What makes the patch work, is the fabric and the stitch

The wrong fabric with the wrong stitch, and the patch will rip

and damage the specially formed piece, and article

The wrong stitch to the right fabric, and it won't stay

like it should, needing frequent needling back to...

The right stitch to the wrong fabric leaves slash marks

and a gaping hole, where the fitting should have been

unlike the right fabric, with the right stitch

These will outlast your garment.

It was the hour when the sea wore its bruises,

Dark and rippled under a sky cracked with lightning.

And he stood, solitary, at the water's edge

Where the tide slipped in, whispering secrets

Like a sigh caught in a lover’s throat.

His gaze searched the yawning horizon

For a promise that never promised to hold him.

In the trembling silence of the restless waves,

Where the stars bled silver across the void,

He sketched out the shapes of vanished ships,

Lost in the deep like bones of giants.

The night wrapped around him like a memory—

But its hold was thin,

A presence without warmth.

Still, there was a spark beyond.

A glint, a ripple, a fading thread of light,

Hovering at the edges of his longing.

It called to him—

Not like a beacon of hope,

But a whisper trailing the fringes

Of his darkest fears.

And he moved.

Through the swell of unseen currents,

Through the pull of depths unknown and cold.

His hands, scarred and trembling, reached forward—

Each stroke an offering to the indifferent sea

That cradled him with cruel care.

He had traced this journey in his dreams,

Felt its ache etched into his heart.

Yet still, the light lingered.

Far off, the glimmer—

Always beyond the curve of his reach,

Dancing on the verge of surrender,

Drawing him with its fragile burn.

And he knew, as he swam through the heavy stillness,

That the light would never yield,

Nor he relent,

For they were bound in a quiet dance,

Locked in a tension that would never fade.

So he kept swimming,

A shadow beneath the shattered sky,

Eyes locked on the distant shimmer

That shone not for him,

But through him,

Both caught in the endless drift

Of a world that had forgotten dawn.

It was a pitch black night, a night of the new moon, and the only light in the circle of ancient trees was a campfire which illuminated the shadowy figures of the battered and scarred mercenary company that surrounded it. What was once a great company of Sixty mighty warriors was now only twelve.

Ragnar the leader regarded the bivouac with pity. Most sat quietly chowing down on hard tack, beans, and the fatty birds they'd taken earlier in the evening. Young Peter King'sbane was asleep no doubt dreaming of the hooker he was planning to marry once he returned home. What a young fool that lad is for marrying a prostitute. The leader thought as he stroked his graying beard. Ragnar was in his mid fifties with all the war wounds and arthritis that came with it but outside of selling his blade to the highest bidder he had nothing to go back to so he'd fight till he could not anymore. He turned his attention to a slender figure sitting on a rucksack and clutching a gnarled wooden staff in his hands.

The figure was dressed in a dark green cloak and black robes. A pouch was tied to his belt and from beneath his cloak protruded a slender sword hilt. “Ubor,” Ragnar addressed the figure,”What do the flames tell you tonight?”

“They are silent tonight, my lord.”

Ubor was a fire-talker he divined from flames the way others of his ilk gleaned answers from cards and tea leaves. “Bah I'm nobody's lord.” The leader said vehemently. “I'm barely holding this rag tag group together. Face it, Ubor. We don't need your pyre magic to know how badly we screwed the pooch this time.”

This latest assignment was a total disaster. The company had been decimated to its current number and the kingdom they fought for had been conquered leaving them fugitives and without pay. Yes it was a poorly chosen job. Now the mercs were on the edge of utter oblivion.

Ubor, usually wise and eloquent of speech, remained silent for he could not provide verbal salve for the wounded spirit of his leader. “Where is Francis?” Ragnar asked suddenly. “He was supposed to be back from his watch by now.”

A beefy ox of a man by the name of Ruben stood up and hitched his belt & stretched and said, “I’ll find him.”

Ruben wandered into the woods to find the missing watchman. “I can't see horse pucky in this darkness “ he complained.

“Francis, where are you?” he bellowed.

Suddenly he heard movement in the trees above him. He stared up, “Francis is that you? Something warm and wet splashed on his face and multiple plopping sounds pierced the silence. Reuben’s stomach churned with apprehension. He'd killed enough men and been in enough battles to know blood when he felt it. He looked down at his feet and even in the dark he knew he was looking at a very dismembered Francis. Something grabbed him. He fell on his back, swearing and fouly invoking the names of several deities he didn't even believe in. He howled as he was dragged into the forest.

Ragnar and one of his men rushed into the woods from where the hellish commotion had occurred, they lit torches and made haste to the spot where Ruben disappeared. Ragnar cursed when he saw Francis and he used the light of his torch to scrutinize the blood drenched tree in front of him. Shadowy figures seem to flit around in the darkness whispering and chattering. The forms were vague and indiscernible in the limited light.

“We are under siege!” Exclaimed Ragnar. He and his companion retreated back to camp shouting for the others to gather their weapons.

“What’s going on?” asked Peter King'sbane, brandishing his pole axe.

Then the troops saw the shadowy figures barely distinguished in the moonless night. “H-Helheim has been opened in the forest and the damned come to claim us.” stammered Ubor even as he readied himself. The man who'd accompanied Ragnar used his hand to make the holy symbol of his religion and charged forward swinging madly. The sword tore through something solid and a shadow howled in rage. The blade was awash with some kind of blackish blood. “They bleed,” he cried out in bloodthirsty glee just as he was devoured and torn to shreds.

Humongous, a large man of six feet with a facial deformity that was unknown to be congenital or the product of a battle drew from his back a sword made from the lower jaw of some beast almost as large as its slayer. He produced a vial of oil and broke it on the sword letting it run down between the two rows of teeth. He set it on fire and swung it with great ferocity.

Satanic screeching could be heard as the shadows retreated from the fiery blade. This gave way to a new tactic and the sell swords took up torches and swung them about. A new sound was heard that did more to terrify the embattled troopers than the devils. Henry Jenkins had screamed. This was a cause of fright because he'd taken a vow of silence that'd he'd held up since before he joined this group. Whatever the torch light revealed was so heinous that it made Jenkins break his vow by crying out.

The others could see them in the torch light now too: their foes, twisted, demonic travesties of the humanoid form! The fiends—whatever they were—shrank from the firebrands. Saras, the lone female of the group had had quite enough of this ambush. She snapped, finally pushed over the edge of logic and sanity. She whipped out her twin daggers and stabbed blindly at the things in the dark. Vise-like teeth crushed her left arm and ripped it from her body. Her agonized scream was cut short by her head rolling deftly from her body to the ground.

Humongous stood undaunted and undefeated in a circle fire. Ragnar chopped and swung like an enraged bull. Ubor stood poised, lashing out with his staff and the sword, an expensive blade akin to a scimitar. Any others who remained upright and unmaimed gave an account of themselves to the inhumans before them.

Eventually the nightmare ended and the shadowy foes retreated into the dark forest they came from. Of the twelve mercenaries who survived the ill-fated expedition only six remained. Including Ragnar, Ubor, and Humongous. Peter would never marry Julia Primrose. His body was somewhere deep in the forest.

“What were those things?” asked one of the survivors.

Ubor shrugged “Even I have no answers.”

Ragnar spoke, “I do.This very night we fought our kinsmen. Whether they were from this plane or another like us they are cast offs, fatherless beings to whom darkness is our mother. Bastards each of us.”

End

"Hey Wren." one of them sneers.

"Are you starving us again? Or getting us stabbed?" they laughed at the cruelty of their own words.

"No! I didn't mean to hurt you. It was a story. It was to be told for fun. I didn't think anything in them would happen."

"But here we are: me, you, Jax and Anika. What did you think you could do? Come into our world and take us from the life we had, just throw us to the wolves."

"I told you! I didn't know what I was doing! Please, you have to believe me."

"You should know better than anyone; stories are truth disguised as a lie." Said Anika. "I'm going to ask you one single question. You answer and we let you go. You panic and Tinzin will be your guest." I stared at the red haired demon in front of me. I knew what he could do. I had given him that power after all. "I'll do anything. Just ask the question."

"What is happening and where can I find him?" She shook me into a heap on the floor. Now Jax spoke. "No, this is another demission. We're not going to find him." I nodded. "This place we're in is the only thing that exists." I whispered.

"You have the will to start to build a world bigger than what you have seen in your entire life yet when faced with something truly dangerous you don't even lift a finger." Said the Demon, Zin.

"Go away, you're just my imagination."

"No." they said in unison.

"No what? No to you being my imagination or no to giving my life back."

"I can't give your life back." replied Jax.

"Why?"

"Because you have taken your own."

"What? I'm dead?"

"No, you gave your sanity away in exchange for us." Anika, suddenly calm, answered, "tell us the end. What happens? You gave your life for our stories. Now we want them back. Let us live out our fates."

"No, I can't."

"Why?"

"Because then I will be lost."

"We don't care. You are insane. We aren't. Give us back our will and stories so you won't have to wonder about the voices. You won't have to question fate. You can know everything is real and nothing is a mistake. Give us our own place to be and you, in turn, you will gain yours."

I took a breath. I opened my mouth, but I didn't know what to say. How could I bring them to life? Who was I to write a book of anything? Why would anyone want me to be their author? I wasn't good enough. "I can't."

"Then we stay." The demon whispered and disappeared. I never saw them again but they are always driving us forward. They crawl behind me eyes and confuse their universes with my own. They beg me to tell them the end but I don't know where to start or where to begin. I struggle through the dark, not knowing what is real and still, the voices are here.

Lately ive been having trouble understanding the reality around, but especially inside of me.

my thoughts either pass me by at light speed to which it becomes a waterfall of unintelligibleness that i dream of damming with my thumb.

or im surrounded by a haze of sticky reflections i must stumble through only to find that my hot breath has fogged up the glass.

i muster a modicum of lucidity only to have any order be shuffled and stirred into splats of cerebrum left to evaporate on the walls of my skull.

Vicky

July 15, 2024

I remember Vicky from high school. She wore her hair long and wavy, her skirts tight, and her voice terse. She hated me then. I hope things are different today.

I walked into the gym scanning for her. Time did not touch her and she presented exactly as before. I also held that accolade. Once our eyes met, I knew she knew that I knew what she knew. A simple nod of my head and she understood to meet me outside.

I gave her two minutes to find me in the darkness.

“What are your orders tonight?”

Vicky replied, “I am here to harvest various cuts of skeletal muscle and offal for feedstocks. The Imperium demands such samples. This planet has a variety of bipeds and quadrupeds. By sheer numbers alone, I hope the bipeds are more nutritious. What is your mission?”

“I must triangulate coordinates for doorway openings to minimize energy usage during mass transports. This planet has nearly 1400 available nexus points powered by indigenous energy supplies alone. Have you discovered a viable manner in which to transport your feedstocks yet?”

Vicky looked very distant with this question. “This body is not as functional as yours. However, as a presentation device, mine surpasses yours in all what the humans call ‘social’ aspects. Thus, I do not believe I will require the Consortium’s assistance. I believe I can achieve my goals by a presence attack in which the humans will assist me so as to be close to me. They are so easily fooled by appearances alone.”

“I agree. It is unfortunate we do not have more time in which to persuade the most gullible to make their goals our goals. The harvesting of the planet would be so much easier.”

Vicky gave me an awkward nod, indicating her short time, planet side. Some humans might find her appeal even more appealing with this quirk. I found it sloppy, an oversight not worth her time in rank.

Vicky returned to the school to mingle with the previous graduates. Her conversation turned to reproduction and gestation. Many listened as she spoke. Many offered their personal assistance to forward her research. I returned to continue my measurements for possible nexus placements.

This truce cannot end soon enough.

1.

That morning, he woke up not hearing the sound of alarm, but because the early morning sunlight disturbed his sleep. The ceiling above his head was an unfamiliar one. Where am I? He wondered for a minute. Then slowly he came to his senses, and realized where he was and why.

He rubbed his heavy eyelids in an attempt to rub off the sleepiness. It was more out of habit than an obligation. After all, he didn’t have to wake up early in the morning from now on. He could sleep in as much as he wanted now, but now that he actually had the chance to do so, he didn’t have the urge to sleep in anymore.

When was the last time I got to enjoy a proper vacation? He hardly remembered. Honeymoon period was probably the last time. After that, he got too caught up in work and life that it left him drained out, devoid of energy. Nowadays he barely had time to sit down and think about anything, and even when he had time he lacked the energy and mood.

You are not the only one living like that, he said to himself, everyone around you is living the same way. That's how adult life is.

That belief was what held him together from falling apart. That was, until one day, something unexpected came up and gave him a loud shake.

He rolled on the other side of the empty bed. For the last fifteen years, he had been sleeping together with someone else. He forgot what it was like to sleep alone. It was one of many things he had forgotten.

It’s a beautiful day, he thought. Despite the fact that it was only morning and soon the sun would start to pour its heat mercilessly, draining people’s energy, it was still going to be a beautiful day. At least to him.

Finally, he got up from the bed. He washed up slower than other days because he wasn’t in a hurry, He thought while getting out to get a cup of coffee and breakfast.

There was a small restaurant in walking distance from his residence. He had his breakfast there while watching people in a rush. Not so long ago I was one of them. Look at me now. What's the point of rushing so much, anyway?

On his way home, he bought some groceries. He couldn’t live on takeout foods forever, and since he could cook why bother with takeouts.

Back home, he lay on the bed again with a Haruki Murakami book. Haruki Murakami was his favourite writer ever since he was nineteen. His books had a certain charm in them that never failed to draw him in. More than the contents of the book, he was a fan of Murakami's writing style. The vivid descriptions made him feel as if he was being dragged inside the book. He found the writing style very smooth and easy-to-read.

Lost in the book, he was oblivious to how much time passed. When he finally got up from the bed, it was noon. As lunch, he fried an egg for himself and ate that with rice. Then he took a nap.

In the afternoon, he went to take a walk. There was hardly anyone around his age walking around like he did. The ones who were there weren’t alone like him, they had their wives or children or both with them. He walked until the sunset, and then he returned home.

Climbing on his bed, he decided to watch a movie. After a long search, he settled on Dead Poets Society. He remembered the first time he watched the movie with a friend. That friend of him was really sensitive, and by the end of the movie he started crying. He managed to calm his friend down after putting much effort. He wondered how that friend of his was doing now. Did he have the courage to go after his dream, or did he give in to the flow of society? He sincerely hoped for the latter, his friend was quite a dreamer after all.

He wanted to call his friend and say, "Hey, you know what, I rewatched Dead Poets Society today for the first time in years and I thought of you. I wondered how you have been doing. It’s been quite a while, right? Sorry, I have been too caught up in life to check on you. I'm sure you were busy too." But he lost his friend's contact information long ago.

After watching the movie, he lay on the bed again, and contemplated about his life and life choices. He gave up on his dreams long ago. He had to when he got married and had to take responsibility his new family. Marrying her was his choice, while the choice of giving up on his dreams wasn’t entirely his. Not that he blamed his wife for that. If anything, he blamed himself. He wondered how life would turn out to be if he hadn’t fallen in love with her. He probably would pursue his dreams, but there was a chance that he would stay alone.

Well, in the end, I'm still alone, ain't I?

Being alone right now was also his choice. He was the one who decided to stay separated from his wife for time being after losing his job. Being fired wasn’t his choice, though, that was the last thing he expected. But turned out, at that moment it was the best thing that could happen to him.

After all, he got to enjoy a slow morning and a Murakami book and went for a walk and watched a movie and not to mention slept a lot for the first time in years. He forgot how those simple actions could make someone happy.

He thought of giving his wife a call, but stopped. I am enjoying my vacation. I better not call her. His wife had become a part of his hectic daily life. Calling her felt like dragging himself to that world again. He didn’t want that.

That night, it took him a little longer than usual to fall asleep. But when he slept, he slept soundly. He didn’t dream.

2.

One afternoon, he called his wife.

"Finally, you called," that was what she said upon picking up.

"Sorry it took me so long to call you. Anyway, when you get a bit free time, can you come by my place? I want to talk to you face-to-face."

"Why don't you come by instead?"

"I don't feel like leaving my place."

"Can't it be talked over phone?" she sounded tired.

"No."

"Fine, then," she gave in, "I'll come by this weekend."

He was lying on his bed when doorbell rang. He opened the door to find his wife.

"I was waiting for you. Come in, have a seat."

She sat down.

"There is something I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

"It’s not your fault that we separated. The reason I decided to live separately is not because you are not good enough or you hurt me or anything like that. It’s just...a result of my selfishness."

"I am not blaming you."

"You deserve to know why I made that decision, as my partner."

"That's true indeed."

"The thing is...over the years, we have fallen out of love, don't you think?”

“It has become more like a habit, us staying together. We are not even contributing in each other's lives anymore. We live under the same roof but we live different lives. Even now...it seems like my absence isn't affecting you that much. And to be honest, your absence isn't affecting me either. Even when I miss you, it’s out of habit and not emotional attachment."

"Isn't it inevitable? Both of us are adults now, and we have a lot on our plates. Work. Finance. We don’t have room for worrying about falling in and out of love when we are at our thirties."

"But even so, don't you this we are a little, you know, too indifferent about each other at this point as partners? I decided to get separated and you aren’t even interested about why I made such a decision. I am not worrying about what kind of life you are living in my absence, either. Isn’t it abnormal for a couple who spent fifteen years together?"

"Maybe so."

"You are not even bothered by the fact that I lost my job."

"Well, I am not financially dependent on you anymore, so why would I worry about that?"

"Isn't it funny? You were the reason I decided to get a stable job. But in the end...What have I done with my life?"

She didn’t say anything in response to that.

"Tell me. Are you seeing someone?"

"I have no intention to have an affair."

"Is that so? Maybe this is your chance to find someone new and have a fresh start, now that I almost let go of you."

"I don’t want to. I like my life as it is now. If anything, you are the one who should take the chance."

"I also like my life the way it is now. I take photos and walk around the city, sleep a lot and read often. I even own a cat now."

"A cat?"

"Hmm. I bumped into a stray cat and took it in."

"Good for you."

"You should come by sometimes, you know, and we can have conversations like this is over a cup of coffee. It feels like old times but in a slightly different way."

"Hmmmm. Doesn’t sound bad."

"And just in case, the passcode of my front door is 2104."

"Our wedding date? That was such an old-fashioned way to assign a passcode."

She smiled.

"It’s easy to remember."

"It indeed is."

3.

It was just an ordinary afternoon.

He had been feeling out of sorts for last few days. The left side of his chest wouldn’t stop aching.

That day, the pain became unbearable. Unable to take it any longer, he fell on his bed, facedown. The sun was about to set.

Is this how I am going to die?

He called his wife. No answer. He attempted to call again, but stopped. She must be busy.

At that moment, wave of loneliness washed over him. He wished for someone to be by his side like never before. It wouldn’t make his pain any less, but at least he could get a glass of water or a warm hand holding onto his. He closed his eyes in pain.

When he opened them again, he felt a warm presence next to him. It was none other than his cat, the only companion in his solitary life.

“There you are,” he said in a weak voice, and gently ran his fingers through the cat’s white, fluffy fur. The cat probably sensed that something was wrong with its owner. It licked his cheek and neck, as if it was comforting him in its own way. It worked, because he felt a little less lonely.

In the faint light of dusk, he looked at the photographs hung on the wall. Those photographs were taken by him. Every single one had a story behind it. Some of them had memories associated with them. Looking at those photographs always comforted him.

Most of the pictures on his wall were of sky. He loved taking pictures of sky. He took countless photos of sky. Morning sky. Evening sky. Cloudy sky. Sunset. Sunrise. Different shades. Different angles. Different times, places and colours. He said that sky was that one thing that he never grew tired watching, as it looked different everyday.

There were also a bunch of pictures of the road and the streetlights. More than the green of the nature, the grey concrete attracted him more. He loved the city.

He wanted to hold exhibitions. An exhibition with the photos of sky. Another with the photos of concrete-grey city. But in the end, that was just a dream. A futile wish he knew wouldn’t come true.

He thought of his family. His parents were probably at one of their older son’s place. He thought of his elder brothers who were always busy with their works. Not so long ago, he was just like them. He didn’t tell his parents or brothers about his unemployment or separation from his wife. He didn’t feel like letting them know and getting bombarded with questions and judgemental remarks.

He wanted to be acknowledged. He wished his family would recognize him as who he was. In the end, it remained as just a wish.

He felt that he needed to go to hospital. He was already unable to get up from the bed and there was no way he could look after himself given the state he was in. He reached for the phone and dialled 911. Shortly after, his wife called him back.

"What's wrong? You don’t sound good."

I feel like dying, that's what he wanted to say. And I am feeling really lonely right now.

Instead, he just said,"I'm sick."

"What happened? Do you need to go to hospital? Should I come?” She said in a concerned voice.

"I have called an ambulance already. I'll call you after arriving in hospital, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

Finishing the call, he patted his cat again, ever so gently. While doing that, he talked to it, knowing all too well that cats don't understand human language, “I am sorry. I will probably have to leave you all alone and I don't know for how long. I hope someone will take care of you. If they don't, then I hope you will be able to take care of yourself.”

He kept patting the cat his fingers no longer moved. As his eyes fell shut and his breathing shortened, the cat licked him again and meowed.

By the time the ambulance arrived, he and his cat both fell asleep – while his cat was taking just a nap, he fell into eternal sleep. His breathing had stopped.

Epilogue

When the cat woke up next morning, its owner was nowhere to be found.

Later, a woman came to his apartment and packed his belongings while crying.

Soon after, the cat ran away to the street. It was a stray to begin with.