Kara S

Madeline Sammut

Sunny Anomaly

Rietje Becker

Sean King

KW Taylor

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Harmonie Winters

Tracie+L Mauriello

Josh Crawford

Grind the beans until they turn as smooth as sand in an hourglass. Pull the lever until the water streams down in an iridescent cascade. Pour the mixture from the pot into the cup elegantly and with a cold expression. Hope that you're not pretty. That is how you survive as a maid

I hated these rules. But I had no choice. I had to keep a low profile, and this was the only option I found. No one like me could get a bigger job. Too much risk. I was a “Special” and dumb name for the way we are treated.

I sighed and waited in the lobby for my turn to interview. There were at least half a dozen other women sitting around me, drinking the stale, weak lobby coffee and chit-chatting about this and that. I wondered how many of them were there to interview and how many were there

to make friends. Probably quite a few, these were lonely times, after all. Never good in social situations, I loudly proclaimed “I have a lonely heart but a welcoming spirit!” The room grew quiet. One of the women stood. Before she could speak a door opened “#57? You’re up!”

I glanced at my ticket - it read 93. I had a while to wait, and my attempt at conversation had turned the room silent. So I pulled out my travel bagpipes and started to practice.

I noticed some people tapping their feet to my music, then some got up and started dancing. Who knew the universal language was bagpipes. No longer paying attention i suddenly heard "93, calling 
#93". ... I stopped

my music. “It’s my turn,” I said. The crowd gave a collective sigh of disappointment, then several applauded, and one dropped a dollar into the purse at my feet. “Number 93!” the voice sounded again. “You’re up!” I scurried to the conference room, shoving the travel bagpipe into

a bin on the way. "Stupid instrument" I thought to myself. The moment I entered the room a hot spotlight lit me up, I was blinded yet could sense hundreds of people in the darkness beyond, the dull rustles of clothing and footwear, and the mental waves of disdainful anticipation.

I pushed through the crowd, annoyed mummers and screeches taking forefront of my mind. I was so distracted by my hearing I forgot of my blindness, getting lost in the terrors of my psyche.

A child crying. The whine of a small motor came toward me. I turn. A group of men laughed (at me?), then annoyed as I brush into one. I was in the center of a sea of noise in the black. Then the ground I expect beneath my foot was gone. I was going forward off the curb.

I landed face first, breaking my glasses. The bagpipes flew through the air and wound up under the tire of a school bus that slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting me. The bag deflated under the weight of the bus and let out a slow drone as if to mock me. Stupid bagpipes.

"Watch it ya Celtic freak!" The driver screamed.
I nodded my head toward him to say, "You're telling me!". I just sat on on the road for a minute blind, bloodied & swelling thinking on the disaster my life had taken in such a short time. 
"Waa Waah".

Celtic Maid of Disaster

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Hannah Call

Dawn Rasmussen

Avery B

Sam Becker

Wearing a mask is a beautiful thing until the moment dawns on you that taking it off is a lot harder than putting it on. I had been wearing a mask for ten years before realizing it had begun to adhere to my face and to disintegrate the identity it hid.

The sad part was that everyone had grown to like the person I was with it on much better than the person I was beneath it. It hurt to know that who I truly was was never enough... that I had to wear a mask and play a part in order to be accepted.

The question was, was I content to be what others wanted me to be, just to belong in a group, or would I be happier ridding myself of the mask and being free to express myself fully and uniquely? There were consequences to be considered, either way.

So I decided to take the middle route for now. Discarding the wooden, unnatural mask I wore every day, I carved a new one with interlocking parts and one that was audaciously half the size of its predecessor. It was a half-mask that restricted yet freed. But would it work? I was

game to try it out. I strode out onto the stage and announced my lines as I usually did, but the sound of my voice was amplified even more than usual. I could see reactions not just among the audience members in the first few rows, but the people sitting higher up. I was heard!

I was so overjoyed that the audience was hearing and reacting positively to me that I ripped off my mask right before saying my character's most dramatic line.

The audience didn’t give the reaction I expected. They just stared at my face without a mask.

“We all wear many masks in our lives”, I exclaimed, “but some masks are invisible!” Then I made a deep exaggerated bow, and left the stage.

with a flourish I went back stage. My heart still jumping through my chest like after every performance but this one I knew was so very different. I saw myself in the mirror and found something new. For the first time

I liked what I saw. I set my mask down at my vanity and buried my face in my sweaty hands and listened to the muffled screams of a stadium full of fans. Fans who traveled from distant corners of the world to see me, hear me. I turned off the lights in my dressing room and cried.

The Glory of a Face

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Robin Devereaux

I had always been an unremarkable demon. I came from a proud bloodline of many a well known incubus that had seduced some of the major players in history in order to alter its’ flow, but I was stuck with only the ability to ask charming questions and receive a truthful answer.

It seems like something an angel would do. It was some power that an angel would use to get the truth out. What use would a demon have with it? I might as well be powerless. The demon without powers. That would be better. Better than the demon who sees all truth. What could I do?

I remembered something another demon told me once, the story of a demon who became human and was able to live in the mortal realm. How could I do that, too? If I was already powerless, I might as well lean into it and just turn into a mortal. And so I set about researching how I

could become a mortal and live with other mortals who wouldn’t see me as powerless. I went to Rome and met a priest who told me that he could perform a ritual that would change me from demon to human. All I had to do was swear my life to Jesus Christ and be baptized in holy water

at the stroke of midnight on the winter solstice. I was desperate to start a new life, so I agreed. I had no idea of the possible consequences of becoming a human, like

my cousin who disappeared long ago. But any life would have been better than this. Or so I thought. I opened my eyes to a cold blizzard storm with no clothes on, much less a nearby shelter suitable for such a vulnerable human form. I used to scoff with the others at such frailty.

Now, here I was, exposed to the harsh elements and in danger of freezing to death. I hunkered down, wrapping my arms around myself and closed my eyes, thinking about home and imagining my coziest blanket. Suddenly it materialized around me! I wept with

joy at being a little warmer in the middle of the blizzard. I thought is a thermos of hot chocolate and it was suddenly in my hands. I thought of a cozy log cabin with a fireplace, and then

There is was, then my ex showed up, the one who got away, my heart skipped a beat. Curiouser and Curiouser, I smirked and went further down the rabbit hole...

And further I did go. Perhaps too far. That's what spirled me like a drill so deep into my own subconscience. I never knew you could go so deep in reflection that it was all you could be capable of. 
It's been 4 months. I am now sure that I am in a coma. Happy & lost in thought.

Demonic Dissent

Whenever someone asks me about my childhood, I don’t smile and think of good times. I shudder. I think of the only thing from my childhood I remember. Cold, Darkness, Loneliness. Nothing else for 15 years. Cold, Darkness, Loneliness

; these were the names of each of my childhood cats. Cold was a small black girl who always clawed at me when I slept. Darkness was a soft grey boy with piercing yellow eyes that seemed to speak to my lonely childhood self. Loneliness was a shy white girl who hated people. They

made me feel less lonely in a world that was always seemingly out to get me. It was a world in which I had no friends and even when I made ones, they never stuck around long. But my cats were loyal and loved me unconditionally. And so I loved them the very same way.

To honor my cats, I resolved to donate $10 a day to the ASPCA. I had inherited about $50 million from my grandmother, who was the CEO of the company that first mines gold and silver from asteroids.

Perhaps that was why I was even more lonely after my cats were gone. They say the richer you are, the less you know of warmth and goodness. Unless you choose to be obsessed either with love, politics, or work. I wasn't much of a romantic and I washed my hands off politics. That

didn’t leave me with much, apart from my constant fascination, nay obsession, with butter. The oily arts have always been a passion, but who needs to cook when you have a personal chef? Perhaps it was time I revisited my favorite recipes. I opened the fridge and took stock: eggs,

radishes, turnips, spinach, a pound of sharp cheddar, a gallon of orange juice, 3 varieties of peanut butter. The pantry held pasta, beans, sunflower seeds, and Swedish fish. I wouldn’t starve, but I didn’t know what to make for breakfast.

I finally decided to think outside the box and whipped up some pasta with butter and cheese. I was still lonely, though, and the thought returned of my childhood cats. I smiled to myself and opened up a web browser on my phone, then navigated to the local animal shelter’s site.

Furry Friends

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Jenelle Dulack

Jason Lewin

Nathan Bilancio

Ben Syverson

You think you know me. But I’ve fooled you with my ordinary clothing and passive manner. I want you to think I’m weak, submissive. I want to gain your trust. If you only knew

What’s it like to live over 1,000 years? What’s it like to watch all of your earthly attachments fade? Ask me sometime. It’s not all bad.

Sit down, let me buy you a coffee. I think you should hear what I have to say. Experiencing a millennium away from home was been an interesting experience to say the least, but I’ve decided that today is the day I quit. I don’t want to be eternal anymore.

A lot can change in 1000 years. When I last saw my hometown, people got around in vehicles powered by small explosions, spent 5 days a week working for someone else. I can’t wait to see what’s there now.

History does not always progress in straight lines. Those small explosions pollute the air we breathe when they’re crowded in one place. They thought building bigger roads was a solution but more vehicles came to occupy them and with them more small explosions.

The explosions became a daily event, and soon after, an hourly event. The noise and pollution were jarring, but worse was the smell. Pungent and often described as ‘farty’ they inspired a slew of new inventions: smell-free headwear, fog-free glasses, ventilated filtered helmets.

But the smell was too much to handle, no matter how many inventions they came up with. The daily rutine was running to the abandon store, get some cans of beans, of sausages and canned bread...and run back as fast as possible not to smell the smelly smell.

They tried face masks. They tried wrapping seaweed around their nostrils (ancient trick their grandparents taught them.) They even tried oxygen tanks! Nothing worked! But at least they still had a reliable stockpile of canned bread. This made the smell bearable.

One day, after huffing an immoderate amount of canned bread, they ventured outside. A northerly breeze carried something new—a lack of the stench. They became drawn in the direction of the undocked air, when they heard a voice. “I am Darren, keeper of the northlands.”

They whirled around in panic, lashing out their fists, until they accidentally hit each other and crashed to the ground. "Idiots," the voice said. "That's the south you're facing. I said I'm the keeper of the NORTHlands. Not that you can see me. Once again, I'm Darren. Choose:

you may continue to the south and face either certain death or unspeakable fortune, or you may turn to the north, where you will always be in poverty but never want for happiness. Choose. You have ten minutes.” Darren was silent, then, and the others blinked hard and looked at

him expectantly. It was a hard choice. Money couldn’t buy happiness, but happiness wouldn’t pay the bills. But would the shackles of poverty even matter if he had endless happiness? He took a breath before straightening himself and giving his answer.

“I choose money.” He has to put his family first. He knew he may never truly smile again. But he didn’t care, he knew he couldn’t put himself before the ones he loved. Choosing happiness over money would have done that. Then one day

the money ran out. Stocks dropped, seasons changed, and suddenly everything his hopes rested on toppled, along with his family’s security and happiness. He couldn’t help but feel that perhaps happiness and money were both means to a cruel end. He then decided that

life was meaningless. If happiness meant nothing good, and money couldn't buy a good life, then what else was there to strive for? Survival, despite the odds? Maybe he should join WallStreetBets.

Knowing the history of WSB and their nefarious practices, it was a death sentence to even consider that, but they say everyone has a price and maybe..... I've found mine.

I swallowed hard, ignoring the tight ball of nerves in my stomach, and tried to focus on the potential benefits my family could reap from my unholy alliance. I bid adieu to any hope of my own salvation, and... signed the contract.

Lessons Learned

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The damp murk of the cellar, unaided by the arm of moonlight reaching in through the grime of a solitary window, was silent and still. Motes of dust, turbulent as stars, slowly twinkled in their passage through the blue light the nature of their disturbance unseen.

Like the body laying still with dried blood on his face, laying still but missing his most teeth, tongue cut in half. Laying still but three fingers on the right hand cut off. Laying still ....until a sudden gasp breaks the silence and I realize I'm still alive..

At first I was relieved I was alive. But then fear overtook me. If I was alive still, what was going to happen next?

I looked down and saw that I was still strapped into the dentist’s chair, but the room was devoid of anyone else. I struggled to try to remove my bindings, but they were extremely snug. Sighing, I resigned back into stillness, waiting to see if anyone would return.

No one came and my fatigue made me sink even deeper and deeper- Wait! I tried to move, but I was even more bound to the chair than before, even though my bindings stayed the same. I took a careful look at my legs and the leather right beside me. I was being eaten by the chair.

"I should have checked online reviews" I thought as the dentist's chair started to absorb my body. The worst part was, helpless, mouth clamped open, suction tubes in my mouth, disappearing into the upholstery, that's when the dentist decided to ask me about baseball.

"Baseball?!" I screeched. With the suction tubes in my mouth, it sounded more like "Maeba?!" 
"What's that?" the dentist asked, frowning as if I was talking with my mouth open at the dinner table.

I ripped the suction tube out of my mouth and sat up. “Where am I?!” I demanded. “I was just at a baseball game.” The dentist cocked his head to one side. “What? No, you’re...here.” He gestured around the room. “You’ve been here for about an hour.” I thought about telling him I

thought he should invest in a new chair, but I kept that to myself. Perhaps it was the fluoride treatment, that gooey sensation always made my mind wander. And so I wrapped up the visit and went about my day. On my way out I flashed a toothy grin and scheduled my follow up.

Burt's Discount Dental review: ⭐ 1 star

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Jason Omega

"Fellow Blockians, this is our hour of battle. We must not falter! To victory! Battalions 8 and 9, prepare for ambush!" The legoes crouched to camouflage themselves in between the multi-colored folds of the blanket. "Target in sight! Harden your armors! Brace for impact!"

The Legoes stared up to the ceiling that had been painted to look like the night sky, wondering what he had seen. Suddenly it was clear. Evil Baby Yoda (you could tell he was evil from his Black Sharpie mustache) was descending upon them, fury in his eyes and armed to the teeth.

“Grogu my name is!” said Evil Baby Yoda as he swung his lego lightsaber. “Died Yoda did before me! Him I am not!” If he weren’t made of lego, there would be angry tears in his eyes.

Whatevs,” said Lego Luke Skywalker with a shrug. “I’m training you to be a Jedi, not a whiny little jerk.” Lego Grogu gasped, offended, and placed a hand on his heart. “Sass me you do, Luke!” “That’s Master Luke to you, kiddo.” Luke tossed Grogu a lightsaber. “Now, get to work.”

Grogu caught the lightsaber, scowling. As he looked it over, he briefly fantasized about slaying the cocky Luke brat before him. He mulled over the idea for a moment, then thought better if it and clipped the lightsaber to his belt, instead.

He didn’t like Luke the way he loved the mandalorian. Grogu missed the mandalorian. He wanted to go back and see him. It’s been years since he had seen him last. Who knows where he could be? Grogu certainly didn’t. Or else he would have left a while ago. He also knew the risks.

But deep down, Grogu also knew the painful truth: a life without the mandalorian was no life at all. He had delayed the inevitable for so long, and it was costing him each day. The pain of missing was overwhelming. Grogu knew what he had to do.

Grogu waited till it was late and quietly collected his belongings. It took him a while because he was so small. While everyone slept he boarded his ship and set a course for a distant star. He then sent a psychic plea out to the galaxy and left without enough fuel to return.

Fraught with Battle

The flickering lamp was the only source of light in the darkened field of buttercups. The bunny couldn't pause to think of why it was there in the first place- it was too terrified. Quickly, it hopped up to the base of the lamp and surveyed the sprawl of impenetrable darkness.

"TRAAAANSS...MOGRIIIFYYYYYY!!" it yelled. Panels across it's furry exterior extruded and flipped replacing it's soft coat with titanium armour, missile launchers, rotating blade assemblies, and rail guns. A hot blue shockwave blasted beneath the now steely rodent, propelling it

forward. The exterminator’s eyes widened in fear. He had never had to deal with rodents who could speak, much less turn into a metal death machine. Thinking fast, he dove aside, just in time to escape the monster as it rocketed toward him.

The sound of agony as the rodent ran into the wall, debris trapping it in place, you notice that this "machine" isn't all metal. Falling rebar pierced it's skin and blood was flowing, you smiled because it's wounded

skittering, zapping, and dying. “Like there aren’t enough rats already, this madman made a cyborg rat. Why?!” I reached into it’s mouth and pulled the SD card to examine back at the lab.

But just as I was turning to leave, I heard a skittering sound and realized the rat had come back to life. It wasn’t a cyborg at all, but rather a regular rat who had been outfitted superficially to only appear to be a cyborg. But who would do this? The rat nuzzled my hand, and I

Felt good. I hadn’t seen a real animal in such a long time. Even the greasy fur of the old rat felt good beneath my fingers. If only they weren’t all cyborgs.

Not that I could complain too much. Being cyborg myself, I knew that half organic was better than being fully robotic. My humanness was what allowed me to appreciate the rat's company, as it undoubtedly appreciated my attentions. I decided to name it Ben, like in that old movie.

The Companionship of Cyborgs

The end of my life was near. I could feel it in my bones. “Make it a double,” I said to the bartender. What would a few extra drinks matter? They’d help to numb the pain, at least, and if I was going to die soon anyway, I could at least go out totally blitzed. He set the drink

Down on the table. I started drinking as I thought back to my life. Maybe it was time to die, it would be a lot simpler than going around with all this pain. Not to mention the war. Some support people like me, people with powers we were known as the

Saviors. Ha. What "Saviors" we turned out to be. I stared down at my hands as the bottle tipped to pour me another glass. These have killed more people than they have saved, I was sure. Maybe it was time to atone with my own death. Ding dong. I froze. I shouldn't have any visitor

at this time of night. Who dared to interrupt my morbid brooding? I set down the whiskey and crept quietly to the door, one hand on the butt of my ever-present pistol. I flipped on the camera display and was stunned to see

two tabby cats locked in a fierce battle for dominance. One was slightly larger than the other, but the smaller cat was clearly the aggressor; it had its front legs locked around the larger cat’s neck and was batting its back with its hind legs. My first instinct was to break up

this rather disturbing catfight. On second thought, though, the people around me were betting on it. I pulled out a $20 dollar bill. I’d always had good odds.

The Catfight That Saved His Life

I was walking, book in hand, when I bumped into someone. I was met by a familiar face. My friend, Kate, looked back at me. But then it hit me Kate died in an accident 3 years ago. And I saw it happen. There was no doubt it was her, but how could it be?

“What’s wrong?” Kate asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” With a wink, she stuck her tongue out at me. All I could do was blink and stare, slack jawed. Finally, I found my voice.
“Kate...?” I asked, dumbly. The girl in front of my giggled charmingly.

..bbbbut i thought you were..... dead! The girl in front giggled again. I stood there with this incredulous look on my face and she giggled once more but her face slowly changed to that of a screaming skeleton, she got really close to my face and said..."RUN"!!!!

I didn't hesitate. Normally, I don't take orders from screaming skeletons, but this one had a point. I turned around and ran for my life.

I couldn't end up like Kate had. To my utter horror, though, I found myself running slowly no matter how hard I tried to really pour it on. It occurred to me that this was exactly what happened to me in dreams, and I suddenly had to wonder: was this even real?

Maybe this was a sort of Inception situation, but, unfortunately, I didn't have my own fiddly-thing. I could only do one thing. I stopped and closed my eyes, trying to ignore my pounding heart and the idea that screeched in my brain that I was going to meet a gruesome demise. But

the skeleton stopped screaming, and once it was quiet again, I opened my eyes. This was just an apparition, not something solid. I had the feeling it wasn’t even Kate’s ghost, not really, but more like a memory trapped in a time loop. I reached out my hand and passed it through

the skeleton’s empty ribcage, where her heart had once been. Kate was still here, in part. Letting her go and keeping what bits of her resided in my head was the single most difficult thing I’ve ever done. But we are both at peace, for the first time in our lives.

Seeing Kate

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It was a crisp fall day. The end of our hike had led us to a clearing in the forest, just behind the CVS. Holly was standing still, staring at something. As I approached, I saw it and gasped. It was a full skeleton torso complete with ribs, spine and pelvis. But no skull.

I laughed nervously (a reaction I'd had since I was a child to weird situations). "Off with your head, right?" Holly didn't respond.

She just continued painting the roses red with her jaw set and a determined look in her eye. It was obvious she knew that sooner or later, no matter what she did or didn't do, if she remained in the employ of the Queen, her body would indeed part company with her head.

She couldn't leave. Anyone in the Wonderland knew who the heart cards belonged to and no one would dare to shelter her. That left only one option. She had to bribe the Rabbit to lure someone from the Other world to defeat the Heart Queen. Maybe then she would live, free from fear

So she did. She told told the rabbit to lure someone in, and he did. He brought this girl to wonderland. And she traveled days until finally reaching the palace. The she arrived. I first saw her as I was painting roses. Alice was her name. Then,

just as I assumed she would be no threat to me, I turned around to find she was standing in my throne room, a croquet mallet in one hand and a devilish look in her eye. “Queen of Hearts,” she said. “You’ve done your last beheading.” Alice raised the mallet. “VIVA LA REVOLUTION!”

The CVS in Wonderland

Olga Přibáňová

Completely and utterly alone, the only human within 100 miles. Just the way I like it.

Just then, the heartbeat radar started picking up something else. I thought it was going haywire! I was so sure that I obliterated every living human within its range. A thought occurred to me. What if the blip wasn't human but big enough for the radar to pick up its heartbeat?

I tried to adjust the range and the configuration of the radar”I cannot rely on this piece of scrap” so I disconnected and connected the apparatus few times, but the beeping was louder and the image was getting huge! Definitely not human. So I geared up and prepared for the worst

but the worst never came. Instead, when I opened my eyes, I realized the beeping had stopped, the image was gone, and I was back home on my bed, two sleeping cats curled up at the foot. I snuggled back against my pillows and heaved a relieved sigh. Was this all a dream? But no, I

was completely sure it had actually happened. I took a look at my hands and saw they were still covered with dirt and blood... so how did I end up back in bed with my cats? I looked at the clock and realized I’d only been gone about five minutes, even though it seemed like I’d

been away for hours. I looked at my watch and realized the time was way off. Did I time travel? Again? I heard a knock at the door and got a strange sense of deja vu. I washed the dirt and blood from my hands, and opened the door to find a package. It appeared to be ticking.

Feeling groggy and confused I looked at my watch and realized the time was way off. Did I.... getting a strange sense of deja vu. I washed the dirt and blood from my hands, I went to open door then I remembered the ticking package, I closed the door and dove into the kitchen....

That’s when it all came back to me. They were after me. But then time repeated itself leaving me in a state of confusion.

Then a moment of despairing clarity struck me. Death would be the only escape from this Groundhogs Day of horror!

Destroy all humans

One of the only good things to come out of the pandemic was this: by 2025, sweatpants have become acceptable garments in every situation. Of course, you'd need formal sweats for formal occasions, but there was no need to wear any pants without elastic or drawstrings.

There was also a lot more slippers worn after the pandemic. In 2025, you see way more slippers in a shoes store than actual shoes. The only occasion people wear them are if they are working out. Even this will soon come to an end, with companies developing maneuverable slippers.

At the epicentre of this insane technology was the city of Buenos Aires, a roaring powerhouse of innovation and progress, drawing in engineering specialists, tech geniuses and light indoor footwear scientists from every corner of the globe. Renamed Tierra De Zapatillas, the city

became a tourist attraction, with hundreds of thousands of people stopping by each year to check out all the cool scientists. The scientists were not happy with this, though, as it made them feel like zoo exhibits rather than hard working college graduates with PHDs.

So they decided that it was about time to retaliate. Each scientist was allowed to kidnap the one person who had annoyed them the most at the science demonstrations and subject them to experiments. Then, they would be released. They would be the ones stared at in the end.

Science isn't perfect, but when you add a pinch of karma and a healthy dash of revenge... justice is served.

Leisure Wear is Serious Business

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Somewhere outside, someone—or something—was wailing. A blizzard was due, and Cecelia wondered if perhaps it was a banshee warning the neighborhood of impending danger and death. Just then,

the wailing acutely subsided. Was the weather forecast wrong after all? Her tense shoulders slumped down as she relaxed. But she let down her guard too early. The wuthering winds slammed back, wailing even harder through the now broken windows. Cecelia's paintings were ripped

off the walls and fell to the floor. Her pottery was blown off its pedestal and smashed. It was almost like the weather wanted Cecelia’s art gallery to go under.

She slammed her fists against the floor and cursed under her breath. She’s just opened this art gallery. Worked two crappy jobs for over seven years just to afford it, and now this. Where did weather like this even come from? It was almost supernatural.

Suddenly a storm of terrible wind and ice fell on her. It was as if her anger was controlling the storm. She couldn’t believe it. As she calmed herself the storm calmed as well.

At this her emotions rebounded and an overwhelming love infused her spirit. The skies responded accordingly. Clouds evaporated as if time itself had hastened and the sun basked within an endless plane of azure, gently casting down a cherishing warmth upon all below the firmament.

Cecelia’s Personal Storm

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The hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach was overtaking me. I reached for the bottle of Lorazepam, only to find that it was empty, and cursed. How could I be expected to function under such stressful conditions? It was like torture. Pure, unrelenting torture.

I didn't want to go back down that "rabbit hole" again as that was worse than this, but right now I'm in need of a serious fix, I looked long and hard at my and the name Karl. I didn't want to call him but something was making me push the numbers to.... "Hello" said Karl, I froze

I could feel his ice-cold hands grasping my neck tight enough to lift me up but still allow me to breathe. With the cold came all the memories I had locked away deep in my mind with Karl. What a fool I was to not even leave something to warn myself! I peered down at a mirror to

see my own face, eyes red, abused, gasping, as Karl gently choked me. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than for him to drop dead. The problem was, he'd already been dead about 10 years. How do you escape a ghost?

Part of me wanted to cry and have him stop. Part of me wanted to scream. But I couldn’t. Karl’s ghostly hands were still chocking me. I felt myself losing air and black spots began to cloud my vision. Then,

I decided I'd had enough of this stupid game. I moved my head back, forcibly pulling my face out of the VR suction cup with a sharp pop sound, my eyes bulging momentarily. I looked at the red ring around my face in the mirror of my grimy cubicle. "I should get a job", I thought.

Who was phone!?

"Baloney!" cried the clown. "I'm telling you, thanks to Stephen King, all the children in the audience were terrified of your antics. One even called 911 before I could stop them!" His boss sighed as he rubbed his bald head. "Look, I'm sorry Danny. You're fired."

Danny walked out or the office infuriated by his boss's weakness to public pressure. "Always got your back", Danny mumbles as he heads home. Still fuming, he reached in the closet, top shelf, pulled out a suitcase and dusted off his old sniper rifle. Trouble is brewing..

Time warped and cracked, as though some unseen force is mixing up tenses. Danny’s mind reeled as he struggled to keep hold of the sniper rifle he had just grabbed. But what was just the past suddenly snapped back to the present, and now Danny’s rifle is missing. He isn’t in his

Army uniform any longer. No, he’s in the intramural soccer team uniform instead. But he’s holding a baseball catcher’s mitt and a hockey puck.

What kind of messed-up sports mashup was this? This had to be a dream. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. When I blinked my eyes open once more, he was wearing a turtleneck and jeans, and he held out a bouquet of flowers to me. “Let’s try to work this out,” he said. But I

knew it wouldn’t work. It couldn’t work. Not after everything he’s done.

I had no choice but to accept the situation. I resolved to make my peace with it and moved on. Over the following weeks I felt a great weight lifted from my conscience, a renewed energy. Finally, I now had the opportunity to pursue my one true desire,

bungee jumping naked over an active volcano!

Clownish Fate

Every morning, before the day started me and Lucy would watch the military boys run along the country side. Everyday I would ask Lucy, “How come you don’t marry one of those boys?” And she would give the same look and say, “They were the ones that started this war.” But one day

One of them stopped running looked at Lucy and smiled. Lucy wasn't sure what to do, taken aback by his bold move, then he said.."you don't remember me, do you!?"

His expression changed, the smile melting away replaced by a look of bewilderment. He seemed to momentarily shudder quickly lifting his hands up staring at them in disbelief as they began to blister and blacken. He bellowed, the sound muffling as his voice became thick dark smoke

which billowed from his mouth in hot plumes. Just when he thought he would die, there he suddenly was, back in class. He looked down at the text book in front of him, at the passage on Pompeii. Had it really all been in his mind?

Suddenly, his heart threw against his chest with unbelievable force. It felt like his chest was going to burst. He even thought that he could see a red glow under his shirt. The teacher in front lowered her glasses and rolled her eyes. "Mr. Pramples, please cease your antics and-

but before she could finish the worst student in class began levitating, a red aura radiating from his Paw Patrol shirt. The boy looked around frantically until he realized what was happening and froze. His classroom would be ground zero for the invasion—he would be their leader.

The Boy who Stopped

There are so many beautiful and subtle things about this planet that make it unlike earth, but the most striking has to be the red snow. It never diminishes in vibrancy, despite the fact that winter can drag on up to a year. It’s also the reason I am as wealthy as I am.

‘RedRemover’ the laundry soap I developed is the solution to those unsightly red spacesuit stains. And has made me the wealthiest and most powerful member of my space commune. Life in space is challenging for many reasons, but laundry isn’t one of them. Food is another story.

I missed the food on Earth. But I could never go back. No one could.

Not after what had happened, the effects of that still linger on. Everything is/was contaminated, basically destroyed everything. Skip to the end and we are here on Lodai 7.

We had more time than anticipated on Lodai. Plenty of time to discuss the events that brought us here. Uncomfortable as it was, we discussed in detail the redremover and how it affected Earth, and the resulting contamination. Nobody, though, could bear to talk about the red snow.

So that part was left out of the history books, and no one ever acknowledged it. When coma patients awoke and questioned it, they were quickly accused of being delusional, and were placed back into a medically induced coma. And so the world continued.

Lodai Laundry

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Day 154 of the genetic mutation research: Subject D has started to repond to the treatment. The other subjects didn’t run with the same luck. I feel that sometimes we see progress and then hit a wall, but I am hopeful this time, we did some changes in the formula and I think

we can finally properly respond to ARC's demands.

Day 156 of research: Subject D's physical status has suddenly plunged for the worst. We've run tests to figure out why but nothing's coming up. With this near-success ARC is hounding us even more and the entire lab is exhausted.

"Word is coming from above that under no circumstances can we allow this to fail. ARC will pull funding when subject D's results are presented and it'll be game over for us all". We knew that there was only one thing we could do to to improve subject D's condition, and that was

to finish the genetic mutation sequence. We would have to remove Subject D’s creative impulses and render them completely practical, logical, and essentially emotionless. Only then could we prove our findings. We set to work, then, and in a week’s time, we reawakened Subject D.

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