If you give a mouse a cookie wrapper

The owl raced the coyote for the remains of the mouse who'd been nibbling on the cookie wrapper Timmy threw out of his Dad's car. Sophia was in a car that came down the road just then, and saw the owl swoop and the coyote dash. She thought the coyote looked like a cross between a fox and a dog, and that the owl was much larger than she had ever imagined. It was a beautiful snowy-white with flecks of black, gray and brown. By the time Gloria passed, the coyote, owl, mouse and cookie wrapper were easily missed.

The Pew of Obadiah Thompson

I see everything – even when they wear their finest. I been here since 1678, back when they didn't let everyone in. Still don't, though they say they do, but ain't figured out how to spread the word. I mean, if I was a tree, which I was at one time, and whenever I stuck out a branch it got trimmed, I'd make sure to grow strong before reaching out again, but I'd keep reaching. I'd build up good and stretch out real far, and bring shade to anyone too long in the heat. Can I get an amen?

A Whole New Dog

“He's like a whole new dog, but not.”

“No, he's not. Still wants to get in everybody's business.”

“Answered prayers, oddly.”

“Oddly? He came out of surgery well, and doing great learning to navigate with only three legs.”

“Not just the cancer and leg. I meant prayers for his ability to socialize. He never grew out of this aggressive need for attention. He's so strong, I always had to keep him from jumping on everyone. But now...”

“Wow. Yeah, like a whole new dog, but he's not.”

“No, he's not.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Don't ever pray for me.”

Mister Levi

Let me tell you about Mister Levi. I was as close to him as anyone. You know, he was a genius. Always thinking how to better products or meet people's needs with quality work clothing. But it was the little things, like me, that truly set him apart. Mister Levi gave me my start himself. He said, “Put full-pockets in back, and the front ones should be crescent-shaped from the first belt-loop across to join the top outer seam. And I want a little 'secret pocket' for my watch.” Genius, he was, 'cause I sure seen more than watches.

The Sun Also

Sun sets fast here. Winter fast. The feeling of falling into darkness, like an exhale, seemingly final. I watch her breathing. Rising. Falling. Sometimes a shake or shimmy, like ripples running through the ether. Sometimes shallow. Sometimes long moments between. I wait. She waited for me. Watched me like this, I'm sure. Not final. Not like now. Not counted in minutes. Once, she rose, blossomed, spun, floated, crested, peaked, weakened, and sank. Nearly dawn. Nearly. Cresting, my rays draw forth new mornings to watch the nights. Fast and merciful, the feeling of falling into darkness. Like an exhale, seemingly final.

We Make Do

"Sorry, folks, but we all know Pearl passed last night. Annie has the dispersal breakdown. Annie?"

"Thanks, Charles. Usually we do this after morning meds, but....yes, Millie, sorry, I said, WE USUALLY DO THIS AFTER MORNING MEDS, but because of our staffing difficulties, we make do, right? WE MAKE DO, RIGHT? Okay, Pearl had two bottles of baby aspirin with fifty-three pills, roughly six per resident; acid-reducers thirty-six, or four per; one, sixteen-ounce bottle of rubbing alcohol, or two-ounces each; a package of twelve diapers.....What? You couldn't wait? YOU COULDN'T WAIT? That's eleven, and Millie's minus one. Next item...."

This Little Light of Mine

Hi, I'm Candle, the figurative 'little light' from the song. Didn't become a song till later, you know. I only hummed it at first, and when I say 'hum,' I don't mean like an electric light. That's a whole other thing. My hum comes from contentment. You see, the thought behind it goes like this: to be 'like' a light, and not just the light. You know how marketers say, “Sell the sizzle not the steak?” well, the same applies here. It's not about being aglow, it's the process. Watch. Every time I shine without, my heart melts within.

Give a Shit

“In tonight's news: Doctors confirm cancer wonder-drug, 'Manzbesfren,' derived from dog-stool enzymes, is working miracles around the globe.”

“Yes, and there's a groundswell of support for the, 'Give a Shit about Cancer' poop drive, where owners donate their pet's waste.”

“And get a nice, by-the-pound tax-incentive.”

“I'm donating.”

“Me too. We're using the 'Nugget Bucket' they provided.”

“We're having multiple 'Crap Traps' installed in our yard.”

“Really? Don't expect loads like past days. Try a turd-turning truffle-pig instead.”

“Whatever it takes, right?”

“Give selflessly people.”

“Yes, bend till it hurts.”

He left his mark on us all

"I had a beau call Friday night."

"Are you kidding? What'd you do?"

"Rode his horse side-saddle."

"Oh, my God. I had a beau call on me last night and I rode side-saddle too."

"Hussy! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want anyone to see what he left on my neck."

"I was wondering about the bandana. What's his name?"

"Mark."

"Beige Palomino, Mark?"

"Oh, my, yes, Mark Hickey. How'd you know?"

"He left one on me too."

"I don't see it."

"Well, the Palomino did while he was grazing."

A Little Sprinkle

"See, the birds don't wait for the rain to stop, Gwendolyn, because they know the worms are coming out of the ground. Oh, and look, there goes a bumble bee. She doesn't worry about a little sprinkle while looking for clover. We can get wet too, running for the ice cream truck!"

"Hi, honey, how are you enjoying your visit with Grandma and Grandpa? Oh? In the rain? Did you wear a raincoat? No? Umbrella? No? And Grandpa got you ice cream after he taught you about the birds and the bees? Great! Let me talk to Grandma, please."

Just write a note

“Sorry, Grandma. You have to go inside the store. He won't give it to me.”

“What? Ridiculous. When did they come up with that rule?”

“It's not a rule, Grandma. It's business.”

“Well, it wasn't like that in our day. They weren't Nazis. Mom drove up, and I ran in with a signed note: 'Please sell one pack of cigarettes to my daughter.' What if I wrote a note?”

“I don't think it'll work.”

“Why not?”

“Cannabis retail is a little different from tobacco, Grandma.”

“Cannabis? Oh, honey, no, Granny wants pot.”

Sharon Sharalike

Welcome. We love company. Here, have some air. Unfiltered fresh. We save so much by keeping our windows closed. Look! I have a new cold! It comes with a cough and runny. Here, I'll give you some to hold. Yeah, just touch anywhere. It's yours. Mi casa, su casa. What? You've never had one like this before? You should join our CO-OP - 'What's Mine is Yours?' We share everything. You know what the 'CO' stands for, right? We took out the nineteen. Yeah, that stuff just like bombards you everywhere. “Watch out! Disease! Oooooh.” I'm sick of it.

Wish You Could Quit Too

“Wish I could cut back, like Sam.”

“Yeah, he's down to a carton a day.”

“That's pretty good.”

“Yeah, but then you gotta go all the way and stop.”

“I know, or it's right back to full-blown.”

“What are you up to?”

“Daily?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, cost alone is, ah, times seven days a week, good Lord. I didn't realize how much I was spending.”

“I'm four-hundred a month.”

“Oh, I thought I was bad at three-seventy.”

“Expensive habit.”

“More and more.”

“Shit. We might have to start making our own shells.”

“Or open our own range.”

“Or quit.”

Pod Casts

“Well, it's like a back-burn, you know, like where you firefighters intentionally fire up a line to stop the forest fire – fight fire with fire? Does that help?”

“Yeah, thanks. It makes sense to me putting it that way.”

“Great. Anyone else on the fence about getting the vaccine? Open forum. Yes, sir?”

“I'm still not convinced.”

“What work you do?”

“I'm a lion tamer.”

“Okay, that's a new one on the cast. I see a lot of smiling and shaking heads. Well, um, do you stick your head in its mouth?”

“Of course.”

“Before or after it's fed?”

My Favorite

Her face awoke. She was sitting in the wheelchair in the corner as always, but today her eyes beamed bright enough to remember my name.

“I told him how much of a fan you are, Mom.”

“Albert Truesdale? Oh my. You shouldn't have.”

“But he's your favorite and I was there.”

“Yes, he's my favorite, and this is his newest?”

“Yes. Want me to read some?”

“Please, Philip.”

“Okay. To Melody Winthrop from Albert Truesdale. It's in the journey, not the destination. Chapter One...”

Please don't anyone ever tell Albert Truesdale.

Dear Reader,

During Covid I was introduced to flash fiction and the 100-word micro. I'm running out of paper. I'd be happy to share more if you like.

Thank you.

Bill Sells

300 Micro-Flash Fiction Stories

All genres - Adult, usually

Good fit? - You can fit them anywhere.

Hook? - Quick reads for quick reading people

Synopsis - A range of emotion every minute

Target audience? - See 'Hook'

Bill Sells is a former newspaper correspondent turned marketing writer, children's writer, short fiction writer, poet and Senior Olympic Gold Medalist (autographs by appointment, please). He's the author of a middle-reader adventure novel and a toddler's counting book. He can be found online at some of the finest literary fiction sites.

An Interesting Turn of Events

It was a gloomy, chilly, windy, gray and all around bleak day. The gray clouds swallowed the normally blue skies of the university. On days like these, most people would stay inside to avoid the mood of the world around them. On the rooftop of one of the buildings, though, sat a boy. He was around 6 feet tall wearing a bright, rainbow-colored shirt. He sat near the edge of the rooftop with a picture in his hands. The picture was simply of the same boy but with an awkward smile. Most people would have seen it and felt embarrassed, embarrassed enough to throw it away but the boy just stared at it blankly. He folded the picture up, put it into his pocket, and began to stand up. He walked to the very edge of the roof and stood there expressionless, the very same face he had made looking at the picture. He stood there for a few seconds before he heard a door open up from behind and what came out was a girl. She ran quickly out of the doorway and caught up to the boy. She was around 5 feet 9 inches wearing a plain gray hoodie and was very sweaty.

“There you are,” she said panting, “I looked all over the University to find you: I looked in the main university building, the dining halls, and even near the city. I even looked in the frickin alleyways and near some of the dumpsters when I found you just sitting up there doing absolutely nothing.”

“I’m sorry but you must have the wrong person,” he said bluntly.

“You are Terry Weaver, right?”

“I am,” he remarked, “but it doesn’t seem that I know you.”

“You don’t know me? I’m literally in your physics class. We don’t even have that many people and I literally sit right near you, heck the professor takes attendance every day and you don’t even recognize me… Well, whatever, my name is Sabrina Parem, sorry for getting a bit fired up there.”

“It’s fine, I really don’t care either way,” he said impassively, “Why do you want to see me?”

“It’s just…… Physics is difficult and I am having a bit of a hard time. I’ve heard that you are pretty smart and I thought that I could ask for your help. Would you be willing to help me out?” She said with puppy dog eyes.

Terry thought about this for a while………hmmmmmmmmmmmm…. “Sure… I’ll help you out,” he said in a tone that was neither positive nor negative.

“Are you sure, you don’t seem very enthusiastic about it?” she said confusedly.

“I’m sure. Are we going to do it here though, it’s kinda windy?” he asked.

“No! Of course we will go somewhere else. How about we meet later at the Springborne Park at 6:00 tonight?”

“Sure,” and the two of them exchanged phone numbers and parted ways for the time being. For the next little while he pondered on what possessed him to care enough to decide to help the girl. There must be something special about her

A Bite To Remember

In her hands, clenched with a white knuckled grip, she had a knife. Not sharp enough to slice fresh fish - but it had a point

An unoccupied hand reached up to clear blood from a mouth. Less four teeth - wiggle and pull - three teeth. She takes a few seconds, her tongue traversing around her mouth, this is where she finds a piece of flesh, some glass, ground down into fine powder. She spits out the spare skin, a few stray pieces of glass make the appropriate sound as it finds the floor. No silence, just breathing. Heavy. Tense - the room feels as though it could collapse any second due to the chaos occurring in a kitchen somewhere, sometime, even to someone you might know…

A perfectly timed, spontaneous moment: Her eyes glazed over like frosted glass, her breathing became less erratic. Her thoughts scream at her as she speaks to herself… This is… This is when Tora smiled.

-

Before chaos comes the ordinary known as order or normality or life. On this particularly ordinary day, there were only plans for delight. As things were, problems only surfaced once evening had descended and the sun hid behind the horizon. At the vanishing of daylight, like some unspoken mutual understanding - sensible conversations converted into coarse but still joyfully juiced up and appreciating each other’s rumbling-ramblings.

With the darkness entered a presence despised. The blood rushed to Tora’s face - flush but frozen. Mother of the house has no emotion to share. Deep down, but still close the surface, Tora had hoped and prayed that Lenora would skip the birthday celebration. For this, Tora had approached every deity, even researched black magic and the occult to take matters into her own hands… Unfortunately, all of it was self-comfort than actual execution.

Yet, despite all attempts, Lenora, oh lovely Lenora, arrived. She was the mother to a daughter deeply involved to the point of suffocation with Tora’s son. At this moment, Lenora meandering in, snaking her insufferable way through the crowd, her eyes finally catching Tora - a blunt blade stabbing Tora in the heart, the twist of time beating and bleeding with hate unheard of. From delight the night turned into something of a nightmare - the tension between Lenora and Tora thick and smothering.

The first awkward conversation commenced by Tora.

“Hello Lenora, it’s so nice to see you” a lie.

“Hello, hello - it’s nice to see you too, Tora.” another lie.

The polite farce continues with forced affability, “Would you like a drink?”

Lenora plays her part, “That would be lovely - I see you’ve already sucked down your fair share.”

The tiniest of talons pinch Tora’s heart - heat rising from her visage. Enraged, her face a drunken, ripe red - fortunately it’s dark enough in the room to hide her hatred.

“Oh you know,” Tora returns from face ripping fantasy back to reality, gracious as ever, “It’s been something of a party at this little get-together.” Tora finds a shallow smile, handing Lenora a glass of pinot-vino-veritas as she continues, “I can’t deny that we’ve all had our fair share. It’s a celebration afterall”.

“Yes, I can see that. Your son is something of a well-seasoned drinker.” Lenora takes a spiteful sip, “Nothing like my little girl. Sometimes I think she’s too much of a lady for your boy - I’m still amazed they’ve been together this long!”

A few thankless drinks later, the sobriety is shrugged off with anticipation and ease. Inebriation in effect. Intention Immersed. Drowned and submerged and strangled from every conceivable angle. Trapped in the urban realm made powerless by the obligation to be urbane - it was Tora’s son’s birthday party after all. The day should be about love and appreciation, is what Tora said to herself…

Tora summoned all her hate for one moment in an attempt to disturb Lenora’s decrepit existence - perhaps even kill her just for shits and giggles. Failing this, seeing as Tora lived in material reality, she used physical expression. Strolling past, Tora leans in, a shoulder bumps a shoulder bumps the ego - finally, some utterance unleashed towards the much loathes Lenora. As usual, Lenora does as she does and comments loudly, “Whoops, stumbling along there honey… Don’t you think you’ve had enough - you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Tora turns around and smiles a smile never before seen and speaks a little louder than a whisper, “Yes, Lenora… I do think that I’ve had enough.”

Tora departs, malice making her maunder instead of meander through hallways held together by paintings and photographs framed: aged, untouched. A reflex filled with rage convinces Tora to smash the glass covering the photographs - she pauses to observe the effect. Tora loses herself in admiring the crimson splashed on the walls, the floor, her foot. There’s that smile again.

A glass of wine refilled, a far more composed walk through the hallways. The party has dissipated into nothing more than her son, his girlfriend, a friend whose name is completely beyond her… And of course, the presence of the vomit-inducing Lenora. As expected, Tora moves closer and slices through the circle of individuals huddled around the ‘oh-so-amazing’ Lenora. She does so with reluctance.

Lenora is telling another story. Something about some celebrity and whatever the fuck - Tora did not care. A sip of wine, a quick look around at the circle. Her son, his girlfriend, a friend she’s on speaking terms with - and of course, Lenora. “I should tell you, birthday boy: It might be the tipple getting me talking but it has to be said.” Lenora takes a deep breath and Tora feels a sadistic stare sneak our of Lenora’s eyes - who continues, “I believe you still have a lot of work to do before you’re worthy of my sweet daughter.”

The crowd laughs courteously - Uncertain of the intent.

“I get where you’re coming from, Lenora. If anyone can make me better, it’s your amazing daughter here.” A convincing kiss on a willing cheek.

“Oh mom, you know he’s an up and comer.”

Birthday boy proffers, “I’ll be paying for your meal next time we go to dinner.” An explorative laugh, birthday boy is uncertain about the level of sincerity in Lenora’s remarks.

“I’m sure you will. Although you should really try and handle your mother and her reckless nature first.” Lenora lets loose a cackle coated in condescension, “You have a family fond of drinking, honey. Didn’t your dad died because of this alcoholism… And your mother… Well…” No words spoken but meaning still communicated in the most callus of ways - through silence.

“…You can understand my concern for my daughter’s safety - I’ve seen alcohol do terrible things in domestic situations - I am a nurse after all - and I have no idea what you might be capable of.”

“Mom!” the daughter disagrees wholeheartedly from the depths of her soul.

“Don’t worry, Lenora.” The unfortunate target of Lenora’s honesty attempts to keep his birthday celebration civil, “I’m nothing like my family. My mother is allowed to do whatever she wants - she’s earned it. She lost her husband and carried on raising me. She’s a grownup and can handle herself.”

“Oh, I don’t know. If you consider her an adult then you, sweetheart, still have a lot of maturing to do. You’re still a child because of how you’ve been raised - sorry Tora, but I couldn’t stop myself from saying it. I find the binding of our families horrifying.”

The silence blares beyond the background music Tora has taken a sip to hold herself from screaming, yet her rage still finds reality - a crackle, a crinkle completed with a crunch. Tora bites her wine glass until it breaks, pieces lodged through out her whole mouth - tongue, lips, cheeks, the gums of her teeth.

“Oh my god, Mom! Are you okay?”

“Tora! Omg my god… This is…”

Lenora giggles with malice, “Now you see what I mean… Ridiculous, isn’t she? Can’t even hold her glass let alone a drink.” Tora bites harder, channeling her distaste for Lenora into the taste of blood, served by glass shards. Half of ‘that’ smile again as Tora masticates the shards into fine sand - shear hate eliminating any experience of pain - eloquence has made it’s exit.

Most unexpectedly, Lenora feigned some sort of genuine sympathy, “Here now my girl,” Tora clenches her teeth to dull the pain of pity. Lenora continues, for her, this is the perfect opportunity for a slathering of shame.”Let me take you to the bathroom where we can clean you up - okay?” Lenora speaks to Tora as though she were a child. The displeasure felt by Tora could only be heard by the sound of crunching, crackling and clenching. More blood. More Irrational thoughts. Loss of blood… drinking… Tora feels feint and puts her head on Lenora’s shoulder. They stumble together towards the bathroom where Lenora dutifully applies her nursing know-how.

First, the blood. A quick wipe with warm water. Clean things up for clarity. Tora smiles - a tooth is missing… Most probably scooped out by the jagged remains of the wine glass. It was there, with emotions lubricated by liquor that Lenora devastated Tora with honesty honed to be hurtful.

“You’re a total fuck up, Tora.” Lenora cleans the towel in the basin before looking for a first aid kit. “I can’t have my daughter dating let alone marry that boy of yours. He’s bad news. I knew it ever since I met him and even more so when you walked into my house. You and your sad fucking family…”

In the middle of Lenora’s monologue, Tora begins to smile once more - she has her moment and thinks as fast as her boozed up brain can handle… She can make things simpler… Less stifling and insufferable in social situations… But then the consequences… Perhaps it’s better to just get both the mother and daughter out of her and her son’s life. She couldn’t bare to tell her son to break up with his girlfriend. It was no excuse; it made no sense to break a heart due to the loathing between mothers. Maybe the sacrifice of self could keep her son happy. All she’d have to do was go mad. But to what end? How far would she go; how far could she go?

“I almost picked up the whole family and moved to another country just to break up their relationship… Unfortunately it’s not as easy as it sounds. So all I can do is let myself known, do you the favor of being honest. I’m hoping we can figure something OW-OOW-OUT” the first bite was taken from Lenora’s exposed calf. The deep, wide jawed grip, sharp with glass bite rips flesh from bone. The power, the passion of the bite drives the glass further into Tora’s mouth - her teeth now more glass than anything else. Lenora can only scream, as one should. She shakes her leg as though Tora were a dog, nipping at her heels. The reality of the situation is quite different when considering the lump of leg Tora spits out onto the bathroom floor. More screams, Lenora collapses and tries to crawl away from being chewed to mince.

Draped in pure disbelief, Lenora tries to escape. Her hand touches the floor, covered in blood from corner to corner, getting thicker and thicker as she bleeds from the chunk missing from her leg. An attempt to get up, she slips and hits her head and for a second - just one small second - she lets Tora get close enough to bite her shoulder before gnashing on Lenora’s ear, tearing it off as though it were the corner of a toasted sandwich, now for the cheeks, next the nose - it takes some effort but so far Tora has ripped off at least one side of Lenora’s once smug face.. More blood. More screams.

The chaos has finally summoned an audience. Son, daughter, friend - they arrive and react without thought. Son to mother, daughter to mother - the strength of the enraged is unfathomable - even more so when the fire for feasting on flesh burned so brilliant and bright in Tora’s eyes - fed all the more by the explainable fear compelled Lenora to escape, desperate to avoid the gluttonous, glass toothed psychopath. The separation, the escalation of emotions expressed through senseless violence - Hate attracted the two. Love now struggles to push and pull the maternal massacre apart. The friend decides to be helpful and picks up an ear and nose.

Screams. Blood. A wild animal of a woman still struggled. Uncontrolled. Irrational. This is where her son was forced by impulse, some kind of love to punch her in the face, finally ending her hysteria. Tora falls, trembles, and loses a portion of her consciousness. The world blurs and almost turns black. She fights against the loss of awareness - slowly crawling out the bathroom unnoticed while daughter, son and friend tend to the delirious Lenora, unable to stop screaming on top of crying on top of bleeding and blubbering. The blood. Everywhere now. A white kitchen made red. Lenora finds some sense eventually at the most suitable moment. She looks to the floor where Tora was supposed to be incapacitated - she points - she screams.

Scrambling, near slipping over puddles of sanguine, Son and daughter; boyfriend and girlfriend discover Tora in the kitchen, holding a knife. If only they knew, Tora muses, then they’d understand. But maybe, it’s better this way. Maybe there’s never enough room for two. One is better than the other.

Madness made manifest - Truth be told: Tora actually took finger-licking pleasure in the animalistic rage she felt - the rage that convinced her to maul Lenora and masticate upon her flawless flesh. The simplicity of being sadistic, the freedom of being masochistic. Somewhere, between the glass in her gums and the knife clenched in her hand, Tora found a lick of logic. Her vagary had now come to it’s great conclusion. Her true purpose for losing her ladylike nature was deep. Deeper than her one and only child might imagine. Sacrifice. Tora always gave everything to her son - all to see him happy, on a better path than she could provide. She was tired, so exhausted of it all. Less to worry about. More to be grateful for.

Tip to throat, Tora pushed through her skin, that blunt knife with a point. She gurgles. Now Tora regrets her choice of conclusion. She thought things would have ended far more dramatically than this. A punctuation. Not a painful, slow, suffocating death. No words can swim past the blood to let Tora speak. She merely pulls out the knife and tries again, this time - through the ear. No sound to fill the space of Tora’s sacrifice. Silence buzzing bright as the fluorescent light lures a meandering moth. Too close, a flash and then it falls to the floor. It dances no more.

----

A collection of horror stories in first, second and third person... encourages people to discuss whether or not the collection of regurgitation is horror or not.

blah, blah, blah... if you want to know me then get to know me through the delight of live conversation.

My head swung back and forth as I scanned the room, it was an office space from the tightly woven old carpets to the ambient lights hidden within the tiled ceiling.

I would say I was on the fiftieth floor of the building, though from such a height it seemed deceptive to tell for sure as the windows along the wall ahead of me showed a landscape view of city lights.

Considering the finite details of my surroundings I caught sight of people dressed in suits hiding behind desks and peeking out from behind cubicles. Some were calling the police, others the guards of the building with some hysterical while others were just afraid or dumbfounded.

I couldn’t blame them, if I saw a wolf standing on its hind legs walking like a man with shreds of dingy white cloth hanging from its golden amber pelt, I would have been very worried too.

Title: Flawed / Genre: Teen Horror Fiction / 14+ / Word Count: 55200 (first book of trilogy)

Author Name: Anastasia Bolinder

Why is it a good fit: Trident Media Group is behind some of the most meaningful books that touch people and tell a story all at the same time, that's what my stories are written for.

Hook: "I never wanted to be the monster, but in the end maybe none of us ever do."

Synopsis: Young woman who sold her herself to a company to save her sisters life is in turn experimented on becoming a monster of their creation. Seeking an escape with the help of some unlikely heroes are soon on the run from a company willing to pay any price to capture their property back again. In the end captured once more the final escape is the only way out of the life she never wanted.

Target Audience: We have seen many vampires in the scene but its time for the werewolf to take the main stage.

Bio: A young woman chasing her dreams of art, stories and an air BNB in the deserts of Utah.

Platform @astarabriarart

Education High school, Equine Behavior and management grad

Experience: Publishing 3 independent novels and loving to inspire others and give the world the characters Ive had in my head since I was ten.

Personality/writing style: Hopeful romantic with a depressed side that wants to do whats right.

Likes & Hobbies: Horses, reading YA fantasy & teen horror, my tiny mutt's needs for walks and playing fetch, painting and drawing with occasionally sculpting.

Hometown Midvale UT U.S.A

Age: 24

It's ok to be numb

It's ok to be dumb

Never feel

Or make minds reel

It's ok to play

It's ok to lie

Never be real

Never why

It's ok to joke

It's ok to laugh

Never choke

Never ask

It's ok to flee

It's ok to me

Never fight

Never be

It's ok to bad

It's ok to mad

Never good

Never sad

Never be you

It'll never do

Just be fake

Give your soul

what they make

Drown the fire

So you tire

Reignite

Fight

The moths will flock

be the light

Steady wings

Fly without flight

Never never , not tonight!

Heather Hughes

Ceres lurched to the side of the bed, dry heaving so violently the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Sweat dripped from her temples and she didn’t bother to wipe it away as she rolled from the balls of her feet to her knees, clenching at her stomach.

The dreams were always the same, some variation of her sins and the souls that refuse to pass from the realm of trinity, clinging onto her mind. Sometimes it was her father or sisters, sometimes it was all of them, but mostly her little brother hiding behind her mother, as if he knew even in death, that her hand was tainted. They were not meant to stay in this plane and yet there they were, stuck in the imbalance of between. She wasn’t sure where they would go, perhaps nowhere, perhaps everywhere, who was she to make an assumption? There was the end and the beginning, the new and the old. The Mother never spoke of a life after, although the poets wrote of a realm of souls.

Her rib snapped as she dry heaved once more, mucus dripping from her nose, but she didn’t cry. The pain was her penance.

“My gods, Ceres.”

She heard the door squeal open, footsteps as they approached her, before cool hands pulled the hair from her face.

“How long?” she groaned to Vesta, pushing herself off the floorboards to sit on the cot, hiding her face behind her hands.

“Rest, we will talk...,” Ceres stopped her by grabbing her hand, pleading with her eyes for an answer, Vesta’s honey-colored eyes softened. “About five days, the priestesses brought you to the healers. You had been convulsing so bad you bit your own tongue and choked on your own blood, your god lashed out.”

“And the prioress?” she whispered, scared of the answer, not wanting of anymore guilt to haunt her sleep.

“Nothing a few nights rest couldn’t handle, although you leveled the western hall of the temple with your flames, but everyone made it out unscathed,” she rubbed small circles over Ceres’ back, but it had only increased her sickness. She swallowed it down. Most of the Sanct thought her ill anyway, this changed nothing.

Ceres turned to her friend with light brown curls that framed a freckled face with high cheekbones, a softness to her beauty, the kind you can stare at without tire. The corner of her mouth tipped down in a sympathetic frown. Consoling had never been her greatest strength.

“If only the gods were on our side, then maybe perhaps Insteia could have tasted a lick of the shadow,” she gave a small smile to help bring out the tension in Vesta’s shoulders.

“Oh, you know the gods don’t bargain on our lives, but if they did, I know they would you,” she gave a wink, “and, anyway, Insteia and her acolytes have the duty of cleaning your mess, it is close enough misery.”

Ceres hummed her response, still trying to calm her racing heart. She leaned her head against the soft silk of Vesta’s shoulders and closed her eyes, soaking in the silence to let her mind drift. Vesta had been born in Illyria, raised as a noble’s daughter until the war tossed them into chaos and streets of the poor, money could not hold against the wraith of the people. Her father sold her and her sister into the silk trade after her first blood for coin, her sister died not long after due to plague. Vesta survived only by chance, escaping when she heard of the rise of the priory.

When Ceres had arrived, most shied from her, already hearing of the cursed girl setting death to all she passed. Vesta had been the only one to approach her without a hint of fear, lying with her the first few nights to keep her sane. They understood each other’s pain, and Ceres was grateful for it.

“The prioress wants word Ceres, she told me once you awoke you must go,” Vesta sighed.

Ceres pushed herself up, wincing at the pain and weakness that caused black dots to form in her eyes.

“I will see to it in the morning, grant me the mercy of tonight,” she pleaded to her friend

Vesta only nodded, gazing out the window to the crescent moon which cast a white glow over her skin, illuminating the small scar over her eyebrow. Ceres had always been between loving her and envying her beauty, she did not know where the lines crossed, if it mattered that they even did.

“I brought something,” she dug into her pockets, unfurling her fingers to reveal small blue flowers. Water lilies.

Ceres threw her head back in laughter, “Do not tell me you desire to spy on the priory tonight.”

Vesta smirked; eyes bright with mischief.

Only a few moments later they were sliding out the window of the healer’s quarters, giggles falling from their lips like they were once again young girls. They had done it so many times it became a routine on the warmer nights, stealing the elderberry wine from the cellars before smoking the lilies or morning glory on the edge of two great cliffs which held in the center a small sapling. The prioresses would go at night to sing their prayers to the beat of soft music, a gentle lullaby that always made Ceres stare in awe. A way to commune with the gods, the prioress had once told her, but never further explained its effects.

The crisp night air soaked into her warm skin, filling her lungs that gave her another second of life. Her hair must have been braided when she was asleep by Vesta, small pieces flying out as they ran barefoot along the long grass which had already felt the beginnings of dew. She swallowed her pain, ignored the roll of her stomach, for one more night, just one, she begged to the Mother, let her be free of all her shackles.

Instead of finding their way down to the cellars, Ceres had taken the strawberry wine Cannenta hid away inside the cupboards for any night that dragged on for too long. She took a swing from it, letting the sweet burn turn her body numb. It was never her favorite, she preferred the bitterness of grape wine, but Vesta preferred sweet, so she gave up her desires for her.

They stopped just before the edge of the sudvista fjord, lying on their stomachs to not be seen, just below, the roaring of the untamed waves mixed with their heavy breathing, the only sound to hear. The sapling had just begun to sprout leaves, a small willow whose roots gave structure and life to every living creature on Trajan. Ceres gazed as it began to brighten in accordance with the music of the priory who sat circled around, dressed in only light tunics. Her prioress, the prioress of the Sanct, sat at the head of her sisters, perched on a rock a foot above them, dark skin blending with the night, her mouth moving with her song.  It took a few beats for it to reach their ears, but as it did, she closed her eyes, a sound so angelic it would be a sin greater than death to disrupt.

She rolled onto her back, turning her head to Vesta who blew out a small cloud of smoke from the blue lilies, her eyes already starting to droop, before passing the pipe to the fumbling fingers of Ceres. It wasn’t as strong as poppies or morning glory, but it was enough to quiet her mind, to relax her muscles and sleep without fear of guilt. She blew out small circles in the air, Vesta broke them by dipping her fingers through with a laugh so pure the stars seemed to shine brighter.

They watched each other, talking without words, a conversation too dim to speak aloud.

I will burn, leave my side before you catch aflame, she begged.

Let me catch, if we turn to fire then let ours be the brightest flames, a small smile pulled at the edge of her lips, let our ashes fall together.

Vesta pushed herself up, walking down just far enough to not be seen, before becoming one with the wind. Her body moved and flowed with each passing breeze, so precise and yet carefree it took the breath from Ceres’ lungs. She danced with beauty, with a grace that she had never let be stripped from her. Her silver bracelets chimed as she moved her way back to Ceres, giving a hand with a question in her gaze.

Drunk and high, the world finally felt at peace, and even though Ceres knew that fact never to be true, it did not persuade her from taking Vesta’s outstretched hand and dancing with her under the stars. They spun with hands on their backs, then their hips, breaths so close she only needed to lean forward to taste her, but they held back, caught in the bliss of uncertainty.

Title: War of Faith

Genre: Fiction/Fantasy

Age Range: young adult- adult

Word count: Currently 50k, ongoing

Author: Elizabeth Urbanowicz

Synopsis: Two kingdoms and an empire have been at war for thousands of years based on the difference of religion and faith, the book written based on the account of historians and poets, much of the truth up for interpretation. A young woman with the name Ceres, born in the East in a time of rebellion, harbors the touch of the god called the Mother. Forced into a destiny she does not crave, and tied by guilt to the past, she must choose if love is worth war that can burn an entire realm.

Atana-ili, raised in the South occupied by the North for centuries, holds the faith of her ancestors and the mind of scholars. Through deception she must choose between peace or bringing her people to a violent war that gives them a chance to freedom.

Decimus stands bedside the mad king of the North, a vessel to the god that opposes the Mother, desires only to be a faithful servant in aiding his kingdom to victory. He did not, however, take into account falling in love with a woman of death.

The hook: The beginning of Ceres' life in the midst of war and chaos, choosing to do the bidding of a god with the payment of death on her fingertips and losing the brother she had raised.

Likes/hobbies: reading, writing, and oil painting

Education: graduating college 2024 in biology

Personality/writing style: I base most of my writing on paintings I do or ink work i have done

Caleb had barely lowered himself to the ground, when a stable

boy whisked his steed away. Looking around, he began to acquaint himself with what would serve as his home for the next several months. Chroi Village seemed to be a decent size, with everything that could make a man far from home quite comfortable.

“Watch your step!” The shrill voice of an old woman pierced his senses. He had unintentionally bumped into a beggar.

“Forgive me, madame. I do not seem to have my wits about me this morning.”

With a disgusted humph, she hobbled off, using a crooked stick, to aid her labored gait.

Feeling a hand clap his shoulder, Caleb knew turned to his comrade from the first day of training, Arden. Arden was also taking in the sights and smells of their surroundings.

“This shall do quite nicely.”

Just then, a gaggle of ladies of the evening wandered by.

“Yes, quite nicely indeed.”

Caleb's stomach churned in disgust. “Arden, we are here to train and fight for King Diermund, not to indulge our desires.”

Arden punched Caleb in the arm. “Preacher, it would do you some good to give into your desires. That is if you have any.”

Caleb had grown accustomed to such comments as he was not shy about his faith and the God in whom he believed.

Calmly countering his friend, “The only desire I wish to give into

at the moment is filling my belly; I am famished.”

Heavenly aromas of various foods wafted in the air from a

plethora of vendors.

Caleb approached a stand where turkey legs were sold. Before retrieving some currency from his leather pouch.

“How much, my good fellow?”

The man running the stand, rotund both in size and exuding surliness, turned at Caleb's greeting.

The vendor seemed to size him up before stating a price that Caleb thought was reasonable enough.

After divvying up the correct amount, he shoved the coins toward the man who reached for them greedily. Suddenly, the thump of wood on wood resounded, startling both men. Glancing down, he spotted a crooked old stick positioned between his payment and the hand of the vendor.

“You overcharged him.” It was the old beggar woman from earlier.

Caleb stood in stunned silence as he glanced at the man who shook his head in denial.

The man scoffed. “Why don't you do what's best for you and

hobble off and die, eh?"

Caleb could not believe that anyone would address this poor old soul in such an unkind manner.

Before he had a chance to come to her defense, the woman spoke once more. “Why don’t you do what is best for you and charge the newcomer the correct price?”

The man chuckled evilly; all denial erased from his tone. “Who

is going to make me?”

The old woman placed her hand onto the wooden platform before tapping her fingers on the wood. At the peculiar sound, all color drained from the man's plump face.

Caleb spied what had so obviously frightened the man. In truth, it surprised him as well. The hand he had believed to belong to an old woman was, in fact, the smooth, milky-white hand of a young woman. The source of the strange noise was the rather large emerald stone sitting upon her right ring finger.

The crooked old woman straightened, and the hood of the cloak fell, revealing the vision of a comely young woman, glorious waves of midnight hair cascaded about her ivory face. Her striking eyes were the exact color of the ring she wore.

“Y-your H-hi-highne-” the vendor stammered.

With more authority than most men, the beauty raised her hand to silence him.

“For the last time, sir, charge the newcomer the fair price or I shall personally see to it that all you have ever worked for will be for naught.”

Caleb was mesmerized. Was she an angel, sent to keep him safe from crooks like this man? Surely, she was not real. Mayhap this was all a vision brought on by little food and no sleep.

She did not look at Caleb; her intense gaze aimed daggers at the

vendor.

When the crook stated the actual price, Caleb peeled his gaze from the woman, surprised. The cost indeed was significantly less.

After recounting his currency and exchanging it for the prized turkey leg, Caleb turned to thank the angel only to discover she had vanished. Spotting her walking stick still lying on the platform, he snatched it and the turkey leg, and raced after her.

Once back on the main thoroughfare, he jerked his head to the

left and to the right and back again until he saw her cloaked form receding in the distance. She was under the facade of the old woman, but Caleb knew it was her.

He desperately ran toward her. To his dismay, the other villagers

milling about and her surprisingly fast gait for such a small creature,

prevented him from reaching her. He made it to the edge of the village just in time to see her galloping off on a majestic white stallion.

Defeated, Caleb swung and caught the walking stick mid-air. He

supposed she would not need this any longer. Taking a bite of turkey

leg, he decided to head back.

Only then was he aware that Arden had missed it all. Where was the scoundrel? Not seeing him anywhere, he walked in the direction of their training camp.

“Caleb, where have you been?” Arden's voice sounded from behind him.

Holding up his meal, he said, “Satisfying my hunger. You?”

Caleb’s belly churned with repulsion as he saw Arden tuck in his

shirt before securing his trousers about his waist.

“You could say I've been doing the same,” Arden quipped, “What is with the walking stick? Are you much more advanced in years than I had originally thought?”

Caleb sent up a quick prayer for his wayward friend. “It's not mine.”

“Whose is it then?”

Glancing to where the raven-haired angel had disappeared, “I do not know.”

Something told him he would soon find out.

I throw away all of my severed bonds that lay by my feet

I learned that no matter how many tears I cry, 

Nobody gives a damn apparently

Making me want to say goodbye

Cracks run through my heart 

The person who always stood by me disappear

What do I do now?

Without meaning to, I drag down whoever is near

I’ll always be like this

Even if I hold my knees and scream

I already know

In the end, it won’t change a thing

Even if I try to lament

Saying, “Something's not quite right”

In the end I do what I always do

I walk away with no answer in sight

Everything ends up being nothing

To all the things I turned away

I always did the same thing, without learning from my mistakes,

I say, ‘’What a pain’’

Again my heart gets attacked by the thing called ‘’loneliness’’

It hurts so bad deep down inside

The powerlessness of “loneliness” begins to sink in

The punishment for curling up all those times when I cried

Even if the moon shines upon it

Even if the night swallows it

It won’t disappear, it won’t disappear

With my inexperienced hands I tried to protect it

With my clumsy hands, I tried to fix what I shouldn’t have done

Before I notice it, Loneliness began to turn on me

My heart just won’t heal the scars

I cry a tiny plea

My heart shatters after hearing a kind voice

Please don’t treat me so kindly or I will cry inside

I hide myself away in the shadows, 

I hope for someone to find me, the tears don’t subside

This loneliness is deadly

Making it impossible to speak out my true feelings

I hide away my emotions

But yet it ends up revealing

I hate myself, I hate myself

These words end up repeating in my mind 

I don’t want to either die nor live

Ah, a penalty game called “Life” begins to rewind

Forced into loneliness

I’m already done

Please don’t treat me so nicely

I’m not someone you should waste your kindness on

Title: Deathly Loneliness Attacks

Genre: Poetry

Age Range: 10+

Word Count: 353

Author Name (Profile Name): Iroha

Explanation:

I think that my piece is fit, because it contains all the emotions that I felt, and pain. I know that some people can relate to the pain I suffered, so this poem is written to reach out to others. I'm very young for my age, and I think that, it's really amazing how far my experiences in life brought me to come this far. Some people say that young people have to enjoy their youth as best as they can, and that it's impossible that youngsters suffered pain like they have. Well, they're wrong. I suffered a lot, been traumatized so many times, and I can hardly trust others because of the betryal, gossip, and backstabbing things I've saw and went through. I just want the people who thinks, "It's alright to die, no one cares about me," let me tell you, that's not true. I overcame that phase because I heard there are good cotton candy in Japan, and if I can find a goal in life to live for, so can you.

I'm a introvert when I'm alone, but when I'm with the people I love, I'm somewhat between a extrovert and a introvert. Life is not always fun, and it never will be; it's up to you to create the fun in life is what I think.

CHAPTER 1: Not in Kansas Anymore

"Ow." Dylan Engstrom opened his eyes and found himself on a hard metal surface. "What … the hell?"

The last thing he remembered was sitting at his desk, sipping a cup of coffee, and preparing to join his buddies for a few hours of mayhem in Grand Theft Auto Online. At some point after that, everything had simply … faded out.

I'm dreaming. That's gotta be it.

He rolled over, stood, and fought off a wave of dizziness. He staggered, rubbed his hands over his face, took a few breaths, and waited for his vision to clear. When it did, he took a slow look around and realized he was in a chamber the size of a gymnasium, with metal walls, ceiling, and floor. No windows. Several doors at the far end. And filled with … aliens? Or something.

Sure, why the hell not? Since this is a dream, I might as well just roll with it.

One a few feet to his left looked like a bipedal, wingless dragon, easily ten feet tall, with muscular arms and powerful thighs and small but noticeable breasts under a tunic that appeared to be made from the skin of an animal. She glanced around quickly, confusion and fear in her reptilian eyes, and he guessed she had also awakened moments ago.

Huh. Doesn't make sense for reptiles to have boobs. But then, I guess an alien wouldn't have an exact correlation to life forms on Earth. He chuckled. More likely it's teenage hormones causing me to dream about tits. I can barely stop thinking about 'em when I'm awake.

Past the dragon was what appeared to be an orc, of all things. Also female, dressed in leather and furs, like a barbarian, sporting huge muscles but somehow managing to still look feminine. Her burgundy hair was tied into a long ponytail with a few locks hanging past either side of her face. Her dark green skin looked kind of leathery, and her face … well, she certainly wouldn't have won any beauty contests even without the two big, parallel scars running from her forehead down and across her right cheek.

Still, there was something about her -- the angles of her cheeks and her wide jaw and chin -- that exuded an air of great strength. But then, he gazed into her yellow eyes as she glanced around. She appeared to be in her forties, but there was far more mileage in those eyes than on her face. They were the eyes of someone who had all but given up on life.

He looked away reluctantly. She may have been as ugly as hell, but goddamn, what a body. He ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair and decided to check out some of the other life forms. His eyes passed over a large number of creatures he couldn't quite get his brain around -- translucent things walking on tentacles, something that resembled a millipede the size of a horse, an eight-foot-tall cross between a pig and an ogre -- and locked on to another female.

He almost laughed at that. Mind always in the gutter, even now.

This one was around six feet tall and might be described as somewhere between chubby and burly. Her eyes glowed white in contrast to her obsidian skin, but aside from that, her face was mostly human. And quite lovely, in fact. A pair of horns curved up from under her wild mane of silver hair, like a ram. She wore a dark blue cloak with a hood hanging over her back, and from what he was able to glimpse, she didn't appear to be wearing anything under it. Each hand had two big fingers and a thumb, just like the orc and the dragon-woman, and her digitigrade legs ended in large hooves.

Not bad at all. He guessed her age to be close to his, or maybe a few years older, and the extra weight was perfectly proportioned.

Huh. Usually, my dreams aren't this detailed. But there's no way this can be real. I'm probably slumped over my desk and drooling on my keyboard. He shrugged to himself again. I just hope I remember all this when I wake up.

His eyes opened a little wider as a realization hit him and he drew in a quick breath.

Shit, I hope I wasn't looking at porn when I fell asleep. If Mom or Dad barges into my room like they always do, I'm hosed.

The alien girl caught him staring at her and smiled, but it was shaky and faded fast.

Well, I can't do anything about it until I wake up. Might as well just see where this goes.

He smiled back before she turned away, and continued examining the people around him. Over to the right was a trio of bipedal creatures that looked like a cross between horses and cows wearing some sort of tribal attire.

Huh. More aliens that kinda-sorta resemble terrestrial animals. How would that even happen?

Past them was a quartet of thirty-foot-long snake people with four arms, wearing only skirts made of glowing multicolored beads roughly where the naughty bits on a human would be.

Dylan's eyes, once again, automatically locked onto the lone female in the group. Her skin was dark brown with a red and black diamond pattern running down her back. Her hands, like the orc and the chunky hooved girl and the rest, had three digits, only hers ended in claws. The top of her head swept back into a curving, three-pointed crest. Her bare chest sported two pairs of breasts. Her face was close enough to human, though covered with scales, and she was actually kind of cute.

Hah. I can't dream about a human with four tits, of course. It's got to be some weird creature. And why would an alien based on a snake have any at all? He realized he was staring and turned away. Again, though, she's an alien, so I guess there's no reason she can't be a mix of mammal and snake. What the hell, you can't go wrong with four of 'em.

He grinned and glanced around again, trying to find other humans. If any were in this chamber, they weren't close enough for him to pick out of the crowd. But his gaze did pass across something that was close enough, at least in size and shape.

The robot stood with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the wall behind him, about ten feet away. She had apparently been designed to look like an athletic woman, with a face of flexible metal carrying a friendly -- albeit bewildered -- expression and softly glowing red optics. Her gunmetal body was covered by a pair of cargo pants, boots, a T-shirt, and a long black coat.

Interesting. He wondered if she was anatomically correct.

Before he could check out anyone else, something nudged his shoulder. He turned and found a nine-foot humanoid wearing copper armor and a helmet with an opaque visor. It grasped his shoulder, pointed at one of the doors at the far end of the chamber, and pushed him toward it. He stumbled, regained his balance, and hurried ahead of the whatever-it-was.

In the corner of his eye, another hulking armored figure shoved the orc woman in the same direction. She snarled half-heartedly but headed for the door. She ended up walking alongside Dylan.

"I don't suppose you have any idea how we ended up here or what's going on?" He doubted she would even understand him.

"Nope. I was hoping someone around here could tell me that." Her accent was an odd mixture of Russian and Scottish.

"You speak English. You've met humans before?"

"A fair number of them, yes." She smiled at him, but it was tinged with sadness. "You remind me of one of them, a little. Someone I knew long ago."

"Ah. Decent guy, I hope."

"The best." Her smile grew ever so slightly, and so did the sorrow. "I miss him a great deal."

Dylan wondered what had happened but assumed it was a sensitive matter and didn't pry.

When they reached the door, she sighed and motioned at her clothes. "The one time I put on this old outfit instead of what I usually wear, which includes several guns, and look where I end up. Though I suppose any weapons would've been taken away before I woke up."

The nine-foot goons shoved both of them through the door and onto a large platform. He stumbled and the orc reached out to catch him before he fell. He regained his balance and found himself inches away from her face for a moment, gazing into her eyes, until she looked away and steadied herself. Her face turned a slightly darker green.

Huh. The goon's hand had felt solid enough. And the woman's breath briefly on his lips had been just as real as the three times in his life that he'd gotten this close to a girl. Dylan caught himself blushing and looked away.

He glanced around and noted the others who'd been separated from the main group -- the snake-girl, the three horse-cow people, the burly obsidian girl, the giant bipedal dragon, the robot chick, and about a dozen others. Two of them were human.

Finally! He grinned, but before he could greet them, something else caught his attention.

The goons who'd herded them onto the platform remained behind as the door closed, separating them from Dylan and the others. A bright light washed over everything and his whole body tingled.

Oh, this can't be good.

The light faded and he blinked a few times. His vision cleared and he looked around.

His mouth fell open.

He no longer stood in a room. He and the others were still on a platform, but now it was surrounded by an enormous metal structure made up of sets of stairs, ramps, platforms, and partial walls seemingly placed at random. If he had to give the architecture style a name, it would be … scaffold-chic.

"What the hell is this?" One of the other humans whimpered. "What's going on?"

"Sorcery," a woman's voice came from behind Dylan, barely above a whisper. He turned to find the obsidian-skinned girl glancing around with wide, terrified eyes and trembling.

"No." The orc shook her head. "I've seen enough to know there's no such thing. This is technology, but nothing I'm familiar with."

In the corner of his eye, the snake girl slithered past, put her upper hands on a nearby wall, pulled herself up and leaned over the edge.

"Look at this." Her voice was slightly raspy.

Uh-oh. Dylan walked slowly to the wall, jumped to grasp the top, and pulled himself up.

One of the other humans found a lower wall, leaned over, and drew in a slow breath. "Oh, hell." Her face turned pale.

Dylan glanced at her, frowned, and peered over the edge.

We're in the sky. He couldn't see the ground from here. Below the structure, there was nothing but a sea of red and orange clouds. And off to the right, he could make out two distinct suns, one larger -- closer -- than the other.

Then he realized the metal under his palms felt quite real for something in a dream. In fact, everything around him was as vivid and detailed as everyday life. His dreams were never even remotely like this, at least not the bits he could remember.

What if this is real?

"Oh, fuck me," he muttered.

"Now?" the snake girl said. "Or can it wait?"

"What?" He turned and caught a glimpse of her smirking at him before lowering herself back to the ground. He shook his head and dropped back to the floor.

"This is not a good tactical position," the orc said, flicking her eyes over the structure. "We're out in the open. We should move to an area that's less exposed to …"

Movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. Hers, too. She snapped her head around to scowl in the same direction before he finished turning. More of the armored, helmeted, blank-visored guys appeared from behind several walls on the far side of the structure. She swept her steely gaze over them and backed up a step. "Find cover."

Dylan squinted, trying to get a clear look at the things the copper-armored goons were carrying.

"They have rifles," the orc said. "Get behind something."

A thin, yellow bolt of energy lanced out from the business end of one of the weapons and crossed the distance between the two groups in an instant.

Behind Dylan, a woman screamed. His pulse jumped and he cried out as he spun around. The human woman staggered backward, bumped into the wall, and collapsed. Her eyes stared straight ahead without seeing anything. Smoke rose from a hole that had been burned through her chest.

"Sarah!" The man rushed to her and fell to his knees. He stared disbelievingly at her, grasped her shoulders, and shook her. "Get up! Come on, baby, please get up!"

A hand grabbed Dylan's arm and he spun around to find the orc woman dragging him away.

"Get to cover!" She shoved him ahead of her just as another beam appeared for a split-second and drilled through the back of the other human's head.

A silvery thing about the size and shape of a hockey puck landed behind Dylan and bounced past him before coming to a stop.

"Grenade!" The orc pushed him again, drew in a deep breath, and yelled, "Run!"

#

The explosion flung bodies into the air and sent others tumbling across the ground -- more than Grishnag had time to count. She shoved the young human ahead of her and ran until both of them reached a wall. She ducked behind it, grasped his shoulder, and held him down. She turned to see if anyone else had survived the blast and found four bodies bleeding all over the metal surface and another -- one of the equine-bovine people -- teetering over the edge of the platform.

"Jesus Christ," the human moaned, hunching over and tucking his head under his arms. "This can't be happening!"

The snake-woman zipped over to the horse-man just as he rolled over the edge. She dived at him and missed his left ankle by a centimeter. She stared in shock as he plummeted out of sight.

One of the armored attackers appeared, crept up behind her, and aimed its rifle at the back of her head.

Grishnag glanced at the human and said, "Stay here." Remaining in a crouch, she moved one step forward -- and suddenly the robot blurred out from behind one of the other walls and tackled the larger humanoid from behind. Her momentum carried both of them into the wall and slammed the enemy into it with bone-crushing force. She drove her foot into its left knee, folding its leg the wrong way, and clamped her arms around its head as it fell. One quick twist snapped its neck, and she snatched the huge rifle out of the air before the body hit the ground.

The robot opened fire on the armored figures. Grishnag risked a quick peek around the corner just in time to see one of them catch a shot clean through the visor and out the back of the helmet. The others ran for whatever cover they could find.

Nice! Grishnag waited until all of them had ducked behind something, and then she glanced at the robot and said, "Cover me!" She sprinted over to the fallen humanoid while the robot continued firing.

In the corner of her eye, one of them swung its rifle around toward her as she picked up the dead one's weapon. She leaped and rolled, and the shot drilled through the space she'd already vacated. She came up in a crouch and put five shots through her opponent's chest. It slumped over and she lunged forward to grab its rifle, and then she ran back to the human.

He was where she'd left him, curled into a fetal position and rocking back and forth.

Okay, giving him the gun wouldn't be a good idea. She glanced around, found the snake girl, and tossed the gun to her. "Do you know how to use that?"

"I can figure it out." She pointed the rifle away from everyone and pulled the trigger, firing a blast into the floor. She squeaked and twitched, pulled herself together, and rose above the wall to fire at their attackers.

Grishnag took a quick look around for more survivors and found only a horse-woman, the burly woman, and the giant humanoid dragon.

"What is happening to us?" The obsidian-skinned female whimpered, huddled against the wall behind the human. "Why is this happening?"

Grishnag noticed the girl's mouth movements didn't match the words she spoke. Something is translating her speech. What the hell is going on?

"We can worry about that later if we survive the next few minutes." Grishnag popped out from behind cover long enough to shoot another of their attackers.

An enemy shot punched through the wall and searing heat on her right cheek made her lunge to her left.

"I want to wake up," the human moaned. "Why can't I wake up?"

"This isn't a dream." Grishnag gunned down another one. Before she could duck back under cover, a movement caught her eye. She turned and found another grenade spinning through the air toward her. She sucked in a breath to shout a warning to everyone else, but suddenly a beam struck the disc-shaped device in midair. It vanished in a flash and an expanding cloud of shrapnel. Grishnag glanced to the left and found the robot shifting her aim from the blown grenade to another pair of attackers.

Grishnag sighed and looked up at the platforms above them. "We'll be better off if we can get to higher ground. We need to …"

Behind the dragon, another of the armored men stepped into the open and lobbed a grenade. It arched over everyone's head and came down straight toward her. The human looked up, spotted it, and his face turned white.

Grishnag rose to her feet as the grenade reached her, caught it in her right hand, and hurled it straight back to the enemy humanoid. It threw itself to the right but wasn't fast enough. Grishnag turned away from the sudden flash and winced at the sharp bang, but laughed when she saw the body flopping off the edge of the platform.

She only had a moment to celebrate, though. Another humanoid hopped over the top of the wall they'd been using as cover and dropped down in front of the dragon. It raised its rifle, but the dragon swatted it aside, braced her hand on the side of his head, and shoved it into the wall with enough force to leave a dent. The gun fell from its suddenly limp hand.

"Hold on." Grishnag hurried over and searched the pouches and compartments on the body's belt. She found three stubby cylinders she guessed were spare power cells for the guns and a rectangular box that might be a communication device or a control system. After finding nothing else on him, she nodded at the edge of the platform.

The dragon flashed a predatory grin and gave the body a casual toss, sending it plunging through the fiery clouds under the structure. She looked the gun over, glanced at Grishnag, and mimicked her pose, holding the rifle in one hand and propping it on her shoulder.

Grishnag found the rest of the survivors gathering behind her. The robot pointed ahead before popping off a few more shots.

"Clear the road. I'll cover our rear."

Grishnag took the lead and made her way to the nearest ramp. She rounded a corner -- and caught a split-second glimpse at the stock of a rifle before it rammed into the side of her head. When she regained her senses, she found the business end of the rifle inches from her face. She tried to ignore the pain lancing through her head and shifted her eyes from the rifle to the humanoid pointing it at her.

A brown blur came in from the right and plowed into the figure, knocking it off its feet and sending the rifle clattering across the floor. Grishnag pushed herself upright and found the snake-girl coiling her body around the enemy. The serpentoid rolled, twisted, and wrenched her body to the right, flinging the humanoid across the floor to the edge of the platform.

As it tumbled over the edge, it lashed out and clamped onto the end of her tail, dragging her along with it as it fell. All four arms flailed, her claws scraping across the metal, trying to find a handhold.

The human leaped after her and managed to grab her upper-left hand, but the combined weight of her and the goon dragged both of them closer to the edge.

The dragon clamped her talons around the human's right ankle, and that was enough to hold them in place.

The snake grunted and contorted her face, and from her movements, Grishnag guessed she was swinging her tail around, trying to dislodge the enemy.

"Pull her back up." Grishnag picked up her rifle and glancing around for more of their attackers. "One of us will be able to pick it off as soon as it reappears."

"Wait," the snake grunted. She took the human's other hand to hold herself steady, gave her tail another swing, then another, and Grishnag saw the enemy appear momentarily before gravity pulled it back down.

One more swing hurled it into full view -- and a rapid series of bolts from the robot's gun drilled through its head. It loosened its grip on the snake girl's tail. Grishnag and the dragon blasted it several more times before it dropped out of sight for the last time.

The human pulled her away from the edge. When she was no longer dangling above the clouds, she threw all four arms around him and just held him for a moment. He looked startled, but recovered after a few seconds and put his arms around her.

"Thank you," she finally whispered.

"Uh … sure, any time."

"Let's keep moving." Grishnag rubbed the side of her head, winced at the pain, and made sure to keep checking in every direction as she resumed the lead. Everyone followed her up the ramp to the next platform, and then on past two more. The next ramp led to a long, narrow level with waist-high walls. She lowered herself to her left hand and her knees, holding the gun in her right hand, and crawled forward, keeping her body below the top of the wall.

The others followed, crawling along close behind her.

Once she reached the end, she found herself in a larger chamber. Fortunately, this one had a solid wall between them and the attackers' last known position. Everyone stood and rushed across to the door and the huge window at the far end. They paused to look out the window before moving on to the door.

"What is that?" the girl with the glowing eyes whispered.

"Looks like a city," the human muttered.

Grishnag nodded. In front of her sat several kilometers of metal buildings, domes, and spires colored in varying shades of gray with streaks and splotches of brown all over. She cocked her head. Is that rust?

"A … city?" The horse-cow woman shook her head in disbelief.

"Like a village, but larger." Grishnag pointed at the nearest structures. "Those buildings are basically … tents? Huts? I've never met any of your people before, so I don't know what you're familiar with." She shrugged. "People live in some of those, work in others. Theoretically, at least."

"Ah. I think I understand."

"Maybe there's someone here who will help us out." The human glanced around at the others.

"I doubt it," the dragon said. "Would they have brought us within reach of someone willing to help us?"

"I … I guess not." He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "So what do we do, now?"

"Most cities have vehicles in them. There's probably something there we can use." Grishnag patted his shoulder and smiled. "So, we keep going until we find a way out." She opened the door. "Let's move."

CHAPTER 2: Waking Up Dead

"So," the male said after they'd been traveling through the city streets for a while, "we've faced death together, but we don't even know each other's names."

The muscular green woman chuckled. "I'm Grishnag."

"Dylan Engstrom."

"Pleased to meet you, Dylan."

"And I'm Nishara." She slithered closer to him, smiled, put her upper hands on his shoulders, and touched her forehead briefly to his.

"Uh, hi." He smiled but clearly wasn't sure what else to say or do.

The tall reptile woman bowed, first to him, then to the rest. "Ayastal."

"I am Zilaka," the furry one with hooves, muzzle, and horns said.

"My name's Cora," the machine-woman said, turning to keep watch for more of the helmeted people.

"Syala," the thick one with glowing eyes and hooves murmured.

"Okay." Grishnag stopped at the next street corner and glanced around. "We haven't seen anyone else here. This part of the city appears empty." She sighed. "I hope the rest isn't empty as well."

"The buildings are rusting away." Cora stopped at a wall and looked it over, but was careful not to touch anything. "Looks like it hasn't been occupied in a long time."

"Probably just used for training exercises or something like that," Grishnag said. "Or whatever it is they're doing with us."

"I don't suppose any of you have seen a place like this before?" Dylan mumbled.

Everyone shook their heads.

"I've seen metal buildings before," Ayastal said, "but none like these. When I was a child, there was a settlement of 'sky-people' not far from where my tribe lived. Buildings made of metal, but the …" She took a moment to find the right word. "The shapes were different."

"You're familiar with other worlds, then?"

"No. My people are aware of those who came from the sky, but none of us have been there. Well, until now. When I was a child, I would often sneak away from home and spend most of the day simply watching their flying machines." Ayastal smiled. "I've always wanted to ride one of those machines into the sky."

"Well, you may get your chance yet," Grishnag said as they continued on their way. "If we can find our way out of here."

"Maybe if we investigate some of the buildings," Dylan said. "If there's a computer in one of 'em that's hooked up to the inter -- uh, a global network, if this planet has one, we might be able to find a map."

"I haven't detected any wireless networks." Cora shook her head. "I'm not picking up any power sources, either."

"Damn. We should keep moving, then." Grishnag sighed and walked on.

The rest followed her, glancing around every few seconds to be sure no one was pursuing them. Nishara wasn't sure how much time passed as they made their way across the empty city, everyone remaining silent as they took random turns every now and then, until she'd lost any sense of the direction from which they had come.

Not that there was anything back that way except death if the metal people were still pursuing them.

Finally, they emerged onto an enormous platform, easily bigger than her clan's largest encampment back home. And on it sat large metal structures of varying sizes and shapes. They looked different from the buildings they'd passed by earlier, resting on sets of large things that looked like feet, or in some cases, wheels.

"Flying machines?" Ayastal cocked her head and smiled slightly.

"Looks like it." Dylan turned to Grishnag and Cora. "Any of these look familiar?"

"Some are similar to technology I'm used to." Grishnag walked slowly past one, brushing her hand over the lettering on its side. "But not exactly. I don't recognize any of the insignia or the names."

"Huh," Dylan muttered, stopping to stare at the letters painted on one flying machine's side. "These are all in English. Hell of a coincidence."

"I'm seeing these in my native language." Grishnag moved on to the next ship. "I noticed during the battle that when some of you spoke, your mouth movements didn't match what you were saying, and the same is probably happening for all of you when I speak. Something has been translating us, and I assume the same thing is happening with the writing on these ships."

"Ah. I was wondering how we could understand each other." Nishara slid past Dylan and stopped to examine the ships beyond the one he stood beside. "I don't understand how it's done, though."

"Were you all unconscious when you were brought here?" Dylan glanced around at each of them. "Did you fall asleep back home and then wake up in that huge room where we met?"

Everyone else nodded or murmured an affirmative response. Dylan suddenly looked uneasy.

"I bet they implanted something in us. Hardware that interfaces with our brains and translates what we see and hear." He shivered. "And if that's what they did, then what else did they do to us while we were asleep?"

Syala shuddered and her lower lip quivered. Nishara slithered over to her and put her left arms around her.

Cora looked unsettled for a moment, and then she pulled herself together and marched across the platform. "We'll have to worry about that after we get out of here. We need to take one of these ships, assuming any of them are still functional. A shuttle wouldn't do us much good. Too short-range. We'll need a ship that has a hyperspace vortex generator in case there are no jumpgates nearby."

"But isn't the ability to understand other languages a benefit?" Syala patted Nishara's hand and walked alongside her. "Why would they give us an advantage if they simply want to kill us?"

"For the challenge," Grishnag said, her eyes opening wider at the realization. "They're hunting us for sport."

Dylan grimaced. "Why'd you have to put that idea in my head?"

"Sorry, but it just fits. They give us a way to communicate and work together when they could've just shot us dead. So, they're either hunting us, or this is a test. Evaluating specimens to decide which planet to invade, possibly."

"That's even worse."

"Yeah." Grishnag sighed and moved on to the next ship.

"Whatever the reason they brought us here," Ayastal said, "they paid a terrible price for it. I didn't take the time to make an exact count, but I believe we reduced them by at least half."

"Assuming they haven't brought in reinforcements." Cora walked over to a sleek, black ship that looked like a saucer that had been stretched out to twice its original length.

Zilaka crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "This is a nightmare. It has to be."

"That's what I thought at first." Dylan walked around the front of another ship, shook his head at the buckled strut that had once held it up, and moved on. "It's too detailed and too linear to be a dream. And it just feels too real."

"Even if it were a dream or hallucination," Cora said, "we can't afford to assume it's not real with those assholes trying to kill us."

"Yeah, guess we don't have much choice. We have to keep playing along, just in case." Dylan turned to look at another ship -- and one of those yellow beams came out of nowhere and pierced his chest. A startled look crossed his face, then was replaced by a grimace of pain as he collapsed.

Everyone stared in shock.

"Dylan?" Nishara whispered. Her hearts pounded.

Grishnag and Cora were the first to recover. They threw themselves behind the nearest ship and tried to find where the bolt had come from without exposing themselves to more.

Ayastal pulled Syala and Zilaka behind another ship. Syala stared at Dylan's body and burst into tears.

"Damn it," Grishnag snarled. "He was just a kid."

"What the hell?" Cora aimed her weapon in the distance, but couldn't find a target. "I should've been able to detect them. Why couldn't I detect them?"

Nishara sucked in a deep breath and screamed, "Dylan!" She slid over to him, hoping he was only wounded as she rolled him over.

His eyes stared blankly into the sky and smoke curled up from the hole in his chest.

Still, she put her upper hands on his shoulders and shook him gently. "Dylan! You can't …"

"I'm sorry, Nishara," Grishnag said. "He's gone. Get under cover."

Nishara wiped the tears from her eyes and lifted her head to glare at the place from which the shot had come. She could make out movement among the metal structures in the distance.

She snarled.

Ayastal turned suddenly to face something behind everyone. More of those damned beams drilled into her chest. Her legs buckled and she slumped over on top of Syala.

Nishara turned to find a dozen more metal men charging them. She drew in another breath and let it out in a shriek that caused everyone around her to stop in their tracks for a moment, even the murdering bastards who had taken poor Dylan from them. She raised her weapon, surged forward, and pulled the trigger. The nearest of their enemies stumbled backward and fell, smoke pouring from all the holes she'd blasted through his torso.

A series of flashes came from the others' weapons and sudden, searing pains lanced through her chest as if white-hot knives were being plunged into her. Before she even understood what had happened, she found herself sprawled face down on the metal ground, unable to move, barely able to breathe.

"M … monsters," she whimpered before blackness engulfed her.

#

"What the --" Dylan flailed, gasped, and clutched his chest. Before he realized he was on a raised platform, he lost his balance, fell off, dropped several feet, and landed face down. Groaning, he pushed himself up slowly and looked around. "What the hell?"

More platforms filled the room, almost like metal beds.

No. More like autopsy tables. A shiver rippled through him.

All the tables were occupied by the alien women who'd surrounded him just before …

Just before I died. He glanced down at the front of his shirt, but couldn't find the hole that had been burned through him. The shirt hadn't been repaired -- it was exactly as it had been before that fatal shot.

Just to be sure, he lifted his shirt and slid his hand over his chest. There was no sign of a wound.

How am I alive? He leaned on the platform and tried to take deep breaths and slow his pounding heart. He looked around again and a chill rushed through him.

They're not breathing. He held his breath for a moment, trying not to let a sudden burst of tears out. The only familiar faces in this goddamn place, and they were all dead.

But he wasn't. Why?

Suddenly, Ayastal inhaled. She twitched and lurched upright, glanced around, and her eyes locked on to him.

"What …? How …?"

"I don't know." He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Did you, uh … ?"

"Die? Yes." Ayastal shuddered. Even though her face wasn't human at all, Dylan could still read her confusion and fear in her wide eyes, twitchy movements, and rapid breathing. Maybe some things were universal. "I felt my heart stop! And yet …"

"Here we are. I know. I think …"

Nishara suddenly sucked in a deep breath and screamed. She convulsed and rolled off the platform.

Dylan let out a quick scream of his own and backed away from her, but pulled himself together and approached her slowly. "N … Nishara?"

She glanced around frantically, found him, and stared. "Dylan?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah, it's me."

"But …"

"I know."

"You died!"

"Yeah, I noticed that. So did Ayastal." He motioned at the dragon woman, and Nishara glanced over her shoulder. Ayastal nodded at her. Nishara stared, took a few breaths, looked as if she were about to say something, then she turned back to Dylan.

"As did I." Nishara stared down at herself and ran her hands slowly over her chest. "The wounds are gone."

"Mine, too." He lifted his shirt. "See?"

She slithered up to him, stared for a moment, then reached out hesitantly and touched his chest. Her skin was softer and warmer than he'd expected. She moved her hand slowly over his chest for several more seconds, looked up and met his gaze, and finally pulled him into a tight embrace.

"How?"

"I don't know. Maybe whoever brought us here is able to heal wounds like these." Or maybe we're clones and the originals really are dead. He didn't mention that one to either of them, not just because he would've had to explain what clones were.

"But why?" Tears trickled from Nishara's eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. "Why are they doing this to us?"

"I wish I knew." He pulled the bottom edge of his shirt out to wipe away her tears. "I wish I knew how to even begin to find out."

She put her upper-left hand over his, held it to her cheek, raised her lower-left hand to his cheek, and stroked it softly. She gazed into his eyes for a moment, and then she leaned forward slowly and kissed him.

What the hell? Though it caught him by surprise, it was also quite nice, so he let it continue as long as Nishara wanted. When she finally pulled back from him, her face turned slightly darker, and she couldn't look him in the eye again.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"I'm not." He smiled.

Ayastal managed a chuckle, though she was still visibly unsettled. She stood and ran a hand over her chest as if still looking for her wounds, and finally glanced around at the other bodies.

"Since the rest of us are here, I think we can assume they were killed, as well, and will wake up soon."

"Yeah. Well, I hope they will." Dylan turned slowly, looking around at the others, but kept his left arm around Nishara. "I wonder which one of them died next."

"I wouldn't know." Ayastal's muzzle quirked slightly into what might've been an attempt at a smile. "I was unable to observe anything, being dead at the time, myself."

"Right. Heh." Dylan managed a shaky smile and waited silently to see if anyone else woke up.

The others woke one by one. Dylan, Nishara, and Ayastal took turns explaining what had happened -- or what they thought happened. Cora and Grishnag understood instantly, but Syala and Zilaka took a bit longer.

"We died," Syala whimpered. She remained on her platform, pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and rocked slowly. "How can we be alive if we died?"

"Whoever's doing this to us," Grishnag said, "if they're able to abduct us and bring us who knows how many light-years to this place, then repairing fatal wounds might be child's play for them."

"So, this is what our lives will be from now on?" Tears trickled down Syala's cheeks again. "Dying, waking up here, and being killed again? Over and over, perhaps forever?"

"I don't know." Dylan walked over to her, and Nishara joined him. At the same time, they each put an arm around Syala. "But that means we might have a chance to get out of here. As long as we survive, there's hope. Right?"

Syala didn't answer. After staring at nothing in particular for more than a full minute, she put her arms around him and cried into his shirt. He glanced at Nishara, who smiled and nodded. He embraced Syala and rubbed her back slowly.

"And maybe not," Grishnag finally said. "Maybe they'll leave us alone for a while."

A door at the end of the room slid open and two of those damned nine-foot humanoids entered.

"Fuck," Grishnag snapped.

"Jinxed it," Cora muttered, and Grishnag sighed.

"Yeah."

Everyone stood and faced them except Syala. She gripped the front of Dylan's shirt, twisting the fabric in her clenched fists as if terrified he was about to move away from her. He and Nishara remained by her side.

A third humanoid followed the first two, pushing a large cart. They stopped in front of Dylan and the females, and the two in front stepped aside. The third pointed into the cart.

Grishnag peeked into the cart. "Guns. They're arming us, this time?"

"Oh, shit," Dylan moaned. "What the hell are we gonna be facing?"

"Doesn't matter." Grishnag shook her head and backed away from the cart. "I'm not fighting for someone else's entertainment."

The humanoid pointed into the cart again. Grishnag growled.

"Fuck you. I'm not playing your games."

The one on the right turned its blank faceplate toward her and raised its left hand, pointing its palm at her.

She hunched over suddenly, clutched her head, and screamed. Everyone else gasped, and Syala clamped a hand over her mouth and began crying again.

Grishnag stumbled to the right, toppled over, curled up on the floor, and continued screaming.

"Stop it!" Dylan pried himself away from Syala and rushed over to Grishnag. The goon on the left pointed its palm at him. He ignored it, reached out to touch Grishnag's shoulder, but hesitated. He glared at the humanoid on the right and shouted, "Stop it! We'll do whatever you want, just stop!"

Both figures lowered their hands back to their sides. Grishnag suddenly went limp, still holding her head and weeping, but no longer screaming. She rolled onto her back, sobbed, and tried to pull herself together.

"Fucking monsters," Nishara practically hissed before slithering over to help Grishnag sit up.

Dylan clasped Grishnag's right hand in both of his and just held it while she took deep breaths and regained control of herself. Finally, she gazed into Dylan's eyes, reached out and caressed his cheek. Then her eyes widened and she pulled her hand back as if shocked by her own actions.

Okay, what is it with me and alien women, anyway? Have I turned into Captain Kirk or something?

"You gonna be okay?" Cora leaned over to touch Grishnag's shoulder.

Grishnag shuddered before answering. "Eventually." She pushed herself back to her feet and staggered over to the cart. "Fine. I'll go along with whatever insanity you've got planned." Glaring at the helmeted humanoid in front of her, she picked up one of the huge, long-barreled rifles. Then she snarled, "How do you know I won't kill you with it?"

The armored alien stared blankly at her. She held its "gaze" for a long moment and finally sighed and turned away. Her shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

Dylan sighed and picked up one of the guns. He thought it over for a few seconds and then turned to the humanoid on the right. "This is for hurting my friend."

He aimed his gun square at the bastard's chest and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Trembling, he sagged and stared at the gun. "Fuckin' hell!"

Grishnag patted his shoulder, smiled shakily, propped the gun on her shoulder, and strode out the door.

"I can't do this," Syala mumbled.

"You saw what will happen if you don't." Nishara hugged her and rubbed her back, then took her hand and led her to the cart.

"We'll be right there with you," Dylan said. "We'll all get through this together."

Zilaka nodded, patted Syala's back, and picked up one of the guns. Holding it uncertainly, she sighed and clopped past the guards.

Dylan smiled one more time at Syala, took a step past the humanoid who'd tortured Grishnag -- then he spun around and slammed the stock of his rifle into the bastard's visor. The impact knocked the alien off its feet and sprawled it on the floor.

Holy shit, that actually worked?

The other guards stepped toward him and pointed their hands at him. He propped the rifle on his shoulder and glared at them.

"What?" he snapped. When he made no further moves against them, they stepped back but kept their palms aimed at him. He realized suddenly how close he'd just come to being subjected to the same punishment that had been inflicted on Grishnag, but tried to cover up his fear by pushing past the guards and grumbling, "Get the fuck out of my way."

As he turned the corner to follow Grishnag, he caught a glimpse of Syala staring at him with an awestruck grin -- then picking up one of the guns and marching after him.

He caught up with Grishnag at the end of the corridor, which widened out and ended with what looked like a hangar door. The sounds of boots and hooves approaching from behind told him the rest of the women had armed themselves and joined him and Grishnag.

"I just realized something," Zilaka said, obviously struggling to keep her voice steady. "There were many others sent with us onto the first battlefield, but we're the only ones who woke up in that room back there."

"The others were killed almost immediately." A troubled look crossed Cora's face. "Maybe they were rejected."

All the confidence Dylan had just built up drained away as her meaning sank in over the next few seconds.

"Wonderful." Grishnag turned back to the door. "Well, let's get this over with."

CHAPTER 3: Wheels of Fire

"Huh. That's not what I expected." Dylan turned around slowly and took in their surroundings. He and the alien females stood in the middle of a street with a set of vehicles in front of them. Wheeled vehicles, but none of them familiar to him. Each was about the size of a four-door sedan but ranged from sleek lozenge shapes to something that looked like a cross between a sports car and a SWAT tank.

The city itself was unlike anything Dylan had seen on Earth, but it reminded him of any number of futuristic cityscapes in movies, video games, and TV shows. Lots of gleaming metal, concrete, glass, bridges, overpasses, and skyscrapers. In the distance, vehicles zipped around and equally sci-fi aircraft traced paths across the sky here and there.

I wonder if we're still on the same planet as the place we were killed a while ago? The sky was tinted red instead of the familiar blue and the air felt different -- thinner, with a sharp odor of overheated wiring filling his nose with every breath. If the assholes who abducted us can teleport us to other planets, what fucking chance do we have of ever escaping?

"I know how this works," Syala clopped over to one of the cars, her mouth hanging open and her glowing eyes opening wide. "I've never seen any of these before, never even imagined such things, but I know how to drive them."

"So do I." Ayastal leaned over the nearest car, placed her hand on its roof, and peered in through the windshield. "The knowledge just appeared in my mind. But I can't fit into any of these."

"How is this happening?" Syala drew in several ragged breaths and glanced around until her terrified gaze locked onto Dylan. "How do I suddenly know things I could never have even dreamed of before?"

"I don't know." He hurried over to her and held her hands. "Maybe we'll find out sooner or later, or maybe we'll never know. Right now, all that matters is that we get through this."

She took a few more breaths, pulled herself together, and nodded.

Cora walked over to them and rested a hand on each of their shoulders. "Whoever is doing this, we can't let them break us. Don't give them the satisfaction."

Syala nodded again, smiled, closed her eyes for a moment, and sucked in another long, slow breath to help calm herself.

"I also know what we must do," Zilaka muttered, turning to stare in shock at the others. "Just like the cars -- I didn't know a moment ago, and now I do."

"Same here." Dylan nodded slowly. "There's a package we have to pick up and take somewhere."

"And there will be someone trying to stop us." Nishara turned to gaze out over the city and shivered. "Someone trying to kill us."

"Again." Grishnag sighed. "No matter why our captors are doing this -- to test us, or just for their entertainment -- I don't want to submit to it."

"You know what'll happen if we don't." Dylan tried to give her a reassuring smile, but couldn't hold it for more than a second. "The longer we survive, the more time we have to figure out what's going on and how to stop it."

"True enough." A smile tugged at the corner of Grishnag's mouth. "Well, I guess we should get on with it."

Nishara cupped Dylan's face in her upper hands and held his hands with her lower ones.

"For luck." She leaned in and kissed him.

Uh … wow. He let the kiss continue until she pulled back, gazed into his eyes, and smiled. He stroked her cheek and she gave his hands and shoulders a gentle squeeze before turning to slither over to one of the cars.

Another hand brushed his arm. He turned to the left and found Syala leaning toward him. He met her halfway, thinking she wanted to say something to him without the others overhearing.

Instead, she slid her right hand behind his neck, pulled him closer, and kissed him.

Huh? His heart began to pound, but he went along with it. When Syala finally pulled back, she smiled and glanced away.

"For luck," she mumbled.

"Thanks." His face turned hot and he glanced around and caught Grishnag grinning and chuckling in the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat and tugged on his shirt collar. "So. Uh. Anybody else want a good-luck kiss?"

After everyone flicked a few glances at each other, Cora shrugged and walked over to him.

"What the hell. I don't believe it'll tilt the odds in our favor, but I'm all for finding a moment of pleasure in this nightmare we're all in." She pressed her cool metal lips gently against his and the faint smell of mechanical lubricants and polish filled his nose. Neither the kiss nor the scent was at all unpleasant.

When they parted, the other females approached him. Before he could get his brain around what was happening, each of them kissed him. In the corner of his eye, he found several of them kissing each other.

Okay, this is getting weird. The only possibility he could think of was that maybe humans were the only species that had any sexual hangups, and it simply didn't occur to any of these females to think there was anything strange about this. Hah. Getting weird. Good one.

Finally, Grishnag was the only one who hadn't kissed him or any of the others. She shrugged and put her arms around him.

"I suppose I shouldn't buck the trend," she said softly, chuckling. Her breath brushed across his lips and his heartbeat revved up again. "It has been a while since I've done this, so maybe it's about time, anyway."

Their mouths met and he closed his eyes and lost himself in the moment. It was a little odd, with those big fangs sticking up from her lower teeth, but no more so than any of the others.

When they parted, they gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, smiled, and then Grishnag walked off to choose a vehicle. She picked one of the sporty-SWAT tank-looking things, opened the door, and settled into the seat. Her eyes flicked over its control panel and she pushed a button. The engine started -- not the familiar sound of the car engines Dylan had heard all his life, but more of a throbbing hum.

The others chose their cars, except Ayastal. Grishnag glanced over at her, smiled, and pointed a thumb at the roof of her vehicle.

"This one looks sturdy enough for you to ride on top. You won't have any protection, but at least you'll be able to participate. I mean, if you want."

"Thank you. After seeing what they did to you when you refused to play their games, I'm probably better off not appearing to be uncooperative." Ayastal crouched on top of the car, braced her feet on the rear end, and found handholds on the roof.

Dylan picked another hotrod-tank, got in, and glanced around. All the controls were on the dashboard, including the brakes and accelerator. At least that meant Nishara could drive one despite having no legs. He glanced over at her in time to watch her try to enter one of the lozenge-shaped cars. She ducked in through the driver's side door, pulled back out, entered again, extracted herself again. She grumbled something, opened the back door, slid in and between the front seats, took her position awkwardly at the controls, and pulled the rest of her body in.

Syala closed the back door for her.

"Thank you." Nishara spent the next few moments trying to coil her body around the interior and find a comfortable position.

Dylan started his engine as Syala and Zilaka picked out their cars.

Grishnag's voice came from a speaker in the dashboard. "Okay. Let's do this."

#

"Almost there." Grishnag glanced at the mini-map on her dashboard and noted the position of the waypoint. She returned her attention to the road ahead and slowed as they passed through a gate and entered an area filled with what appeared to be warehouses.

As they approached the waypoint, a dozen red blips appeared around it. Grishnag noted their positions on her mini-map and grumbled.

"Well, here we go." Dylan's voice quivered slightly.

Before Grishnag could offer any reassuring words, she eased around the corner of a large, rectangular building and found a dozen males and females of varying species spinning toward her and snapping their guns up.

"What the hell?" Dylan said. "I was expecting more of the goons we fought last time."

"So was I." Grishnag steered toward the nearest three and accelerated. "No matter. Just focus on getting through this."

"R-right." Dylan's vehicle surged forward, plowed into two of the "enemies," and sent them tumbling across the pavement.

"Nice." Grishnag flashed a feral grin. "Ayastal, you may want to …"

"Dismounting." The huge reptile woman leaped off the top of Grishnag's vehicle and slammed into a pair of humans who'd opened fire a split-second before. The impact flattened them and she made sure they stayed put with a solid punch to each of their faces. She rolled off them, crouched, and sprang over the head of a pig-ogre as he tried to target her. She hit the ground, rolled forward, and came to a halt with her legs braced under her, ready to launch at another enemy.

The pig-ogre whipped his rifle around and lined up a shot at her chest.

Dylan's tank-car shot into view. He turned sharply to the left and the car skidded. The rear end swung around and slammed into the pig-ogre like a bat knocking a baseball out of the park. He rocketed into the side of a parked cargo truck, crumpled to the ground, and came to a stop with his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Nice moves, kid," Grishnag said with an arched eyebrow.

"Thanks. I just now realized this reminds me of a game I played a lot back home. This was one of the moves I used on opposing players."

"This reminds you of a game?" Nishara steered her car around the back of a nearby warehouse and flinched as four enemies concentrated their fire on her.

"Yeah, a video game. It's a -- actually, never mind. I'll try to explain it later." Dylan whipped his car to the right and shoved his rifle through his open window. He pulled the trigger and perforated the human and three bovine males. They twitched and collapsed, fingers convulsing on their triggers and firing random shots until the life finished draining from them.

"Video games," Cora muttered. "I'm familiar with them. They're sort of like simulations."

"Yeah, kind of. You okay, Nishara?"

"For now." Nishara changed course again and accelerated. "I'm near the … whatever we're here to take. I'm going for it."

"I'll cover you," Dylan said.

"As will I," Syala added.

"Simulations. Hmm." Cora veered off to join the other three.

"What?" Grishnag caught up with them, glanced at the waypoint, and followed them toward a building that appeared to be an aircraft hangar.

"Just a suspicion I have. I don't want to distract everyone with it now."

"Sounds good." Dylan mowed down another opponent with his car and continued on to the hangar. "You can tell us after we finish this. Or the next time we wake up dead." He chuckled.

Hah. He has my kind of sense of humor. Grishnag grinned and parked in front of the hangar's massive open door. "Make a barricade with your vehicles while Nishara picks up the package."

Dylan backed his car up until his rear bumper nudged her front. The others followed suit, keeping their driver-side doors facing into the hangar. Everyone except Nishara jumped out and aimed their guns at the remaining enemies, using their vehicles as cover. Nishara extracted herself from her car and surged forward, slithering deeper into the building so fast she became a blur.

Dylan and Syala charged after her, flicking their wide eyes all around the interior, searching for more enemies.

Grishnag glanced at the mini-map on her dashboard. Only three enemies remained … until ten more red blips appeared at the edge of the map and approached her team's position with alarming speed. Grishnag snarled. "More enemies incoming."

"That's what I was afraid of," Dylan grumbled. "It works the same way in that game I mentioned. No matter how many bad guys we take out, more keep teleporting in."

"It's hopeless," Syala whimpered.

"No, it's not." Grishnag drilled a beam through the forehead of each of the three approaching them. "It'll end when we complete our task."

"Yeah." Dylan tried to smile at Syala. "Maybe then we'll get to sit out the next round of fighting. Y'know, as a reward."

Grishnag glanced at her mini-map again. The new red blips were almost on top of her and the others. She frowned, realizing a hissing sound had been growing louder over the last few moments.

That's inside the hangar. But … She gasped and raised her gun to aim at the ceiling.

"They're above us!"

Thumps of multiple feet hitting the roof echoed through the cavernous room.

Cora spun and snapped her gun up toward the ceiling. "I see their heat signatures." She opened fire, burning dozens of holes through the metal. Several voices cried out, and then a guttural roar overwhelmed them. More thumps echoed from the ceiling, the sound of bodies rolling down the angled roof.

"I've got the pilots," Ayastal snarled before opening fire.

The hissing sound revved, sputtered, and turned into a rattling whine. A stubby aircraft with two huge, ducted fans spun into view, a dozen holes melted through the canopy and a mixture of red and yellow blood splattered all over the cockpit. The aircraft continued its spin, tipped to the left, and crashed into the ground. It continued sliding and shedding parts, finally rolled over and ground to a stop upside-down.

"Good work, Ayastal," Grishnag said.

A deafening, sharp bang of a grenade slammed into the side of the building, almost drowning out a truncated scream. Grishnag staggered, shook her head, and a cold sensation rose up in her chest. "Ayastal?"

Nishara, Dylan, and Syala stopped in their tracks. Nishara fumbled and nearly dropped the brick-shaped, crystalline object in her hands.

"Ayastal!" Grishnag rushed to the rear of her car, peeked around the doorway, and found her sprawled on the ground with her chest blasted open.

Past her, two more large vehicles rumbled toward the hangar.

Grishnag winced and turned away. She met the others' gazes and shook her head.

Syala sobbed and covered her mouth with her hand.

"She'll be okay," Dylan whispered, reaching out to rub her back.

"How do we know?"

"She'll probably wake up in the same room we found ourselves in after the first time we were killed."

"He's right." Grishnag took a deep breath and waved a hand around the inside of the hangar. "Take a quick look around. Maybe we can find something useful. Bigger guns, or armor."

"On it." Cora rushed over to the wall to inspect the shelves and crates.

Nishara handed the golden crystal brick to Dylan. "Take this. You seem to know what you're doing."

Grishnag glanced over her shoulder at the mini-map on her dashboard. A new waypoint had appeared at the northern edge.

"We have a new destination."

"Good." Dylan carried the faintly glowing crystal back to his car. "Let's get the hell out of here."

#

"Oh, look what we have here." Cora had just opened one of the metal crates in a corner behind a shuttle and grinned at what she'd found. "Grenades, sticky bombs, and rocket launchers."

"I don't know what those are," Zilaka muttered, "but if they keep us alive, I'll be happy with them."

"They should definitely give us a chance." Cora passed the grenades and sticky bombs to the others, grabbed two rocket launchers, and handed one to Grishnag. "You seem to know how to use stuff like this more than the others. I think we'll have a better chance of holding the goons off while the others escape."

Dylan whipped his head around to stare at her and Grishnag.

"Don't worry." Cora strode toward the space between the door frame and Grishnag's car. "I'm planning on both of us catching up with you. Now, get moving."

Dylan sighed, nodded, and started his engine. Syala, Zilaka, and Nishara returned to their vehicles.

Cora peeked around the corner, found the two vehicles still fifty meters away but approaching rapidly, and nodded at Grishnag. Cora lined up a shot on the nearer van and fired. A fist-size rocket streaked toward her target. The second van veered off and accelerated, while three people bailed out of the first. Cora's rocket struck the front of the van, ripped it apart in a split-second, and the shrapnel shredded the three who'd tried to escape.

Grishnag stepped around Cora and took her own shot while Cora reloaded. The van swerved, but couldn't avoid the rocket. Shrapnel and body parts scattered in every direction. Grishnag smirked, turned toward her car, and stopped suddenly.

"Cora told you to take off."

Cora turned and found the others waiting with their engines running. "Yeah. What she said."

"We're not leaving you here." Syala aimed a stern stare at her, couldn't hold it, and faced forward again. "We finish this together."

Cora almost rolled her optics, canceled the action, and ran to her vehicle. "Fine. Let's all get the hell out of here before anyone else starts shooting at us."

"Dylan," Grishnag said as she climbed into her car, "we'll surround you and escort you to the next waypoint. Stay in the center."

"I'll do my best." He gripped the controls and waited.

"I'll take the lead. Cora, bring up the rear." Grishnag moved her car into position.

Four red, car-shaped icons appeared on Cora's mini-map, approaching rapidly from the rear. She leaned out the window, glanced around, and zoomed in on a distant motion.

"Guys, we've got more --"

"I see them on my map," Syala said, almost whimpering. "Let's go!"

Cora grabbed her rocket launcher, climbed through her window, and perched her ass on the lower edge. She lined up a shot and squeezed the trigger. The rocket streaked away and she zoomed in to watch the impact.

One of the four vans exploded and the shockwave knocked two others off course.

What the hell was that? Cora pulled the last few seconds from her optics' buffer and replayed it in slow motion. Parts of the van flickered and broke into tiny cube shapes for a split second as it exploded, as did the air around the shockwave. She scowled and lined up another shot. Voxels. Damn, I was right.

"Cora!"

"Dylan, what?" Her proximity sensors picked up a sudden movement to her left before he could respond. She snapped her head around in time to catch a glimpse of a rocket before it drilled into the side of her car.

The roar of the explosion overwhelmed her auditory sensors and the flash overloaded her optics for a few seconds. When her sight returned, the entire world was spinning around her -- until the pavement slammed into her back. She glanced around, found parts of her legs and other debris scattered all around her, and her internal sensors detected various lubricants and other fluids spraying out of what was left of her torso.

"Cora!" Dylan shrieked again.

"Keep going! I'll do what I can from here." She found her rifle several meters away and dragged herself toward it while running a diagnostic. Primary systems failing, main power cell breached and heading for a critical overload. Whatever I do, I have to do it soon.

"But …"

"Go!" She clamped onto the rifle and tried to line up a shot on the approaching vans, but her targeting system was offline. "I'll see you all on the next go-around."

"Shit," Dylan moaned before accelerating away.

The others hesitated another few seconds but finally followed him.

The remaining three vans reached Cora.

Fuck it. She rolled onto her back, jammed her rifle's barrel against her exposed power cell, and pulled the trigger. Fortunately, the detonation tore her body apart too quickly for her sensors to detect any damage.

#

The blast was enormous -- far bigger than anything Nishara had ever experienced. It deafened her and shook her vehicle. Both hearts pounded as she glanced over her shoulder and found parts of Cora's body and two of the vans raining down. The remaining van swerved around the debris and continued its pursuit.

"No," Dylan groaned.

"Take it easy," Grishnag said, clearly straining to remain calm, herself. "She'll be okay. She's probably in that same room we woke up in before, with Ayastal."

"I hope so." Dylan took a deep breath. "Alright. Let's get this over with." He accelerated.

Six more blips appeared on Nishara's mini-map, directly ahead. "No …"

"Where are they coming from?" Syala's voice quivered.

"Stay focused," Grishnag said.

A beam from one of the van's occupants drilled Nishara's rear window, the passenger-side headrest, and the windshield. She flinched and her hearts beat even faster.

Must try something. Must do something before we're all killed again. She took several deep breaths. "I … I have an idea."

She twisted her tail into position, gripped her weapon, and slid through her window. She kept her lower-left hand on the controls, kept the accelerator pressed down with the tip of her tail, and held on to the roof with her upper-left hand. With her two right hands, she raised the gun awkwardly and tried to aim it at the approaching van.

A male that appeared to be Zilaka's species leaned out one of the van's windows with his own rifle.

Nishara clamped her mouth shut to prevent a horrified whimper from escaping and fired her weapon. Half of her shots struck the ground or pierced empty air, but the rest punched into the front of the van.

The male fired and a familiar searing pain lanced through Nishara's upper-right shoulder. The gun almost slipped from her hands, but she managed to keep her grip on it and continue shooting.

Finally, one of her beams drilled through the van's windshield and vaporized part of the driver's head. He flopped over and the van swerved off to the right and crashed into a stack of red metal barrels. Nishara shifted her aim to the barrels without understanding how she knew what was about to happen, and continued firing. Whatever was in the barrels ignited violently, and engulfed the van in flames.

Nishara sighed, faced forward, and grimaced at the pain spreading out from her wounded shoulder.

Grishnag veered off to a curving ramp leading to an overpass that wove among dozens of gleaming metal skyscrapers. The rest followed her. Wincing and trying not to cry out, Nishara steered her vehicle in the same direction.

Three more enemy vans appeared directly ahead, swerving through the oncoming traffic.

"Damn it," Grishnag snarled. "Too many innocent people are in the way."

"There's nothing we can do about that," Dylan said with a sigh. "We'll just have to do the best we can to avoid hitting any of them."

A human leaned out of the lead van and began firing. Nishara groaned, shifted her grip on her weapon, and returned fire.

A beam pierced her upper-left arm and another hit her chest, just below her lower heart. She screamed and dropped her gun.

"Nishara!" Syala shrieked. "Oh, no!"

Another shot burned through Nishara's abdomen, and yet another drilled her upper heart. She flailed, screamed again, and her car began to turn sideways and skid.

"No!" Dylan bellowed.

Nishara caught a glimpse of a hail of enemy shots slamming through his windshield and multiple bursts of red blood filling the inside of his car, and suddenly she turned cold inside.

"No …" She coughed as everything around her began to fade away. "Dyl … Dylan …"

Her car struck the divider between lanes and rolled. The last thing Nishara saw was the road rushing up toward her, and the last things she felt were her body twisting and the car crushing her beneath it.

==========

Title: Game Over

Genre: Science Fiction

Age range: adult

Word count: 80,000 words

Author: Fred T. Kerns

Why the book is a good fit: I tend to write the kinds of stories I wish I could find on bookshelves. As TMG has an eye toward innovation, my work would bring them something new and fresh to pass along to the world. TMG also works with a range of genres and my novels and stories are primarily science fiction but also include elements of action, humor, and an often hopeful vision of the future despite the villainous characters standing in the heroes' way.

The Hook: On this planet, "fun and games" is a matter of life and death.

Synopsis: Dylan Engstrom wakes up in a strange place and is thrown into a series of combat scenarios with a handful of aliens. Together, they must figure out what's going on and how to escape before they're all killed. And killed again. And again. And again ...

Target audience: Readers who enjoy action, adventure, humor, spaceships, aliens, and fun characters in a story that leans toward the harder end of the SF scale.

Bio: Sci-fi writer, semi-competent gamer (on a good day), and a huge geek. Born in a small town in Oregon, lived on the Oregon coast until 2013, then moved to Tucson, Arizona, and has lived there ever since.

Platform: My blog has links to most of the stuff I'm up to: https://fredtkerns.blogspot.com/

Education: High school diploma, followed by life in general

Experience: Started writing and submitting short stories at 17 and have never stopped writing since then. I've finished five novels and have another in-progress, and have written a number of shorter works and ongoing serialized stories.

Personality/writing style: Usually pretty mellow. Able to roll with the punches thanks to life being a very long stretch of bad luck. Able to face each setback by immediately going to work on possible solutions almost like a reflex. Writing style tends to be to-the-point with characters who are often a little off-kilter. I've been told that I'm particularly good at writing action scenes. I also like to research specific scientific concepts to attempt to get them right (for instance, hull breaches in my writing won't result in an endless rush of venting air) without bogging the story down with details regarding physics and whatnot.

Likes/hobbies: Writing, video games, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Have been a lifelong fan of Star Trek, Doctor Who, Star Wars, and others. More recent like/influences include the Mass Effect series, Babylon 5, Star Trek Online, Red vs. Blue, gen:LOCK, among others.

Hometown: Tucson, AZ

Age: 46

I CANNOT TELL IF IM DIFFERENT TODAY Dear Father, Creator of the earth, the Sun, the Moon and all things this universe contains, i am very great full for all of these moments. Every moment I have had, has had such wonderful gifts and I’ve seen such magnificent things. Thank you for the miracles that show me your glory, your compassion and thank you for all the love i have witnessed from all living things. I may not show my appreciation as often as i need too. I don’t do a very good job showing the way i feel. I do believe in the goodness of the world. I find myself so very distracted with pride and all the trivial things that distract my focus. I don’t know how to feel emotions very well. I have become overly comfortable with the uncomfortable pain i feel from my perspective. I wasn’t always this disconnected with the world and the way my choices impact it. If i was stronger or more aware of the moment at hand, I could hope for more fulfillment and peace of mind. I was able to taste the flavor of balanced consciousness a couple times and in those moments i did feel the true connection to what you are. I have done some of the tasks i feel you designed to be part of my destiny. I know i have also failed myself and the world far more often than the world has caused me discomfort.

I am so vey far behind where I feel i belong. I was hoping to ask. If you could please find a way to forgive me for all my selfish behaviors, and for the way I have not respected the familiar relations which i have connected ties to, in this time. I am having a very hard time making the choices that will pull me closer to you, your love, and the love of our society.

I do not have even the smallest understanding about what we are all here to obtain. I have a pure understanding of what is truly beautiful about life. At least I think i do. I have learned that being honest is the most important aspect of this life. I know that being dedicated to helping each other is more than just feeling good about my self, and i do try to have an open enough soul to identify with the trials and tribulations which i know have affected the people around me. I have been totally committed to the love of my life and I have gone too far to try and prove myself for her. i don't understand why I must feel so much desire to be a man that is always helpful to what others want. I find myself all twisted up in the choices i make because what feels like the perfect plan of action to resolve my needs and even help the needs for my close relations, will somehow go very wrong and i feel i have caused there to be far more trouble and stress. Am i truly just unlucky or is it some cognitive flaw within the logical pattern of my problem solving cognitive mental abilities?

I just don’t believe in myself at all anymore and the next moment, will just prove to me that I’m right to not trust my instinct. I cant’ seem to move through the tragedy of the recent past and i feel so much resentment for not having the foresight or awareness during certain moments. Moments that had so much impact on the happiness of myself and so many others. Why was I so distracted and distant? Why did you not just have me go with her? I know if i was there nothing could have turned out the way it did. i am so very lost without her here. I know she is in my heart and i do feel her presence near me. It isn’t the same though. I really need to have her arms around me and I need to hear her voice. i want to know what I’m doing wrong and why i find myself just confused about the most simple things. Why did she have to go and why did she have to leave in such a tragic way? Shilo is the best thing about my life and i really believed that we had to have had so much more time to be in love, and alive together. i wanted her to know that i could be the successful husband. I wanted to be a part of her dreams coming true. It isn't right and I don't think that it’s at all acceptable. I know that I’m being selfish. i have faith that there is a truly beautiful reason why you took her from us. It just doesn’t make any sense to me Right now though. I feel like the hate and pain that i have caused in my past is all stacked up against me. I’ll never be deserving to be happy, Well, If that’s the case why do i have to be so stuck in it?

I cant find my soul and the emptiness inside of me is not getting smaller. I feel almost Hollow inside and what was left of the hope i was clinging onto isn't going to last.`

Father God, I know the truth. I know what real love is about. I know that i can feel it, when their is pain in others eyes and i know i can help so many people understand themselves, if i express your will. I know what gifts you have installed into me. The feeling of my purpose is so strong, and yet, I try and try and try to find the right set of actions that transform me from being this beaten down pitiful thing that’s living in the failure after mistake and panic disorder mentality of this lifestyle that i’m living, to the quiet, observant, dedicated, compassionate and respectful soul i am supposed to be.

It just seems like every time i get the chaotic mess under control, i get hit with another misleading moment full of fear and anxiety; i just wanted to love myself enough to go through life and be better than i am bad. If i had a the chance to erase me, i would do so.

If you can be so kind as to show me why the hell i am still here and maybe show me enough love to have just a small amount of conviction to remember how it feels to be confident enough to hope for love and life to continue into another day. It would really help me.

Father please help heal me and the painful way i am inside. I have a bear trap clasped around my heart and every thing i do is causing my life force to drip out of the wounds that I wont let heal. Amen

God if you can please save me because i can’t beat this thing .. I give up, and I surrender this way to anything different. Amen ........

Here is the final dream. It’s nothing we can remember,

It’s the ashes of our life spreading into the winds of our soul.

Robert William Stewart

Is this my time because I lost the clock on my watch. Is it still five after the moment I woke up in a sea of wishes which became the fishes swimming in my eyes¥