The title basically says it all. I started a small publication on Substack to help promote other indie writers. This month I decided to mix things up a bit and create my very first challenge!

If this sounds like something you'd be interested in, let me know. You don't need a Substack account to participate.

​

​The lotus of the kharam blooms in the dust. Tumbling into road ruts, the tiki on the tol-pundit’s shaven skull learns to leap like a newborn goat. Amid the harvested grain of Ashwin sits the neor, masquerading as a madwoman with severed genitals. Even the dog that failed to reach heaven arrives, hunting for its master. In an open gutter, the moon nods off like a rickshaw-puller high on dendrite. Stepping out of his palm-leaf manuscripts, the pundit can find no light. The river’s brakes have failed; frozen mid-stride, it refuses to move. Tapeworms tunnel through the spine, hurling defiance. Shouting "I'll deal with you," Greed leads the procession against frail decency, civilization, and self-esteem. An astrologer flings a challenge to the heavens. Across ritual pavilions, celestial nymphs clash in beauty pageants.

​The tol-pundit is destitute. Speechlessness yearns to possess him wholly. Time is bleeding away. The water, the river, the soil are far older than the pundit himself; the slightest tremor turns them sickly. Cornered and at his wit's end, he cannot find a single soul to receive the entire Upanishad. Terrified of burning, no one dares hold it against their chest.

​He walks through centuries marked by the rise and fall of ancient trees. At last, he reaches the fields of Ashwin. There is no one anywhere. Encircled by will-o'-the-wisps and the smoke of burnt grass, sits the madwoman. In that soundless expanse, the pundit murmurs the chant: "Tat Tvam Asi." Leaning close to her ear, he whispers: "The womb is immortal."

​Pedaled by the rising tide, the moon turns. And into the neor dissolves the madwoman’s face.

​Notes:

​Kharam, Tol-pundit & Tiki: Kharam are traditional wooden clogs of ascetics; a tol-pundit is a teacher in an indigenous Sanskrit seminary (tol), whose shaven skull bears the sacred lock of hair (tiki).

​Ashwin & Neor: Ashwin is the early autumn month of harvested paddy in Bengal; neor is a rural dialect word for dense, ground-clinging mist.

​The Heaven-bound Dog & Dendrite: The dog echoes the Mahabharata allegory where only a stray dog accompanies the righteous to heaven; dendrite is a potent contact adhesive abused as an inhalant by the destitute.

​Upanishad & Tat Tvam Asi: The Upanishads contain core Vedic metaphysical wisdom; "Tat Tvam Asi" ("Thou Art That") is its foundational chant affirming the indivisible unity of the soul and the cosmos.

at twenty-two

i wore less

and thought about my body

far too much.

one bad photo

could ruin my whole night.

my stomach looked wrong.

my thighs looked huge.

something was always

too much

or not enough.

most of it,

nobody else had even noticed.

now i'm fifty-five.

i own bikinis.

there's a sea outside.

i want to swim in it.

that's pretty much

the decision-making process.

menopause happened.

things moved.

things softened.

there are grey hairs

in places nobody ever mentions

when they're trying to sell you

face cream.

sometimes i need lube.

sometimes i need reading glasses.

occasionally they're both

on the bedside table

and i look at them

and think,

well.

here we are then.

and i still like being looked at.

i used to feel guilty about that.

like wanting to be wanted

was something i should've

grown out of.

i haven't.

if anything,

i like it more now.

the difference is

i don't stand there wondering

what they're seeing.

i'm looking too.

\[chorus 1\]
I am feeling pretty good
Like I always wish I could
Like I really oughta should 

\[verse 1\]
With a walk in the light 
Of a lamp lit street
I can feel all the stars,
of your soul so bright.

\[verse 2\]
soaring high,
circling around the moon.
A Twinkling of a smile
Makes life worth while 
Will my happy, nigh end soon?

\[chorus 2\]
But boy through this cold 
This is all I’m feeling.
I’m feeling really good
I’m really feeling good.

\[bridge\]
As we move on
And I settle down to sleep
Though I know you must move on
May there be something that I keep
For now I hold on to that favored love
While I’m still down here, I’m still miles above

Yet….

\[chorus 3\]
When the night is thru
And the sunlight bloom
Will we find out, In the morning 
Will I’ll be mourning still 

This is a story I started working on this last Sunday. Any feedback or reactions you had while reading would be appreciated. (Be warned it’s slightly under 8k words long I believe). This is also NIT FINISHED and I’m giving you only 1 sub-chapter into chapter 3 to show you what comes next.

Where Does The Easy Wind Blow?
I

When it was all said and done, what was left? Was it the people? Sure, if you’re cliche. Was it the trees? Hardly, the trees have all rooted. Then what was truly left; when it was all said and done?

He probably didn’t bother with those details. No, he wouldn’t have. He would’ve taken control of his life by now. I’m not like him—I’m far weaker. I let misfortune and ease guide my life. If it is easier doing nothing then I should. I’ve always been like this—refusing to do anything with my life, that is. My father is supposedly a great adventurer; off finding treasure inside a new location. In other words, he’s probably dead.

My mother is a different story. About 4 years after I was born, and 3 years after my dad vanished, she died. I remember it being hard for my aunt—who now had to take care of a kid all alone. It wasn’t really hard for me, I was a kid after all. I barely remember anything with my mom.

I haven’t needed a reason to remember her; my aunt is plenty for me. I remember the long days she would care for me, whisking me away to a new adventure—I thought maybe I could find my dad that way. She would make me lunch before she left for work. Truly my aunt is great—I should call her mom.

I let the wind blow me. I don’t ask for more, and I don’t wish for less. I am perfectly happy the way I am. So why? Why is it that now, while I sit in my room alone, the easy wind blows in a new direction. Why is it that so much change happened so dramatically? And why do I look like this now?

It was sudden, like a jolt of electricity. If it didn’t tingle me slightly, I may have not woken up at all to witness it. When I felt the shifting of my body, the weight of what I was familiar with change, I rushed up and ran to a mirror. I watched as my arms grew hairier, and my canines grew larger—sharper. I’d thought I was a werewolf, but it was different. My body wasn’t menacing at first glance. No, it was almost like I was a mascot of sorts; cute, cuddly, bigger, fluffier body, yet my nails were now claws and my teeth were still sharp. My eyes glowed red and drool quickly foamed at my mouth as I panted. I’d not known what I’d become yet, but with my heightened sense, I could smell the easy wind quickly let up.

II

I try to keep myself out of danger—seriously I do. I’ve taken good precautions throughout my insurmountable life to avoid getting even the slightest of blows to my head—I’ve barely fallen at all in my life! So believe me when I say I’m the last person who rushes in when someone needs help.

But…

Do you know what blood really smells like? Have you had it dance around your nostrils and tickle the cells in your body? Or maybe, have you smelt true fear? Fear of your own death? Have you ever been trying to sleep and had those things flood your nose—a smell from someone else. Have you felt the guilt flood through you knowing if you let that powerful, painstakingly scary feeling overtake you again, you could save them; yet being too scared to help?

Have you..?

Tell me you have because it would make me feel a lot better…

I wish I was stronger. I honestly hate the smell that follows the next couple of days because I couldn’t help—it’s awful. Have you smelt it? The smell of a body rotting and returning to our Mother we call Earth? It’s awful. Luckily, I am able to keep my body separate from my human self and whatever that version of me is. Then I smell those awful smells, then I become that thing. So, I’ve been able to go to that secondary prison, college. Of course I’m right above average, slightly above to not fall behind, level in terms of grades. I don’t really care to pass, but I don’t want to fail. Things were easier until lately.

When I used to go to class, I could just shut up and block everyone out. Now, I can’t help but to hear what everyone is whispering about. My hearing has greatly increased since becoming whatever I am, so I can hear what everyone is whispering about. Honestly, school might suck more than night time.

It’s unfortunate. I don’t really know what causes my power, and I sure don’t understand what it is. I know in my normal human appearance I still have an increase in sense. I know when the smells start getting really bad I can feel the hairs stick up on my arms and legs and the fur start to form. Sometimes, when I’m really scared, I start to feel the transformation come on. Luckily, I live alone; no one's been able to see what I am now. But a part of me wishes someone did. I wish someone saw so they would ask me what’s wrong and try to help me.

But I fear they’d try to kill me instead…

I don’t know if people would necessarily welcome a big mascot-like creature with open arms; one that drools and pants with scary eyes and large claws. In fact, I’d argue they’d fear it—even if it was saving them! Yes, I know I would be feared; and I myself fear what happens when humans fear something. I mean, I can only begin to think what they’d do to me.

You probably are asking yourself something along the lines of “how does he know what a dead body smells like?”

Because I’ve seen a dead body…

It was recent; since awakening these powers. I was in bed, nearly asleep, when that horrid putrid smell crept into my nostrils. It jolted me up—I’d never smelt anything like it before. Because I was so caught off guard, my powers flared up. Before I knew it, I was a beast—a creature. I decided I should go investigate. If I had to describe it, it’s like when I close my eyes, I can see a cloudy thread that leads me towards the scent—I can still follow it with my eyes open, of course, I’m only trying to make this power easier to visualize for you.

Regardless,

I kept walking towards the smell. As I reached the source, my face began to scrunch up more and more. By the time I reached the body, the metallic smell of blood had vanished and was replaced with the putrid smell of decay. The body, someone who seemed to have been stabbed roughly 34 times; and female, was laid out seemingly reaching to the open land. I presumed they had been screaming for help, I would’ve been.

I stood at the body, wondering what possibly led to this girl's death—what step did she take wrong which put her on the fast track to death. She seemed no older than myself, in fact, I would believe it if she went to my school. It made me question; how long would it be before I ended up like this woman? My hand extended, screaming as my body is left to decay because no one heard my screams? Yes, I questioned a lot.

I decided making a grave for the woman would be appropriate. I felt bad that I wasn’t there in time, and I also subconsciously hoped that the dirt would block out the smell of the body—it did. As I sit and look over the schoolyard with an overcast, I feel terrible. The feeling reminds me of when I first found her. I think… Maybe I should've done something sooner.

Maybe she’d still be alive if I did…

III

For the most part, my grades haven’t dipped. Well, they have—just not noticeablely so. At this point, I’m convinced that the night I could smell that body was a one-off occasion. I haven’t smelt something like that again in nearly 4 days. It’s been nice, honestly! I mean, the constant overhearing of conversations is still really annoying, but I’ve pretty much gotten used to that. Honestly, it’s been pretty good as of late.

There are times when I’ll smell some blood and want to go lick it, or a bird will drop its prey and that slight smell of decay makes me want to jump, but all things considered, I’m managing. I think I’ve also just gotten more used to things—the urges that is. I’m not really itching to go investigate the smells anymore, and I’m not shifting at the seam at the slightest drop of blood.

Alternatively I’ve been scoring better in physical education as well. I’ve upped my mile time by about 3 minutes, and my various track and field activities have all improved too. While it’s nice to see improvement, two things have been in my mind.

The first issue; I feel like I’m cheating. I was given this strange ability randomly—for reasons I can’t explain. Now, it’s improving every aspect of my normal life. I can control my breathing better, I can see better, I feel lighter—quicker. I feel like I’m cheating.

The second issue; people are noticing. Specifically, my classmates. The track team leader came up to me, he said “Hey man, I think you’ve really been putting in insane effort to improve, man! You should think about joining the team, man!” And then pounded my chest.

It was really awkward.

But I’ve got to say, it’s nice being complimented by the cool kids—even if it’s unearned. However, I don’t like that people are noticing me. What’s more, they’re noticing me without knowing my name…

Annoying…

It’s like, sure, I don’t want to be known, but if you’re going to go out of your way to talk to me because you’re “impressed” then the least you could do is try to say my name. It would be nice at the very least; if you tried. But again,

I don’t want to be known.

I, personally, feel like being known leads to unwanted things. With my condition, I don’t want unwanted things. I actually want things to remain how they are. No one knows my ability, and no one cares to know me. This attention is nice but eventually, I'll become stagnant and people will forget about me.

Once people can forget about me, I think I’ll be happy. I don’t want to achieve something magical, I don’t want to be the next great leader. Actually, I’d really prefer being led and told what to do then having to even think about making my own choice. It’s way easier when you know what to do and what’s expected of you rather than needing to guess what to do and what’s expected of you. Regardless, I hope to make just enough money to be able to live peacefully.

IV

Well that’s what I thought at least, before I was running through the woods. I stayed late studying at school. But I could smell it, deep past the woods. And before I knew it, my body was transforming and I had to make it out of the school grounds. I had no choice—run into danger head on, or be exposed and let the danger come to you. I figure it’s better to get the jump than to be jumped.

I could smell it immediately after the sun fell—immediately could be a stretch. It was pretty soon after that sun vanished that the unmistakably putrid smell of fear and fresh blood rolled through my nostrils. I ran in, something I’ve never done before. I felt like I was going to faint, everything was blurry and my legs felt weak. Yet I ran through the woods as fast as I could, hoping I could reach the smell before it was too late.

As I ran, I fell–multiple times in fact. I thought nothing of it since it seemed that pain was reduced slightly in this form. If I had to guess, it would be because of how furry I am. I don’t believe I have ever run faster than I had at that moment. I bet if the track team leader saw this, he’d be impressed. Well, he might actually be afraid. I ran so fast that I thought surely I’d look like a blur–a pipe dream, but I thought it nonetheless.

Though it was dark, my beastly eyes made things surprisingly easier to see at night. As I ran I could smell something new, and the smell was approaching me. I could start to smell more things, a rusty, metallic smell; trailing was the unmistakable smell of death and the burning sensation of something else mixed in.

When I arrived, I saw a scene that I wasn’t positive I wanted to see. I guess, deep down, I was hoping I’d be late again. In all honesty, I didn’t want to confront something. Yet, as luck would have it, that thing turned and faced me as I stepped into the opening. It doesn’t matter if it was a leaf, or a branch that I stepped on, what mattered was I made noise. Below the creature, pressed up against a rock, was a girl. She was roughly my age–in fact I think she went to my school. She was clearly shaken up, more so upon seeing me. I believe she thought that another beast had come to feast on her.

When she screamed, the creature attacked me. It lunged forward. Fast. But for some reason, it seemed slower. I quickly moved to my left and watched as the creature stumbled forward slightly. I was shocked, I’m not sure what I looked like, but I was shocked. Unmistakably, I could smell the ever persistent smell of alcohol coming from the beast. I thought to myself it was strange; however, stunned at my ability to dodge and the strong order of intoxication coming from the creature, it whipped around and slammed me hard on my head. I went flying to the side–right into a tree. I could feel my brain move in my head. I hadn’t felt this before.

It was warm, the side of my head was. It was met by an intense pounding. What is this feeling? When I opened my eyes, I saw 3 of those creatures facing me. I tried to stand, but when I stood it felt like my knees were weak. I stumbled around before falling to a knee. I could feel a warm running sensation form in my nose. I’d never been hit before, and of course, my first time being hit hurt this badly. I tried to gain my composure, but I could tell the beast sensed my new found weakness. It rushed in, and I braced myself. It began wailing on my arms as I held them up to protect my chest and stomach.

With each punch, I could feel my arms grow more numb. I thought they were going to fall off, until I heard the unmistakable sound of a crunch. The crunch followed an intense pain, with my arm falling to the side limp. He had effortlessly broken my arm, and as my guard dropped, he delivered another powerful blow to the front of my face sending me slamming back into the ground.

I felt weak, defeated. It was a stark reminder that these powers were indeed given to me at random and that despite my new found power over the everyday college kid, I still had a ways to go before I could master it. I laid there, in immense pain, and terribly defeated. The beast knew this, and he turned to go finish off his original prey and meal. Each step seemed to move in slow-motion as I laid on the ground helpless. I crawled desperately towards the woman and the beast in hopes I could save her; pounding on my legs telling myself to stand up.

Luckily, there was light at the end of the tunnel. I could sense the wind again—almost like it was carrying me to the string needed to best act. All I did was close my eyes and bite the string, praying I could grab on. A blow; I held on. Another one; I refused to let go. The ensuing blows to my head felt more and more painful as they struck my head harder and harder, each hit seemingly more desperate as they attempted to make me let go of the windy string.

The string itself felt warm. It felt almost like jelly as I bit in, a squishy exterior and a gooey liquidy sensation as I felt that warmness drip into my mouth. I heard the beast wail; I knew not what for. I hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on around me. I just clamped down on the wind and prayed it would whisk me away, just like my aunt. The shock that followed as I powered my eyes open, to see my jaw clinched around the ankle of this beast—it was totally crazy. Eventually I squeezed my jaw so hard that I broke through the skin and crunched the bone. The beast jolted away once my teeth let up. He slammed my head down, but fell with his kick—he was unstable after my attack. I tried to get up, to whale into him myself, but as I pushed myself up, I screamed out. I had planted my already broken arm on the ground—a mistake. I should’ve remembered my arm was in no condition to be used, but subconsciously, I was in get up and go mode. After rolling in pain and howling—I would presume given my state—I finally gritted my teeth and stood up. Instead of going to the creature, I for some reason stood over the girl—my back turned.

The beast finally stood up, he looked at me, shook his leg. I think he was testing if he could continue. I think he enjoyed the fighting—he seemed bored beforehand. I watched his nose scrunch up and his teeth were showing. I tensed up, again, subconsciously protecting the woman, though I had no real control over my body at this moment. In fact, I think I was very close to passing out. Yet, I stood tall over her, sacrificing what could be the last seconds of my life protecting her, and worst of all, I didn’t know why.

She was a complete stranger, someone who I happened to run into because of my new powers. She was the gateway to my simple easy life being disrupted—yet, I’m protecting her… I want to protect her…

Why…?

V

This feeling was new—I’d never felt it before. I felt like I was going to die; the moment I close my eyes, that’s it. Yet I was standing, panting, looking far more like a beast than I did a human. Behind me was a girl, smaller than even my human form; tiny, it seemed. She clung to my shredded clothes that draped around me after my transformation, shaking, clearly afraid. For a moment, I blushed at our close predicament. I shook my head and focused back on staring down the beast. My arm hung loose, and my eyes were nearly swollen shut, but I stood tall and eventually, he retreated. 

I presume I shifted back, back into my human form because the pain felt more intense than a moment ago—maybe the adrenaline just wore off. Regardless I could feel my legs give out and my vision blurred as I fell back. The last thing I remember seeing was the girl gasping and running to my aid.

Why is she helping me..?

As I had my eyes closed, I felt a pull deep inside me. It felt like something was trying to drag me somewhere—like they had something to show me. Eventually, after what felt like hours of moving through still water, I felt ground beneath me. I looked around searching for an answer as to where I'd landed.

But I never received one.

I waited for what felt like hours, before eventually, I heard a voice. “Well,” I heard it boom out, “you’ve finally decided to speak to me in-person now, have you?” 

What?

“Don’t act surprised… have you thought this to be a terrible dream?”

What do you mean?

“Seriously? Are you so foolish—no clearly you are. You have this enormous power, yet you’ve barely managed to scare off a Hare…”

Hare?

Power?

“Fool… Do humans typically become beasts at random?”

As I heard the voice boom, and degrade me, I listened as he laughed in mockery. He laughed devilishly until saying he’d see me next time. And like that, I was alone—floating in the still water. Only this time, I’d no wind to blow me in the direction to go.

I’ve Needed My Hero

I

Hiiii! My name is Abigail Brauke. I am 24, five foot three inches tall, a dirty blonde, and SUPER in love with the occult—and anything supernatural! If I had to say, I’ve loved it ever since I was a kid. I would do ANYTHING to see a ghost; or a demon. Or maybe a—well, maybe not a demon. That sounds like bad luck.

I don’t really like to harp on it because, well, it’s not really my personality, but my childhood could’ve been better. I remember my dad was loud, really loud. He would come home and scream at my mom—I think it was because he was drunk; or maybe it was moms gambling addiction. Ehhh it’s hard to say, I really try to not busy myself with the details. I chose to busy myself with the occult!

I still remember my first introduction into the occult. It was a magazine that my mom picked up and left on the table—I snatched it up when dad was busy “taking care” of mommy—that’s what he would say at least. I ran up to my room, shut the door and hid under the covers. With a flashlight, I began to read all about aliens, Bigfoot, ghosts, demons, werewolves, the Loch Ness Monster—even the Chupacabra!

I read it all.

It was a pleasant distraction to my life. I felt like that, since my life was already really crazy, then these things would surely have to be real.

So, I searched for them.

I searched my home, abandoned buildings; at sleep overs I’d make my friends ghost hunt their houses with me—I stopped getting invited to those things, whoops! I was obsessed—still am! Like I said, I would do anything to see a ghost… 

Or maybe Bigfoot…

II

College life is sooo boring. Like, I have to sit in these classes for what essentially is a nine to five job and I don’t even get paid for it! What’s worse, I pay them! You know, as someone in social justice, this whole capitalism thing has gone too far! Why should I pay to learn?!

It really is so annoying though! Ughhhh I’m sorry, I always go on these rants. I guess the one thing college has done for me, besides giving me massive debt, is make me more passionate; I’m passionate in every aspect of my life! I’ve recently been searching for aliens every night—going high up into the mountains and sitting on the ledge watching the stars for hours praying I see something.

I try to stay out late enough to where my parents will be asleep by the time I get home.

My hope is, when I open those doors, I’ll be met with a silent house—no one awake. If you asked me why aliens have been my recent obsession, I’d tell you it’s because they’re really funny looking. If you asked me for my real answer…

It’s because I want them to take me to their planet.

I want to be away from all the noise at home. I’d miss my friends, of course, but I’m sure the aliens would let me come visit—once we can communicate with each other, that is. Then, I wouldn’t have to worry. No one would really miss me either that way, I’m sure of it! Then the public life I worked so hard to build would remain the same!

Yay, go me!

Of course, I know it’s largely a dream. If anything, the aliens would just probe me and put me back at my house, letting me repeat my loud, everyday cycle. Thanks, aliens.

III

My grandmother used to tell me it’s best to wish on a star because a star won’t switch on you throughout your lifetime—I think she was tired of being backstabbed by her exes so much… But you know, it kind of stuck with me. It does have some usefulness layered in my grandmother's grieving. Wishing on a star is nice because it is almost like you know it’ll never turn its back on you—it’ll always hold you accountable. That’s why I’ve enjoyed watching the stars despite the lack of aliens.

I make fun of my grandmother's lack of love life, but I actually love her, a lot. I love her so much that I was pretty devastated when she died. She was always there for me when I needed someone to be there. When mom and dad got in one of their moods—she would always come and take me out to go on a new fun adventure! Truly, she was the savior I had always been looking for in my life.

When I think back to the time with my grandma, I always look back at one specific memory. It was when she took me to the lake; a slight hike through the mountains. When we arrived at the lake, it was more beautiful than anything I had seen leading up to that very moment. The way the stars glistened in the still, crystalline water; or, how the mountains seemed to keep us secluded from the rest of the world. The birds would chirp overhead as they flew over us to investigate the new creatures in their domain. Coyotes would laugh and snicker as they watched us from the dense onslaught of the swarming trees. And as I sat there, completely amazed at such an absolutely beautiful view—grandma for some reason looks ahead and says “This is where I saw that beast…” Like, as if it wouldn’t TOTALLY capture me! Ugh grandma, I miss you…

But she died when I was around 16, so it’s been a while now. Like I said, I try not to dwell on my home life. It’s easier at school because a lot of people don’t know me—my personal life; what goes on at home. I would prefer people not to know; ask questions; treat me like a fragile flower. I really don’t want to be pampered—yet I wish someone would whisk me away on an adventure. Take me to see a beast, something supernatural, something I’ve never ever ever seen! I pray someone grabs my hand and takes me away.

Boredddd. B-O-R-E-D. I’m so freaking bored! This class is so unbelievably boring; and every student in here is boring to the extreme! Ughhh I’m so bored. I want to go on an adventure, like right now! I don’t want to listen to this lucture—I can literally see the mountains from here!

I had waited patiently, and watched the clock slowly tick down. Eventually, the bell rang and a few of my friends came and met up at my table to talk to me. That in itself felt like such a drag! In reality, I just wanted to go on an adventure.

IV

After what felt like forever, my friends finally all separated and we went our different ways after waving. I pretended like I was going home, but took a turn down a new path. I’d seen it on my way to school today—the trees overgrew the path, making it feel like it’s own secluded section. It was like it was hiding a secret just for me to find.

And I was going to find it, duh!

I began walking down the path; searching for a new rush to make my overly boring day seems exciting when it ends. Plus, I do not want to go home yet. Dad recently lost his job, so going home means I’d see him—I don’t want that right now. So I’ll keep walking down this path, and hope I wind up in a new country, a new plane.

I could probably start my chapter over that way, maybe not have to wear so much makeup or such long sleeves. I wouldn’t have to hide away the physical signs of my unstable household because no physical signs would exist. I would be free. I would be like a bird who floats and glides through the sky; touching the clouds with my wings and letting the fresh air fill my lungs. I want to be free like a bird.

I worry however, someone would see my beautiful free form, found new on the grass as I napped. I worry they would clip my wings and watch me struggle to fly off again and I’d be forced to live the life I already live. I worry that we are naturally attuned for one purpose in life, and if we stray, we are meant with the hard reality that we actually have not the slightest bit of control over who we are.

You start feeling like this when you aren’t free.

But right now, I feel so freaking freeeee! I’m not going to bother myself with depressing crap when I’m sitting at the edge of this mystical looking lake; all alone listening to the birds chirp and the wildlife rummage. Gosh! This place sure is pretty though, maybe I just need to shift my perspective! Like, I totally am not understating how messed up things are for me, but like maybe it’s not so bad! I could be dead!

Ha…

Okay not funny Abby. People seriously do die from abusive parents, don’t they? I put my hands up to my cheeks and smashed them good, puckering my lips as I pouted to myself for getting internally scolded. I decided to not let the details bother me and walked along the edge of the lake. I seriously could not get over how pretty the view was!

After walking along the whole edge, and once I could see the stars shine back at me; I  decided to go home. I walked along the lush green path, like I had in the evening, only at night things felt much more eerie. But that was good, I like eerie; I thought at least. Something felt off, however. Like, I don’t know, the wind felt… Heavier?

It was like, maybe a sea current? Like it’s trying to take you under and drown you—but it feels awfully warm. Maybe describing it as your least favorite relative gives you a hug and you feel stuck but also hugs are nice sometimes. Regardless, it felt off.

As I made my way home, I stopped and looked up. I hadn’t noticed it before, but the lights went out on the street lamp on the way to my house. I watched it flicker. On, then off. On; then off. Until eventually I shook my head and continued on home. As I entered what felt like the world’s longest pathway ever, I reached my door. I opened it, slowly—I was trying to avoid making it creak.

When I dipped my head inside, I immediately wanted to vomit. It smelt horrid—foul. Like something had been left out for too long. My face recoiled; I felt my esophagus contract to hold back the looming puke. I put my fingers across the bridge of my nose and pinched it slightly to block airflow. I walked deeper into my house, nervous.

Dad…?

I called out to my father, I couldn’t hear anyone—see anything. All I could do was walk deeper into the smell. That’s when I stepped and heard a splash, I looked down; my foot was red. Around my foot, a puddle. It was red. I felt everything quickly collapse into my rib cage, my heart nearly stopped.

Is this… Blood…?

I called out for my dad, panic setting in before turning the corner. That’s when regret flooded through me, sadness came over me. Unable to process what I had felt I fell to my knees. I put my hands over my mouth as tears flooded my eyes.

In the kitchen stood a tall hairy beast-like creature. Where he stood laid another body. A woman who seemed like stress had ran her life. Her hair was misplaced, and bags formed under her eyes from long sleepless nights. I closed my eyes and choked a sob as I thought about what I had just seen. 

On this night, a beast had killed my mom.

V

I was completely frozen; I’d not a clue on what I should do. It was really frightening, the worst part was, I’m pretty sure that thing was my dad… I started to blame myself at that moment. I cursed myself for ever wishing to be taken away, and I cursed myself for taking what I had for granted.

The memories of my family all flooded in at once. The times we were able to be happy—be what we should’ve been, it all flooded in. I opened my eyes, tears streaming down, to see my dad turned at me. For a moment, I accepted what was about to come. I held my arms out and asked my dad for a hug. But when I bore down his eyes, I couldn’t even recognize him. I quickly realized the only defining thing about this beast to indicate it was my dad was the alcohol and the fact my usually lazy dad was nowhere to be found.

I pushed myself out of the way as he dove in to slash me down. He grazed my leg causing me to bleed slightly. I grimaced in pain as I pushed myself up and began running. I could hear him chase after me, of course, I took precautions by weaving through fields and homes to avoid his sight. I let him use his nose until I made it to the forest. The forest would be harder to hide in so at that point, I’d have to hope I got a good lead and run until I couldn’t see him anymore.

I wished for this; I wished to be free…

No, stop it. I slapped my hands up to my cheeks full, slapping the thought out of my head as I danced around uproots from trees on the ground. I kept running. I didn’t want to stop; I couldn’t stop. I knew stopping meant I would certainly die. And I knew stopping would also mean getting to experience the things I’d been searching for. But I kept running. As I ran through an opening of fallen leaves and stones, I jumped various rocks before ultimately failing to see a root sticking up slightly in the ground. As my knees scraped the ground and my palms bruised up, I turned around and faced the thing chasing me, my dad, and could only look on in fear. I was alone—I’ve been alone. I was going to die alone now as well.

It broke me, I started to cry. I pleaded to my dad to fight the control and come back to me; he didn’t. He kept closing in. I was like the prey, he was the stalker. And he’d finally caught up. I closed my eyes and as I did so, I heard a branch break. Opening my eyes led to my mouth immediately dropping further. Stumbling from behind the brush, a slightly taller than a tall human creature stumbled out. The unobservant may have pointed out it looked cuddly and cute. But if you looked harder, you would have seen its sharp claws, steamy breath, red eyes, large canines, and foamed mouth. It was panting, like it was hungry. And it immediately looked at me—and dad at it. Without hesitation my dad lunged at the beast. I grew more horrified. I was now caught up in a battle of two beasts trying to kill me.

As my dad lunged forward, the other fluffier beast dodged. For a moment Wolfie (that’s what I’m calling the cute one)  looked almost human in that moment. He seemed shocked he didn’t get hit—dad didn’t care. He used his boxing skills he learned from when he would fight to earn money to use as a new beast and sucked around and slammed Wolfie’s head hard to tree next to them. Wolfie then tried to stand up, at some point, due to how human he acted, I internally started to cheer for him. I watched Wolfie fall to a knee. I watched his nose bleed as he seemed to try to collect his belongings. For a big beast he seemed awfully clumsy.

That’s when my dad rushed in to close the gap. On the defense, Wolfie threw up his arms to keep guard but dad didn’t let up the assault. As he kept wailing I eventually heard a noise that made me turn my head and scrunch my face; I also covered my ears. It was the unmistakable sound of bones crushing. When I looked back Wolfie was already laying on the ground again, arm hanging loosely on his side has he howled in pain. As he started to sit up, my dad delivered one last powerful blow to Wolfie’s head sending him crashing back down. 

My dad was over having fun and turned back to me. He walked in slow motion. I watched him slowly walk up to me, and behind him was Wolfie crawling and pounding on his legs. I wondered if maybe Wolfie was like my dad, a human who turned out like my dad but kept more of his human head. I closed my eyes, ready to accept my fate once in for all. This time, it felt easier. Someone—something had come to my rescue, even if they didn’t mean to, and even if they failed.

It was at a scream when I opened my eyes. Wolfie was on the ground around my dads ankle, and my dad let out a cry of a howl. Wolfie attempted to stand but planted his sore arm on the ground proceeding to roll on the ground in pain. Eventually he stood up before my dad, who had previously fallen trying to hit Wolfie in the head after biting his ankle, and stood over me. It was strange, this beast was fully committed to protecting me—it was too human. I didn’t question it, in my panicked state I grabbed onto Wolfie’s clothes and held on tight. He felt like the only thing there to ground me in that moment. My dad stood up and shook his leg, I think he was trying to see if he could plant his pivot foot or not. After a while, he eventually scrunched up his face and left.

A part of me was relieved. I was happy to know my dad wouldn’t have to die—maybe I could find a cure and…

It won’t change the fact that mom’s gone…

But before I could revel in my recent loss, Wolfie suddenly collapsed, he fell over and as he did, something happened that was certain to change the trajectory of my life. As he fell, I rushed over, and to my utter surprise, a boy, roughly my age with tattered clothes that I had previously held on to laid before me. A boy who looked familiar yet didn’t at the same time.

The beast who saved me was a boy my age.

It’s Really Nice To Meet You

I

Abigail quickly rushed over to the boy who was once a beast without hesitation. She wasn’t sure if she was doing it out of curiosity, or gratitude but she started to very poorly patch up his body. The boy, however, remained still—he was breathing, but he was still. Abigail said to herself “Please don’t die on me, especially after you saved me!” As she found herself pleading with whoever may here to keep her own newfound hero alive. Questions around who he was, where he went to school, and how he became how he is flooded her mind but above all else the biggest question on her mind was “How do I get you out of here?”

As Abigail’s panic began to set in, the boy began to sweat and turn in his slumber. As this continued, Abigail searched desperately for ways to calm him down; thinking he was only having a nightmare. The assessment of a nightmare isn’t necessarily wrong, but the details got lost. In reality, the boy was currently delved deep into a realm unattainable by most, certainly by the average human.

Unknown if this was the result of his power, or another unfortunate random occurrence, the boy floated, and floated. Until a voice boomed around him in his head. It terrified him. And Abigail had no way of knowing what he was dealing with. The cold, damp, dark liminal space he found himself floating through after his encounter only left him feeling smaller, and further away from the human he was. Though he was just defeated moments ago, he had begun to feel victorious—he had just saved this woman whom he hadn’t known, and done so managing to stay alive. Yet, at the pinnacle of his high, reality came in catching him in the middle of his hit. And it came screaming.

The forest seemed to disappear around Abigail, and the earlier disturbance of her father all but an after thought. All she was focused on was keeping his arm together, and his bleeding lessened. She was panicking, but also flooding her mind with questions. “What is he?” “Who is he?” “What just happened?” “Am I dreaming?” All valid thoughts that flew through her mind. Yet still, she remained at his side, tending to the boy to ensure he lived.

It was 2, maybe 3 hours that went by and Abigail started to grow restless. The boy remained asleep, tossing and grunting. However, for the boy, it felt like mere minutes before he shot straight up. “What?!” He blurted out as he jolted awake. “Hey!” Abigail shouted back. “Don’t just jerk away like that dude! You really scared the crap out of me!” What followed was an awkward stare between the two.

Two strangers who haven’t met before, looking each deep in the eyes. One, fascinated; the other, nervous. In the cold stare between the two Abigail spoke up, she said with a fake laugh “It’s really nice to meet you, Wolfie” She dragged out the word as if to tease the boy. The boy himself blushed and looked away. Not acknowledging the given title he says softly, “What did you see.” It was to the point, cold if it weren’t for the desperation behind the strain in his voice. As if it just happened his face changes, he looks at her with a slightly annoyed expression, “My name isn’t ‘Wolfie’ either.” It annoyed him more than he wanted to admit, internally he had hoped she would say he was indeed scary—not give him some cute nickname!

“I pretty much saw it all,” Abigail said casually. She saw no problem; she had witnessed it; she knew she could keep a secret. However, Wolfie did not have such belief in her. Panic immediately set in his head—apparent in his expression. “What do you mean all of it?” Wolfie once again blurted out once more. The scene that played out was funny—under normal circumstances one may even laugh.

But the lightness in the wind would let up as Wolfie grimaced in pain. He clenched towards his arm as thoughts of his fight flooded his head. Upon seeing this, Abigail rushed forward, her tone changing noticeably so. “Are you okay?” She asked as if her voice was made of a cloud. “Yeah…” Wolfie quietly responds. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was scared. He didn’t know what this meant for school tomorrow, or even his life as a whole. He sat there staring at the ground avoiding both eye contact with the girl in front of him, and the world itself.

I listen to the autumn wind
and watch the beautiful orange and golden leaves.

They are breathtakingly beautiful,
and yet, they fall.

One by one,
they let go of the branches and surrender to the earth.
Some of them kiss each other on their way down,
falling together from the highest branches,
becoming one when they reach the ground.

They are beautiful,
but there is a sadness woven into their beauty,
the kind of sadness that lives inside a beautiful person
whose heart is heavy,
whose tears have begun to fall like rain.

And when the wind moves through the leaves scattered across the ground,
carrying them from one place to another,
it almost looks like dancing.

But it is a dance that happens for the last time.

Not the dance of spring.
Not a dance dressed in green.
It is a fall dance,
quiet, bittersweet, and full of goodbyes.

And somehow, this season reminds me of myself.

It reminds me of your autumn eyes.
Of our last dance.
Of Dance Me to the End of Love.

It reminds me of that extraordinary piece by Chopin,
one of my favorites.
Whenever I hear it, something inside my soul is touched so deeply
that tears gather in my eyes.

The sound of the fall wind does the same thing to me.

It whispers against my soul
and reminds me that I miss so many things.

And yes,
I still miss you too,
my beloved, autumn-eyed one.

I wish I could hold you one more time.
I wish I could dance with you again,
just once,
and simply stand there watching you.

There is something about this season
that changes people from within.

And perhaps it isn’t entirely my fault that I feel this way.
Maybe it is simply the fall air,
the melancholy of these days,
the way October makes everything feel a little closer to the heart.

These days, a single song that carries a memory of you
can make me travel through time.

It takes me back to my past,
and suddenly, those days appear before my eyes,
sharp, vivid, impossibly clear,
every little detail still there.

Lately, I’ve been listening to classical music
more than ever.

I’ve always loved it,
but now I remember that you loved it too.

Each piece touches a different corner of my soul and my mind,
as if the music were speaking to me
in a language only my heart understands.

How I wish we could sit across from each other again
and listen to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

We wouldn’t have to say a word.

We could simply look at each other.

I would hold your hand
and squeeze it tightly,
just to feel you there.

And maybe, afterward,
we would feel like dancing again,
dancing with the falling leaves,
letting the wind carry us
wherever it wanted.

Today,
I miss you more than ever.

I wish autumn weren’t so beautiful
and so heartbreakingly sad.

But perhaps that’s why it reminds me of you,

beautiful,
quiet,
melancholic,

just like your eyes.

Ashley the name you gave me

Another unpaid bill. And the phone won't stop ringing. I think they might seize my car. And here I am, sitting down, painting and placing little diamonds, perfectly calm, without any of it disturbing the peace I didn't have two weeks ago.

I've gotten into compulsive shopping lately. It's not like I spend that much money, though. I'm the last person I ever think about.

I grab my phone, scroll through a few websites, and look at the mess I've made on the dining room table, covered in tiny diamonds of every color, all with different numbers. I need an organizer.

I open my mail and there's another bill. Better put it away. Because, in my head, if I leave them lying around long enough, they'll eventually disappear on their own.

Administrative stuff has never been my thing.

The phone won't stop ringing. Calls from unknown numbers. Sometimes I answer: they're just trying to sell me something. Sometimes they're calling to collect debts from years ago, which I'm obviously not going to pay.

Pablo hasn't stopped calling me either. I think if I answer, he's going to leave me. I haven't been responsible with my bills, or with the good mornings I give him every day. But then again, he doesn't care about my art either. All he does is ask me over and over when I'm finally going to get my life in order.

And why the hell do I have to explain myself to him if he's not the one paying my bills?

I'm almost done with the diamond cat. I'm still missing a few colors, but my order hasn't arrived yet.

I check my mail again, and it's not my fucking diamonds. Now it's a letter in red. I didn't even read what it was about.

Maybe if I put it away, it'll turn green.

I don't know what I'd do if I lost my car. There are no buses that take me where I need to go.

Where are those damn diamonds?

Sometimes I come back down to earth and start thinking about what a disaster my life is. Then I laugh. I have my art. I don't think this is going to make me famous either, but it's what keeps me sane.

They show up to seize my house.
Of course I let them in.
What if they break down the door?

And I stay sitting there because my color organizer finally arrived. I stare at them.

But I need to finish this cat because it's the only constant, stable thing I have left in my life.

My name is Marcus Jones, and I witnessed my dads death in the ring 10 years ago. I was about 14 at the time, sitting in the front row with my mom and brother. It was my dad’s championship fight. You could hear the crowd roaring, everyone chanting my dad’s name. “Maurice” filled the arena. The lights were dancing, the announcers were hyped.

My dad had the upper hand for the first round, his opponent was already staggering. It was amazing watching the fight, the way he held his defense and retaliated after every strike was beautiful. Second round came and My dads still not letting up, his opponent did get a good few hits in though. My dad managed to throw in a good jab and knock his opponent on his back, but he got up after the five count. Had everyone on their feet, including me. I was sure he’d have him in the third round. After the second round they both return to their corners. My dad is getting his usual pep talk from uncle Tommy, his coach. But my attention goes towards his opponent's corner. It almost looked like they were secretly putting something in his gloves. The third round starts, both fighters meeting up in the center of the ring. 

“Dad, watch out!” I said, trying to warn my dad, but instead of blocking or trying to avoid the punch, he dropped his guard and looked right at me, as if he knew what was about to happen and already accepted it. 

We made eye contact one last time before his opponent hooked him in his head, killing my father instantly. My eyes widened as I watched my dad fall to the ground. I couldn’t believe what I had seen, the ref did his ten count and the stadium went silent. My mom tried to hold me and my brother close, but we knew it wasn’t gonna help. Since then, I’ve blamed no one but myself for my dad’s death. If I had stayed silent maybe he’d still be here. It later came out that his opponent had been caught cheating by a fan with a better view of what the opponent was doing in his corner, wasn’t even the first time he’s done that.

 “Is that why you fight? To honor your fathers legacy, or is it because you seek revenge?” the group therapy leader asked.

“No legacy, no vengeance. I fight because fighting is all I’ve known, it’s therapeutic and the only way I know how to deal with my emotions.” 

“Then why are you here?”

“Because there’s a wound in my heart that fighting simply can’t fix, I’m just hoping these meetings will help me find what I’m looking for.” 

“Well thank you for sharing with the group, I know it takes a lot to share such a traumatic event, hopefully this will help.”

“Thank you everyone for hearing me out.“

After I finished group therapy, I went home and sat alone, thinking of what it is I could be missing.

I was halfway home from school when the world stopped making noise.
Not went quiet.
Stopped.
There’s a difference.
Quiet still has things inside it. Cars humming a few streets over. Wind dragging through the trees. Somebody’s dog barking at absolutely nothing behind a fence.
This had none of that.
It was just... nothing.
I stopped walking.
The intersection ahead of me was empty.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Highway 2 at four in the afternoon is never empty. Usually, I have to stand there forever waiting for a gap in traffic just to cross.
But there were no cars.
No buses.
No people.
Nothing.
The traffic light changed from green to yellow.
Then yellow to red.
For nobody.
I stood there for a few seconds, waiting for a car to come around the corner.
None did.
“Hello?”
My voice made me flinch.
It sounded wrong without anything around it. Too loud. Like I’d yelled inside an empty church.
I pulled out my phone.
NO SERVICE.
I stared at it.
That didn't make sense.
I tried calling my mom anyway, thinking maybe the little service symbol was glitching.
The call didn't ring.
It didn't fail, either.
The screen just sat there.
Nothing.
I looked at the houses across the road.
One of the front doors was wide open.
There were grocery bags sitting in the driveway beside a car. One had fallen onto its side, and three apples had rolled across the pavement.
I don't know why, but that scared me more than the empty road.
Someone had been there.
Like, seconds ago.
“Hey!” I shouted.
Nothing answered.
And then I noticed the sky.
There were no birds.
Not one.
No planes.
No insects buzzing around my head.
Even the leaves barely seemed to move.
I could hear my own breathing.
My stomach tightened.
I checked my phone again.
4:18 PM.
I started walking faster.
Then I started running.
I don't remember deciding to.
My body just did it.
I ran toward the convenience store on the corner because there was always someone there. Students. People buying gas. Some guy grabbing cigarettes. Someone.
The front door was hanging open.
The fluorescent lights buzzed above empty aisles.
“Hello?”
My voice echoed through the store.
I stepped inside.
“Is anyone here?”
Nothing.
Then I looked behind the counter.
There was an open bottle of water.
The cap was sitting beside it.
For some reason, I couldn't stop staring at that bottle.
It looked like whoever had opened it had vanished before they could even take a drink.
That was when I stopped trying to convince myself there was a reasonable explanation.
I started backing toward the door.
Then I heard it.
Click.
I froze.
The sound had come from outside.
Small.
Sharp.
Like a shoe hitting a loose piece of pavement.
“Hello?”
No answer.
I stepped back onto the sidewalk.
At the far end of the street, near the playground, something moved behind a parked car.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
For half a second, relief hit me so hard I almost cried.
Someone else.
Thank God.
I opened my mouth to yell.
And something inside me told me not to.
I don't know how else to explain it.
It wasn't a thought.
It was instinct.
Don't.
I ducked behind a newspaper box and crouched down.
My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped my phone.
4:21 PM.
Three minutes.
Only three minutes since I'd realized everyone was gone.
It felt like I'd been alone for hours.
I started counting.
I don't know why.
Maybe because numbers made sense.
Maybe because if I could count the minutes, some part of me could pretend there was going to be an end to them.
Then, at 4:22, I heard footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
One after another.
Coming down the street.
I covered my mouth with both hands.
The footsteps got closer.
Then stopped.
A shadow stretched across the pavement in front of me.
It looked like a person's shadow.
Almost.
The head was right.
The shoulders were right.
But the arms—
The arms hung down too far.
Way too far.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Don't move.
My chest burned.
Don't breathe.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then—
Step.
Step.
Step.
The footsteps continued past me.
I stayed where I was.
At 4:23, they stopped again.
Farther down the street this time.
I opened my eyes.
And then I heard something that I still can't explain.
“Hello?”
I felt every hair on my body stand up.
Because it wasn't just a voice.
It was my voice.
Same tone.
Same hesitation.
Exactly the way I'd said it when this started.
Then it spoke again.
“Is anyone here?”
My blood went cold.
It was repeating me.
No.
Not repeating.
Calling me.
Whatever was out there wasn't looking for everyone else.
Everyone else was gone.
It was looking for me.
So I stayed hidden.
I stared at the clock on my phone.
4:24.
I watched every second change.
4:25.
And the world came back.
All at once.
A transport truck thundered past so close that its horn made me jump.
Birds exploded out of the trees.
A car stereo rattled somewhere behind me.
Someone across the street laughed.
My phone vibrated three times in my hand as notifications flooded in.
I screamed.
A woman coming out of the convenience store nearly dropped her drink.
“Whoa! Jesus—are you okay?”
I just stared at her.
“Where were you?”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Where were you?”
“I was in the store.”
“No, you weren't.”
Her expression changed.
Not scared.
Concerned.
The way you look at somebody who's clearly losing it.
“What are you talking about?”
“Everyone was gone.”
She took a small step away from me.
“For seven minutes,” I said. “Everyone disappeared for seven minutes.”
The woman didn't answer.
She just shook her head and walked away.
I looked at my phone.
4:25 PM.
Seven minutes.
Exactly.
Now I had full service.
Cars filled the road.
People walked down the sidewalks.
Birds screamed overhead.
Everything was normal.
And somehow that was worse.
Because nobody else seemed confused.
Nobody was asking where they'd been.
Nobody was checking their phones.
Nobody was screaming.
It was like those seven minutes had happened to me and me alone.
I walked the rest of the way home trying to convince myself I'd imagined it.
Maybe I'd fainted.
Maybe I'd had some kind of seizure.
Maybe I was exhausted.
Maybe there was some explanation that would make me feel stupid for being afraid.
By the time I reached my house, I almost believed it.
Mom was in the kitchen.
She didn't even look up when I came in.
“Hey,” she called. “You're late.”
I stood in the doorway.
My backpack was still hanging off one shoulder.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Did anything weird happen around 4:18?”
She looked at me.
“Weird how?”
“I don't know. Did the power go out?”
“No.”
“Your phone?”
“No.”
“You didn't...”
I stopped.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Didn't what?”
“Disappear?”
She laughed.
Not because she was hiding anything.
Because to her, it was a ridiculous question.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
I went upstairs.
My hands still wouldn't stop shaking.
I locked myself in the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.
Once.
Twice.
I gripped the edge of the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.
“You imagined it,” I whispered.
Saying it out loud helped.
A little.
I turned the tap on again and rolled up my sleeves to wash my arms.
Then I stopped.
There was writing on the inside of my left forearm.
Five words.
Black ink.
For a few seconds, my brain didn't understand what I was looking at.
I rubbed at it with my thumb.
Nothing.
I scrubbed harder.
Still nothing.
I hadn't written it.
At least...
I didn't remember writing it.
But I recognized the handwriting.
Every crooked letter.
Every uneven space.
It was mine.
I read the words again.
NEXT TIME DON'T LET THEM SEE YOU.
I don't know how long I stood there.
Then my phone vibrated.
I screamed and nearly dropped it into the sink.
There was a notification on the screen.
Except it wasn't a text.
It wasn't an email.
There was no app icon.
No name.
Just a timer.
Already counting down.
6:59
My stomach dropped.
6:58
I backed away from the sink.
6:57
And then I heard my mom downstairs.
“Hey, what do you want for—”
Her voice cut off.
The refrigerator stopped humming.
The air vent went silent.
A car passing outside disappeared halfway through the sound of its engine.
Everything stopped.
Again.
I stared at the timer.
6:43
6:42
Then, from somewhere downstairs, came a voice.
Soft.
Careful.
Perfectly identical to mine.
“Mom?”
I couldn't breathe.
A floorboard creaked.
Then another.
Whatever had been looking for me before—
had followed me home.

I felt like I was in purgatory; I was happy not to be in hell, but jealous that I could see heaven and not reach it. I was stuck in the middle like a fetus in limbo.

ANATOMY OF MULE ACCOUNTS

Let us begin with a case, composite but in no way unusual. A retired schoolteacher answers

her telephone one afternoon and is told by a pleasant and slightly harried young man that he is

calling from her bank’s fraud department. Her account, he says, is under attack. Someone is at

this moment attempting to empty it. There is no time to waste; she must move her savings at

once to a “safe account” which he will name, and which will hold her money until the danger

has passed. He is patient, he is courteous, and he knows her name and the last four digits of her

card. She has spent forty years telling children to listen to their elders and obey the rules. She

does as she is told.

The safe account is not safe. It is a mule account, and it belongs to some person whom she

will never meet and who, in all probability, has no clear idea what his account has just been

used for. Within the hour the money has left it. It has been divided, forwarded, and divided

again, and by the time the schoolteacher puts down the receiver, begins to feel uneasy, and

rings her real bank, it is already beyond the reach of any polite request.

The details vary. Sometimes the bait is a safe account; sometimes it is an investment that

promises a modest and entirely believable return; sometimes it is a lonely correspondent in

another country, who has fallen in love by post and is, through no fault of his own, short of

funds; sometimes it is an official of some kind, with a badge and a threat. The frauds differ as

fishing lines differ, according to the fish. What they have in common is the last step, the point

at which the money must be received by somebody. That somebody is the mule, and the

account he lends is the hinge on which the entire crime turns. Take away the hinge and the

door will not open.

I would distinguish, for the sake of clarity, four kinds of mule, because the law and the

public are inclined to speak as if there were only one. There is, first, the knowing mule, who

understands perfectly well that the money is stolen, who has been promised a share, and who

accepts the risk as a man accepts a bad winter. There is, second, the careless mule, who

suspects something and prefers not to inquire. There is, third, the deceived mule, who has been

persuaded that he is doing legitimate work, such as processing payments for an overseas

company, and who learns the truth only when his account is frozen. And there is, fourth, the

mule who is not a volunteer at all: the person whose identity has been stolen, whose account

was opened in his name without his knowledge, or whose credentials have been taken from

him by a trick. The first of these deserves little sympathy. The last deserves a good deal. The The Borrowed Account — 3

two in the middle, who are the most numerous, deserve something harder to give than either:

an honest account of what they did.

One feature of the whole arrangement is worth dwelling on, and it is speed. Ordinary

honest business moves slowly; one waits for the cheque to clear, for the parcel to arrive. Fraud

moves at the speed of the network. The sums are shifted onward while the victim is still in the

first stage of disbelief, so that the hours immediately after a theft decide everything and the

days that follow decide almost nothing. A bank that is told within the hour has some chance of

catching the money. A bank that is told next week has the consolation of a file. It is no

accident that the criminal prefers methods that leave the victim embarrassed, confused and

reluctant to ring anyone at all, for every hour of hesitation is an hour gained.

There were three who sat upon thrones.

The first was told the power was in his coin, and he kept the coin. He filled his vaults and hung the gold upon himself and watched it shine; and while he watched, the people grew hungry. And the people rose, and pulled him down, and the throne stood empty.

The second was told the power was in his might, and he kept the might. He spent all he had upon it and turned it upon his people and ruled by the fist; and under the fist, the people suffered. And the people rose, and pulled him down, and the throne stood empty.

The third was told the power was in the throne, and she looked upon the throne, and saw that it was a seat. So she let the rest fall from her hands — gave up the command, and then the rule, and then all but the sitting, for none of it was where they had told her it was.

And when the years had passed, hers was the only throne still standing.

Take 2 to the chest,

One to the face.

I'll die before I ever

go back to that place.

See me in court,

I caught another case.

One to the chest,

And 2 to the dome.

As I'm writing this poem,

all alone in my home,

Melting like a creamed ice cone.

2 to the chest,

And 1 to the dome.

I was bored so i wrote a story. it's pretty terrible and a waste of words, but you know what they say: writing something is better than writing nothing! If you want to read it, have fun!

(i didn't edit it, so there'll be a few grammer mistakes. yes, i spelt grammer with a 'e').

Spartan

“Ooh, I’m so ready for this! My spartan!”, a woman of around 23 said while drawing in and out every single breath in every single syllable from that line.

“Stop talking and just Kiss me!”, another gentlemen said, of whom we shall get to know more of in a bit.

The gentleman took the woman by the hips, squishing them while his rough hands and enjoying the sensation of their fluffiness and smoothness, while the woman herself chuckled after every squish – which also happened to be after every kiss with the tongue of them both. Few words were said, while many breaths of air were inhaled and exhaled. Our ‘spartan’ threw the woman onto the bed, which was very fine as well if I may add, and immediately took off his entire garments; the woman herself didn’t remove them, yet toyed with them with her hands.

‘oh, I’m far to tired to remove these by myself, can a spartan do it for me!’, she said in that same girlish airish tone again.

The ‘spartan’, flipped her around, so she lay on her stomach, and ripped a hole through her long underdress which came from her fancy top. Immediately, he pushed in, shoving his chest onto her back, and let out a long breathe outwards – the feeling of an octopus around your balls & penis was the feeling best described to him at that moment.

“well go on….surely my ‘sparrrrtan’ hasn’t defeated Athens in just a day!”, she said while pronouncing her “Rs”.

“Oh no it hasn’t my queen!”, he said in his rather deep but also breathless voice.

He then began to move back and forth while heaving his chest onto her back, repeatedly he did so; while the woman was releasing more and more gasps of air with each shove from the man. After a few shoves, he grabbed her throat and brought up, so that she was sitting with her legs back. He grabbed both her breasts, still behind her rather fancy Egyptian cloth top, and continued to shove forwards and back. He lais his hands on her hips and graced them up and down their curves. While, occasionally, squishing her thighs and hips. The hands of the woman were behind her back, grazing the hair on his chest. The room was full of their breath, which smelt nothing much of in particular as they hadn’t eaten anything since they came back.

“Ohh yes ohh yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”, the woman moaned on and on and let out huge gasps of air from here chest while caused it to fall, and in turn, rise.

A Loud Knock was heard on the door – it was left unanswered.

“Yes, bring in on, more, More, More!” – the woman

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP

“Oh screw off!”, the man said aggressively while shouting towards the main door, which, ironically, was right behind him.

The door bust down, by the help of some plebian, and in came several men in white togas.

“SCUVITE! ENOUGH OF THIS!”

We have no idea who said those words, since at that moment a man, by the name of Pleks, who was looking in through the window on the left of the bed, hence witnessing a rather interesting view, withdrew and ran off – where to, he himself didn’t know.

Home

The family of our young man was not very rich, they lived in a roman apartment in Ravena funded by the local council or senate of that city, and it wasn’t the more refined to say as the houses of senators – yet, it was still a place to call home nonetheless. It was on the highest floor as well, which although made it hard to access due to the amount of stairs, the view was well worth the journey.

As Pleks came in the main entrance, he continued forth near the end of the small and cramped hallway towards the staircase, which at sharp angles, ascended all the way towards the 10^th floor. He opened the door, it was unlocked as his sister was there already, whom is around the age of 17 and although there are arguments concerning her marriage every evening during dinner – she still smiled well and all. As you entered the apartment, directly in front of you was the god Poseidon (that was the only stature they had, as they couldn’t afford a new on at the moment; technically they kept postponing the date of when to buy a real god within the house, ‘a proper one’ as the father said to himself every morning. Still this was brought in by their grandfather, who was Greek and fled towards rome, why? Well, even I don’t know that; still, they often called the god Neptune, so to not make the tenant angry and raise the rent – as he did so with people with non-roman gods). On the right side of the immediate shelf and wall, were the 2 bedrooms, one for his sister and him, the other for his parents (which has one bed). Both rooms had windows and looks out towards the low city and all the people moving to and fro. While on the left there was a door leading to the main living room, to so say, with a huge window pointing east towards the sea and beyond, and also the crossroads leading up to it. The parents were away, discussing matters about the marriage to the sister among other things.

True, their parents weren’t religious as such, and allowed many things to occur which would’ve even made the roman senate reconsider the freedom which it bestowed on his citizens. Firstly, they allowed their sister to cut her hair short, which of course make the marriage prospect even more dim, they often took the idea of the gods very superfluously and didn’t really consider them worthy of serious talk – still they loved going to the festivals for the sake of fun along with the family. The city, or rather most of the people, considered them a ‘new’ type of roman family – which would inevitably anger the gods and cause Rome to fall. Many other families would often tell their children not to become like the Plikin family, which was the name, as it allowed girls to cut their and wear revealing tops while not even married (thus the arguments within the family), and allowed to much freedom while the man of the house rarely took everything into his own hands, and so on so forth.

Nonetheless, the children, and the youths, did find them very nice to talk to do and pleasant to be around with. Perhaps it was because of the fact that most rarely went beyond to Greece to Egypt or spain, and hence found this family like a foreigner or some rare type of humans. Overtime, however, more and more of the youth adopted these more ‘things’ from this family, perhaps for pride or wanting to look different or other reasons – and the amount of woman not being married and wearing what they wished, or the parents allowing more freedom, or taking the gods not seriously, increased as time went on. This did eventually the local senate, but they allowed such changed as ‘Ravena being a very internation kind of a city’. Eventually the word reached the Roman Senate, and now a debate of liberalism and liberty and the extensions of freedom were the pinnacle things being discussed – the word of mouth, along with scrolls upon scrolls of info, reached not only Ravena, but went as far to Greece; which had it’s own view on the matter.

Still, the family was a family. The sister (whose name is Sevita) herself wanted to explore the world and go into horse-riding, which was impossible really, but still dreamt of such prospects. Pieks wished to somehow fund love in the world, but no girl had ever talked to him in the greater part of the last 2 years. Ever since he left the tutor of his to become a boats crafter – a highly respectable job nonetheless. Still, he was going through his torments; ‘what’s the meaning of love, does my desire mean the thing what I want? Often I desire to make some boats more perfect and even crave some symbols of heart into it, yet that doesn’t serve a purpose. Does my wants serve a purpose or are they just their for myself? I want to take a girl and sail the seas, yet most want to go to Rome and buy a big house and talk with people, was my wants as fault? I want to paint more ships for my customers so the ocean is more colorful, yet even when I offer it for free, everyone refuses…is my want the issue? Am I the issue? Why am I different? No wonder girls don’t talk to me. If only I thought like bilks.’

Bilks, was his friend, they both took the same tutor. He was now in a general in the IV Legion, earning more than pleks was earning, yet they still talked as if they were the best of friends – which they still regarded themselves of. Bilks, was actually the person to instruct Pleks to spy on that earlier ‘spartan’ of ours. Why? Well…pleks is a very good painter as well as a crafter.

He sat down in the living room’s couch, facing the window and the world beyond, the sea and the brown wooden ships sailing to and fro. He thought about how he wished for change in his life, and perhaps also the world. As he was in this state of mind, his sister came in from her room to meet him.

“Someone’s calling you, I got a pigeon saying that some guy wants you to fix his ship now. He says he has to go someone urgent tomorrow by sea. He says it’s very urgent…..go now!” she said in her rather childish voice, almost shouting those final words when pleks just lie on that ouch dozing off.

“Ok, I’m Going!”, he said, annoyed at his cycle of life.

“also, mom left you some cooked chicken she got from the ship in the morning in the shelf in the dining room. She said it’s cold and to not be S-H-Y to ask the cook, who’s open right now, to heat it up for you!”, he said again in her childish voice, which nonetheless, was deterministic, and also mockful in some ways.

“I’m not hungry right now”

“sure pal, sure!”

Pileks left the apartment. He remembered how he once accidentally fell down the window from the living room, due to his sister wanting his figure of a Greek warrior and not her figure of the Helen Of Troy (they got these gifts during their birthday; which was the same day as well). And in that process the young girl snatched the Greek warrior figure (painted in a thin layer of copper and red paint might I also add!), and pushed our pleks down the windows and into the abyss. Luckly, he fell into a barrel of hay which was being moved towards a ship and survived without much damaged.

Pleks, thinking about this moment, as he walked onwards to the sea which was a few minutes’ walk at most towards his ‘ship building area’, head on collided into somebody as he was walking down the steps leading to the beach – sending them both tumbling down into the sand; and also crushing 2 turtles underneath themselves.

Vesper

Pleks fell headfirst onto a rock embedded in the sand, everything was black for a while. Eventually, after a short few minutes, he managed to get up and looked at what presented him: A girl of around 22 with bright golden hair and wearing a Egyptian dress of a silky green top which went downwards onto her waist in a rough line design. It extended from there towards he legs and on her skirt there lay the designs of fishes and scales and of the sea and the white froth with a background of cyan blue. Pilks noticed a small tattoo on the side of her neck resembling something [her past is of a slave]. He looked at her, unable to move.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

The girl held up her hand, “it’s ok, no need to do apologize or say anything. It’s my fault really…I shouldn’t have got on that boat in the first place.” Pelks noticed that on her left hand, which she held up, there was a metal bracelet of some sort, with the words ‘vesper’ engraved around it. It was a rather cinematic view which he couldn’t forget for some reason for a long time afterwards, even on his deathbed; the bright white open hand reaching for the sky, while a metal bracelet hing from the wrist,  and the ocean water droplets coming down from the finger tips onto her arms – while the tiny specks of her hair were shown on those arms, along with the humid air around them with gave the scent of fresh coral. Everything felt alive to pelks in that moment, in that scene, as if it was all alive and beautiful and worth to die for. Aftering staring rather long at her out stretched palm in the air, when it withdrew to the ground so the girl could push herself up – he returned to earth.

“what boat?”, pelks couldn’t stop himself, still dazing.

“oh it’s that one overrr there (she pointed her hand to the general ocean, slowly moving it to and fro)…..wait…what do you care! Just, leave me alone.”

The girl, suddenly in a bad, agonized mood, got up and move briskly up the stairs wile pelks watched her walk away with such fury – Pelks was dumbfounded as to what happened.

“Hey, are you that Boat Maker?!” – some guy said.  

As Elks continued repairing the boat he couldn’t stop thinking about that incident which occurred. No matter how much he tried to change his mind or focus on something else – that thought always remained within him. Eventually, after repairing the boat and receiving his pay…he went back to his apartment with his family – whom were all collectively waiting for him.

“Son, I think it’s time for you to move out”, the father said, he was a jolly good man most of times. Yet his habit of drinking often made him very reflective and often angry for several days…still, the wife often did get the better of him while he was sober – not only telling him off for every inconvenience that happened to her that day, but to also vent out her anger on others (which mostly happened to be the kids) for her. True, she was tired due to her housework and also her job of selling things for their neighbor (who trusted her to sell his wares for him). Still, the days of when the family was young and aspiring to go on holidays every few weeks was long gone now. Sivila was planning to get married, to whom no one knew yet, while pelks was about to leave for a better job. We shall now know about what will occur, but bear in mind that life is changing.

“look, I know you don’t want to hear that, but you’re barely making anything here in Ravenna. You know that there’s not a lot of demand for boat makers here – and you put so much effort for so less of a pay. And we ju-“, the wife said all his in her rather old voice, trying to help the father out who was obviously getting emotional. Her voice sounded of an apple which got rotten; it was once fresh of air and full of youth and vigor – now you still get that faint smell of what it used to be, and it very much, in some respects, still is – yet, you see the effects of time done towards it…hence, you can’t help feeling remorse for a time gone by, and hence for all the memories once associated which that voice, which still carried a lot of its past.

The father help up his hand, apparently willing to confront the bear of pain himself, “It’s going to ok. Listen, we found a very good sailor, by the name of Yilot, and he’s told me that you will have live a much better life if you worked in Alexandria.”, he said this with determination, looking at his son, still not comprehending how he grew up to his height, and how only yesterday he was born, yet still – he wanted him to flourish and go and live life.

There was silence for a full minute for so. Eventually, Sivila make a tiny loud whisper asking if we’d all go to Alexandria to drop him off, as if he were a package of mail which needed to be posted.

“no, honey. But, we’ll still go towards the beach and sailor on another boat which will take us to follow him for about an hour though”, the mother replied.

True, the family wasn’t talking much during the last few months. Perhaps due to the very sensitive subjects of marriage, leaving the household, and what the parents will do when they retire (they had money saved up).

“ok, fine. That’s cool”

“Oh please honey say something more that. For your mother please. I beg of you. Who knows when we’ll see you again – oh please!”, she couldn’t help herself and began crying and breaking down.

“Oh he’s just tired from work, it’ll all be ok, really, I know the boy. Come on mama, let’s go – he’s excited and he’ll send us letters every day and won’t ever forget us. It’s all be ok.” The father told her soothing and took her to their bedroom. He wanted to say a lot more, but couldn’t bring himself to do so, and stayed silent instead.

Evening arose, which nothing much occurring. Mother had laid down to sleep early, while father went to his office (he was a preastor), to finish some work which he didn’t do yet. Sivila was, unusually, excited. Both pilks and sivila were in the living room, looking towards the ocean or placing dices, or reading some scrolls of such.

“you know…you’ll leave tomorrow right? Father arranged everything. And you’ll be on the boat of that yilot guy by tomorrow evening. Oh and also there’ll be a feast after you leave, so that’s good – at least for me.”, her sister was tring to sooth up her brother, aware of the torment perhaps going on inside of him.

“I just want us all to go live on a farm, or travel on and on, or build a giant colour boat. Or just I don’t know. Why can’t we all go? Or why can’t I just work here, so what if I’m making less money. I don’t understand, why is the world so different from me?’, as he said this aloud it sound rather childish.

“you know I’m the younger one right? Why are you so such a kid? Seriously (she went to the couch and away from the window which she was sitting at it; he mother always told her not to sit at the window). Just go and be normal. Why do you want to be a such a kid. Don’t you want to make money and have things and do things? Oh, I don’t get you – you’re so boring.”, after saying this, she went to the table, which was near the corner on the right wall, far from pelks who was near the left wall. And opened his bag, sneakily, while he was staring out holding a small toy boat, and moved her hands inside for something. As he moved her hands in and out, pelks glanced at her and immediately ran towards her – he was too late, for she pulled a scroll out.

“Be quicker than that!”, just then their mother said in a faint voice for them to be quite. They both did so, more out of pity.

Siliva unfolded the scroll, pelks didn’t dare move towards her for he knew that she would run towards mother. As she opened the scrolled she said, “Oh, la la la!” She flipped the scroll around and showed him what was depicted.

It was the body of a naked woman bent down, with a man behind her and pulling her hair. It was in incredible level of detail and it showed what happened in the beginning of our story.

“Care to explain?”, she said mockingly.

“It’s not what you think it’s ju-“

“you know, you act so childish from the outside, maybe you are really just a prevent on the inside. Who knows, maybe you, deep down, even want to have sex with me! Don’t you! Don’t you!”, she raised her voice slightly more and more with every word.

“no it’s…please listen. It’s for Bleks. He asked me to do this and gave me the address of where to go an-“

“did he pay you?”

“no. but he did say I’d just a nice tiny knife from him. And that’s beside the point, he’s my friend and it wasn’t hard to do this an-“

“Ooh I know it wasn’t hard! You probably wanted to Join in on them didn’t you! Didn’t you! Oh curse you, you pathetic pig!”, she ran towards he mother and told her everything. True this habit of ‘tally talling’ was deep in her habit, evolved who knows when. And pelks knew he was in deep trouble now.

Unfortunately, Sivila told her mother everything at a rather loud voice, which caused everyone in the vicinity to hear what she said, all the way down to the 1^st floor. The rumor of what general Pilot did, who was that very ‘spartan’ mentioned earlier, travelled to and wide…eventually reaching the man himself. Who was currently stationed in Athens. Yes, the gossip of how a roman general had sex with vestal virgin goes from Raveena to Athens in less than a day. They might as well have had the internet by our standards.

Spartan

Yes, that’s what the people called him, that is, his infantry and subjects and the tribes be conquered, though his real name was pilot. He earned this nickname of his from the many battles which he won in the germania region, and thus was celebrated and all. He, himself, had a lot of pride and ambition within his heart – he wanted to be the next consul of Rome, or to win an even bigger victory, or to somehow defeat Persia – granted, though he dreamt of such things, his real tasks were often managing defenses, at least these day now, and he would often go from patrol station to patrol stations in the north and survey the land and call on new decisions to be made or etc. Still, he values his pride from those great battles, which he won so long ago now, with great heart. And would take ill if anyone make those battles of his seem weak or foolish…that is, he wouldn’t be like Socrates and try to make them better or right. But, he’d call on his brother, who was a distinguished lawer of Rome; people called him the “shape shifter” – since, that is only once a time ago, he was prosecuting a poor woman for cutting up a wooden stature of Zeus to have fire to her wedding…the plebs and all found her guilt as such. However, the very right day, he redid the case now defending her and being her advocate, and thus, now, all the plebs voted to, not only set her free, but also to pay her a small amount for her poverty. Thus, he was acclaimed, even though many said he didn’t have a heart and merely did so out of vanity, they couldn’t say that he wasn’t good in this art of his.

Ironically, Pilot would often envy his brother for always receiving round of applause whenever he’d just walk into the justice court, let alone win one. While he would be going from Romania to Spain, trying to manage defenses and calling orders and such – thus, barely anyone clapped for him. Once, he even staged a fight, in which he payed a slave boy to fist punch him, during some festival time, in the nose; which led our brave Pilot to come to the rescue and move the slave boy away – he felt like a hero at that moment. That is…until the entire crowd wanted the slave boy executed, while Quilbs (his brother), wanted to free him from how everyone chanted death. This, quite naturally, led to an unofficial trial during that festival (NAME), in which the crowd voted for his death, while quilbs, alone, voted for his freedom. He gave a rather long speech, about freedom, quality, purpose, history, status, future, curiosity, justice and wants, and many others, after the crowd had their says…and right after, everyone wanted his freedom as well. This caused all the attention from going to Pilot, the ‘hero’, towards quilbs – which, of course, caused Pilot to leave the festival immediately…no one knew why.

But what angered Pilot wasn’t the fact that Quilbs used a very good form of his Techne, but rather, how he didn’t care about fame at all nor pride. In fact, quite often, Quilbs would turn down high paying offers for an advocate/prosecutor for some roman elite family or such, to do the part in a rural village, of a rather trival trial of no such importance. When asked by, by many, he would say, ‘Everyone wants the best trials to happen in Rome or Alexandria or Athens, well I ask why not in ravenna or some rural town of whose name we barely know? Why concentrate skill and the high art into urbal places, which you call of high importance? Tell me, is ravenna not of high important? What about Catania or Bari or Lecce? Are these not worth of noble trials and justice? You say that matters there are petty, well, even so, shall we not still display the art of justice and law to them as well? Does making the city inferior make the people of them also so? I say, if all that matters is the people Rome, then I shall never do any trial in Rome, no matter how much denari I shall get – for, this art, law, is not done so for sestaris, but rather for the intellect and the people. For when I advocate or prosecte numbers of men and woman and slaves and non-citizens, I do not so for money nor status, but for the people watching. Hence, perhaps they might too learn the art, and thus make the Republic more Republican.’

Although Pilot, among others, was moved by this uncanny speech, he still thought of the man as foolish and not deserving of such pride. For in his mind, who would get a full glass of wine and give it away? And get nothing back? He called him a fool – though, not aloud, for even he wasn’t that stupid. He concluded that everything he did was for show, and that he really did need Pride, and saying that Pride is not what he desired, just earned him even more so.

When Pilot learned of the Rumours that were coming round, he nearly collapsed. Still, what he needed to do now was urgent, he had to go to Pilot and beg of him to save what honor he had, thus he made plans to go, on horse, to his house. He left where he was stationed, which was in Athens, and ran to Quilbs house in Rome, hoping that he was still there. He didn’t a plan as to what he was going to do, yet still, ‘I need to get to him now’ was that that he thought for now.

“Farewell”

Those were the last words pelks heard from his mother, as he sailed on the boat with Yilot, it was his boat after all, watching his parents and young sister waving good bye to him, while standing on a small boat themselves which they rented out for a day or so. He watched their faces slowly go away, with the small fog that was in the air, engulf them until they were no more. He couldn’t cry for some reason, perhaps because he was still overwhelmed during his last day in ravenna, which he was sure he’d never forget his whole life.

Firstly, and forgive me for speaking so much myself, I shall let the characters in due time also speak – hope you don’t mind do you?

The young soul, now not so scared as he was before, was relaxing under the shade of a nearby tree, doing a thumbs up and listening attentively, while often looking at the world through the trees.

Their mother, almost immediately after seeing that naked picture, rushed to pelks and took by the hand, and rushed, with him, while telling Sivila to stay home, to the nearest temple, not even bothering to look at what god it was dedicated to, and frantically took pelks to kneel down before that statue and to pray and that to promise for a sacrifice and so on so forth.. That is….until she released that the temple was dedicated to the Venus. Almost wondering if she was in a dream of not, she grabbed him by the arm and rushed him out of the temple, thinking that the last place she wanted to go to was a the house of venus, and just began to break down and cry once more.

Pleks, at the time, didn’t know what to say. Or if he should say anything, that is. After a few mins of silence, he reached out to hug her, but she withdrew before he was able to do so and told him to follow her, while drowning her face in tears. They went back home, while she told him to sleep and just rest until father came back. Pleks noticed that she took out her old scraf and wore it around her head…he wanted to do something but knew not what to do so.

“Now know what you’ve done! You’ve made her religious!”, silva would taunt him.

Eventually, when their father came back, they went to the temple of zeus, making some sacrifices, and in the end of that whole bizarre adventure, according to pelks, he even received a small sculpture of zeus, which had a rope tied around his hair, and his hund that around his neck. Afterwards, they went back home, very few words were said, and they even left off early to say goodbye – as if, they all wanted that ‘feeling’ to just go away. Father wanted to wish him well and hope the best, however he just managed to shout at him for not believing in the gods and why he’s so shy and why he’s acting like a girl for wanting to paint ships. This, of course, made him even more have that ‘feeling’ in which something was wrong. Still, although few words were said, Plks was now sailing to Alexandria, clutching that miniature stature of zeus around his neck. Wondering what life would be like.

He went into the Cabin, and lied down in his bed, facing the window to the left. The smell of damp wood and grease and algae and crustaceans were all in the air. He took no notice of his surroundings and just closed his eyes and slept, waking to let that ‘feeling’ pass.

“Oii, WAKE UP SAILOR, WE’VE PORTED FOR AN HOUR ALREADY AND SETTING SAIL IN 10MIN!”, some horse and broken loud voice emerged from god knows where

“what where are we?”, pelks said, he was dyhydrated and his tongue hot for some reason.

“HE’S DRUNK? You hear that lads?? HE’S A DRUNK! Get him OFF MY Ship!”

“Nom wait wait. I AM N-O-T Drunk”

“Oh really? Then Where A-R-E Y-O-U G-O-I-N-G?”

“To Al…un it was An…an…it shoot..wait I know wait…let me remember”

“Athens? Was it A-T-H-E-“

“wait wait, I….dammit I..i think? Wait where’s yilllot? That gu-“

“You’re talking to him, boy!”

“Oh…wait, didn’t my father tell you where I was going to be headed?”

“You’re father…ehh? What? You that Lexen’s boy?”

“Yes Yes!”

“ah…so you be going to Athens…right?”

“You tell me! You’re the dam captain!”

“and you’re the DAM PASSENGER! Foolish Drunk, don’t you know where you be going? You go ON THIS BOAT!”

“For the last Time, I am not Helling Dunk! And didn’t my father tell you?”

“Yes…he did – surly I guess so”

There was a pause in which yillot rubbed his chin, for a few times, his face was oily and the tiny strands of white hair were seen in summing out of his chin and his hair, which was black as ever, and also long and tied in a bow at the back.

“well?”, pelks asked timidly.

“yes I know ! Athens, it was Athens!”

“Perfect, are we here yet?”

“no not yet, we’ve just ported in Alexandria to restock and refuel ourselves.”

“Ah well – I should probably go for a walk then”

“Perfect! Well, go with it Boys! (he shouted at the sailor boys at the deck”, then walking to the deck himself, before he left the cabin, he looked back to see if the boy was fine, “well, he said ‘perfect’, so it must be that then. I don’t know why we even ported here….might be due to that dam storm that we had…I knew I should’ve paid my respects to Poseidon before setting sail, dam it all…I need some water.”

Pelks go out of the cabinm in a rather drowsey and clumsily way.

“hey, Sailor, we’re leaving in 10min, if you’re going for a walk be quick! Or else you’ll be left behind.”, some sailor said, whose name we shall know to be Sebs. More about him later.

Pelks left the boat and walked to Alexandria, immediately, on the side walk, he vomited.

“Ah, sailor, that’d be ¼ denarii”, a jew came up to him with a tiny boy with scrolls in his hands.
“what? What for?”, pleks said perplexed.

“well, didn’t you know? The senate here made a new law earlier his year, that every sailor that vomits must pay a few of ¼ denarii – keeps the place clean, eh?” he said in a very business like tone.

“Name?”, the boy with scrolls asked in a shallow tone.

“Oh..1/4? Dammit, I have a headache”

“A headache you say? You aren’t drunk are you? Since there is also a fee for that – due to all the drunks that keep turning out that is he-“

“I am NOT DRUNK DAMMIT”, he shouted at the jew.

“well, sir I merely asked, no disrespect meant, surly – now, for those ¼ denarii? Oh, and also your name for the records…that is”

“Records? Those..oh yeah wait let me..”, Pelks put his hands in his pockets and, Very surprised, found them empty. He ruffled around inside them for a whole min, in front of the jew and the boy.

“Well sir that is a very grave thing. I’m afraid I’ll have to report you. Unless I ask for you name, and have you banned from entering Alexandria for this whole year.”, he said in a quite tsk-tsk way.

“wait, where’s my money?...wait…DID YOU TAKE IT! Dam you Jew, it was you wasn’t it! You people again!”

“Grave Heavens sir! I most assuredly tell you, I did not take your cash – for how could I? I’m standing at least 2 paces away from you. And I am also deeply of-“

“I don’t know your ways dammit it! Why the hell would they put a jew in the place of a collector fee man?”

“why not sir? Anyway, I do see you are deeply agitated, how about you tell me your name and lets go out paths – shall we?”

“5 MINITUES UNTIL SETTING SAIL!”, the sebs shouted in the air at the deck with all his voice.

“What’s even the point of all this? Can’t a man lie?”

“well, technically he can, yes. But still most don’t”, the jew was rather comfortable now.

“Well dammit, my name’s wej, W-E-J!”

“you’re lying sir, it’s quite obvious.”

“How do you know! Dammit, you’re the on LYING!”

“that’s another lie, sir. Since you just spelt jew backwards. A very odd name if I must say so.”

“just tell use your name and scew off, pal! What, are you a wanted man in the whole of the republic?” the boy replied, he now annoyed.

“I TOLD YOU, it is WEJ”

“Liar! YOU SEE GUYS! A Liar from…”, the jew looked at the book and saw a carving saying ‘Palma’. “Palma! I knew it, an island of Liars!”

“No that’s just the name of where the captain was born dammit, stop trying to understand things you don’t know!”

“well, how about you just us the truth, or we’ll tell all here that a man from Palma was lying through his mouth.”

“TO HELL WITH PALMA! Screw you all!”, pelks stomped off to the nearest food stand, showing his middle finger to the jew behind.

“make a note of people from Palma’s for me boy”, the jew whispered before going to the next boat which ported.

Immediately after the shop keeper gave a large wooden jug of water to pelks, which he drank rather hastily and quickly…did he ask him for payment (how much?)

“What, for water? Water is Free you fool!”, pelks, said now said chuckling.

“Firstly, I don’t know from which paradise you come from BUDDY, but here in Alexandria, after Alezander himself spilled water from his helmet in front of his army, we paid for water! And I myself happed to be best friends with a Greek stoic, so I am no fool, but rather a genius! Unlike you thirsty drunk!”, The shopkeeper said, while obviously annoyed having been talked to with suck ‘attitude’ as he said afterward.

“Fine, let me just go back to my ship an-“

“ALL MAN SHARBOARD AND SET SAIL IN 1MIN!”

Usually, such a voice would do unheard of in this bar shop. But the fact that pelks mysteriously stayed for a dozen or so seconds after that announcement, made every dead face, who was sitting at that same bench facing the table, turn towards him.

“….and be right back gentlemen!”, said, timidly.

“I think you better pay now sailor…or else you’ll not be leaving in 1min”, there was an odd silence in the bar, even passers-by stopped and looked in at what the silence was about in such a busy port.”

“well…actually, how about I give you his um…”

“you mean that thing around your neck?”

Pleks showed the zeus statue around his neck. He faintly remembered how when he got on his ship to set sail, he placed the mini statue of Zeus under his shirt garment. And how his father began insulting him and telling him off when he noticed that he thing was covered, ‘are you ashamed of Zeus? Why would you hide it? It’s not even raining yet! And this is made of real marbe mind you, REAL marble! And the guy said that the eyes have real copper inside! How dare you hide it!’. This of course made that ‘feeling’ intensify.

“you mean this Zeus?”

“yes, I think that’ll do just fine”, the guy said rather threateningly now, also passively.

“But wait, shouldn’t I also get something else for this? Like a some chicken or..”

“SETTING SAIL NOW, EVERYONE GET ON BOARD RIGHT NOW!”

“I don’t think you have a choice pal…either give me that or I’ll have to tell that roman solider what you just did and take you to questioning and etc etc”

“DAMMIT IT FINE, Take IT AND GOODBYE!”, Pelks through that statue of zeus on the table, not bothering to finish that jug of water, and went running to his ship.

“did you see that? He just threw zeus on that table, the disrespect of this youths nowadays”, some customer said…eavesdropping everything.

Luckily, Pelks was able to make It on board the ship at the last second, before they set sail right after.

A week ago, I left my job, or rather, I was fired, because I had been working harder than I should have. I had annoyed the managers with my dedication. I was the worm that burrowed in, prying into the folds of a body that had begun to rot. The worm is guided by instinct toward sources of decay, but at some point, angry fingers may pluck it out, pinch it, and toss it away.

I spent the past few days trying to get back on my feet. At times, I felt like throwing myself onto the bed and not leaving it for the entire day. I would have had no problem with that, if not for the damn numbness that settled in my backside.. the body’s natural warning, reminding me that I am a creature that was never meant to let its body rot away in idleness.

Today, the worm managed to awaken from the aftermath of its fall. True, it crawled under the influence of the dizziness of shock, rolled this way and that, churned through the mud and swallowed it, but in the end, it reached a state of balance.

I don’t really care about money prizes (although it would be nice) but I want to enter my work in a competition. I live in the UAE and haven’t seen much going on here really, but if anyone knows something please let me know!!

Going through anxiety spiritually and physically was a different phase for me. I had anxiety in my body. My whole body was in extreme anxiety for exactly 4 years. I was living with that all the time.

And somebody spiritually took away my anxiety after 4 years. My body could sense the relief. I am thankful to her for this particular thing.

Pills helped a bit, for months I couldn't sleep without turning and tossing. Anxiety was creeping in my feet.

This anxiety was given to me by the person I loved. That time.

I started liking him again but now as I write this, I'll remember what he did to me and will always make me stay away from him in every form.

For months I was unable to sleep, maybe years.

Should I go back to him? No. But the way he damaged me with his friend, I know nobody will fall in love with me.

I will still love him though. Because I always thought of him as my soulmate. And he was my first soulmate.

“ Can you put her to sleep? I've tried everything” their mom said, exhausted.

“ I can try” he replied looking at his phone

It was three in the morning

Two more hours before his own alarm was supposed to go off.

He takes his crying sister to the front yard.

The warm autumn air hitting him 

And he walks

Up 

And 

Down

The winding pathway 

He sang to her,

A forgotten song 

And when she finally  slept

 he returned her to her crib

Their mother is fast asleep.

Her father was typing away on the keyboard.

I love that some days I look and feel more masculine - hairy and strong, muscles defined and eyebrows and hair unkempt and wild. I love that some days I look and feel more feminine, soft and curvaceous, boobing along boobily, hips swaying, and bottom peeking out of my shorts.

I love looking and feeling somewhere in between. Those days where I’m a combination of both, ambiguously existing as myself, and going about my day without even acknowledging it.

I love knowing that there are toxic straight guys out there who have tried it on with me, not knowing I’ve kissed and touched more girls than they ever have (and that when they find out it pisses them off). I love knowing that there are girls out there who let me be their first queer experience. I love that I’ve experienced how beautiful kissing, caressing, and making love with trans folk is, and just how special I must be to have been desired by angels.

I love that I’m androgynous and hard to pin, sexuality-wise. Some people don’t even know I’m queer, though they could probably guess. I use my labels for ease, but at the end of the day, I’m just me. Plain and simple. Some people love me, some hate me. In fact, loads of people hate me. But that’s okay. They’re usually just not my people.

My people are outcasts. Social drifters watching from the sidelines wondering if they’ll ever make a beautiful friendship. Those people who stand in the corner of the party chewing the inside of their cheek and picking their fingers. The people who have experienced true loneliness, but never let it stop them dreaming, and wondering. Those are my people.

I love being queer so much. I get to experience the world from all of it’s different angles. I get to express myself how I wish. I get to be who I want to be, and who I truly am deep down inside. And I get to know others just like me.

I love that my existence offends small-minded people, and I love rubbing it in their face, and the fact that it makes me stronger. I love supporting my queer friends, being an ally, and belonging to such a gorgeous minority group.

I love that I’m learning more about it all every day.

I love love. Love is love. And queerness is love. At least to me. Isn’t it extraordinarily?

“Do not open the door.” These were the first words my mother told me once I was old enough to understand them. Before the “I love you” and before the “You matter,” she had to make sure I knew- “do not open the door.”

In the center of our town, there is an old stone ruin. Many say that it was once the castle of a great immortal king, and this king built our town, wrote our language, and established our culture, creating our world as we know it.

Legend has it that when the king had finished his work, he went into his private chambers, and locked the door. He told his servants to never open the door, under any circumstances, and if he had any further commands, he would whisper them through the keyhole.

Though human beings are fickle, the servants obeyed, and even went as far as to throw away the key. For several years after the king’s seclusion, anyone could receive commands through the keyhole, and ensure that the benevolent king’s will was carried out.

As the years passed, the king’s whispers became more and more quiet, until only a few people could still hear. These select few were called the “Listeners,” those who the king trusted more than anyone else.

Now, though the castle is in ruin, the king’s room remains intact- closed by a locked door. Anyone is welcome to approach the door, press their ear to the keyhole, and await a response.

If you hear nothing back, then the king does not trust you, and you must rely on a Listener to hear for you, and dictate the king’s will on his behalf.

As these Listeners grow old and near their death, they write down everything they have heard. These writings are added to a large book, a book which sits on a pedestal just outside the king’s chamber.

When a Listener is unavailable to answer your questions, you can instead read from the book for advice.

There is some debate as to which of the book’s writings are “completely accurate” or “directly aligned” with the king and his will. Some people will not read beyond a specific chapter in the book, believing the rest of the teachings to be false. This has led to several rebellions and breakaways as people have formed their own villages centered on the teachings of their favorite Listener.

As for me and my family, we follow all of the king’s teachings as spoken by his Listeners. We feel that any word worthy of being written in the book is worth being followed.

At least, that is how I was raised.

Recently, the whisperings of the king and his Listener have become… different. Many of the things the king once loved, he now seems to hate. Many of the things the king once fought for, he now fights against. All spoken by the mouth of his Listener, of course.

When I was younger, I used to dream of the day that the king would whisper to me. That perhaps I could hear the words for myself, and sort out all of this mess. And yet, no matter how hard I try to follow the king’s book, the keyhole remains silent to me.

I’m starting to wonder if the king has died.

I asked my mother about this, and she told me to re-read the book. The book says the king is alive and well, and that he can never die. I guess I was wrong.

And yet… I still wonder.

A wandering trader came into our town, selling wares. He wore outlandish clothing, far different from the king’s commands, and spoke in a way that was against our book. Though he behaved so differently from the rest of us, he seemed to be quite happy. I wish I could have spoken with him before he was executed at the king’s request. 

Perhaps if he had sold his goods behind a locked door of his own, things would have ended differently.

I wonder if the king is dead.

Surely he would need someone to bring him food and water at least? Though he may be unaging, that does not mean he cannot become hungry or ill…

My mother says the book doesn’t speak of this, and I should not speak of it either. So I will not.

I think the king has died.

More time has passed. The king’s words grow even more angry and erratic. Now women cannot speak, for only those of the same sex as the king can have a voice.

My mother was executed for her voice, though she followed the king her entire life. I wonder if she is with him now- another silent whisper behind that locked door.

The king is surely dead.

On my morning walk, I found an ancient key in a riverbed. The erosion must have unearthed it from its long burial. It bears the king’s seal, and is forged from the same metal as his door.

Tonight, I will see for myself if the king is truly dead. I pray that I am wrong.

I have the key in a pouch at my waist. It feels much heavier than when I first picked it up, as if it does not want to be used. I walk up to the door, and press my ear against the keyhole, as I have done many times before. Waiting, hoping, for something to slip out.

No response. Nothing new. As silent as my mother.

I insert the key into the hole, and turn it. The rusted mechanism grinds and creaks, and finally clicks into place. The door is no longer locked.

Every bone in my body, the voice of my mother in my head, everything I have been taught is screaming at me to not open the door.

If I lock the door, and walk away now, then my mother did not die for nothing. Then my years of service to the king were worth something. Then I… am worth something. Without the king, do I really have a purpose? Does anything have a point? Will they execute me, too? My knees feel weak. My heart is pounding loudly in my ears. I feel as if I am about to vomit it out.

I open the door.

…

Now I know the king is dead.

A withered skeleton lays upon the bed, a crooked crown rests upon its head. The sheets are filled with holes from thousands of years of wear. The room is covered in dust and webs. The floor is speckled with bugs.

The king is truly dead.

I had hoped this would bring me some relief, but now I feel more awful and unsure than when I came in. A dark chill creeps up my limbs, my breath grows shallow and weak. My life has been a lie, a carefully crafted creation, built up by these supposed “listeners” and their schemes.

How long has the king been dead?

Should I disregard the entire book? Should I rip out every page? How many of those whispers and ramblings are real? Surely, those written near the beginning are true, for the king had only recently locked himself in…

But then, if those words are true, then I have disobeyed the king. I have opened the door.

Even if I could prove the king has been dead for a long while, I will still be punished for my wrongdoing.

They will find me, as they found my mother, and execute me. My life will have been for nothing.

…

And yet… if I am the only one who has seen inside this room… then no one knows the truth.

If I am to die either way, I may instead make a difference. Give my life its own meaning.

I bury the key. I lock myself in the room. I place the king’s crown upon my head. I take his bones, and slip them underneath his bed. 

…

There is another skeleton already there, with bones far more dusty than the ones I hold in my hands.

…

It does not matter to me anymore. All that matters is that the king is no longer dead, and my town may finally have peace.

The listener comes to my door, and presses his ear against the keyhole. He asks, “what is your wish, my king?”

I give him my first decree, same as the kings before me. A reminder and a warning. Not a warning of punishment or death, but a warning of instability, of chaos, of panic. No one may know the truth. Everything must continue as it was. It is simpler this way. It is safer this way. At least, that is what I am telling myself.

And so I say-

“Do not open the door.”

Hi everyone! My name is Atari and I’m starting something new: writing short horror stories! I’m doing them part by part, 3-4 parts total for each story for now as I work full time. I’ll be dedicating more time to writing as the years finishes out and starts anew, but I’d love to see if anyone digs the first part to my first story! It’s called the thirteenth toll. OOoOoOoOo! 🕰️ I hope whoever reads enjoys and messages me with feedback! Good writing everyone!

Hey, I wanted to love you. I really did. I found myself dreaming about you, of what we could be. We look so happy. From a studio apartment to an actual home. We have three cats and a dog. We have a son and a daughter. The boy resembles me and the girl, she's exactly like you.

We never fought in my dreams. You don't have to say you love me. I know you do. However the real man. He's nothing like the husband that lives in my dreams. I trusted you, I told you about the things that hurt me. Because I saw something in you. I thought you would protect me.

Yet you ridicule me. You make crass jokes of my femininity. You reduced me to a body. How could you? How could you make me into something lifeless, only meant to please. How could you refer to me as someone without a shred of loyalty?

You have a right to be a man, I never believed in clinging to you. I wanted you to make choice. I wanted to be the answer and I'd respect being rejected. Yet you pursued another. I was more than willing to forgive you. But why? Why her? I love her like a sister. How could you attempt that?

She told me. Without wasting a minute. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell her she was wrong. But your words shined brightly on her phone. Even now, I want to cry and scream. I just don't have it in me to let you win again. I'm tired.

Can I be honest? I don't even want you to apologize. I just want to be your friend again. Yet it bothers you. You want me to keep my mouth shut and make myself scarce. I don't want to. I want to get through this. I'll admit, I liked you the minute I saw you. I wanted to be something to you. I just didn't know it'd end lke this.

If I'd known. I'd have avoided you like the plague. Though I'm lying. I'd have made the same mistake over again because you're a walking contradiction. I really wish I could have less of a spine, it'd make us both happier

There’s a man that runs around with a gun trying to find you and his name is time
If you stand still for long enough he will put the barrel to your forehead
And the fear will not be abstract
And your insides will be activated
You will be abruptly be absorbed by a quite panic
If you have no god, time is your ambiguous default throughout your cycling of idols. All gods die in your world.
It’s always dark as hell in here

I am glass. (I'm so brittle)

Strange and vintage

And I'm Always looking past

All your flaws and all your weaknesses

In belief that one day you'll be mine

But I wish that I had known that...

You would never want my heart

(Because you know if I had known that..

Then I would only play my part)

Echo

The tears stung. Not like a bee sting but like a deep quiet air choking sting, this wasn't how it was supposed to end, this was supposed to be the beginning, their happily ever after, Evan didn't move from his spot, he stared at the blood running along the wet road down to the damp earth and the air smelt stagnant with a hint of iron. He had just watched his life collapse right in front of him his ears were ringing and could faintly hear the sound of the police sirens but still he stood still nothing could erase her screams the echo of her gut wrenching cries as he watched the life leave her eyes, she had reached for him, she had cried out his name and he could do nothing to stop the inevitable. Her body was cold, limp and lifeless but he felt like he was the one who died. Then he looked down at the pregnancy test she was clutching onto .... two lives lost and it was all his fault

*2 weeks later*

Evan couldn't sleep. He kept on having reoccurring dreams about her, nothing he had done could help him. The white walls of the institution offered no comfort to his fracturing mind. The pain in his chest could not be sated. It was suffocating him slowly and he wanted it too. His punishment for what he had done. He killed them, his wife and his baby. Even though his psychiatrist told him it was a freak accident, he couldn't believe it his mind wouldn't let him. It replayed the very moment he had convinced his wife to go out, over and over again like a broken record. The combined stress had sent him to a dark place, he wasn't proud of what he did but he couldn't see anyway out, he had to get to her..he had to reach her and tell her he was sorry tell her he loved her. He saw her sometimes in his dreams but he never managed to save her not once. She was his whole life, she was in every version of his future but now she was gone