“I might hate the braying of the dogs… but my demons hate it more.”

The slammed gate wobbled and quivered. Flattening the canines in the kennel of their own volition before springing up with their paws pushed against every surface and their howling frantic and relentless.

She sat with me just in front of them. I checked the chicken with my own hands. It melted in warmth. I tossed some through the bars to the dogs. Some became my mouth.

“Why do you eat here? In front of them?” She asked. Straining her voice against the weaving shadows of the kennel, with one hand on her woven bodice.

“It is about satisfaction. They are hungry with me. They want the meat more. I am starving… but them… they are ravenous. Does the noise bother you? If so, then you have more demons than me, Miss Moria.”

“Why are they so loud?”

“You know I have trained them to be so. My demons do not scare easily. Really, it can be quite fun to lose myself in the madness of their noise. If only you will do the same. We can make a night of it.”

“Just tell me why they have to be so unbelievably loud. I won’t give in to it. I won’t. Not now after so long.”

“The prim rose dims the nose.”

“What was that? Did I hear a piece of poetry? Here? Of all places?”

“Just a thought.”

“You can think in this noise?”

“I can only think when I have this noise.”

We stepped out into the night air, bottling the braying dogs in the hollow walls. Now that peace reined again, she turned over her top hat to expose a rabbit protected by the highest fashion. She stroked the soft ears.

“That rodent looks more depressed every day.”

She lifted the rabbit. “We apologize, my little friend… every day… for the world being so cold and heartless.”

I screwed my own hat down one rotation. I enjoyed the feel of my gloves on the felt, tightened properly. Strangers would see two men in our shadows. Until they approached and saw the fair young lady.

“Put away that little suicide, we have work to do.” I waved my hand to a brick facade my letters had penetrated for weeks. The Asylum of Carven Heart loomed large as our challenge.

“What is the assignment this time? What is it she has lost? Her mind?”

“Something far more precious.”

Character Bio:

Sorin was born tiny from a clan of vagabonds that have always been as light as tumbleweeds in their hearts. He became an environmentalist the backwoods way. He found the village of Millcreek and became caught up in its mysteries.

Addresses: Sorin tried to live in the woods and found a vacant cave and a haunted tree. He found that it was more fun failing to live somewhere than actually living there.

Thank you for the opportunity.

“She is enough to make me sneeze.”

“That is because she is covered in dust.”

“Extremely inconsiderate… coming into my library… filthy… not taking off her shoes or tapping them at the door.”

My father stopped my hand from dusting. “Miss Farley is a wonderful patron of our little library. I will not accept any ill will toward her.”

It wasn’t as simple as ill will. “But father, the whole reason our library is a center point between many worlds is because we are clean. She threatens our place… in everything.”

“Don’t make the mistake of believing that any of our patrons are cleaner than any others. She might look dirtier, but they all bring their worlds with them on their clothes and skin.”

“I know. Forgive my outburst. My sleep has been troubled.”

“Is it the strange cloud again?”

“It is. It feels like my dreams can’t be clean enough.” I scrubbed harder while knowing it was unnecessary. We were just dusting after all. I could feel my fingers through the rag as they burned and tipped and burned again.

My father took the rag from my hand. I was staring off into the distance atoms of the wooden shelf and enjoyed the feel of it being pulled from my rigid fingers. “It is late. We are done here. Get some sleep and clean your dreams, young man.”

“But how?”

He tossed the rag at my face and shrugged. It had fallen into my hands. I hadn’t tried to catch it…

Once again, I stood in the Library of Livikal as the sounds of others receded. Sixty generations of my family had maintained it. It required a large number of relatives. I used to hate my cousins that were trained to protect this place. Our childish fancy was always enamored by that position. Here I was… a cleaner like my father. Even though he always insisted this was the most important job. I tended to see it as the lowest job, but it did oversee the happiness of the library. Maintaining the equilibrium required vision and feeling to keep the bacteria from many distant worlds on peaceful terms. My grandmother had been the Sole Keeper for a very long time until her death. Now her brother had that position. Somehow this was a victory for my warrior cousins. They knew it on their faces… and I knew it in my gut.

I went to the part of the library that was connected to a universe with a sun going down. Meanwhile, those coming to take over my shift came from a universe with a rising one.

I laid down to immediately find myself in dirty dreams. I could hardly see anything. When I moved, it was like moving mud on the glass. But I could make out a familiar shape. I couldn’t understand it.

And then I was awake and my waking life was as dirty as my sleeping one because she stood there.

“Was it you that woke me up? With those hands…”

She looked at her hands and then nodded. I wondered if she could even see out of those dusty eyes. Her true hair color was hidden. Her lips cracked the once mud. Her silhouette was too large for such delicate wrists. Her shadow too shapeless for the pendants that hung in the massive space between her shoulders and neck.

She gripped my shoulders. “I need help.”

I recoiled from her dirty hands. My ancestors recoiled. All the dead relatives in their graves were cleaner than her. “What do you want?”

“I need a warrior.” She said this and took her hands away. I was grateful to have them away from me but also insulted.

“My mother was a warrior.”

“I know that.”

I looked at her closely, trying to gauge her age. “I could ask for an audience with the old ones. They will know how to help you.”

“I don’t need them. They will tell me what I already know. They will talk to me about dust and millions of years. But I know the secrets better than they. I am a Sorcerer of Dust. I need your help, Moroka. I saw something in your filth.”

“I am clean. You can’t see anything on me.”

She leaned toward me. Her eyelashes as dirty as spider webs. “I don’t see on you… I see in you. But if you are no warrior, then I can find someone else.”

I was ashamed of my fears. But I had never refused anyone anything. Even if I complained more loudly and more beautifully than others. “My father has told me too many times how devastating it could be if unknown bacteria made it to other worlds. Is that what happened?”

“No, something much worse. Come with me. We need to return to my world.”

That same fear returned to me. Traveling to different worlds was nothing. I had done it many times. But to actually enter the world as an inhabitant… that was different. I had hovered above each abyss and protected myself with a sense of superiority. But now I could only think about what father would think if I died while a secret inhabitant. I could not tolerate that kind of foolishness. I was on the verge of calling myself a fool.

Various details were running through my head. While I was away from the library, I would not have access to the conditions that kept my bacteria within perfection. It would have to be attained again once I returned.

“Wait… you are leading me the wrong way. The portal is that way.”

“I have my own way.”

“That is against the rules.”

“Do you truly believe you are a threat to my world, just as you are?”

“You don’t know the histories… the people destroyed from the unseen…”

“I know more than you think.”

She took my hand, causing my heart to wash itself frantically. We started to dissolve into dust, coating the wall we were facing.

We were assembled among trees. She looked at me with a smile of dirt. “It is a good thing I understand you.”

“I don’t want to know what you mean by that.” I would rather look around at a new world. I always knew I was not meant to be a cleaner.

“Follow me, there is something I want to show you.”

We walked through an oasis. Nothing was wilted, only dusty. Miss Farley reached her hand toward a tree causing it to reach toward her. The leaning tree contained a staff. Her fingers coiled like roots. Then she pointed it to the sky where a bright creature flew. Dust rose around her in patterns. Her staff contained the power of a sneeze as it broke the flight from the wings. I watched the creature plummet.

“What was that?”

“The contamination of our dust. I don’t know if you know much about our world, but your mother did. Our dust is the oldest and most noble. We have many enemies for that very reason. This place you see is where I have drawn the line. All life knows it can come here and be safe.”

She seemed delighted when I stooped to smell a flower. It seemed ripe enough to peel. My hand sunk in soil that was the softest I had ever felt. It was dust actually, of the finest quality. It coated the petals of the flower and did not dim the colors.

She brought me to a handful of chairs of coiled wood. She motioned me to sit down.

“Where you are sitting now is where you mother sat the last time. I didn’t see her again after that.”

“This is the world of Doormoth?”

“It is. It is my home. Your mother was the gatekeeper when I was a child. She told me many stories. She told me about you. I loved your mother.”

“I don’t know her well. She was always gone before she was really gone.”

I noticed how the dust responded to her. It was pulled close at all times. We sat in silence for a long time.

“This place is my place. I protect all life within these bounds. When the soil needs water, it lifts up into dust to ask me for it. Beyond my boundaries, there is a destructive force that is trying to claim this world. I brought you here to ask for your help. If you say yes, we will begin finding others.”

My jealousy was making me difficult. I could feel pleasure in the possibility of crushing her plea. Even as it spoke to my pride. Finally, someone asking me for help. It was a gift from my mother, apparently.

“There are a lot of reasons I want you to help me, Moroka. Your mother is the biggest. But also, I was intrigued by the reasons your library doesn’t disinfect its visitors.”

“It is because it is sacred. The life we don’t comprehend living on us is sacred. It is larger than we can imagine.”

“Exactly. My family is like yours. Except, yours are alive.”

I looked at her with rage. “How can you say that to me?”

“You still have your father.”

I felt as if I was speaking to a grave when she said that. None of her features were visible through the coating of dust. I spat when I said my next words and I didn’t care. “I would never help you.”

She simply looked down for a very long time. Almost as penance for what she had said. Then her quiet voice made it clear she was talking about something else now. It was distant and dreamy. “There is a thing we do here in order to understand each other. I would like to do it with you. It might be like a hug where you come from, or a handshake. I did this with your mother once. Would you like to try it?”

“Sure.”

“Okay then, roll on the ground and cover yourself with dust.”

“Really? No way.”

“You can wash it off right after.”

I did as she said. I had feared the possible foods she would try to feed me and unknown forms of bacteria my body didn’t understand. This was worse, except I remembered clearly the touch of that fine dust. I couldn’t forget it. I was drawn to touching it again. That is what made my decision.

When I was completely covered, she led me to a cliff. There was water below.

“Now we jump and you can wash it off to your heart’s content.”

I did not need to be asked twice. I went with her hand.

At first, it was a mess of movement and a rush of air and then water. Until I was floating. It felt like water unlike what I had always known. It felt heavier and I did not float upward, but slightly down instead. I felt fear and desperately wondered too late if I could trust her. But then I saw her…

All the dust she held was given to the water, rippling over her arms. A large cloud was created around her… the clouds from my dreams. Strewn out among the water, her hair became purple. Her eyes, I could finally see. Droplets of jewelry held their shape while nothing else did.

She was peering at me through the clouds. Her clothes heavy with departing dust. I had never seen her skin before. Her lips looked like they wanted to tell me something for the first time. And for the first time, I wanted to listen. Her eyes understood and made a dance of it.

It felt as if the water was lapping a shore inside of me. It tickled and sustained my floating. My smile was genuine. It hadn’t been for a long time. I wanted to laugh even if I choked on the water.

I wasn’t always able to see them. I kicked the cold sheets one autumn night. That spasm woke me up to see Deities warring above my bed. His sword had been immortally tinged until it struck her blade and became only metal. The bow and arrow he found and fired in the layers of reality could not harm her. She washed it out of time as colors blurred, wet and bleeding.

She leaped up and pulled down a spear the length of the ceiling. Its point followed the path of a spark through his armor and shoulder. The heat melted the metal in his blood. For he was the God of War. Behind him, stood the God of Nightmares. Trying to take me into his schemes.

I simply knew. They didn’t need names, like mortals would need names. But they likely had them out of the impulse to have, hold, and possess.

When the adversaries left my bedroom, the Goddess that had fought them sunk down onto my bed. Crossing her legs and letting the spear trail away in the shadows. She wore a skirt of war, greaves heavy in peace, and armor shouldered in nighttime reflection.

She turned toward me and crawled up my body. All the way from my cold feet to the blanket edge along my mouth. Her hands and knees were a light presence at my sides. Only the faintest colors could be seen from the streetlamp down the street. She lifted her metal visor, creating more shadows. Her lips were the darkest purple. Her voice was not something that should take place in close quarters. It nearly broke the words.

“Go to sleep, Mayae!” Her lips reformed for the next words. “Begone, spirits of wakefulness!”

I slipped back into sleep. But I did not forget. I woke up in the light of the morning, holding my torso with my hands making two indents in my mattress. I saw nothing. I got ready for work and decided to stop at the coffee shop on the way. It had been years since I had lived in the suburbs and needed a car to breathe. This city was just the bottom step of my building’s stairs. I walked everywhere.

Usually, I watched and was watched. But this morning, my capacity to see faces was filled with the phantoms in the night.

But then when I entered the shop, I noticed him immediately. Coffee was out of my mind. Strange occurrences were no longer important. He had skin just darker than mine. He was waiting for something. It couldn’t have been coffee. His countenance was too thoughtful. He was narrow everywhere I wanted him to be narrow and broad in just the right places. I hoped I was the only person in the world who thought he was attractive - but that was as likely as him thinking I was attractive… much less approach me to talk.

From experience, I knew not to run away. I just had to stand within reach, smile, and give my heart away. That was the way my mother described “good posture.” Just give your heart away, Mayae. I gave it to the menu while I ordered, the nice people behind the counter, even a cute dog allowed to sit at a table. I gave it to everyone and everything before him. That was about to change when he smiled at me. The moment we made eye contact; I felt that feeling.

At that same moment, a goddess of love appeared. My ability to recognize deities was growing. Every movement she made resembled a wedding ceremony. Mirrors appeared around us so that everywhere we looked we could only see each other. I loved those warm mirrors. Every way I turned my head, the desire to catch a glimpse of him was irresistible.

In the light of him, I hardly wanted to look at the Goddess as soft as a rose, smooth as a shell, tender as a Dove’s fluttering.

But then that armored Goddess that had forced me to sleep… she appeared. She swung her sword and shattered the mirrors and caused the Goddess of Love to be wounded. I caught my breath, reaching out to stop the sudden movement. I felt the sword inside my gut too. Even though it had touched no one’s skin. The apparitional authority of love had disappeared.

The man remembered himself and took his coffee. I wanted to follow him, but my movements had no assistance. I forgot my legs and had to pull back my hand. Besides, the warrior goddess was standing in the way. The man looked at me one last time before pushing the door open. I was not ready for that look of regret. It was even a cold look. That made it impossible to move after him. Perhaps it had all been a lie.

I turned to the Goddess that still stood with her armor and her sword. Her metal had found a blue deep inside its reflection. It somehow seemed necessary for standing still. Pure logic told me that no one else could see her. Her surprise when I put my hand on her armor was evidence enough. She reached for my face. I stopped her arm.

“Don’t put me to sleep or make me forget.”

I couldn’t risk grabbing my coffee. I left it and pulled the Goddess out into the crowds of people walking. I was as angry as I sensibly could be.

“Why did you ruin that moment for me? Who are you?”

The goddess took her helmet off and knelt in front of me. “My name is Persé. I am the Goddess of Imperfection. I serve you. I am the barrier that separates you from divinity.”

“Why?” I made that word have three syllables when I rocked on my feet and gave up my limbs three times. “Did you see that man back there? He was divine!”

“He might have hurt you. I can’t trust the schemes of any God or Goddess. I protect you from them.”

I stopped us and took a deep breath.

Out of habit, I saw a penny on the sidewalk. It was heads. I stooped to pick it up. Above me where my head had been, her sword gleamed across to touch the throat of a blindfolded child. I had felt lucky for one moment before the child fled and took the luck back.

I saw love in her face. She truly was protecting me. Trusting any divine force was a chance to be hurt. I sensed her origin and became weary of the tragedy that must have befallen.

I felt my heart turn to star dust. It brought me to my knees. Freedom of some kind was calling to me. A lonesome journey removed the reasons I had to ask the strange lad for help. He couldn’t accompany me. I didn’t want him to.

But still, he rushed to my side. “Did it bite you?”

“What? Yes… yes, it did. A small creature bit me. Is this finally the message from that little mouth?”

“Yes, the Tintarantula is deeply connected to fate. Its threads chose a long time ago. The Tintarantula is just the messenger. You must do what it asks.”

“What did it ask? I don’t know. How can I know?”

“Pay attention!” He walked backwards away from me. “There! What is that?”

It was the same lantern I was following earlier. It had followed me. It floated down into the arms of the lad. Its paper fringe glowed ancient like a Sanskrit sandy skirt, preceded by darkened grains of paper.

Above this descending paper comet, the sky rearranged itself and created a constellation.

“What is happening?” I asked. My voice was as large as cosmic events because it was a distraction from them.

“Be quiet! I am listening!” His face glowed as he waited for the sky to settle. “It is the Spiral Constellation of Kula! I have waited for it for such a long time.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you should not be here in the middle of nowhere! It is happening. The time is now. Everything precedes this moment. The future doesn’t exist right now because this is it. This is important.”

“What do I do?”

“You will know. Dree will take you there. I will follow on foot.”

As we lifted the lantern glass, I saw the way Dree didn’t want to leave her eggs. They were jewels of various kinds. I did not know what they would hatch into, but the act of creation struck me and glinted miraculous.

Various possibilities entered my mind. The hole for rent was still vacant. The Spitted tree was another discovery. In the eyes of the bird, these were just attempts to connect with others. My chair! It was all meant to lead me to others. According to the feather, me and Dree were the same. We wanted to be around others. Size or lack of it, didn’t matter. We would end without others to carry on. I thought of all of this as my vision was absorbed in the Dragon Orbs set to peering, large and heavy above me.

He strapped the lantern onto my back. I climbed the back of Dree and didn’t have time to say goodbye to the lad. The wings were quick. We rose up under the new constellation, attempting to be a part of the story being immortalized. I had counted 31 stars in the new constellation.

My destination became clear when I saw the lanterns acquiring the sky. They attempted to become stars by flying high enough. It seemed too coincidental for the constellation to form at this time when lanterns attempted to dip into the sky.

My heart of star dust spilled time so easily. I needed to hurry. It required me to go to the heart of things. To the center of a place I had lived all along. When my grandparents had chosen a different perspective for their family, they had given me an opportunity. I would have been too large for these things otherwise. It is a good thing I am small enough to be easily moved.

Dree let out a loud squawk, like a spark off the sky. Millcreek Village was below. We were gathering because it was important. It was important because the Tintarantula threads, the hole for rent, the missing chair. But most importantly, everyone below had made it important. I looked to my left and saw the Spitted Tree full of the shadows that I thought must be lonely like me. They were rooting me on. At least, I think they were. Or they were shaking their weapons and bloody flesh at me because of that one time.

We landed. I let Dree speak to everyone so that I could kneel and write my wish to burn. My instinct was to avoid others.

But then I noticed it… my chair. I rushed to it and grabbed it as we swung around. Its familiar weight was a comfort to my heart. The chair had been where it should be the whole time. Among people and friends. It had been waiting for me.

I greeted everyone like I should have done immediately. Turning star dust back into a heart. I turned back to the lantern and wrote about being alone. Such a wish did not burn. I knew it wouldn’t. It was false.

In response, everything around me burned. There was nowhere that wasn’t touched. No person that wasn’t lifted. It was a time to look at the sky and feel exactly where it came from. Lanterns from so many places rose up to a sky that grabbed them and placed them into the Spiral Constellation of Kula.

I would rather think of myself in the third person, but I don’t have that luxury. Though, I am the third person you see walking along the nearly empty sidewalk. I am not much in the face of those earbuds you wear when you run. I want to say something if I didn’t already imagine that we have been placed off to the side by this sidewalk.

If only a natural disaster could give us something to talk about. I feel I need something to stop the traffic before we can speak. I am sick that way. Sunlight is a vitamin, but it is mostly invisible. I have to like what I see before it can help me. I only see people who don’t talk to me and probably also hate to say it. Please believe me when I say this is my fault. I could talk to them.

Along this walk off to the side, there are a number of houses. Each door hides people I could drop in on. If I was crazy, rather than sick. My own city has placed me off to the side as though I am at least less solid than its bones and highways. I am incapable of dropping everything for another person. Though, I hear it is possible in London and many other parts of the world. I could drop in, spot the tea, and make myself a cup while they prepare for me. I believe it does require friendship, but in a city like that, everyone must be friends.

Most cities are lonely, if you really think about it. Until people build another one. They can even be clumsy and run into each other. Exactly how I dream of doing with other people. When I first came to this city, there was no city next to it. It was built over a night I can’t remember now. Through a day I am still traveling. Walking on a morning I don’t recognize. Thankfully, one like no other.

This is where you will find me. Witnessing the morning greeting between two cities. Not far from people and the possibility of their own miraculous meeting. I hope my city finds me soon. I should feel it being built. I hope to recognize its sounds, even as I am unrecognizable.

I left an offering at the base of the mist. Its generosity was important. I didn’t feel equipped to enter it. My food was running low. That was the reason I gave for seeking out the beach. But really the rumor of generous water is what really attracted me. I had heard about fishing stations appearing. I wanted to see what the water had to say about me.

Not eating much was fine with me. My grandpa was apparently so poor, he simply shrunk so that the crumb he still had was enough food for a week. Or so the story goes…

I had grown accustomed to the shadows. It was night, that was the only thing clear. A faint glow surrounded me from my backpack. I had picked up a solar powered tinymathing. It was a tiny solar panel and a tiny bulb a friend of mine was able to make manageable for me by installing it into a backpack. Hence the glow that accompanied me.

The shadows I created were behaving. Nothing was unusual until a reflective surface shifted the laws of darkness. This area felt different. I had found a place that had been hidden. It had only been accessible by crawling through a tunnel. Those had always been irresistible to me.

I brightened my light, revealing a tower taller than the trees. It was a rusted lantern. I peered through the glass and saw a bird’s nest. The bird must have lifted the glass in order to build it, but that seemed unlikely. The eggs didn’t appear to be normal. Some appeared to be bright colors, taking my light like jewels might have done. It could be a case of brood parasitism. I longed to touch them and investigate. I tried to lift the glass but needed better leverage. I was shifting position when I heard movement behind me.

I stumbled off of the side of the lantern when I saw a beak break ground and a head follow. I looked through my knees at the spectacle. A bird ten times the size of me climbed out of the earth, flapping its wings to get the dirt away. On its back, rode a person smaller than me. Together, they attacked me.

I rolled away from the war cry and squawk. “Wait! I come in peace!”

The person leaped from the bird. It was a child covered in mud or so he appeared. The voice of the small man was large. “Swear it. Take an oath you will take no action to hurt this bird or its eggs. Kneel at the lighthouse and swear it.”

He had a wooden scepter he swung too freely. I knelt and said what he bid. “I, the littlest person, swear I will not use my massive powers to harm this strange scene.”

He was exceedingly pleased with my sarcasm. Too pleased. He went with the bird and together they lifted the glass. The bird flapped its wings to help lift it and then flutter inside through a small opening.

“What is this place?” I asked him. At this point he was nibbling on something and building a small fire. A strange act so near a lantern. I recognized what he was eating. It was my offering to the mist from earlier! “That food wasn’t meant for you. It was meant for the mist. Wait… have you entered the mist?”

He wasn’t responding. He was chewing, to be fair. I waited. He still didn’t say anything.

He laid on his back next to the fire and looked at the stars. He didn’t try to fall asleep. I laid on my back too and looked up.

“It is a new sky.” He said, “Those lights need to be mapped. They need meaning. Their stories have not been found yet.”

It was true. I recognized none of the constellations. It was not the sky I was accustomed to.

“I only see this particular sky from this place.” He continued.

“And you want to understand?”

Our eyes collided.

“Most importantly, I must protect Dree. She will bring warmth to the stones, and I will understand their connection to the sky.”

At the name of Dree, the bird lifted its head.

“These new stars are a map of the future. The old sky was old enough. It spilled into this vision. Everyone who sees it, must become a part of it.”

He looked at me now. In that moment I preferred the stare of a comet. I felt he would somehow crush me with his smaller body that laid under celestial bodies.

I followed the stray lantern, careful not to appear forlorn. I looked as thin as glowing paper. It would be able to see inside of me, I was sure. There was evidence of intentionality in objects. I couldn’t afford to underestimate anything…

The floating paper I followed was evidence of a likely Lantern Festival in Millcreek Village. More and more, I find myself unable to leave a place with so much that interests me and so many interesting people.

I saw a shadow of something I didn’t recognize. I pounced on the source, coming up with a small creature from the sand. Regular sized humans often laugh at me— the smallest environmentalist that wants to solve the biggest problems. But I will do just that. I will save the world or die trying. This perspective I have while being this small is unique and could be the place where the greatest answers hide.

The little creature bit me. I dropped it back in the sand and waited while death was a real possibility. I had inadvertently become a test subject. Not only would I know if it was venomous, but I might also glean a few more secrets from them. But then that meant the little creature owed me one according to the street sense of the big people. Gosh, I hadn’t seen an actual size street in years. They are terrifying. The noise alone… they might as well be spaceships that haven’t figured out how to go up, trapped in the back and forth of one path.

I wandered, feeling very poetic. Longing for a good chair, but more than that, remembering my origins. I was born miniature. My parents would tell me stories of what it was like being giants. My father had a large voice. I have always been proud of that. There is giant blood in me… is how I have always thought of it. My mother can trample a human of any size. I am sure of that. She also knows their secrets. I used to climb among the trash heaps to point at the wrappers and containers. She would describe each one of the candy bars and energy drinks and numberless other products and then she would always end by saying, “And Sorin, you better be grateful we have none of that stuff! It would kill someone like you who doesn’t know how to stop or be careful.”

I didn’t take her words seriously until my cousin choked on a little piece of Styrofoam and nearly died. And then another time, my aunt was buried in an avalanche when the trash heap of large products shifted. She survived only because she climbed into a metal can. She got a cut from the momentary doorway. I don’t know why anyone would put their mouth so close to sharp metal like that.

All of that didn’t stop me from doing cannonballs into an energy drink after me and some of my friends managed to use leverage to crack it open.

When I set out from my home to travel the world, I was smitten with the idea that the world is one thousand times larger because I am one thousand times smaller. It is a worthy journey and a worthy prospect. It deserves to be saved, especially by one of its smallest inhabitants.

The lantern was bringing me closer to the beach until everything under my feet was sand. No more rocks and twigs to walk around or leap over.

I was thinking of a dream I had last night. A large pesticide grabbed me by the throat and wrestled me to the ground. I bashed its head in with a strawberry. I buried its now delicious body.

Someone was approaching from behind. I needed to act like I wasn’t thinking about weird stuff. I needed to try and say something smart.

It was . Fortunately for me, his kindness will find the wisdom no matter how buried it is. Perhaps I can scrounge up an invitation from him. I would like to find the source of the purring that has reached my neck of the woods. I made up my mind to ask him if he didn’t want his used coffee grounds. I know he has them according to a certain shift in the wind. Somehow or other, these things will lead to conversations of philosophy. It was the one certainty I detected in Abhishek... and even that would be lovingly questioned.

It had been six hours since I woke up. The straps were thorough… my struggling, lame. My surroundings included a clock… those bastards. I was sitting in a lab with all the forms a clock can take to count the seconds of human existence. Some clocks looked like microscopes, others looked like pipettes and flasks. It was all just a sadistic way to pass the time.

Whoever had brought me back to life, didn’t understand where they had taken me from. “Show yourselves, demons!”

I was feeling the woes of having a physical body again. My posterior was numb. Perhaps because it wasn’t my own. This one had likely been scrounged from the discarded. No offense to the corpses. An angry scientist should be kept from the housings of the soul.

More lights turned on besides that single bulb that had been blinding me the entire time. They slowly descended the metal steps. Infuriatingly pleased with my exasperation. I am nothing but an achievement—even my sadness and suffering.

“You are all fools!” I yelled, “You took me from heaven. The bread! Oh, the bread is enough to make me weep. You must be demons to have brought me back, giving me another chance to weight my soul with hatred and murder.”

They talked among themselves in a language different from my own. I tried to listen and to piece it together. I wanted to know if their goal been to capture a soul or simply to animate a body? But then I didn’t care what they said…

I heard the voice of a child. I was clearly the only one that heard it.

“Please help me. Is anyone there?”

I knew I was being tested. It had always been about saving. Killing was just a distraction. I was grateful for the straps that kept my hands from strangling. I looked around now that my thoughts were noble. Immediately I noticed that one of the men looking at me had a face of empathy and regret.

I heard a dog bark. I listened for any owners yelling at the dog to be quiet. There were none… I sighed and settled into the sounds of nature. Nothing wrong with telling a dog to be quiet. It’s just, that shouldn’t be the only thing to talk about with them. Conversationalism is more important out in the sticks.

This Millcreek Village is the place to be. Loosened boots, a lightweight chair with a lot of give, and a whittling knife. But who has the time for whittling?

For my own sake, I must admit I have no food. A stomach of mud is the way I will describe it. I need some seeds to plant in that darkness.

Wandering has not left me bereft. Well, it has for now. But that depends on… what is around this tree! Nothing… but what about the next one! Still nothing, but we are making progress.

I turned around for one last glimpse of my campsite. That is such a good chair. I calculated the odds of it being stolen. Almost certain… but that is the way of life. Looking forward to a new chair is really all we have to look forward to. I can’t imagine a better chair, but I have been surprised before. We truly don’t know how much better things can be.

I continued forward. I wanted to believe I was looking for edible vegetation. But rifling through trash was admittedly more exciting. That was how I found the chair in the first place.

                                                          Ode to the Chair: 
                                    When I first saw you, I looked for injuries.
                                             What path have you traveled? 
                                   What traveler has worn you for a moment? 
                                    Perhaps a nap to rest the heat on my skin. 
                             Sunlight happening once from a single direction. 
                            Until I wake up and try a new direction, dear chair. 

Well, I didn’t find any food… but I did find a cave. I sat for a long while with a piece of wood. I had found the time to scribble with my knife. The wood read: “Hole for Rent Be Back in a While”

I continued my wandering. Thinking the cave would be a good place for storytelling. It was too dark to explore now.

Soon I found some mushrooms. They would be perfect. I looked around hoping there was someone who knew about mushrooms. No one… well, nothing to do but try them.

“Stop!”

The mushroom had spoken!

“You are at the edge of the realm of the Mushroom Queen. Only proceed if you are committed to the preservation of good things.”

“My stomach is empty. That might lead to something unpleasant.” I was hoping the little lad would have some kind of solution.

“Then you best not proceed. Especially if that stomach has any inclination towards my kind.”

“No, you are right. I should get going. I will come back when my stomach is full. Is this the direction away from the Mushroom Queen?”

“Yes. I won’t tell her you tried to eat me. If that is what you are worried about.”

“Oh, good. Thank you for that.”

“Be careful as well because there is a haunted tree ahead. With something hungrier than you. We call it the Spitted Tree. We guard the borders against it.”

I tipped my hat and didn’t mention that the name made me hungry. It was completely dark now. I was grateful for the light of fires up ahead.

The tree itself was on fire in several places. It was very large. Birds certainly should not land in it. The fires had been cultivated and built in the branches and somehow, they didn’t spread. Shadows were cooking meet over the fire. One of the largest shadows looked like a faun sitting in a throne. I was about to move on before they noticed me when something fell from the branches. I was just barely able to catch what had fallen…

It was a lump of bloody meat. I only thought for one moment to toss it back up with the comment that it was undercooked. Instead, I ran away. I would figure it out myself.

And yes, the chair was gone. I had a decent guess where it was…

I want to sleep where there are no limitations. Fall in love after falling sleep. Imbibe and embody until I wake up.

Alone in life where mankind is left behind. It is for the best if only I had been better. Lonely and deserving, I wander.

No great crime, but neither am I a master of my time. Nothing is the name. Everything is different. According to the screen maker, there is a scream aching in the morning.

My relative becomes stranger. She is on the street now. I do not look because I cannot like. Looking inward means enemies. Mirrors make armor and she has none. Enemies mean heroes. Heroes mean views of the street where she lives.

Nothing personal is where I live. Affording a view of no relatives. If I laugh, it has no object. If I smile, it just means I am happy.

One day I will relate, but I am already so late. Children cry baby. They look like my relative when they cross the street. I am their mirror now, telling them beautiful things.

Written for Flash Fiction February hosted by .

I had been walking for three days with only a vague notion of the distance to the next town. When I set up camp, I ended up cutting my hand multiple times. I was usually better with a knife. Only small nicks that gave me something to look at when the stars came out. The sight of my bleeding hand prepared me. My family’s death couldn’t end with them.

Using a small pot, I warmed up beans. Hardtack would be fine in it as well. I spilled a spoonful on the gun that was in my lap. I tasted the metal when I licked it clean.

Even my tongue felt dirty. Nothing could be truly clean when dust was everywhere. I settled in for the night. Taking rest if sleep couldn’t be had. I wanted to practice using my piece, but I didn’t have enough bullets. Finding the energy to do things well was escaping me. Going the way of my family might be for the best.

When I woke up, I sat and felt my feelings. I was a bit clumsy with them. One thing I knew, walking was no worse than lying on the floor of the desert. Might as well be moving.

I stopped to listen to a Rattlesnake. Too many conversations had happened when I had given our baby a rattle. Good conversations about dangers we probably would never find.

When I made it to town, those beans from the night before were just holding me. I entered the tavern knowing there was no reason to keep the money in my pocket.

“What’ll you be having?”

“Sourdough pancakes. No surprises, please.”

“No surprises here.”

It looked like a husband and wife had the run of the place. That covenant that couldn’t be protected by mortal measures.

“These pancakes are very good. Mind if I get a glass of whiskey as well?”

“Of course. You will find the whiskey is good quality, like the pancakes. None of that rotgut that needs burnt sugar to make it palatable.”

I responded with gruff agreement after a mouthful.

“I don’t recognize you. What business are you pursuing? I can assume you don’t know about the game of Brag we are about to start pretty soon here. You are welcome to join.”

Both husband and wife were speaking to me. Doing their relative parts to live together as a family. I couldn’t tell you why I placed my gun in front of me. I suppose the fear in their faces was something I needed to see. To bring me back to sense. Only a family could make me listen. Horror was something I felt too. They had just reminded me of it.

“I need to talk to someone.”

I could see the kindness in their faces. But the gun had no business being in between us.

“I am sorry, but you need to leave. Every person has the right to defend themselves, but we can’t have any trouble. We don’t know what reasons you have that firearm, but those reasons have no purchase here.”

I took out my money, the only part of me that was welcome. For good reason. They didn’t want my revenge. The ugly face of it was nothing I wanted either. “Here, take all of it. I worry I will buy comfort with it so soon after the passing of my wife.”

They shared a glance. The man pushed the coins off the side into his wife’s hand. “We will keep this money for you. Return when you are in a right mind. We will keep it safe. Don’t worry.”

The woman reached out and touched my gun. I tightened my grip as we both held it between us.

“We can take that as well. Just for a little while.”

They recognized me as a dead man. I couldn’t blame them. Only a dead man would allow his family to die.

I let her take it from me. “Let me at least have another glass of whiskey before I go.”

She reached out and placed her hand on my shoulder. “You can have some water.”

Her hand was firm. Stronger than any drink.

Every person has darkness. Mine just happens to be stranger than most.

This year, I decided not to leave with the others.

I will tell you what I saw. Once the sun was completely gone, fireflies appeared from the caves. I no longer needed a light source. Half of my preparation for nine weeks of darkness was now pointless.

My hope was that the legend about vampires was false. I wanted to be the one to tell the other townspeople that there was no reason to leave each year. I walked among the multitude of fireflies and barely recognized my hometown. It had been transformed into a dream of the longest night.

I had been coaxed out of my house where I had stockpiled supplies. My next surprise was the quickly growing dark limbed plants that began disturbing my soul. They spread throughout the streets, growing just tall enough for me to reach their fruit.

Taking a bite was not the most reckless thing I had done in my life. It tasted and felt like flesh and blood. I spit it out and let the ground puncture its heaviness.

I noticed the fireflies, or some such equivalent, were drinking the nectar from the fruits. They in turn grew heavy… and heavier… and heavier. Until the trees were pulled to the ground by the massive insects that unfolded legs and arms from their wings. And instead of bugs, strange people finally released the fruit and the trees straightened.

All around me were these strange metamorphoses. I rushed back into my house and locked the door. I couldn’t help but peek out of the windows. A festival of some kind was happening in my town.

The trees made the heavy fireflies into strange people, and those people pressed the strange fruit into a drink. I had never seen so many people without clothing. They drank the blood and were merry. I didn’t know if I would survive sixty-five days.

I stayed inside for a week before I decided to walk among them. I packed what I could carry, thinking I should skip town like the others. But they stopped me right away.

“Hey everyone, it is a human.”

Another person raised a cup of blood. “The luckiest human ever to live.”

I had to say something. “I am absolutely monstrous and terribly unlucky. I just need to get passed.”

“Humans say the funniest things when they think they are going to die. But don’t worry. This is the yearly festival of peace hosted by the fireflies. Every blood drinker from around the world is brought here so we can drink the blood of the already dead. We won’t hurt you. But since you are here. Do you mind pressing some of these blood fruits with your feet? Wow, that would be a real treat.”

I really couldn’t say no. He was nice enough. Although, it was awkward to be watched so intently while I bared my feet and stepped on their fruits. I wouldn’t necessarily call them foot fetishists.

They drank the blood pressed by my feet and were happy.

I celebrated with them for the remainder of my time in the dark. It was a wild time. I made many friends and I plan on visiting them in their home countries. The other townspeople always joked that I would be the last to leave. Who knew the very act of staying would send me across the world to experience all manner of hosts. I am the luckiest human, after all.

Written for Flash Fiction February hosted by .

She was lying in bed when she fell asleep. That was quite normal; except she was holding a heavy book above her face. It fell and woke her up immediately. A huge amount of satisfaction came from rubbing her nose vigorously. That is what she got from reading Sherlock Holmes instead of one of the various textbooks that had exams lurking in the shadows.

Rowan was in her third year of college. A complete master of what didn’t need to be done. First year people watched her sulking form through the library, imagining all the books she didn’t glance at were rightfully unnecessary. A fair number of fair men wanted to check her out, due to the text on her visible skin. Not even including the murals under her clothes. To that, she had a number of remarks. You can’t return a damaged book to the library… If it ever went that far. Usually, it didn’t. She always found her way to his friend’s bookshelf. More than one guy had quoted her on his skin. The best books are the ones that are anything but books. They are warm from being touched and on the verge of burning your house down. At the very least, kindling your blanket around a lamp to read into the night.

I knew that she didn’t like cuddling. It made her too hot to sleep. I knew a great deal about her. I had known her since her birth. For the duration of her lifetime, she would be one edge of my universe. The other edge was my boss. Another woman of the blacksmith kind. Hammering marked my sides. Told me where to begin and end. Was blunt when I needed to be set a certain way.

For the longest time, I have let the business of inspiration and creativity become routine within me. It has become just business. I admit, I never recovered from discovering where ideas come from. My younger years were marked with obsession for finding this source. When I found it, the devastation of knowing placed me in a bright room without the mercy of my limits.

“Rowan.”

She flung the boiling pot of ramen over her shoulder. I didn’t think anyone else would have heard her startled scream. She stood over the ramen swimming across the floor, rapidly going cold.

“I am sorry. There was very little consideration in my entrance. I knew there would be a scene. But I shouldn’t have popped the boiling bubble so dramatically.”

“Who are you?”

“Allow me to remain mysterious.”

“Fuck that. You can remain in my house when you have told me who you are. And… only if I like what I hear.”

“I am from the place where all ideas come from.”

“Your mom?”

“Let’s go with that. My mother has noticed you have given up your most secret and special idea. We want to help you.”

The door was used. Three students entered. I had wanted to be the only destroyer of privacy. But I could see the way it made Rowan feel more at ease when they exclaimed over the ramen getting on their shoes.

“Who is he?”

They had ignored me for a surprisingly long time. Perhaps only as college students can. They would climb over me to get to the other side of the couch before they would ask my name. Accustomed to the nameless classrooms and constant audience. Enamored by the faceless. I was another one to them. I had gotten up and turned on music. She might notice I had a command of her music. Dark violin and shadow voices falling over a piano. That got them to notice me. Then she had to say who I was.

“He is my boyfriend.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Maybe.”

I cut into their laughter with my voice. “Someone needs to remind Rowan to dream.”

The rest of the conversation jumped off of Rowan’s blank face. When they left, she pushed me against the closed door. There was a knife in her hand. “Seriously, why are you here?”

I disappeared and reappeared. She pulled back in surprise. Her hand that had been on my neck was now closer to my cheek. I leaned into it and phased in and out, placing my cheek in her hand repeatedly. “I am here because you were going to give up on your very best idea.”

She went into her bedroom and pulled out many journals and tossed them on the bed. “You mean these? There is no reason to continue with these.”

I picked up one of the journals. “This is where you fell in love with tattoos.” I picked up another. “These paragraphs were only possible because of your favorite movies and books.”

She wouldn’t be able to see what I saw. When I looked at her head I could see a representation of her mind. It let me do my job. But it had also become the most beautiful complexity that had ever given meaning to my existence.

“What do you want me to do? Work on this right now? I have to study for my classes.”

“There is time for everything. I will help you. I can make your favorite drink while you work.”

“And you know what that is?”

I went to the kitchen and brought back the smell of banana and matcha. She was a little disgusted with me. But she had also scattered her notebooks around her. She laid between them hours later. “Where do ideas come from?”

“I will keep the answer with me. For now, just remember how your mother made you feel when you captured her with a pencil.”

“I was adopted.”

I had been considering her mind, and I could see where it was struggling. “Rowan, it isn’t the idea that matters.” I materialized one of my own notebooks and then I burned it.

She jumped up. “What are you doing?”

I could feel the anger of my superiors with that action. “No one seems to like when I burn books.”

“That is because books are important. They shouldn’t be lost.”

“But I can see that it helped you.”

“Stop seeing into me.”

“You can tell?”

“Yes, I feel it. You think you know. Just stop knowing. It makes you feel dead.”

I could see it in her mind. The strongest aversion to my matter-of-fact tone. But she was right. I had become dead by knowing without a shadow of a doubt. I sat on her bed and stopped using my given powers. Now I could only see her face. Eyes, while complicated enough, didn’t give anything away. They guarded what was underneath. Flat cheeks, line of the mouth, and bangs were all impervious.

“I am not going to lie. That look of confusion on your face is making me really happy.”

“But now I can’t see anything.”

“Precisely. Now we are both human. I can act normal.” She turned up the music and started dancing. Longer movement in her arms and shorter movement in her hips. Just a woman with a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants askew.

“What are you doing?”

“Dancing.”

“But you don’t know how to dance.”

“Obviously.”

It occurred to me again why I had chosen to work for her. There were vast expanses in her mind where she knew. But she consistently went toward the unknown. The place I had given up. I wanted to go there. I wanted to try to dance, but trying had become foreign to my mind accustomed to absolutes.

She grabbed my arm. “Stick with me and you will be alright.”

Here I was, failing. Her idea was scattered and forgotten on the floor. But now my own ideas surged to my mind. I didn’t want to lose them. I clung to them and danced with the goddess of failure. Ink on her skin rather than the page. A single destination for an idea will always be a lonely existence.

Written for Flash Fiction February hosted by .

You didn’t want to touch anything. Everything could fall over. The shelves were too high and too unstable. There was something you wanted to look at but it was wedged in an unsafe place. If you pulled, you might have been buried. The shopkeeper couldn’t help you. He was frail and only read books because he could prop them up. In much the same way I prop you up.

You pass the costumes that were used in plays. Humanity has progressed beyond acting like demons and pretend killing. We know much about that… you and me. Now that you are a part of my circles.

Before you were placed in my books, you strolled my shop with your wife. I remember. A cursed doll was crawling towards you, dragging a line of dust. You dove on top of it to protect her.

You should be glad she is not here with you. Although, we would enjoy the company.

You must forget about your wife. Her origins are too bright. There is no shame in dividing light from dark. Simple rules govern perpetuity and the impetuous. I was a kinder man than you when I was alive. I had a wife. She did not save me. In fact, she only showed me how far I had fallen. In fiction, she greets me every night to touch me most painfully. She can’t help it, nor me.

You will enjoy the kind of work we do here. Come closer and tell me this is not all your heart ever desired. You only need to find the excitement of the grindstone. This particular person needs his hands sharpened. Step into the shadows around him and work away your debt to the shop.

We will play when you are done. You have been invited to your wife’s house. I have been given permission to attend in my true form. You will accompany me within bounds.

We enter a once opulent manor that has survived wildflowers and wildfires so that I may dress myself. To be dressed by as many hands as I want to possess is a gorgeous sonata.

Now on to your wife’s abode. You don’t look pleased. But clearly your wife wants to see you. She has summoned us with the proper geometry. I know no better love letter than a perfect summoning circle. I feel her pulling on us. Wanting us to share her presence. Dividing the air of one room between competing lungs.

When it happens and she pulls us through, my hiss and exhale will counterfeit so many instances of smelled flower. Enjoy the tea she will offer us. You mustn’t struggle when you see your wife. If things work out well, there will be other visitors as well. They will not appreciate any ill will toward your chains.

You will be happy with my treatment of your wife. I appeared seated with perfect civility. A fallen kindness mimicked to perfection. She was the one that met me with trickery. And you will be the one to pay for it. She didn’t know there would be other visitors. Her invitation had been extended to other circles.

She is weak toward you. I will send you against her. You will be my angel.

Written for Flash Fiction February, hosted by .

Twelve men and twelve women, one room. They were all masters of the law. That was not the whole criteria that had brought them together. They believed life was exceptionally beautiful. All of them had broad lives. Many of them were artists. Music was massive in their minds. The effort of a garden was in their recent past. All of them had built their lives on a love of struggle that was only possible with the blessing of health. Heavy and bloody breathing was always accompanied by a rugged flush to their faces and light from the eyes that contained great distance.

The government had something to show these men and women. They took a break from strategizing to travel in a cloud of small talk for potentially the last time. They sat in an amphitheater and waited with crossed legs and warm cups on their knees.

On the stage, a screen began showing a montage of their families mixed with the most beautiful aspects of the world. The most famous film directors had been called to do this service to prevent the end. The greatest composers and orchestras had come together to write the sad last actions of the most talented musicians. Music had been called to serve.

More than one of the men and women felt upset. To be shown their families even in this style, paled in comparison to the real thing. The manipulation of people was counter to what they were trying to show to those that had decreed the destruction of Earth. These men and women were important for one last moment and their plea for their families was granted.

A polite quiet was replaced with life and children. It filled up the seats and the performance began again.

The Galactic Council had watched them compile their case and see their families for the last time. But not any longer than they observed all people on the planet. Wiping the self-importance from these few speaking for the many.

It was clear humanity was still operating on an outdated system called courtrooms. A vacuum that let a few speak for many. It didn’t have to be that way. Technology could easily allow all people to speak. It had done just that since the beginning. With the help of technologies outside of Earth.

Omniscience mixed with moral judgement apparent in religion was considered technology by the Council. Such a technology had countered the flaws of the courtroom in some instances. But like the technology of courtrooms, it had become too cumbersome to fit into every room. Philosophers had tried to make technologies that didn’t have physical limitations. This was how the Council considered and weighed humanity. Good actions should not require witnesses. Morality should fit into the smallest places. The Council weighed the human technologies of thought by the welcome they received in every room.

The Galactic Council had given humanity one day to exercise their systems that were doomed to fail. The Council had not come to destroy humanity, but to cull the outdated systems that were no longer useful. It was certain the groups of lawyers would fail. They had never succeeded.

It would be made perfectly plain why the Council allowed humanity to live. It had amassed evidence of the quiet technologies that fit into every room. Empathy, selflessness, and good feeling were those technologies. The best technologies are selfless. They had saved humanity.

The planet of Yan was home to the cleanest pigeons and the seat of the universe. Alaric tried to remain standing as the man-sized fountain used the weight of water to burn the ember. He ascended to the heavens a stone’s throw from the palace gates.

He had the keys to the most extensive mind palace in the known universe. He was its builder and keeper. In a hallway, he witnessed an assassination that should not be allowed to happen. He knew the group of men and women who could feasibly see such an eventuality but could not trust the morality of their mind palaces. In his inebriated state, he floated around his obligation to do something about it. He chuckled at his recent exile.

He stumbled outside and laid in the street to observe the routes of the pigeons. For years now he had been observing them and placing any recognizable pigeons into his mind palace. He recognized one by a certain cloud formation in feathers. He went to the pigeon house and waited for the proprietor to leave. He wrote a message and sent it with that particular pigeon.

Alaric returned to the fountain tied to smoke and waited.

He was seized and brought to the princess. She wore a golden headpiece with ornamental lattice. The headpiece was connected to her dress through metal, not to be detached. It wrapped above and below her eyes.

“Princess Mencosa…”

“Let me speak first. Despite what happened, I see you as a gamemaster. That title can’t be revoked. I will speak first and willingly lower my station and display my rightful ignorance. I admit that I had not anticipated your message. I am told that my mind palaces are impressive for my age, but as you know, factors from the unknown can throw palaces in disarray. And your message is just that. My palace is sieged by your greater palaces.”

“First, let us go to the garden.”

The garden was well known and certainly incorporated into the mind palaces of all princes and princesses competing in the Crown Between Crowns. She seated herself among the Azaleas.

He commanded. “Sink beneath the crown.”

She closed her eyes.

“You will receive a message from Princess Talla. Each one of her rooms are carefully curated to overwhelm your senses. To fight back, you will use the various textures embedded in your clothing to ground yourself. You must understand that she is a distraction. She will make every political mistake. She will reveal her hand, willingly. You will add much to your mind palace, placing you far ahead in the competition for the crown. You will fill the most important mirrors in your palace with information. You will visit the gamemasters and input your moves in the true gameboard they keep in their minds. Then you will negotiate with Prince Ven. He will also give much away. He will bring you through many doorways. Offer every texture of cake. Place moss beneath your feet. It will take everything you have to maintain your mind through the barriers and the sensory overload. Your mind palace is the only thing protecting you. You will learn that hiding your fatigue only makes you more tired. And between his rooms and your own… there is a hallway. That is the place where you will die. Your enemies have discovered that the hallway is a dark zone. There is no surveillance. It is outside gamemaster observation and therefore a place assassination is permitted.”

She opened her eyes. “Your removal from court was three months ago. How is it you are still aware of so much?”

His eyes were still cloudy. “This hallway must become a liminal space in your mind palace. Speak to the dead and learn from them. Dislodge the bricks of light reflected on the floor and place information there. Your mind palace must be a place outside the living and the dead. Your ancestors want something from you. Your living enemies want something from you. But if you are dead, you will only be aware of your own want.”

“I know the hallway. It has nine rooms.”

“All royalty bears the curse of heightened senses. This liminal place where your future death takes place will allow you to control your sensitivity and harness death to defeat your enemies. Listen to the brushing of the veil instead of the sound of grass. Ignore the vanilla rain. Become sturdy like a true palace. Go to that hallway in your mind… but never in real life.”

Alaric faltered. There was a conflict between palaces. She noticed. He had told her to feel the weight of the crown. But now he was crushed by it.

“Yes.” She said. “I was the one that allowed my enemies to know about that hallway. They planned for my assassination. I knew it would have greater consequences beyond this game and that you would come to warn me.”

He considered her anew. His vast mind palaces had never been manipulated so thoroughly. She had brought him to her side by risking her own life. Her enemies had showed their weaknesses to her, knowing that she would die soon.

There was nothing to do but kneel.

The zombies snuffed at the muzzles. This was supposed to be controlled. But I felt saliva hit my cheek from their ruined and gaping faces. My eyes immediately began burning from the small touch. This was the third time I wiped the lens on my camera. My equipment was heavy, but I would leave it behind in a heartbeat if these zombies got loose.

This was a good job for me. There was a lot of money in it. The models were a display of perfection in contrast to the zombies that had leashes and collars. One tall and thin woman held a bouquet of flowers she whirled around the zombie. These women were exceptional at finding poses. She dragged it across the ruined face, splitting the flower petals. She placed a stem with thorns in her mouth, splitting her lips. She shifted her arms, so the bouquet was upside down above them. Pausing to make them lovers for a moment.

Another woman displayed all of her powers while a man pulled on the leash to keep the zombie from her. As much as it reached and struggled to eat the young woman, the better the shots were. The person directing it all kept saying that the zombie had massive potential and talent.

We stumbled through various themes. The title of the whole project was “Get Over Your Fierce.”

I aimed the camera at the models on the platform. Zombies surrounded it, trying to get to them. Next, there was a cage with the models, surrounded by more zombies. I got some wonderful shots of the women placing their faces against the chain-link as the zombies did the same on the other side. These women were absolutely impressive. They didn’t hold anything back. I couldn’t understand how they could do that.

At the end, the most talented zombie was involved in a popular idea inside out. The whole group of beautiful women chased the zombie while smiling and laughing. I could barely enjoy the spectacle because I knew my performance mattered the most here. If I didn’t capture the best parts, I would be eaten alive.

We were finished. I just needed to pack up my gear. Most of the models were gone. Various people were putting the zombies back in cages. I went to grab my bag and found a zombie sitting in a small space, gnawing on its muzzle for I don’t know how long. I looked around for someone. The zombie jumped at me. I lifted my arm and felt the pain of a bite. The broken muzzle went into my flesh along with the teeth.

My screaming and yelling brought the others. I was alright. But my life was over. There was no pain. I sat on the ground, much like the zombie had done. They had the zombie back in a cage. It wasn’t like a snake. The zombie would be no use as antidote. My rage wanted me to suggest taking its head anyway.

One of the models had remained. She squatted next to me. Someone suggested a hospital. But this beautiful woman next to me who seemed calmer than everyone else mentioned, “He can’t go to a hospital. Believe me, you won’t survive it. I know multiple people that haven’t returned. They used to do amputations but not anymore. They can’t be certain it will stop the virus. Do you know someone who could do it for you?”

I hated that I knew exactly who would do that for me. I stood up and nodded. “I know someone.”

The model stood up too. “I will go with you.”

She got into my vehicle. I asked. “Do you need a ride somewhere or something?”

“No, I want to be there for you.”

I knew we were both human and it shouldn’t be unusual. But the fact that she was much more attractive than me made me think this was wrong somehow. “Well, I appreciate it.”

“Do you have anyone you can tell. Anyone to support you?”

“I don’t want to tell them. I can’t do it. They will see my amputated arm and they will understand.” My eyes were thick with bacteria. I was crying in a hot rage. I put my head on the steering wheel until I realized I was putting her in danger by not paying attention. “Listen, you should understand the person we are going to see. I hate him and he probably hates me. He is pretty famous. Have you ever heard of the YouTube channel PhotoScythe?”

“I have and I recognize you from the videos… Machine Gun Cam.”

“That was only in the beginning. I don’t go by that name anymore. Just Cameron. It is good you know what to expect.”

“Well, I go by the name Olga.”

We got to the suburban house I remember going to a million times as a kid. I heard he bought the house from his mom. In some kind of strange succession. I remember we were twelve years old when he claimed that house as his own. I knew his parents would be moved to the side eventually.

We knocked on the door. No one was inside, but we could hear them in the back. Part of the fence had been ruined by someone hitting into it most likely. There was a crowd of people in the back, surrounding the bloodiest table I had ever seen. Amputation was already happening. I had seen his latest videos. His cronies wore Halloween nurse costumes. Someone jumped from the table on one leg and fell. “Put him back on the table. We need to make sure he doesn’t bleed out.”

My once best friend saw us. I wasn’t sure what he was more interested in. The fact that I was with a model or that there was a visible bite on my arm. When he approached us, Olga put her hand out. “You must be Sling Shot Saint.”

“In the flesh…” He gestured to all the blood around him and all over his doctor’s costume. “…and among the flesh.”

I stood back and waited. There was a lot I wanted to say. There were parts of us that wanted to kill each other. Should I really let him use a saw on me while all the friends that hated me held me down? “You know why I am here.”

“I always knew you would return.” He grabbed a camera. “Here, we are making a video right now. Help us do this, Machine Gun Cam, and we will help you.”

The camera turned on and zoomed in on the faces of his henchman holding fireworks in their hands. Fingers were blown off and I couldn’t care that much. After the zombie outbreak, carnage wasn’t shocking anymore.

I got a nice shot of Olga opening the fridge and seeing nothing but insanely spicy everything. Sling Shot Saint came up behind her and laughed. There was a part of me that loved that laugh. I knew his real name was Stephen. He couldn’t pretend with me. The templates for his videos still followed my ideas all the way from the beginning. He took those ideas and made them more violent. There weren’t enough shenanigans, even in that house. I eventually pointed the camera at a woman on the table with a bite like mine. He wanted me to film it. The sounds and the horror on the woman’s face was everything I was about to experience.

“It is time for Sam to get on the table. Someone take the camera from him.”

Olga whispered. “We don’t have to do this. We can find another way.”

I got on the table. They held me down. Now that I was powerless, Stephen leaned down to me and said exactly what he always wanted to say. “You abandoned us. All of this belonged to us. We had everything, but you didn’t want it.”

I expected this. I listened with my eyes closed just waiting for something much worse. “Just do it.”

“I am not going to do it until you come back and join us again.”

“I am not.”

“Well then let me tell you a secret. I will tell you both. I was the one that started this zombie virus. Complete accident, by the way. But now… I am the Zombie King!”

I remembered a rumor that a Youtuber had started it. I ignored it at the time.

The nurses took off their face masks, and I could see the recognizable sign of their ruined mouths. They were zombies. Their blown off fingers still dripping.

“Why don’t they attack us?”

“It took me months to train them. I kept them locked up for months to bring them back to humanity. Unlike you, I don’t give up on my friends.”

“You got it on video, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I will put them up soon. We have to look at every angle. You know that. You taught me that!”

“I am not going to join your crew again! Not after the things you have done to me and others. I am sorry.”

“Then have fun being a zombie. If you ask nicely, I will lock you in a room and train you not to bite people.”

Olga stepped forward. “Cameron. I can tell you don’t have much time left. Both my brother and sister became zombies. I know when it is too late.” She looked at Stephen, the creator of the virus and let him live.

I took the saw from Stephen’s hands. I would need to do it myself. The feel of its teeth against my skin was like the teeth of the zombie that had done this to me. The saw hadn’t even been cleaned very well.

Olga took the saw from me and put her whole wait behind it.

“I am sorry, Cameron.”

Instinctively, the zombies around the table held my arms and legs. Even after it was finished, it didn’t feel finished. I had blacked out. When I woke up, I saw my arm. It was being tossed around for the video.

Olga didn’t let them play with my body. She got me in the car and kicked them back. Stephen laughed at that. His last act as my friend was letting me leave.

She drove in my place. Her voice reverberating on the ceiling carpet as I tried to stay alive.

Day One…

They uploaded my consciousness to a digital island floating in cyberspace. Margheritas and sun on my perfect skin. Hot guys in the trees, picking coconuts with ladders. I have eleven thousand bikinis.

My beach chair sunk into the sand as I leaned back. Sipping on something sweet and guilt free. Brown shoulders emerged from the water. Gentle waves caressed the calves of a man. The calligraphy of his biceps spread out his chest as he smoothed the sheets of water from his hair.

I extended my naked foot over the side of the chair to feel the touch of sand. I lifted my chest to become more comfortable.

Another drink was brought to me. A man with dark eyelashes leaned over me, waiting for me to make the first move. “What is your name?”

“Everyone calls me Mios.”

I was aware that he likely didn’t originate on Earth. But something about that appealed to me. “Is there anything you can teach me, Mios?”

“Would you like to pick coconuts?”

I got up, pleasantly sinking with each step in the sand. He showed me the long pole with a blade at the end that was used. He touched my arms to move me back and make sure I wasn’t in harm’s way when they fell.

“It takes about a year for coconuts to mature. Six months if you just want a drink.”

“I have nothing but time.”

The man from the ocean found us. “What is going on here? I was hoping we could go for a walk along the beach.”

Mios shooed me away. It was clear that this man from the ocean came from Earth, like me. We were both on vacation. He took my hand on the pretense of the uneven sand. A reason he could use again. I was quite sure there was no reason to ever leave this beach. No chance of sunburn. No worries.

I detected a note of jealousy and possessiveness in his voice earlier. Maybe it was a side effect of the muscles. I understood to a degree. My body is perfect. The only true love happening is between me and my new body.

“Listen” I said, “We have all the time in the world. Actually, we have all the time outside the world to get to know each other and tell each other about our lives before this place. For now, let’s enjoy the fact that we don’t have to worry about anything. There is no pregnancy, no relationships, no reason to get married. We can just float in our new bodies. Don’t tell me your real name. Tell me the sexiest name you can think up.”

“Eugene, definitely Eugene.”

Damn… he made it sexy.

“Call me Verona.”

“Let’s go swimming Verona.”

Evening joined us on our first night in paradise. The water had been made for us. It was the easiest swimming of my life. The currents and the waves allowed me to swim circles around him. I put mermaids to shame when I tested the limits of my bikini. This world wouldn’t let me drown. I could go as deep as I wanted.

Year 648…

A giant white duck climbed through the window. Using its wings to pull its way through.

I knelt, wearing six bikinis. One as a hairpiece. Reverse commando.

It pecked me with its beak to make me stand. Jolting me from my tendency to daydream and lose time. Taking me from all the beauty I couldn’t fathom.

I followed the duck out of my hut to the beach. Eugene was there, cleaning up the beach and working. He preferred to work to pass the time. “Where is Mios?”

“Partying.”

I nodded. “I am going on a journey with this duck. First, I need to say goodbye to the island.”

“Hang on, you can’t leave the island. People are coming here to save us. Earth sent a message. We need to be saved, Verona.”

I had expected this. “Eugene, I am the one that must save them.”

He dropped a cup in the noiseless sand.

I had to say goodbye to the island. I reached up to greet the palms of my palms. The life-giving trees that dropped the sweetest water.

Mios and Eugene found me hugging the duck. I don’t know how long they had been searching.

“You didn’t need to find Mios. But now that you are here… I am leaving. I must save the people on Earth.”

“What does this mean?”

I pointed at the face of the duck. “Three eyelids…” I pointed to my own forehead. “Third eye…”

They understood when I showed them how soft the duck was. They rubbed their faces on the feathers, and it seemed to enlighten them to the situation.

“I am off.”

I climbed the cliffs. Looking at the ocean had always been a front for other activities of the mind. But this time I looked for real. I could see all the colors of my bikini collection in the water. Eleven thousand bikinis had not been enough, even if I wore six at a time. I tied another one to me and leaped from the cliff. The duck dove with me.

The water was still very gentle. It didn’t hurt me. I saw the white wings unfurl, fully submerged. I swam to them and let them take me deeper. The dolphins weren’t spooked by my presence. I had no flesh and blood for the sharks to want my bones. I had become old like the island.

Flying in the water turned into swimming in the air once the bottom of the ocean had been reached. We fell through the sky. Reaching the ocean surface. Flying to the bottom and falling from it. Repeating the layers of air and water, air and water…

Every time we converged, I merged further with the duck. Until we passed through the membrane and everything went dark. I sat in the egg… waiting. My egg would hatch soon and then I would save the world.

Sense… that thing in their bodies I ripped out. The careful craftsman had mentioned it. He repaired my suit for the ballroom of carnage.

“Mr. Canyon, I may be able to remove this exosuit. You would certainly die though. Your consciousness would need to be uploaded to some other format. Good news, no danger of you losing your smile. I don’t think it exists.”

“It is Kenyon and I have no use for trinkets. Just cover me in oil and be done with it.”

He shrugged his shoulders and greased my punishment. I had somewhere to be. If I was late, it would be the end.

Every morning, I am given to a new person deemed a good influence on the universe. They couldn’t know of my past actions in other universes. But they knew enough. Most of them believed in their technology to hold me. To me, their technology was not the most impressive I had seen. Still, they believed in metal over flesh. Fun fact: my penis had been removed. Metal doesn’t have desires or hatred. They look at me and see their own safety. It is a new experience.

The filth of the street doesn’t touch me. In the basements near the urinals, the people slumped over listening to heavy metal music want to be me.

I looked up at the sky. I could see that the missile was falling on us. Nothing could be done. It was simple to recognize who had sent it. I practically read on its side, “Made in Photencia.” My master’s still fighting those righteous enough to still use the word punishment. Justice only existed on certain levels of ignorance. I had known too much for a long time now. Childhood was the land where justice was alive and well. The people that had tinkered with my mind and body had not allowed me to remember my age.

My exosuit had nothing to stop a missile from falling. That would have been a conflict of interests. The missile fell on the faces. Mine as the only survivor. I could feel the heat and disintegration. Maybe the explosion hurt my flesh more than the exosuit, but it didn’t matter if it did.

I walked out of the radius that was a perfect circle. Sense was removed from the people caught in it. I would have given my exosuit to any one of them.

I found the person that I had been given to, standing just outside of the impact zone. She was looking out and listening for any survivors. I hadn’t seen any. She was still a child but becoming a woman. “What do you want me to do? You have been given full command.”

I could see that the knowledge had dawned previously. She centered herself. “Follow me.”

She brought me deeper into filth. I had been recently sanitized by the explosion. But now that was no good. The stench was not hers. Even though she was an inhabitant of the area. There was a small square on my arm that told me about each person that was given command of my abilities. Her name was Cassandra and evidence of organic matter from male genitalia had been found on her person. She was underage. That fact put her on the list of people that would command me for a day.

“Cassandra, I can find the perpetrators without your assistance. All you need to do is command me.”

She looked at me and didn’t respond. This was a common occurrence. Because I am placed in the command of what the system deems as good people, I often witness conflict of the moral kind. It was strange to me that the girl might let her enemies live. But I did not know the human ties that afflicted her mind. She would not be the first to show mercy.

I tried to coax her to be more like me. “Young woman, that missile that landed a moment ago came from somewhere. You could send me there. I could end their missiles before they begin.”

She continued to look forward and pay attention to where she was stepping as though she didn’t know every inch of this place. Every tumbling milk cartoon might as well have her face on them.

I found the source of the stench. A dirty man approached me and spit on me as if his saliva was acid. Perhaps it felt that way to him. His insides must be burned and unrecognizable.

Cassandra glanced in our direction. She was still in the stage of life when things seemed avoidable. The inevitability of life would eventually cause her to look directly. She was responsible for everything just as I am responsible for everything. No matter how small we are. Becoming smaller won’t help.

She brought me to her home where her mother was cleaning and cooking. Her mother turned to me. “There is a large amount of trash on this street. Can you take it to the landfill? The city stopped doing that.”

Mother and daughter shared a glance, and I knew the mother was taking the burden from Cassandra. She would not be able to do that forever. Cassandra needed to make a decision. I used a large piece of flat metal to slide large piles of trash to the landfill. It took me a few hours. When I returned, I could tell a conversation between them was fresh. Cassandra waved her hand for me to follow.

We ended up staring at a sad building. Until a man that seemed to notice us came out to toss his trash into the street. I was not angry. I didn’t really care about the street. But I had killed for less. He stopped to stare. They shared some resemblance. But that might have been the dirt on their faces. If he ran away, I would know. Cassandra turned away from him, and I was forced to follow.

She took me to the landfill and instructed me to take out anything of value. I was becoming bored. Adrenaline was the only feeling that made my existence bearable. She would probably sell anything I found.

She stood atop a pile of trash and pointed to something. I uncovered a house underneath the piles of trash. We entered the small little cottage and discovered a very old corpse that was only bones now. Pots were still intact on the windowsill. Everything was undisturbed inside.

Outside again, she asked. “Can you build something for me?”

“Very well.”

“I want you to build a school.”

I took out pieces of buildings and welded them together. Sending scans to a service to check for structural integrity. The finished product was a puzzle of broken pieces. Asphalt and concrete that previously had jagged edges were now fitted together. It was a large building that probably wouldn’t leak in the rain. It was unlikely the others in the area would allow Cassandra to keep it.

There was an abandoned desk she had found and dragged it inside. There were only a few hours left in my time under her command. “Cassandra…”

She turned to me in full knowledge of what she had to decide.

“It is no longer your decision. The decision is mine now.”

Moments passed while she considered. Then she nodded. My exosuit registered the nod and understood. I left her in her school without teachers. My exosuit gave me the information on the perpetrators.