of Paradesia were the bearers of the torch, the most advanced civilization to date.

Vera uttered one final command, to engage the planetary defense with a warning to any ship that might try to come. Images of people by the thousands, fallen over, their eyes still wide open showing the rich gold color began to surface. The final edict went out on all channels to each colony and military post, one last instruction. Do not return, Paradesia is lost.

January 12th 2021

I am rather pleased with this one. To be honest, I didn’t think I had a good story in me today, and while this one could use a revision, I think it is a pretty cool concept. Posted moments before midnight, I hope you enjoy it!

The Marshall Cup

By Nathaniel

The rain fell, breaking undeterred into the crumbling remnants of a society long gone. It was nearing dawn and the weather had given no sign of letting up. Nearby, a river gushed, threatening to overrun its banks and take the surrounding land into its watery current. With little time to spare, a small excavation team worked furiously beneath a patchwork system of tents and canopies as the rest prepared for them to leave. They had dug down several layers at the site, but time was running out.

They had already been warned that the river would jump its banks and had begun preparations to evacuate. Still, with a few precious moments remaining, Alma, along with a handful of her top students, continued their work in the hopes of saving certain objects from the washout of the impending deluge.

“Professor!” a young man called out as he waved one arm. “Take a look at this.”

“What is it, Marshall?” Alma asked.

“Look,” Marshall said.

There, revealed from a patch of dry dirt beneath a canopy, Marshall held a small cup in his hands. With a delicate touch, he lifted it so that Alma could get a better view. There are many things that would be desirable from the ancient city they were excavating, but this was something especially rare. The decorations and markings were pristine.

“In all my years of archeology,” Alma muttered to herself, the disbelief visible on her face. “Careful now,” she warned, the disbelief turning to concern. “We need to get this to a container as soon as possible.”

The commotion had halted the activity of the other students nearby. Each of them gazed at the discovery as it was gently carried to a specimen container. After placing it in the container, Alma began to analyze it.

“I have never seen such a well-preserved example like this,” she said. “I wonder how it managed to remain in such good condition?”

“I found it there, in that recess. Perhaps it was preserved in that pocket,” Marshall said as he gestured towards where he had been working.

“Look!” Alma exclaimed, drawing all the attention back towards the ancient cup. “There is writing on the side,” She said as she pointed out the dark script. “The people who used these cups are believed to have shared a belief system, they would receive them from their temple and the temple workers would inscribe them with their names. See the image that is painted on here? They are believed to have worshipped the woman that is depicted.”

“It’s amazing,” one of the other nearby students remarked.

“Truly a once in a lifetime find,” Alma said. “I want all of you to have a chance to study it back at the university.”

“PROFESSOR!” a man called from just outside the patchwork of canopies that covered the excavation site. “WE HAVE TO GO NOW!”

The rain had only grown stronger, pelting everything below with a stinging strength.

“Very well,” Alma said. “Gather the equipment and-

“No, leave it,” the man said. “If we don’t go now we will be swept up by-

Suddenly, the interconnected canopies began to be pulled away letting the raindrops fall on the professor and her students. Most looked up, their attention was drawn by the sudden sensation of rain overhead. But Alma looked towards the source of the commotion. Her eyes widened.

It appeared as if a layer of earth were coming for them, mud-brown waters moving swiftly. It caught the students by surprise and knocked Alma to the ground. Sweeping with them the equipment they had brought. The man who had told them to leave dove backward, avoiding the brunt of it. He lifted his wrist to where he could see his watch and pressed a button on it to send an alert.

The mud and water and fallen trees gurgled and leaped, driving all that it embraced down the river. It was, objectively, the beautiful power of nature. As if it were sweeping clean the countryside. But for those trapped within its murky current, it was pure horror.

After a few twists and scrapes, Alma had rediscovered her orientation and poked her head above the fast-moving muck and silt. Her first thoughts were of the students. Her eyes, the very same that could pick out the smallest of errors in a lengthy essay, scanned the widening river. She spotted one, then another. One, two, she counted mentally as her eyes continued sweeping the area, all the while she was being swept further downstream herself. Three, four, and…

“MARSHALL!” she cried out.

“PROFESSOR!” Marshall echoed back to her.

She turned to see him further down stream, swimming furiously.

“GET TO THE EDGE,” Alma shouted.

The other students headed her words. She glanced to see them struggling but moving towards the edge of the flooded banks. Marshall, however, seemed to swim with the current, aiming towards the river’s depths.

“MARSHALL,” Alma screamed. “SWIM THIS WAY!”

She managed to brace herself against a fallen tree as she tried to pull herself up on top of it.

“I HAVE TO GET IT,” Marshall screamed. “THE CUP!”

From the top of the fallen tree, Alma could see the specimen box that held the cup. It was blissfully bobbing its way down the river a few hundred yards in front of Marshall.

“LEAVE IT!” Alma shouted above the roar of the rushing flood.

The light of the classroom shined brightly on Alma’s students. She stood at the front of the room, a covered display case next to her. It was quiet as she lifted the drape off of the case, then a collective gasp.

“This is the Marshall Cup,” Alma began.

She looked to where he had sat in her class, now an empty chair.

“We recovered this in an ancient city that was once called Austin on planet earth,” she continued. “It is named for the person who discovered it, and…

Her eyes had gone cold, she stood atop the fallen tree, screaming for Marshall, but she could no longer see him. A burst of warm air almost knocked her over as the ship they had come on hovered above her. The man who had told them to leave came down on a line and pulled her up. Inside, the other students were soaked and tired, but they were all safe. All, except for Marshall that was.

“Is it true that ancient humans worshipped the figure painted on the cup?” A student asked, breaking the silence and pulling Alma back into the classroom.

“Yes,” she said as the warmth returned to her eyes. “At least, that is what we believe. During their final great wars, soon before their mass extinction, their collective knowledge was nearly erased.”

“You mean the internet?” Another student asked.

“Yes, that is what they called their primitive worldwide network. During the final wars, the devices they used to store the information they accessed were all but destroyed.”

“Then how do we know they worshipped this green woman?” another student said.

“We have done extensive excavations, and have found temples to her all over the planet earth. Her name, the woman depicted on this ancient cup, is believed to be the goddess Starbucks. I can assure you, this find is rare.”

“Why is it called the Marshall cup again?” Another student asked.

“We owe a great debt to the student who uncovered it and made sure it was brought back here,” Alma said. “He rather liked the Earth name Marshall, in fact, that is what he choose to be called.”

January 11th 2021

This one was inspired by a video based on Critical Role D&D characters – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRVR8Fuw3IU – I wanted to make it a longer story, but it seemed to find its own end. I may have even stretched it longer than it needed. I hope you enjoy!

Chris’s Love

By Nathaniel

“Do you love her?” Abigail asked.

“Who?” Chris whispered.

There was an uneasy tension that bore the truth in Chris’s thoughts. He tried not to think of her, of the time they spent together. He wondered if he was a fool, why did his mind go to her when he was questioned about love?

In his thoughts, he could not help but see her, hear her. The voice that had been absent for over three years played in his mind as if recorded. ‘Why do you love me?’ She had asked him once in a hotel room. ‘Do you promise to wait for me?’ She posed, as she tried to explain the hardest parts of herself. ‘You should introduce me as your girlfriend,’ she had scolded the first time they went to a wedding. ‘You are my best friend!’ She exclaimed. ‘Wow, it’s so cute, thank you for winning it!’ She had said at the arcade. ‘Where are you, Chris?’ she had asked after one too many drinks. The memories came like heavy waters from a flood. ‘I want to meet them. You are the nicest person I have ever known? Do you want to come over? I wish you were here Chris.’ A burst dam in his heart that he thought would always hold.

Frozen, a gasp for air, Chris was drowning in these memories. Each utterance meant everything to him once, now, they gripped his heart and made the world seem cheap and cruel. He had spent months trying to come to terms with this, to pack it away and make it seem like a thing of the past, not something that plagued every moment of his waking mind or penetrated deep into his dreams.

He wondered what caused Abigail to ask such a question, did she feel insecure? Was it in the way he spoke of her or how he said her name? Or, was it something different, deeper, did Abigail know the paths of his heart, could she sense the scars and what lay beneath them?

During Christmas, months after it was over, he had fun again for the first time. He laughed and played games with family and friends, that was when he had met Abigail. It came as a shock the next day when he realized that he had not thought of the one he had lost at all the day before, not once. Days got easier, sorrow faded, and the hope for something new blossomed. His life began to move forward again. But why now would Abigail, of all people, ask this? Why would she tug at an answer that had been healed over with time and thought? He was with her now, not… her.

“I don’t think you have to ask who,” Abigail said sweetly.

Less than a minute had passed, but to Chris, it felt like one eternity after the next with each second that went by. He wondered why humans were made to feel such difficult things, why they could not just be happy and simple. Always longing, wanting something that, in truth, never was, but could have been. Why was it so hard to be honest, Chris wondered. He knew the truth, but he did not want to admit it to Abigail, he did not want to admit it to himself.

“That was a long time ago, I am with you now sweety,” Chris said. “And I love you.”

His words were true, but he still did not answer the first question. Still drowning, held down by the conflict of the heart, he felt Abigail pull him up with an embrace.

“Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” She said as she squeezed him tightly in a hug. “We haven’t gotten to do that in a while.”

It was a simple proposition. Dinner with the person you are dating. But for Chris, it was as if Abigail plucked from his drowning thoughts to dry him in the here and now.

“Yeah, I would like that,” Chris said.

“I will go get ready.”

With a sweet kiss on the lips, Abigail jumped to her feet. Chris remained, lingering in the pain he had just dredged up, but making an effort to stay firmly planted in the present. There was something that someone told Chris once, a deeply powerful yet simple observation. Time heals all things, but, time takes time. He held this truth in his mind and allowed himself to feel the sorrow of his past.

“I’m ready,” Abigail said cheerfully. “Where do you want to go?”

“I have a place in mind,” Chris replied.

“Great, I can’t wait,” Abigail said as she took his hand.

Like a child, she tugged at Chris. His sorrow that he had allowed was quickly overcome by joy and laughter. Chris is one who loved with all his heart, when love ends, it is hard to rebuild a heart from scratch. But Abigail, she is a builder.

They had Chinese food, her favorite.

(There is a darker alternate ending, but I like this one for now.)

January 10th 2021

To be honest, I really had nothing in mind when I sat down to write today, but this just flowed out. I hope you enjoy it!

Nash’s Story

By Nathaniel

Nash took a bite of his fried chicken, the grease from it was making a spot in the fast-food bag that it had come from. Reaching over, he picked up the styrofoam cup that held his drink from the car’s front cupholder and took a sip. The world was in a state of turmoil and unrest, society teetered on the edge of a cliff. Nash took a french-fry from his fast food bag, dipped it in the ketchup he had squirted onto a napkin in his lap, and happily tossed it in his mouth. Despite the world’s problems, Nash had found joy at the moment.

He was well aware of the nutritional value of the fried food he was eating, but it tasted good all the same. He saw the derelict streets and buildings of his poverty-stricken city through the front window of his car, but it was the sun’s beauty that he thought of. How the light cast colors across the sky and highlighted the crumbling concrete with a beautiful aura. He knew, being homeless, that he would have to find a safe place to park and sleep in his car. But even this knowledge did not dampen his spirits, he hoped to find a spot near a public wifi signal.

Nash had not always been homeless, but things had taken a turn. He kept his thoughts in the moment nowadays, a tool for survival. However, a deeper part of his mind, that he was unaware of, constantly reviewed the events that brought him to his current state in life. It was a sign of the times more than anything else, a symptom of greater problems. He was not alone in this type of struggle, but he was alone in his own struggles. He had found joy in the isolation, and as the responsibilities that modern society places on a person’s shoulders began to dwindle, he found this joy more often.

Take this evening, for example, he had a mere forty dollars to his name. Twenty went to gas so that he could move around in his car, one of the few remaining symbols of modern society that he owned. Then $11.46 went to a large meal with an extra side at a fast food place he once enjoyed regularly. The rest was securely in his pocket. He knew he would need to find more money, but that was a quest for the day he needed it. For now, he would eat his meal, enjoy the colors of the sunset, then find a somewhat safe and secluded place to park so that he could sleep.

“I should read a book,” Nash thought aloud in between bites of his meal.

Before this, his life revolved around work. Each week was dedicated to a temple of capitalism to which he exchanged his time for the holy reward of money. Not thanks, appreciation, or happiness. Money was his only reward for the time, and to be honest, it was far less than he deserved. Then, when times got difficult, despite all the time he had willingly given to his employer, despite sacrificing the many other parts of his life to maintain a steady flow of money to spend, he was simply let go.

“I think I will do that,” Nashed commented on his own thought.

He picked up the cell phone next to him and pulled up the notepad, wiping the grease from his fingers before typing. There was an extensive list of things he had thought to do. At the top, the first one he had put was to survive. He had not always had such a well-adjusted disposition. It was only after he hit rock bottom that he was able to re-adjust the framework with which he interpreted the world. In his former life, the thought of his circumstances would be anxiety-inducing.

Enlightened, as he was, he found what appeared to be a safe place to sleep. After an hour of watching videos on his cell phone, he set it aside and did his best to lay down in the back seat, as constrictive as it was. An hour passed as his thoughts tumbled through his mind, an imagination no longer shackled by work, but focused on the moment.

“Nash Newsome?” a voice said.

At first, he thought it was only a thought, then he was startled by three raps on the side window above his head.

“Are you Nash Newsome?” the voice asked again.

“Who’s asking?” Nash replied as he scrambled to sit up.

He knew better than to open the car door for any random person who knocked, but no one had ever known his name before.

“I am,” a woman said.

Her features were long and slender, her skin dark and smooth with bits of a golden shine accenting her form.

“Are you not Mr. Newsome?” the woman asked.

“I am, but-

“Great,” the woman said.

She turned and began to walk away. Nash had not even opened the door, he felt safe in his car, but curiosity was tugging at his mind. He watched as the strange woman continued to walk without looking back, his hand resting on the car door handle, uncertain of whether or not he should open it. Then, the woman stopped walking, she took something out of her pocket and pointed it in front of her.

Nash held his breath, the door handle was half-open, uncertainty filled him in that instant between keeping the car door shut or getting out. What was the best choice at the moment? Nash wondered. Then, the lights of the city streets and surrounding buildings began to flicker. The woman stood, unphased and unwavering.

With a rush of motion, all of the light stretched forward into great long lines. The streets and buildings fell away as the light converged to a single point in front of the woman. A cone of darkness reached out and engulfed Nash’s whole vehicle. When it fell away, Nash was still in the moment of uncertainty, the car door handle half pulled with one hand. The woman turned to face him.

She smiled at him and spoke, “You can come out now.”

Compelled by curiosity, Nash’s hand had opened the car door. He was standing outside of it before he realized. The space they were in seemed like a warehouse of sorts, but it was unlike anything Nash had seen before. The floor was there, but the walls seemed to be out of sight, beyond the edge of some darkness. The roof, it would seem, was also missing as glints of light spotted the view above. Without saying it out loud, Nash noted that the air was comfortable.

“What… where…” Nash tried to formulate a question.

“You have been collected, congratulations,” the woman said. “Your scan will complete shortly and then we can move on.”

“Collected?”

“Yes, on behalf of the curator, welcome to the museum. You do not need to fear, you will be well cared for and given all that you desire,” the woman said.

“Why?” was the only question Nash could muster next.

“You represent the culmination of a special point in the history of your planet. Your understanding of events and experiences have contributed to a unique and desirable perspective. The curator has chosen you specifically to represent such things within the museum,” the woman explained.

“Who are you?” Nash asked. “You seem to know a lot about me.”

“I am a servant of the curator, the one who has gathered this collection of moments and perspectives,” the woman said. “You can call me Gaea.”

“Where are we exactly?” Nash asked, lining up the pertinent questions in his mind.

“We are in the museum, you are currently being scanned as your projection is made. Once it is done, I can show you more.”

“Are we in the city still?”

“You are, but this version of you is here,” Gaea replied. “That is to say, the original version of you is still there in your real car. This version, who you are here, is a projection. To put it in terms you may better understand, you are a scanned copy of yourself, not the original. You, who remains on earth, will wake up in your vehicle tomorrow having only had a strange dream.”

“So, I am not myself?” Nash asked.

“You are yourself, and you can watch your original self too if you desire. We can see much from here in the museum.”

“Am I not real then, is this just…”

“Do not bother yourself with trying to understand, just know that you were created as part of the collection. We take care of the collection in the museum, so you will have a pleasant life here.”

“Can I go back?” Nash asked, the fabric of reality twisting in his thoughts.

“You were never there to begin with, only the original exists on earth,” Gaea replied. “Trust me, there is much you can learn here. Much of the universe that you can enjoy and explore.”

“If I refuse, then what?”

“You have that choice. The curator did choose you, but if you would prefer, you can be deleted.”

“Deleted?” Nash gasped. “Killed?”

“No, the original you will still be very much alive in your car. As I said, you are a projection of your consciousness, copied so that you could be here,” Gaea replied.

“This is all so confusing,” Nash said.

“The scan is almost complete,” Gaea said. “Take some time to think it over. If you still wish to be deleted, I will bring you to the curator myself.”

“Who is-

“Scan complete, time to go,” Gaea said. “You will understand more soon.”

She held out her hand and Nash took it almost instinctively. A rush of energy and vision filled his thoughts as he lifted up with her to something greater. He could see the truth of many things, in an instant, it all made sense to him. Then, he woke up.

In the back seat of his car, almost banging his head against the door, Nash woke with a start. The remnants of a very powerful dream began to fade in his mind. He tried to hold on to the feeling, the understanding, but his waking mind could not seem to grasp it. Reaching for his phone, he sat up in the back seat and began to write down as much as he could think of in the notepad. It was the beginnings of a story he would tell, one that would forever change his life.

January 9th 2021

Joham’s Job

By Nathaniel

“I hear you have to be careful, there are pirates in these parts,” a young man said to the woman next to him at the bar.

The air was filled with a film of smoke, the kind you do not quite notice when your standing in it, but that can be smelled on you long after you have left. Stale mugs of ale clanked and splattered gingerly as the handful of day drinkers tried to muscle through another day. One thick spiral of smoke came from a heavy pipe that was held in the corner of the barkeep’s mouth. His name was Joham and he was a burly man with a scar across his right cheek. He could often be found leaning back in a chair behind the bar with his eyes shut until he was called to serve another round.

At the word pirates, Joham perked up and eyed the young man who had said it. He heaved forward and packed his pipe again, keeping a keen ear to the conversation at the bar. After a moment he stood up and approached where they sat.

“Pirates?” Joham said as he leaned against the bar. “You would be hard-pressed to find a real pirate around these parts, no need to scare the girl.”

“That’s not what I heard,” the young man said. “I heard they hide in plain sight, then, they rob and steal from private companies that make port here.”

“Just a bunch of fairytales boy, trust me. They have called me a pirate more times than I care to count, but there is no truth to it. They make up these stories to make people think there are some degenerates around these parts. It gives them an excuse to strong-arm us from time to time.”

“Gives who an excuse?” the girl next to the young man asked.

“The authorities, of course,” Joham replied. “Port authority, military authority, police authority, city authority. They all take turns really.”

“So then, there are no pirates?” the young man asked as he deflated a bit.

“Sorry son. Truth is, that’s just what they call us now that they ain’t got no use for us. We are veterans mostly around here, former soldiers from the last war. Sure, we cause a problem or two, but who doesn’t? They needed us during the war, broke every rule in the book to make us what we are, but then the war ended.”

“To make you?” the girl asked as she leaned forward on the bar.

“Yeah, the military, they forged our hearts and souls to war in ways you would not believe. Now they tuck us away in this piss water corner of the port where they think they need to keep an eye on us. They never have any real evidence against us though, just rumors. Most of us are honest entrepreneurs of one sort or another these days.”

“They told me that is what the pirates call themselves,” the young man interjected. “Entrepreneurs.”

“Who are they?” Joham asked.

The man’s eyes flashed to the girl and then back to Joham, “The police, the warned us from walking around these parts.”

“Oh,” Joham chuckled. “They are just scared of what they think the military made us into. They label us and ask for funding to keep near a garrison of officers on each block. Trust me, these are times of peace. We just want to live and do right by those we care about. After the war, most of us settled here. I suppose there is a drop of truth in their fears, some of my old comrades didn’t take so kindly to peace times. But they are long gone now.”

“What did the military make you into?” the young man asked.

“A lot of things, all of them meant for deceiving and killing our enemy. It was voluntary of course, I used the money they gave me to buy this here bar myself,” Joham said as he stood up straight and gestured widely to the building around them.

“What was the war like?” the woman asked.

“It was a rather bad thing,” Joham said as he leaned back on to the bar. “But there was a glory to what we did. I fought on the front lines you know. Each mission was more dangerous than the next, artillery and explosives all around. It was the kind of thing that drives a mind mad after some time. We lost a few friends along the way, but a good chunk of us made it out alright.”

“Now you all live here?” the woman before taking a sip of the drink she had sitting in front of her.

“Not all of us, some of us went home to other places. Of course, we are required to register with the state department so they can keep tabs on us. I am not sure they gave much forethought to what they would do with us after the war.”

“What do you mean, couldn’t you just go home?” the young man asked.

“You would think that. In a perfect world, we would have. But I suppose in a world that is perfect there would have been no need for wars in the first place. Besides, they offered us pretty nice homes here at the port near the base.”

“They just gave you a house? that seems like a pretty good deal,” the woman said.

“Yeah, and I had money saved to buy this place. All in all, it wasn’t bad. I get to talk with a few new people every day, serve some drinks, and then enjoy the sounds of the ocean near by. It is a peaceful way to live, better than the alternatives.”

“Alternatives?” the young man asked.

“Like I said, all of the people I served with had to register with the state department. Each was offered a home here, but some wanted to go back to where they were from. They could, as long as they checked in. Those who chose neither option were often locked up, deemed to unruly or dangerous for the public.”

“Why are they dangerous?” the woman asked as she sat straight up and eyed the bartender.

“I told you we were made to deceive and kill, that was the truth. Many of us were altered, turned into highly effective weapons. Body augmentations, implants, biological enhancements, aggression conditioning, and more. Most of it has been reversed, nothing special about us these days. But there were a handful that caused a bit of trouble before their enhancements were taken away. They are locked up now, kept away from the society they once fought to protect. It is rather poetic in a tragic kind of way,” Joham said. “Anyways, how about another drink, on the house.”

“What about the Brush Blades?” the young man asked, ignoring the offer. “I have heard terrible stories about them, are they false rumors too?”

“Well, that is something entirely different. They are the kind that caused the trouble, the rumors there hold a grain of truth. I don’t think there are many of them, but I hear they live in secret. Their goal is art, as they would say, their medium is death.”

“What does that mean?” the young man asked.

“It means exactly what it sounds like,” Joham replied. “Some say they went mad, but I think they were mad to begin with. Take the name for example. Each life they snuff out is a tribute to their art. Hence, the brush blade, as if the blade where to them what a paint brush is to a painter. It is kind of a dumb name if you ask me. As much as they are fanatic about their art, they really aren’t creative elsewhere.”

“Have you ever killed?” the woman asked.

There was a pause, the handful of others in the bar seemed to go quiet at the question. The young man took notice of this and tried to alert his companion.

“Maybe thats-

“There is something to be said about a man who kills for what he believes is right and a man who kills because he likes it,” Joham began, cutting the boys words off. “Neither are ideal, but the man who likes it is certain to kill again. There is honest work in killing, but it is a dark and dreadful thing. Nothing I care to be involved with after what I have been through.”

The silence hung still in the air after Joham’s last words. The young man looked about nervously. The woman with him took notice too and each of them began to eye the exit.

“Who needs another round?” Joham bellowed.

The other patrons of the bar each hollered their response and Joham set about filling mugs with various beers and liquid as the talking resumed. The young man and woman still sat, slightly relieved that the noise had returned.

“You two would be best suited to be careful, assignments like this for two new officers can be dangerous,” Joham said over his shoulder with knowing wink as he filled his last mug.

The young mans complexion drained to a stark white and the woman stood. She tugged at the mans arm. Joham turned to face them, a fist full of mugs in each hand.

“Stay for one more drink, if you leave now they might get suspicious,” he warned in a whispered tone.

With the grace of a young dancer half his age, Joham twirled about the bar slamming drinks down on every table. He nodded and smiled to each person he brought a drink to. When he was done, he returned to his spot behind the bar and leaned up against it.

“Don’t worry, you both did great,” Joham said. “They send someone in here atleast once a month to try and find out what I know. I was enjoying talking with you. If I knew anything that could be of use, you certainly would have gotten it out of me.”

Joham placed a mug infront of each of them.

“I am sorry for the intrusion,” the woman said.

“What do you mean officer, you are both valued customers. That there is a glass of my most expensive wine. You each have such a sophisticated taste it would seem,” Johan said with a grin.

“Very well,” the yong man said.

They each took their mugs, drank them down quickly, and paid before heading for the door.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Johan called after them. “I would steer clear of any of brush blade rumors, often times there is a hook of truth on the end. Best to avoid seeing or being in any of their so called art galleries too.”

The two young undercover officers darted out of the bar and into the afternoon street. Inside, Johan heaved a slight chuckle in his belly and sat back in his chair. But before he could lean back and close his eyes, someone else approached.

“What was that all about?” an older woman asked as she stepped up to the bar.

“Just getting to know the newest police recruits,” Joham said.

“They seemed like they saw a ghost when they ran out of here.”

“Well, you know how I like to tell stories, sometimes it is not for the faint of heart,” Joham said as he stood back up. “To what do I owe the honor of a visit from the Chief of Police?”

“I’ll have one of those expensive wines I hear you gave to my officers,” the woman said.

“Oh you don’t want that, it’s just water. They pay well for it though.”

“I know, perhaps I can pay a bit better,” the Police Chief said. “Of course, I require that it be made in a very specific way.”

“Well then, perhaps you can share with me how it is supposed to be made. Shall we step into my office?” Joham said with a slight bow.

Half an hour passed by the time the woman left. Joham stormed out of his office with a scowl. Loading up another round of drinks, he set about slamming them on each table, but without the twirl and grace of the young dancer he had shown earlier.

“Something the matter captain?” one of the men in the bar asked.

“We got a job, but you’re not going to like it,” Joham replied. “Gather everyone up and ready the ship, its a pirates touch they need for this one.”

January 8th 2021

Warning: There is profanity in this story.

Daisy’s Wakeup

By Nathaniel

The ship sputtered as the light dropped to a flashing red and a hunk of metal flew through space past the porthole. Shaken from her sleep, Daisy was in a bit of a daze before she realized the impact alarms were blaring.

“What the fuck is going on?” Daisy called out from her bunk as she wiped the fresh sleep from her eyes.

She stood, braced herself for the inevitable shudder of another impact, then proceeded to exit her room and head straight for the bridge.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Tom greeted from the flight controls as the door opened.

“Yeah, usually my wake up alarm is set to music, but I guess I accidentally set it to destroy the fucking ship instead.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Tom said as he turned back to his controls.

“Where is everyone else?” Daisy asked as she noticed the empty seats.

“For safety reasons I had them evacuate the ship, they are safe aboard the escape pods.”

“Oh, for safety reasons you thought it would be best to evacuate everyone, EXCEPT ME!”

“Well, you were sleeping honey, remember the last time we woke you up?” Tom asked.

Daisy did remember, the bloodstains never did wash out from the floor.

“Fine,” Daisy huffed as she took a seat and started reviewing the ship’s diagnostic readout.

“Besides, I was really hoping to have this under control by the time you woke up. You would have been none the wiser,” Tom said as he narrowly avoided a large asteroid just in front of them.

“What happened?” Daisy asked, a sense of dread washing over her as she saw the ship’s data on the screen. “It’s as if the ship’s Telemetry has malfunctioned, all the sensors are off. We are basically flying blind in space.”

“I know,” Tom said.

“How could that be?”

“I turned them off,” Tom answered. “One of the guys might have bet me that I could not navigate the asteroid belt without the telemetry program, and-

“AND YOU TRIED IT?!”

“Trying is the proper term sweetie, still trying in fact. I would have made it through clean, but then…” Tom’s words trailed as he leaned into the controls to avoid another obstacle.

“Then what?”

“Then I hit an asteroid,” he admitted.

“Well no shit, I cannot fucking believe this. I go to sleep for one hour and we are all about to die in space. Do you want me to be cranky all the time? Because if I cannot sleep without us all dying I am going to be mother-fucking cranky.”

“Maybe death isn’t such a bad option after all,” Tom mumbled.

“I heard that asshole,” Daisy snapped. “Why isn’t the telemetry system back online?”

“Well my sweet, there is a very good reason for that,” Tom said as the ship struck a small asteroid.

“What reason would that be honey?” Daisy asked sweetly through clenched teeth.

“You see, I am still trying, you know. I still haven’t won the bet,” Tom replied.

“What was that?”

“I said, I still haven’t-

“No, I heard you, I was talking to myself. The devil on my shoulder wants to burn you alive and the angel on the other hand said to just throw you out into the vacuum of space.”

“That doesn’t seem very angel-like, the devil I understand,” Tom remarked.

“I am thinking, WHY NOT BOTH!?” Daisy screamed as her fingers raced across the datapad at her seat.

The ship’s alarms went quiet and the red flashing subsided to a standard white light. The bumps and jostles fell away as the ship leveled off and began to expertly avoid the various asteroids and obstacles. Tom turned around to look at Daisy.

“Damn, I lost the bet,” he sighed.

“You are about to lose a whole lot more than that,” Daisy threatened as she jumped up from her seat and raced towards him.

“You always have a way with words, somehow when you speak it makes me want to get away too.”

“You’re a real funny guy,” Daisy said. “Just wait until I-

Tom launched to his feet and stood facing Daisy, a mere foot between them.

“Do you mean that, do you really think I’m funny?” he asked dramatically.

The anger in Daisy subsided from rage to a steadily bubbling irritation. She tried not to smile knowing they had just survived near death.

“Yeah, you’re funny alright. But we are laughing at you, not with you my love.”

“A laugh is a laugh, I’ll take it,” Tom said triumphantly.

A moment passed between them before Tom spoke again.

“Do you think that you can forgive me for this one? Just once?”

“If I had a credit for each time you asked for forgiveness, I would have bought a planet by now,” Daisy teased.

“If I had a credit for each time you forgave me, then I would need one more credit to buy a planet. There was the time at your mother’s house when I broke that old pot. I know you said you were past it, but I get the feeling you weren’t.”

“It was not an old pot, it was a 20th-century vase from America, where my family comes from. That country doesn’t even exist anymore, and you just broke it.”

“See, I knew you hadn’t forgiven me for that, but I forgive you for lying to me about it,” Tom said. “Besides, I like it when you’re mad at me, it’s sexy.”

“You are an idiot,” Daisy said, emphasizing each word before falling into his arms.

They embraced for a moment, rocking gently as they did.

“This is nice,” Tom said.

“Yes, it is,” Daisy replied. “Now,” she sighed, “where is my crew?”

“Oh look, there they are,” Tom answered as he pointed through the front windows of the bridge. “They’re wavi- oh…”

Without much fuel or proper thrusters to guide them, the escape pods were an image of carnage. Scattered across the asteroid belt like a wooden ship on rocky shores. Daisy looked just in time to see the final escape pod smash into an asteroid.

“That is our third crew this rotation,” Daisy said as she fought the anger down.

“That’s not my fault, that’s on them,” Tom said.

“Maybe I’m the idiot,” Daisy remarked.

“You did marry me,” Tom said.

“Make all the jokes you want, the credits to fix the ship and hire a new crew are coming out of your half of the haul.”

“Why?!” Tom whined. “Aren’t we supposed to support each other? You know, what’s mine is yours.”

Daisy’s eyes turned sharply on Tom. Her stare held the rage of a thousand forgiven mistakes. The stare penetrated into Tom and took from him his courage but spared his wit.

“You know what, I have decided you are right honey, I should take responsibility for my actions. I am sorry our whole crew just died in a gruesome and fiery crash. I suppose it is partially my fault.”

“Maybe death isn’t a bad option for you,” Daisy said as her lips bent into a devious smile.

“Don’t be like that. Think of the silver lining here, I don’t have to pay up on that bet I lost. I like to think everything happens for a reason. Maybe I will even buy you something once we get to earth,” Tom said as he watched Daisy’s eyes soften again.

“That would be nice,” Daisy said sweetly. “Like what?”

“How about one of those old dirty pots you like so much.”

“It was a VASE!”

January 7th 2021 – Posted Just before Midnight

Julia’s Past

By Nathaniel

“Hello friend,” Ferdinand yelled from the road. “Might I have a word?”

He hefted the heavy burlap backpack off his shoulder and stretched with his hand pushing into his lower back to loosen the muscles. Leaning back as he stretched, the shadow from underneath the brim of his wide hat was lifted from his eyes and for a moment the sun soaked his face.

“What can I do you for?” the farmer asked as he approached.

“Well sir, I hate to ask,” Ferdinand said earnestly. “But I have had a bit of fortune while traveling. I am a day ahead of where I need to be. Since it is such a nice day out, I thought I might stop early and enjoy some of it before it’s gone. Would you be so kind as to allow me to pitch my tent on a small patch of your land? I don’t take up much room and I’ll be packed and gone shortly after daylight.”

“Oh, well, I think we can do better than that. No need to unfurl the tent canvas, we have a spare bed you can borrow for the night back at the house.”

“Sir, you are too kind,” Ferdinand said warmly. “I do not want to be a bother.”

“No bother, ain’t no one else using the bed. Besides, the misses and I enjoy having a guest every now and then, it’s pretty rare this far out,” the farmer said as he extended his hand. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know my hand was so dirty,” he explained as he pulled it back and wiped it furiously on his shirt to clear the dirt away.

“Dirt never turned me away from a good handshake,” Ferdinand said warmly as he held out his own hand. “It’s a sign of honest and hard work.”

“Well I suppose it is, the name is Fred Bingsly.”

“Ferdinand Traveler.”

The two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

“Follow me, just a way up the road here,” Fred said.

“Well wait a minute Fred, what kind of man would I be if I took you away from your work in this field right now. I don’t feel much for traveling the rest of the day, but, I wouldn’t mind putting my hands in the earth. Let me earn that bed tonight. You would be doing me a favor helping me to feel useful.”

“That is a kind offer, and I’m not one to refuse help. But, it is work, are you sure you’re up to it? I have half a field of planting left to do.”

“Sure as the sun shines,” Ferdinand said.

The afternoon was filled with planting, Ferdinand was given a short lesson on what to do and then set off on his own. Between the two men, what should have taken until sundown, was finished with a few hours of light left to spare. Grateful for the help, Fred brought his new friend back to his home where he had his wife, Jolla, draw them each a bath. Both of the men washed, dressed, and were now seated around the table for dinner.

“I tell you what friend, had you not come along I might still be out there, as stubborn as I can be,” Fred said.

“You got that right,” Jolla said as she moved about the kitchen. “Thank you for getting my husband home at a reasonable hour.”

“Well, I do like making sure people get home to their loved ones. Nothing worse than living when the love of your life is not coming back,” Ferdinand said.

Jolla smiled and set about placing dishes on the table with steaming food before taking her own seat.

“That is a bit extreme, don’t you think?” Fred asked.

“What is?” Ferdinand asked. “Wanting to make sure people get home to their loved ones?”

“No, not that,” Fred remarked. “The whole, not coming back. Sure, I might have wanted to plant that whole field, but, I would have been back eventually.”

“Forgive me, I have a habit of speaking in dire terms. I suppose it is a side effect of fighting in the war.”

Fred’s eyes sharpened, “you fought in the war?” he asked as he sat up straight.

“Yeah, we lost though,” Ferdinand paused. “Lost lots of good people.”

“I see, so you fought for the Kibala?”

Jolla watched nervously, uncertain of what would happen. Her eyes shifted to the side of each man, not wanting to look at either directly. Her hands busied themselves as she needlessly adjusted the various plates and dishes of food.

“I don’t care much to say, it was a long time ago, a misguided cause at best. I apologize if this information makes you uneasy.”

“Not at all,” Fred said. “I think you are a good person, no matter your past. You helped me plant my field in record time so that I could come home to my wife, how could you be bad?”

“I appreciate that Fred, I really do. Sometimes, when I think about the past, I just fall into this pit of twisted self-hate. As if the whole damn thing were my fault.”

“I am sorry to hear that you carry that burden, I know a lot of good folks like you who were touched in the worst ways by the war. Even out here so far from the capital,” Fred said, his posture more relaxed.

Jolla had stilled her hands, but she had kept her silence and her downward stare.

“If I ask a question, would you promise to not be offended?” Ferdinand asked.

“Well,” Fred let out a laugh, “I will try, but no promises.”

“Fair enough then. I want to ask, what was your opinion of the war? Some called it a Civil War and others called it an insurrection by terrorists.”

“My opinion is that it was a damned shame. We are all the same people from the same land killing each other because of the sparring words and lies of the high and mighty council. I know each side justifies it, and ultimately I am glad the killing stopped, but I can’t see through to anyone being right or wrong for what they did. Everyone had their reasons, but they were all led astray.”

“That is a big opinion for a farmer, thank you for sharing Fred,” Ferdinand said. “What about you Julia, what is your opinion on the war?”

“Well,” Jolla said as she fidgeted slightly. “I don’t carry opinions on such things. I don’t think that is anything I should worry about.”

“That is no way to think,” Fred said as he recoiled. “Come now, you have a lovely farmhouse, a strong man, and good fertile fields. War, if it touches this part of the realm, could take all of that away. It would be a shame for poor Fred to be left alone, wouldn’t it. Believe me, I’ve seen it.”

“Forgive her,” Fred said. “She does not know the cruelties of this world, she is naïve to the workings of the things you have seen.”

“I think you should give her more credit Fred, she might surprise you,” Ferdinand said, his words straight and deliberate.

The conversation had carried on so long that the food had begun to cool on the table. Not one person plating any of it for themselves. Ferdinand looked long and hard at Fred, then to Jolla, then back to Fred. An icy and uninvited tension began to crystallize in the brevity of silence that ensued.

“We should eat,” Jolla said, shattering a bit of the tension.

She reached for a large spoon in a dish filled with a mashed vegetable.

“Did you think you could just leave it all?” Ferdinand asked, his pleasant demeanor and tone now missing.

Like jagged pieces of broken glass, the words ripped through the air. They were coated in a viscous blood-like ichor as if the words had bounced around in Ferdinand for quite some time tearing up his insides. For Ferdinand, they carried relief, as if he spat the venom from a wound.

Jolla froze.

“What are you on about?” Fred asked, his words cautious and uneasy.

“It must be nice to have a little life in a little farmhouse. All of those bodies you walked over, they will never have this, they will never see the people they loved ever again. Of course, I am sure you have no remorse for them, they were the enemy after all. Even she was your enemy in the end,” a spike of white-hot rage accented Ferdinands words.

“Are you touched in the head son, is this some kind of symptom of your wartime? I don’t appreciate your tone at my table.”

“I apologize, Fred,” Ferdinand said in a calmer tone.

Like a snake’s cool underbelly wrapping around the room, Ferdinand prepared to strike.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” he said, still looking towards Fred.

“No, I can’t say that I d-

“Not you,” Ferdinand snapped. “I am speaking to Julia, ISN’T THAT RIGHT, Jolla?!” Ferdinand yelled as he jumped to his feet knocking the dishes from the table and sending them clattering, food and all, to the ground.

He fixed his eyes squarely on Jolla. She did the same, locking her eyes to his as he spoke.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Fred yelled as he rose to his feet.

“I found them,” Ferdinand said, ignoring Fred. “Every single one of them, not just some of them, all of them. The ones you lead to that battle. It took me years, but I recognized them. I have dreamt of their faces, plague in nightmares by their visages. They followed you as you stepped over my body and the bodies of the other guardians in the council’s hall. You even stepped over her body, DIDN’T YOU?!”

Ferdinand’s words were frantic and fast-paced, only pausing for a moment. His anger could barely be contained.

“What is he talking about Jolla?” Fred asked.

Jolla did not answer, she did not fidget, she simply kept her eyes locked to Ferdinand. She matched the same hardened and cold demeanor he had assumed moments ago, a stark contrast to the frantic and seething anger that was pouring from him now.

“Do you want to know? Do you want to know what I did when I found them? And yes, I did find them, those followers of yours. The selfless warriors who did the bidding of their battle saint in combat,” Ferdinand continued.

“Now listen here-

Jolla held a hand up to silence Fred and the words stopped coming from his mouth before it had finished moving.

“What did you do to them?” Jolla asked.

“OH,” Ferdinand let out a delightfully devious laugh. “I HURT THEM!” he seethed, his words coming fast like a mad man. “All of them, bound, beaten, and tortured until they cried out for you. Of course, you probably could not hear them, being so far out here hiding in the country as it were.”

“Did you come to kill me?” Jolla asked calmly.

“No,” Ferdinand said as he slowed his words in attempt to match Jolla.

As if vomiting out his previous statements had subsided the symptoms of his vengeful madness, Ferdinand continued to speak more calmly.

“I will try, but I will fail, that is why I found them first. You were their savior, and in the end, I made sure that each of them knew you had abandoned them. The moment they called your name, begged for you to appear, I waited. I let them languish in agony as the silence followed their pleas. Once the last bits of hope and defiance had been drained from them, that is when I showed mercy and killed them. Knowing that you cannot do anything is the sweet-

A loud crack rang out, the bullet pierced straight through. Ferdinand looked down as the blood began to pour from his wound. He looked back up to see Fred holding the smoking gun, then he laughed. He laughed until blood was spattering and splashing from his lips, his shirt growing dark with it’s stain.

“What is so funny,” Fred asked.

“I actually,” Ferdinand sputtered and coughed, wheezing in his final moments. “I actually planted those seeds, one day you will harvest them. Then, I assume you will eat some. It is partially by my hand that you will be fed, and here you are killing me. Something about biting the feeding hand. I don’t know, it seems stupid now that I say it out loud.”

“Is this what you wanted?” Jolla asked ignoring his ramblings. “Just so you know, I regret what happened that day. When she died, so did Julia, or at least, that part of me did. It was not all at once, but I still carry that guilt. I wish I could change it, talk to her, see her one last time.”

“Well,” Ferdinand said as he struggled to lift himself to his feet.

Once he was to his feet, he bellowed strange sounds. An explosion of light sent Fred tumbling back onto the floor and against the wall. A metal staff with intricate markings seemed to have suddenly appeared in Ferdinand’s hand. Electricity cackled and swirled around the room pooling to a single point at the end of the staff. It all took place in an instant as Ferdinand leveled the ball of energy at Jolla, pointing it at her chest.

“Maybe the other parts of you can die now, that way you can finally see her again,” Ferdinand said.

A tremendous bright light doused out all vision and consumed the small farmhouse. When it receded, all was quiet. An hour passed before Fred woke up. A trickle of blood had started from where his head had hit the wall. He tried to make sense of what happened, then, he did the only thing that seemed sensible, he started digging a grave.

He was up to his chest in the hole when his stomach grumbled from hunger. His thoughts flashed to the food that had been scattered on the ground and he loathed himself for succumbing to such a desire at a time like this.

“Here,” Folla said, handing him a slice of bread as she came over to him.

“Thank you.”

Fred pulled himself out of the hole and sat for a moment biting and chewing in silence.

“He was not the first, nor will he be the last,” Fred said solemnly.

“You were right to bring him to the house. Like I told you before, better to keep our enemies in front of us rather than have them strike from behind.”

“Right, you did say that,” Fred replied before silence took a seat for a handful of seconds. “I don’t know how you beat him, that staff of his was powerful and it means…”

“Yes,” Jolla said. “He was not with the Kibala, in fact, he fought on the other side. He was one of the council guardians and a mage of the order. His real name was Bauklin Braum, son of high counselor Bulkan.”

“This might be a silly thing to ask,” Fred said as he tossed the last bit of bread in his mouth. “But what do you suppose made him want to hunt down some of your old allies, kill them in a gruesome and symbolic fashion, and then come tell you about it?”

“Well,” Folla laughed reluctantly. “Julia was no saint, as he called her. In the end, the war was one horrible thing after another. When I turned on them, I orchestrated the slaughtered of almost all of the guardians who were there that day. It was a hard choice, but I could not turn a blind eye to the evil that had taken root. I would have killed him too, but he was on his knees having lost the will to fight. Only sorrow and tears flowed from him. My sister, his fiancé, lay there before him, dead. I don’t know if I killed her, but I probably did. Regardless, even if I did not, it was because of the choices I made that brought the conflict to that place on that day.”

“I see,” Fred said as he brushed the crumbs from his hand. “I think there are a lot of people who are sick out there. Like this poor man here was,” Fred said pointing at a lump under some burlap next to the hole. “What happened in the past has left deep wounds in this land, wounds that will heal over time, but still have a long ways to go. I know you have tried to get away from the past, from all that happened, but-

“I knew that was coming,” Jolla said as she rolled her eyes.

“What I said earlier holds true, I cannot fault anyone who was in that conflict besides the high counselors themselves. It was their desires and orders, the bickering and lies among themselves as they grasped for power that culminated in the tragedy. Everyone else had their reasons.”

“That does not make what they did, what I did, any less horrible,” Folla said.

“That is true, we are a nation touched by death, land of the bereaved. And it is partially your doing. But, what you choose to do now, how you move forward, could be even more impactful than what you did in your past. The council was lost, and rightfully so, but the realm still endures. Sure, it is in disorder and those who have strength prey on those without it, but they are still our people. Steeped in resentment, sorrow, and anger as they may be, they can be saved. Or, we can let it fester in people until they are twisted with guilt or vengeance, like this man was here tonight. People need someone to help heal them, someone they can look up to and place their hope in.”

“And you expect me to be that person?” Folla asked.

“Not alone, I will be there, and, I am sure there will be others. But you have a gift, and I think, that you have a lot of healing yet to do. Maybe using your gift to help people now can help you come to terms with the atrocities of your past. Perhaps you could become the symbol that-

“I’ll take first watch at the house tonight,” Jolla said as cut Fred short before turning to leave. “He might have had others with him.”

She was halfway to the farmhouse when Fred spoke up again.

“Or just ignore me and keep trying to pretend the past didn’t happen. I am sure you will not get all twisted up on the inside like this one and die as a miserable and broken person.”

“I knew you would see it my way,” Jolla said over her shoulder.

January 6th 2021

Today was odd, I tried to work on my writing but work and the news cycle occupied a rather large chunk of my day. Despite this, I managed to write a strange bit of fiction from the point of view of some who is speaking or writing post mortem. It is a bit experimental for me, but it is where the words flowed. I enjoyed writing this one and I hope you enjoy reading it.

An Exercise in Post Mortem Thought

By Nathaniel

The day I died was a day like any other, except for the dying part. There was the morning breakfast, the afternoon lunch, but I did not quite make it to evening supper. So I suppose you could say, that was a bit different than a normal day too. It feels like at a certain point, life stopped being new and I had settled into a routine. Each day was merely a repeat of the prior day and a preview of the following. There were, of course, variances from one day to the next. Small changes or encounters, a rare miss tabulated number on an accounting spreadsheet at work. These things created the feeling of living a new day, but it was a false thing. On almost all accounts, I had stopped living long ago. It took death for me to finally want to live again.

But woe is me, once it is done, there is no going back. At least, not that I know of yet. I was just on the other side of a mid-thirties birthday when I passed, I don’t think it was supposed to be my time yet. There was a lot that I wanted to do when I was younger, but to be honest, I had given up the desire to do much of anything outside of my routine in the handful of years before it ended. Looking back, it seems like such a waste of an existence.

When I was five, I wanted to have a horse and play country guitar. Then there was the time in grade school where I wished I could develop superpowers, I had a dream or two to that effect but never got them. When I saw my first movie, I wanted to be in one, the star. Then, I was going to visit Europe, Asia, the moon, Narnia, and so many other places. All desires I had at different times. I also wanted to be the hero at least once before I died. But for some reason, I gave up on all those things.

Sure, some of those goals may be impractical, who could afford a trip to Europe and Asia these days? But still, I don’t know where my dreams went, and why I was left behind without them. The biggest event of my life happened to be my death, unfortunately. I don’t really care to talk about how I died, it was not gruesome nor was it glorious, it was a rather unremarkable way to go, but it was still a rather large event for me.

I like to visit the park where I was walking when my time came to an end. I could say that I had been to that park a thousand times before, but, that would be an underestimate. I have seen children grow old and then bring their own children to this park only for them to grow old too. Sometimes a child never returns and I think of them, hoping that they choose a life worth living, unlike me. Although had I lived, I am not sure anything would have changed. By now, as long as I have been dead, I would probably have died of old age.

I don’t know why I am still here or if there is some final thing I have left to do. I have often imagined the office of heaven. Some poor accountant is overloaded with the tabulating of life and death. Keeping track of deeds and misdeeds alike. I am on there, on that spreadsheet waiting to be accounted for. I suppose even my imagination is boring, relegating the mysteries of the universe to an accounting office. Hopefully, they find me in the audit, I have been alone for a long time and as much as I wish I had lived, I now wish to move on.

When you have had as much time to think as I have, you get to pour over your life. I have counted my swears, my lies, my misdeeds, and placed each of them in order from bad to worst. I have also counted my smiles, my joys, the love I shared, I like counting those things, but they seem far fewer. Sometimes I wonder if this is my punishment for that imbalance, am I doomed to count these things over and over. I don’t mind counting, I was an accountant after all. It is just, once I died, I had my heart set on living, yet here I am still, not living. I wonder if I have been forgotten.

I have not counted in a while, instead, I imagine writing these words now. I have imagined writing these words an infinite amount of times over, there is beauty in this process, but there is also sorrow. I am the same, yet I am transformed, I am infinite, yet I am lacking. Perhaps I have just gone mad. I hope to share these words one day, but with whom? I am all that is here, merely left to observe the living, never, it seems, to join them again. I have even forgotten my name, and I rather liked my name.

Life and death, not a whole lot has changed for me besides my perspective. Lost in thought, I just wish I could share this with someone, anyone.

The day I died was a day like any other, (sorry, my words seem to be beginning again) except for the dying part…

January 5th 2021

This story came from a loose interpretation from a comment left on a TikTok video I posted. The name of the commenter was think_thebox_. If you are reading this, thank you for the inspiration. I say loose interpretation, because it is more so the development of some concepts I have in my larger world building for some books I am writing. I hope you enjoy!

Jordan’s Miracle

By Nathaniel

Watson stood on top of the large steel structure shuffling along the beam with his bag of tools in hand. His harness was secured to the guideline as he went, only ever having to disconnect it temporarily when the current guideline ended before another began. He was a few dozen stories above the street working on a new building. A steady breeze shifted and settled on his shoulders as he came to the next guideline transition and unclipped.

“Careful with that transition,” Jordan called from behind.

Jordan, another construction worker, was the more cautious type. He moved much slower and tested each step before taking it. He was in no hurry to get the work done, he would rather do it correctly and safely.

“Sure thing,” Watson yelled over his shoulder after clipping on to the next guideline.

The wind whipped curiously in a pattern as if guided by wandering thought. But, since it could not be seen it went unnoticed. Nestled neatly within the wind, watching the men work and climb, was a bramble of thoughts. A being that does not exist in linear and three-dimensional terms like you or I. They have been called spirits, fairies, and fates. This particular fate took a particular interest in this particular moment with these particular mortals.

“What path do you think that mortal is on?” Cloth asked within her own mind as she watched Watson and Jordan from her seat within the wind.

“I do not know sister,” Atros replied.

“I can see this mortal all squished below on the pavement, is that his fate?”

“It depends, there are many fates, that may be one of them,” Atros said, her replies coming from seemingly nowhere.

“The first one, his harness, the second buckle will fail if he falls. He also does not utilize proper safety habits,” Cloth said. “Although the words of the other one are ringing in his head, this is making him go a step slower now. How peculiar.”

“Then perhaps he will live,” Atros replied. “That is not for you or me to worry over. Instead, I advise you to prepare for the moment of consequence, it should be here soon.”

“But what of this other mortal, the one that follows a ways behind?” Cloth asked, ignoring the advice.

“What of him?”

“He has a new harness, sturdy and sure. He follows all of the rules, making sure to grip tight when needed. He even warned the first mortal to be careful. Despite all of this, I can see him squished too,” Cloth remarked.

“Fate becomes absolute by choice, you should know this. Those mortals are, in fact, not currently squished so that possibility may never come to be,” Atros said. “If fate were always a stagnant line, there would be no need for us. The mortals would just be ushered onto the path they were made for. That is the gift of the Creator, that these men could die or live.”

“I can still see their death,” Cloth said.

“Let me see,” Atros replied, a gust of a sigh leaving her mouth and connecting to the wind as she stepped from the bramble of thoughts that were Cloth and took a seat in the wind.

Atros shifted and settled on each of the men.

“This one has many lines, children, family, friends, he could even become the leader of a nation if things align as such,” Atros said as she lifted off of Watson and settled onto Jordan. “This other one, well, it seems his fate is in a straight line from here,” Atros said simply.

Jordan shivered as Atros touched, unaware of the presence.

“But, you can see, they could both die here and now, right?” Cloth asked.

“They could, but only one might,” Atros said. “The cautious mortal will fall, that much is certain. The line from this moment to that one is direct and straight.”

“Yes, but they could share that fate,” Cloth said. “Why does the not careful one deserve to live and the careful one deserve to die?”

“You have much to learn little sister. Choices shape the fate of mortals, but it is not always their own choices. At birth, the limitless possibilities are cut down by the mere ideas of the parents. Each step and action is a choice that echos and interacts with the choices of others. Fate is not about what a mortal deserves, but rather, it is about the possibilities that are open to them. From one moment to the next, the possible fates any mortal may have are multiplying or shrinking, we just happen to be able to see them. Do you see that bag, the one caught on the structure there?” Atros asked.

“I do,” Cloth replied as she looked to where Atros thoughts had pointed.

A plastic bag had somehow been lifted from the street level. A part of it was wedged between two pieces of steel as the rest fluttered and flapped wildly in the wind only resting briefly before struggling to free itself again.

“That plastic bag was made in another land across a vast ocean. The people who made it chose to use a certain material that is strained now under the strength of the wind, it will break soon. But more than that, it was used to package a children’s toy and carelessly discarded by the child upon opening the toy. Then, the bag was within reach of a man on a walk in this city, he could have thrown it away if he so chose. Do you see them, the choices, the tapestry of fate?”

“I… I do,” Cloth said, her attention focused on the bag.

“It has been decided, those are just a handful of the small choices that have lead to this moment. When the bag is loosed, the cautious one will fall. This fate, what was once many possibilities, is a single straight line.”

“How is that fair?” Cloth asked.

“It is complicated little sister, but trust that there is a purpose. Now, it is time,” Atros said as she gusted about Jordan’s hands and feet. “This one must fall, the greater plan has made it so.”

“Are we not shepherds of mortal fates, can we not change this?” Cloth asked with a hint of desperation in her words.

“We are merely instruments of the great energy, part of the greater plan and desires of the Creator. To them and their reality, we do not exist. We must not intervene, otherwise, we would risk existence. The last remnants of the Creator’s presence in this realm have manifested us to this point. In this moment, all other possible fates have been closed, only one remains,” Atros said. “Do not feel sorrow for them, their presence may be brief but it is meaningful.”

“This mortal, he is to fall, I cannot deny that. But, I can see something else, a moment after the fall, one where he is not squished,” Cloth said, a sense of calm in her voice.

“I suppose that depends on a chance, which one it is I am not sure,” Atros said. “Here it comes, the moment of consequence coming to pass. Witness it.”

The discarded toy bag drew taught as the wind heaved. Stretching the wedged piece until it broke free. Twirling and lifting, the bag seemed as if it would just float away. Then, it plunged back down towards the men on the steel structure, an unwitting instrument of death.

Jordan reached the next junction and looked up to see Watson was still a ways ahead. He gripped tightly and unclipped his harness from the first guidewire and moved to clip it to the next one. The loose plastic bag came towards him at an alarming speed.

Cloth darted like the wind, racing against the bag. As a fate, she was not confined by time. Rather, she stretched herself into a longer moment and reached Jordan before the inevitable. She knew she could not stop it, but she could do something. A thought punched out like a thick and heavy fist from the bramble that was her consciousness. It struck the mortal’s stomach, passing straight through.

For a frozen second, nothing seemed to change. But, in the normal passage of time, Jordan felt a pang of hunger causing him to clench grip his stomach with his free hand. The bag flew at his head and he instinctively swatted it with his other hand, dropping the clip from his harness before he had secured it to the next guideline. He fell.

With tears in his eyes, Watson guided the firefighters towards Jordan’s motionless form. Still breathing, he was unconscious, his back and body broke by a several-story fall. But somehow, as if by a miracle they would say, his fall was cut short. He laid, broken, but still alive, caught by a single beam. It would be months of recovery.

Had Jordan not felt hunger, had he swatted with his free arm, the trajectory of his fall would have made it that his head only hit the beam killing him before he fell the rest of the couple doze stories to the earth.

“That was interesting,” Atros said. “But not altogether unforeseen.”

“I know you said not to,” Cloth said. “But this was a possibility.”

“Your compassion is noted, but miracles are not to be given lightly. Such things can cause an imbalance in the greater energy.”

“I had to, just this once,” Cloth reasoned.

“Are you sure it is just this once?” Atros asked. “These mortals will die, you cannot save them from that. But in death, there is something more to them. Come now, let us go.”

“Yes.”

Unseated from the wind, the bramble of thoughts disappeared within itself, leaving nothing behind. As if nothing was ever there to begin with.

January 4th 2021

June’s Moment

By Nathaniel

June reached into the dark gap between the wood in her small cabin. Where is it, she thought, a drip of cold sweat fell from her brow, splashing on the floor below. Her fingers could feel the edge of something, but, she was not able to grip it or pull it out. The rocking of the ship as it moved through the sea did not ease the situation either.

“Damn,” she spat before pulling her arm out of the hole.

The ship would be docking in one day’s time, and although she had traveled in secrecy until now, she would soon have a need to reveal her true identity. To keep her secret, she had placed the letter from her uncle, the exiled king, into a small gap in the wood within her cabin. Working on the ship to pay her way, she was nearing her final destination.

To avoid suspicion to this point, she had traveled for several months in a long and twisting pattern. It was a beggars line as they call it, an exchange of work for passage on certain ships. The destination would typically be the ship’s last stop on a long journey, with the passenger working as crew until then. June was given plenty of food and her own small cabin. The work, although new, was not unbearable either. She mostly cleaned or cooked food, two things she had never even thought of doing in her former life.

There was a hard and hollow knock on the door behind her.

“Supper is on, stew tonight if you want it,” Germaine said through the door. “I know it is your last-

The door flung open, an exasperated June stood just inside the room.

“How large are your hands?” June said as she grabbed his arm and held it next to hers for comparison.

“What, I don’t know,” Germaine said, surprised by the strong grip of the small woman.

Releasing her grip, June’s exasperated expression was quickly replaced by a more pleasant one.

“I am sorry, you were saying supper was ready?”

“Yeah,” Germaine replied, rubbing his arm where she had clutched it. “What’s all this about though?”

“It’s nothing,” June said, contemplating on whether or not she needed help. “I just dropped something in the gap over there, my hands are too small to reach it and pull it out.”

“Happens all the time. It probably wasn’t tight when it fell in, but the wood on this ship swells sometimes.”

“Really, how might I get it out then?” June asked sharply.

“First, if it’s of any size, it might be wedged in, so you might not be able to.”

“It is just a letter, I can feel it, I just can’t grab it,” June said.

“What kind of letter?” Germaine asked.

“One that is very important to me, family stuff. I am hoping to deliver it to some… friends of my uncle,” June explained slowly. “They are supposed to give me quarter and work in the city, without the letter, they might not believe who I am.”

She was careful not to reveal too much, examining each part of what she would say before speaking it. She said each part in truth but did not elaborate as to the nature or gravity of those parts. Her true identity was the only secret she cared to carry.

“Well, that is important,” Germaine said with a nod. “Let me give it a try.”

He stepped in the room, past June, and rolled up his right sleeve.

“Where did you see it last?”

“Right there,” June said, pointing to the gap where she had tried to force her arm in.

“Looks like the wood is a bit swollen to me, probably why there is the gap here in the first place. I’ll give it a feel,” he said as he pressed his hand into the opening.

It took a few moments, but his long fingers found the paper. Pressing it gently against the side of the wood opening, he managed to slide it just enough to be gripped. And pulled out.

“Oh, thank you! I owe you one!” June exclaimed as she saw him pull the letter from where it had been hidden.

Expecting him to hand it over, June realized that Germaine had paused, holding the letter high above her reach. He was looking at the wax seal on the front. His eyes squinted in the dim lantern light as he tried to make it out.

“That there seal,” Germain said. “Looks important.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” June replied, jumping up to snatch the letter from his hands. “I suppose you should tell the other’s about dinner,” she said as she rushed him towards the still-open door of her cabin. “I will be up in a moment.”

“Yeah, you’re right, sure thing June,” Germaine said as he was all but pushed out the door before it was closed behind him.

Making sure the door was locked, June took a moment to inspect the letter in private. She feared it might be torn or wet, but it seemed to be in good condition, the seal was still in good shape too. This was important, only her Uncle’s old friend was to break the seal, otherwise, she might not get the audience she was seeking.

She tucked the letter into her outfit, concealing it as best as she could. Being so close, she thought it was best to keep it on her in case something happened.

In the Galley, the various crew and passengers were set about talking and eating. June took a bowl and found her usual seat. A handful of the crew passed by to wish her well for her next day’s departure, even the captain said his own farewell and offered a private toast to her next journey.

When dinner was done, June slipped back down towards her cabin. As she approached her door, the sound of two muffled voices on the other side made her pause. Inching forward, she strained to listen.

“It has to be in here,” one of the voices said. “I saw it with my own eyes, a royal seal. They pay good money for those to be delivered.”

“Are you sure Germaine? It could have been a family seal, you said yourself, it is from her uncle or something,” the other voice said.

“I just want to take a look for myself, just to be sure. I have had to pick up her slack half the time she has been here anyway, if she has anything of value, it is only right I get a piece. It’s like she never cooked before in her life, that one. I had to fix most of her meals on top of my own duties on the ship.”

June flew into a white-hot rage, how dare they invade her room, did they know who she was!? The idea to call for Guards crossed her mind. But then she recalled, they did not know who she was, she had made certain that they would have no idea. To them, she was just a poor common traveler that has something of value for the taking. She no longer had the protections and benefits of a royal house. She had gone months without so much as a slip of the tongue, now for this to happen on her last night on the ship. June let out a heavy sigh, so close, she thought, I just have to get through the night.

“Maybe she has it with her,” She heard one of the voices say.

“Then we wait,” Germaine said on the other side of the door. “I just need to look at it again, I swear it was a royal seal.”

Having heard enough, June turned away quickly and hurried back the way she came, trying to avoid being seen. If life growing up in a palace had taught her anything, it was that you never know whose eyes are watching and for whom they are watching for.

The Galley was near empty now, but a handful still sat and played games. Carefully, June moved her way around the tables, trying to appear indiscreet. She took water in a goblet and sat down as quietly as she could.

Keep it a secret, make it to morning, avoid Germaine and the others. All of these thoughts flowed through her head. She could not risk Germaine trying to open the letter, it could ruin her chances, or worse. If the letter was shown to the wrong person, it might lead to her execution. How long would they wait until they came looking for her, she wondered. Out of ideas or options, she decided that she needed help. It was clear that the captain was the absolute authority on the ship.

Slipping out of the galley the same way she had entered, she made her way towards the captain’s quarters. The lamp outside the door was lit, which signaled that the captain was still awake. She knocked.

“Come in,” the captain said.

June pressed the door open to see him sitting at a writing desk in his quarters, a small candle next to him. She tried to work out what she would say, deciding on how much of the truth she needed to reveal.

“I am sorry to bother you,” June said.

“It is not a bother, what do you need?”

It was then that she noticed the captain clean the tip of his quill before setting it down next to the parchment he had been writing on.

“Are you writing letters?” June asked with relief filled words.

“Yes, to some of my associates in the city where we will dock tomorrow. I am giving them accounts of some of their business dealings so they can be aware of their investments.”

“Can you write and seal a letter for me?” she asked, the plan revealing itself in her mind as it were obvious all along.

“Sure, I suppose, but I do not have time for a long letter, I have several other-

“Short and sweet is fine, as long as it is sealed by a stamp,” June interjected.

“Very well, I suppose I can seal it. What does it need to say?”

Elated with her own cunning at this new turn of events, June laid out a simple greeting to a friend of an uncle. Nothing fancy or wrought with proper titles, just a commoners correspondence. When the letter was done, the captain sealed it with wax and pressed it with a stamp.

She left the ship the next day, with her royally sealed letter still hidden on her in a place she would rather not say. Germaine and company had demanded to see it, but she only showed them the one the captain had written, being sure to break down into tears for good measure when they broke the seal. Feeling remorse, one of Germaine’s accomplices alerted the captain of these events. June got a new seal and a small wage for her troubles. Germaine was nowhere to be seen when she departed to the dock.

Now she stood in front of a large and imposing gate, the true letter held firmly in her hand. Her skin was dark from months at sea, her clothes smelled of fish and salt, and her once well-kept hair was pressed tight under a torn cap. This was the moment, the one she had hidden her name and her heritage for, the moment for which she gave up her luxury and sailed halfway around the known world, the moment that she had been waiting for to make things right at the risk of her own life.

She rang the large bell of the estate. What happens next? Only time will tell.

January 3rd 2021 – A Great day!

Trinity’s Trial

By Nathaniel

Of all days, Trinity liked this one the most. It was not a holiday or a birthday, the kinds of days most people hold in high regard. It was instead, the day she got to leave the orphanage. Trinity stood just inside the gate as the light of day crested over the hill, sending stripes of light towards her through the gate’s heavy metal structure. For as long as she could remember, she had thought about the world beyond the gate. All that was left to do now was to pass the trial.

Brimming with anticipation, Trinity was unable to find much sleep through the night. She had come to the courtyard early to await her trial. As she waited, she tried to imagine seeing the outside world without the slots of metal in the way. Like the other lost children who found themselves behind the gate, her time was spent in pursuit of this day. Studying and training for when she would be thrust into the wide world. Some dreaded this moment, but she welcomed it.

The trial would not be easy, many had failed it before her. But, if she wanted to go out into the world, she knew this test was the first of many.

“Welcome Trinity,” Caretaker Terry said as he approached.

He was dressed in his usual robe and walked with his staff in hand as he always did. But there was something different, a lightness in each of his steps. There was also, a subtle change to his outfit, a silver chain holding the sign of the order that managed the orphanage hung around his neck. Trinity made a quick note of it.

“Thank you, Caretaker, that is a nice necklace you have today,” Trinity replied with a polite bow.

The Caretaker smiled and bowed in return, “I am glad that you noticed, are you ready for today’s trial?”

“I am,” Trinity said boldly.

“Very well, let me test you then,” Caretaker Terry said. “When you came here, you were lost, as are all children who come to us in this place. You were weak, uneducated, and unable to survive. The world inside this gate is safe and hidden, the world outside of this gate is filled with danger, but there is good there too. To fend for yourself outside these walls you must be many things, chief among them is smart, resourceful, and capable in combat.”

“Yes Caretaker,” Trinity replied.

“More than that, you must never stop learning. The world is a tapestry of ever-changing light, the more you see the better prepared you will be. Then, one day, you might return to us, bringing with you the knowledge you have earned.”

“Yes Caretaker.”

“Your intelligence has been proven, your resourcefulness noted, your combat skill observed. The only thing that remains is to prove yourself in this, your final trial. Draw your blade Trinity, prove to me that you are worthy of passing beyond the gate.”

Trinity drew her blade and held it at the ready position, “Yes Caretaker.”

On the edges of the courtyard, curious eyes began to gather, they had watched trials before, but this was different. Trials were done by choice, and rarely has a woman chosen this path. The many eyes who gathered watched, anticipating what would happen next. If Trinity passed, the gate would be opened and she would leave, if she failed, then she would return to her life and be destined to service within the order.

“Defend yourself,” Caretaker Terry said as he lunged forward, his wooden staff coming down.

As if it were to simply breathe, Trinity brought her sword above her head, blocking the first blow. With the least amount of movement and even less thought, she weaved her sword around her. The glint and clang of each blow echoed into the next, she truly was remarkable. But, with each strike from the Caretaker’s staff, the impact grew greater and greater, causing her knees to buckle with the eleventh strike.

Trinity knew she could stand to block it again, so she decided not to. This time, when the robed monk swung his staff, she dodged it completely. She did this a few more times, but then, this too would not last. The next blow came faster than she could react and struck her on the side, lifting her from her feet and sending her back. The gathered crowd let out a gasp, they had seen this before, the first strike that landed was often not the last.

With pain searing in her side, Trinity dodged again. Despite the strength of the blow, she recovered in no time at all and never lost her focus on her opponent. She knew that the longer the battle lasted the less her skill would be useful, she had to win quickly. The Caretaker swung down again, this time, his reach betrayed him and caused him to step when Trinity dodged.

Taking into account the ferocity of the Caretaker’s strikes, she sought to use that against him. At the next strike, she pretended to dodge, the trap was sprung as she caught the staff with the flat of her sword. With her speed, she guided its strength down and away, accelerating the staff towards the ground and using the Caretaker’s momentum against him. It clattered against the stone, and Trinity kicked the Caretaker in the chest, breaking his grip. The staff bounced and tumbled to a stop. Trinity recovered her own blade’s swing and rerouted its point to the Caretaker. Another gasp was followed by cheers.

The gate lurched from its rest and swung open as Trinity realized what had happened. She had passed, this thought painted a wide smile across her face. The caretaker embraced her and took the necklace from around his neck to bestow it on to her.

“This is the symbol of our order,” he said softly. “There are many paths you can choose to take, but the choice is, and always has been, your own.”

The light from the outside shined brilliantly, no longer striped by the impedance of the gate. She blinked in its full strength, but before she could take a step, a sliver of doubt nestled in behind her smile.

Am I ready? she thought. Is this even the right path for me?

“What are you waiting for?” Caretaker Terry asked.

“I do not know Caretaker.”

“Such is the way of life, to not know but to seek to know. Go now, you have proven yourself worthy of this journey. Seek from the world what you would want to know”

Trinity nodded and took her first step from behind the wall, her journey had just begun.

January 2nd 2021

Alfred the Potato

By Nathaniel

Alfred was lifted out of the ground along with his sister, each of them were covered in a fine layer of dirt. The rough hands that pulled them up, worked now to push away some of the dirt revealing Alfred’s brown skin. He was considerably smaller than his sister, but for a potato, that was a big deal.

To grow large is the goal of any potato, and even more so for Alfred. Some potatoes are better at growing than others, namely Alfred’s sister. You do not have to be the largest, but to be the smallest potato in the field was no one’s goal. The stark contrast in size made Alfred want to dive back into the dirt, to sprout new spuds, and to grow larger.

Despite that desire, the rough hands that had plucked him from the earth had other plans. Alfred and his sister were carried in a basket with other potatoes that neither of them recognized. They jostled and mixed, even losing sight of each other for a while. Then, they heard the sound of footsteps on wood and the opening and closing of a door.

When the basket was opened, one by one the potatoes were taken. Their ultimate destination was not known at the time. Alfred grew fearful, but his sister did not. She was happy to be the largest potato in the basket. When she went, she only smiled at her brother and wished him well.

It was almost near the end, Alfred was one of three remaining potatoes. Lifted from the basket, the three of them saw what had become of the other potatoes. Washed and peeled, they followed in kind.

The water was strange, Alfred had never had so much at once. He sputtered and spittled beneath the flow as the dirt was washed away. As a potato, having lived his whole life in the dirt, he felt odd without it on him, but it was not bad. Then, the shine of a blade began to cut away his skin. He thought it would hurt, and although it was frightening at first, it too was not bad.

When Alfred had finally rejoined the other potatoes they were all abuzz for what was in store for them next. Whispering about the strange new course they had found themselves on.

“Maybe we get new harder skins, now that we are full-grown,” one potato murmured.

Oh no, Alfred thought. He had hoped he could grow some more. But, if he got a harder skin, would it allow him to grow, or, would it keep him this small forever? Just then, the potatoes were poured into a bath of hot water.

“I think I will go back to the dirt, just a little longer,” Alfred told his sister after he managed to work his way to her again.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes, I am not ready for whatever comes next, I need to grow more and-

The bath of water began to bubble, Alfred’s thoughts began to slow. The warmth around them seemed to soften them, to draw out parts of them. Then, the great bath was upended, drained, and dried.

“This is my chance,” Alfred said. “Goodbye.”

His last word was said as he tried to roll away, but the hands that held the masher had other plans. With brutal efficiency, three whole potatoes, including Albert’s sister, were mashed into a paste. The others screamed and Alfred tried to roll, but the mashed remains of another kept him where he was. The masher came, again and again, until only Alfred remained.

But I still had some growing to do, was his last thought, then it mashed him too.

Marci sat down to dinner, chicken and mashed potatoes. She dabbled a little gravy on her potatoes and gave them a pinch of salt. With her first bite, she consumed almost all of what remained of Alfred. His story was over now, and rather inconsequential, but Marci’s story was only beginning.

Her father sat down, wringing his rough hands that he had used to pull the potatoes out of the earth.

“How was your day Marci?” her father asked, a loaded fork hovering outside his mouth as he waited for her answer.

She began to speak, but her answer is a story for a different time.

January 1st 2021

A Great New Year

By Nathaniel

Peter and his family had been through a lot in the past year, just like most people. With the promise of a new year, there was hope that the trials of what had happened could be put to rest. It was this hope that kept Peter going. He tried desperately to get the formula right, otherwise, one of them might not live to see the new year.

It had not been easy to gather the necessary components from his research. They came one piece at a time. He had been imprisoned these past few months and the guards were vigilant. But now, on the last night of the year, he believed that he had everything he needed. All he needed now was the time to put it all together.

“What are you doing in there?” an orderly asked from outside the cell. “What have you got?”

The alarm that signaled the opening of a cell went off. The door behind Peter released, then it stopped, stuck on something. Peter had prepared for this, wedging his sheets and pillows to prevent the door from opening all the way. He knew it was up to him to make sure the creature did not take those he loved away from him. Time was of the essence, any longer and he might not be able to reach the moment.

“Hey, what is this?” the orderly yelled as he tried to work the cell door open.

Peter focused on the night of the incident, the moment that leads him to his current state. When he had the memory firmly locked in his mind, he began to mix the various components he had gathered. When it was done, he tilted his head back and swallowed it down.

It was unpleasant, aromatic, bitter, and sour. Peter cringed as his body fought the concoction, but, he held it down, he had to. With the memory held tightly in his mind, Peter closed his eyes as the concoction worked its way through his body. When he opened them, he was no longer imprisoned in the cell.

He looked around his younger sister’s bedroom, the very place he had confronted the creature the first time. With a purpose he stood in the door, this time, he would not let the creature kill her. Whether or not that changed his own fate, he knew it would be for the better.

Within the cell of the mental hospital where he had been sent, his body began to convulse as a white foam frothed over his mouth. The orderly struggled with the door had gathered more help. They were working the door open and would soon enter.

Peter did not pay any mind to the people in the hospital. He was in a moment of the past, guided by memory to its location. He waited in the stillness that had preceded the calamity. It was subtle when it came, he began to sense the dread he had felt that night. The feeling of a predator’s unstoppable hunger, but he would stop it here. He moved to the side, concealing himself within the closet, the creature was near.

In the hospital’s cell, Peter’s body had fallen over, the first of the orderlies had now breached the blocked door and the medical staff were coming in. Time was running out, they knew he had ingested something. They began to go to work.

Back in the moment of the past, from his concealed position in his younger sister’s room, Peter saw it. It was not difficult to see, it did not hideaway, it came with the authority of an ancient evil set on its prize. As it was poised above his sister, the bedroom door swung open, and Peter saw his past self standing there, fear-stricken. He recalled that feeling, that dreadful vision he had upon first laying eyes on the beast. Still, the current Peter waited.

Within the present time at the mental hospital, the medical staff had taken steps to induce vomiting. They hoped to stop whatever he had done and to help stabilize him as quickly as possible. The warden on duty came down to oversee what was happening, he had just scheduled Peter’s family for a visit on New Year’s day tomorrow.

Still focused on the moment, Peter watched from the closet of his sister’s bedroom. His former self lunged from the doorway, diving headfirst into his sister’s bedroom. Equipped with a small knife, he grappled with the beast, and it laughed. Still hidden in the closet, Peter felt the laughter strike him to the core, but it did not make him fear as he had before, it made him angry. This would be his only chance to stop it, to save his sister. This was the moment that she stirred, as the sinister laughter poured over her leaving a slimy uneasiness about her.

The creature held the former Peter in one clawed hand and raised the other in the air above his sister. Words were spoken, but Peter did not understand them then. Now, he knew, the creature sought to corrupt the world. This was it.

With a wave of his arm, the emotions of a year burst forth with a wave of energy. He had only meant to open the door, but he shattered it to splinters. Back in the cell, where his current body lay, a sudden and violent gust threw the medical staff and orderly back, slamming them into the wall. In a tongue he did not recognize, the current Peter spoke. His words commanded his old self to be limp and for his sister’s eyes to close. The sound of the words were chilling to those in the mental hospital where his body had spoken them too.

The creature turned to see Peter, and for an instant, its own Aura of dread faded away. Beneath the dark and shadow, Peter could see the form of another human. That instant was short-lived as the creature reared up and cried out as if wounded. Peter dove forward, cutting the grip of the beast and laying his limp former self on the ground in one move.

Looking back to the creature, Peter glared without fear. Everything that had happened, the visions he had seen, the voices he had heard, all of it came from this thing. He could see it on its surface, like rippling thoughts. The anger within him rose a hot rage, he would kill this creature here and now.

He dove forward, to take the beast’s massive claw that was suspended above his sister. But in that moment, there was a flash, a glimpse of the cell he was in. He fell to the ground, his form weakening, but, his will was still absolute. The sinister laughter echoed through the room, and Peter knew he had to act. He could not kill the creature, but he could… Peter dove forward, his body landing on top of where his sister lay, he braced himself.

In the present time, the vomit-inducing agent had begun to work. Peter was involuntarily vomiting up whatever he had consumed. The medical staff worked to make sure he did not aspirate. As the formula was expelled, Peter grew less and less powerful within the moment he held in his mind.

Draped over his sister, desperately trying to protect her in that past moment, he felt the claw dig deep into his back, but then it stopped. Peter could feel the searing pain, back in the mental hospital his body jolted and blood began to pour from his back.

“He must have hurt himself!” one of the medical staff cried out. “Quickly, we need to stop the bleeding too.”

Still focused with all of his will on the past, holding tightly to the moment, peter knew he would not have another chance. He had hoped for something better, for a glorious triumph. He had fixated on it so long that he had manifested that hope into his will. But now, it seemed he would die. He only hoped his sacrifice would save his sister.

As he lay there, waiting for the creature to strike again, he heard it cry out instead. Looking over, to weak to do much else, he saw his former self, striking down with a ferocity that he had hoped to embody. The knife he had brought with him that night, the one the courts claimed that he used to gruesomely murder his sister, was plunged into the creature’s back held tightly by his former self.

When the shadows faded away, all that remained of the creature was the body of a person. It looked up, and for a moment, Peter saw himself. In a flash of movement, it darted for the window and was gone. The current Peter’s strength of will was fading, his form began to dissipate as he would soon return to the present.

His former self looked at him, confusion and fear shaping his face. He looked down to his sister, her eyes were now open, her face also twisted with confusion, but it was mixed with gratitude. The imposing presence of the dark creature was no longer there. All the current Peter could do was smile, then the world went dark. To his sister, it was as if he faded away into mist.

Inside the mental hospital, Peter’s body shot upright and he vomited all of the contents of his stomach. The medical staff were working to stabilize him. He did not wake, he merely fell unconscious back to the ground. When he was finally stabilized, they secured him to his hospital bed and put him under 24-hour watch.

“I am sorry,” the hospital’s warden said the next day. “I did not know your daughter would be coming today. It may be best if we speak privately.”

“No,” Peter’s younger sister said. “I want to know.”

The warden looked up at her parents, each of them giving an approving nod. He moved aside and pulled the curtain open. Peter laid there unconscious as the steady blips and whirs of the machines around him droned on. He was securely strapped to the hospital bed, fastened so as to not be able to move. His parents let out a collective Gasp, but his sister merely studied his face.

“I am so sorry that this happened, I know this is not the New Years visit you had planned. I want you to know that our medical staff worked tirelessly to stabilize him and he is going to recover,” the warden said. “With that said, there is no easy way to say this, but we believe he attempted to take his own life last night. I will spare you the details, but it seems his attempt was very thorough. He is on 24-hour watch. I think he is very sick, but, I also believe we can help him here.”

“Are you sure,” Peter’s sister asked as she approached the side of Peter’s bed.

“Yes, we have some of the finest staff in the country here and-

“Not that, are you sure he is sick?” she corrected.

“Well, what happened last night, it was not normal nor was it a good thing,” the warden said.

“Maybe you just do not know the truth of it all,” Peter’s sister said.

She turned back to her brother, his face was changed, but she recognized it. This was the one who was there that night. Leaning down close to his ear she whispered, “thank you.”

Peter smiled, it was going to be a great new year.

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Nathaniel Writes

Let's Imagine Together – A Blog and Short Stories by an Aspiring Writer

Short Stories Written in January of 2021

Just Write January

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Just Write January

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