1911

By Daniel Cadogan

I never killed a man before and I didn’t plan to when I woke up on the seventeenth of June, but sometimes things don’t go as planned. I woke up that morning with every intention of going to my first ever family reunion and having a nice time getting absolutely plastered, yelling at the fat bitch who identified herself as “Auntie Carole”, and making some horrible mistakes regarding my genitalia and a distant cousin or two.

I dragged myself out of bed the morning before and got in the shower with a bottle of Guinness to loosen myself up. Everyone needs a little pre-game before the super bowl, right? I dragged myself to my closet and picked out a decent outfit for the day. I rummaged past Armani suits and tuxedoes for every occasion. I tossed aside thousand dollar loafers and managed to find a pair of oxfords I didn’t mind getting a little dirty. The click-clack of the sole against my hardwood floors made my heart flutter. I checked my phone and saw 37 missed calls from my business partner about an increase in our investments and I just smiled while he was probably running circles around his house screaming at the top of lungs about the extra five hundred thousand we made off with. Chump change if you ask me.

I’d never been to a family reunion before even though we had them yearly. My family consisted of good decent country folk and backwoods hicks alike. I liked the country folk, I hated the hicks. But this year was the first year we’d have a reunion without a grandpa and I felt it would only be respectful for me to show up at least.

I would catch my flight at 12:30 and then drive into the countryside from there. My bags had been packed the night before by Julia and everything was in order. I grabbed the last bit of paperwork and stuffed it into my carry-on bag alongside a couple notebooks and a deck of cards. I walked downstairs and Julia greeted me as she was cleaning.

“Calvin, everything is ready to go. I left your suitcase by the door last night so you can grab it on your way out,” she said. Her eyes twinkled in the morning light. Julia had been staying with me for two years as a live-in maid and she is an absolute angel. Her cooking is fit for kings, she never leaves a spot of dust anywhere in the house, and on occasion, she puts out. But this morning I didn’t have the time to spare for a quickie on the kitchen counter.

“Thank you, Julia, I’ll be back in four days. The house is all yours until then. Live like a queen,” I said. I kissed her on the cheek and she giggled. I ran out the door and into my car and drove to the airport, mentally preparing myself to see my family in just a few hours.

###

“Look here, the safety’s on the right side, just above the trigger. Just click it in and you’re ready to fire. You see red on the safety? You’re good to shoot,” Jimmy said, showing me his brand new 1911 pistol.

“Sure is something, Jimmy. How she shoot?” I replied. Home for just a couple hours and my backwoods drawl was coming back to me already.

“Shoots just fine, especially for a handgun. Nailed a bowling pin at 50 yards. You really like her, huh?” Jimmy said with a smile across his face.

“Yeah, it’s a beautiful gun. You’re almost getting me back into my old fascination for them again.”

“Well,” Jimmy started, “I missed your birthday last year and I was just thinking about how you and me used to go hunting up on pap’s old land in the hills and, well, I got you one just like it.” Jimmy reached back onto the couch behind him and pulled out a box and opened it. Inside was an identical gun with a belt holster just like his.

“My god Jimmy, you really didn’t have to do this. This had to cost a fortune.”

“Hey, it ain’t nothing. After pap died, I was just thinking about how we haven’t really talked much in a while and I thought it might be a good way open that door again.” I almost started tearing up.

“Thanks Jimmy. This really means a lot to me.” I strapped the holster to my belt and shoved the gun inside. “So, how’s it look on me?”

“Pretty damn weird. Not many people around here are carrying a handgun in their dress slacks and a nice tie.” Jimmy started laughing. “Man, we have to work this rich boy shit out of your system by the time you head back home.” Some of my family seemed to resent me for leaving our hometown and actually making something of myself, but Jimmy was always proud of me. He was my older cousin by three years and he always looked after me.

###

The next day we went out to the farmhouse about two miles away where grandma was living and we would meet up with the rest of the family there. I had my new gun strapped to my hip, just like Jimmy. When we arrived, I saw all the usual people there. Aunts, uncles, cousins, all sorts of people I never really cared about. And arriving a little late to the party was a man with graying hair and a younger girl about mine and Jimmy’s age.

I turned to Jimmy and said, “Hey man, who’s that? I know we got a big family, but I know I don’t recognize that guy.”

“Well,” he said, “you haven’t been home in a good while so you missed some things. The guy is apparently pap’s third cousin or something. Long lost for some reason, but he found out he was related to us and asked if he could meet us all. We welcomed him to the family. He’s a decent fellow if not a bit stuffy. Say, you might just get along with him great.” Jimmy laughed at his own wit and I couldn’t help but chuckle as well.

“So who’s the girl? His daughter? Granddaughter? Prostitute and he’s her sugar daddy?” I asked.

“Granddaughter, I think. They’re very religious folk, she’s supposed to go off to a convent next summer. Not sure if it’s true, but the rumor amongst kin is that he’s forcing her to go and she don’t want to.”

“You don’t say. She’s pretty. I’d go chat her up if she wasn’t my cousin.”

“Hey now, she’s your fifth cousin at best. Now, take this with a grain of salt as I am just some incestuous hick, but as far as I’m concerned, she’s fair game.”

“You’re right, you are an incestuous hick. But you make a good point.”

I walked over to introduce myself to our new family members. As I approached, the girl seemed to move back while her father sized me up and greeted me with a shit-eating grin.

“Well, I don’t think I’ve met you before,” he said, “my name’s Andy and this is my granddaughter Jessie.” Jessie reached out her hand and curtseyed like we were in the Antebellum South.

“Pleased to meet you two, my name’s Calvin. Always nice to have more family coming in.” Jessie eyed me from behind her father. He never lost that grin all night.

###

The rest of the party went well. We got drunk, we sang around a bonfire, I even found my old guitar in grandma’s attic and played some songs. And yes, at some point during the duration of the night, I yelled at Auntie Carole for being a lazy bitch with a disability check every month just because she’s fat. As the party was winding down, everyone seemed a bit too hammered to notice much of anything, but I noticed Jessie staring at me from across the fire. She was sitting next to Jimmy. She turned to him and whispered something in his ear. He smiled and she giggled. He stood up and walked over to me.

“Listen man,” Jimmy said, “Jessie says to meet her in the barn behind grandma’s house in five minutes. Don’t worry, her dad’s in the house bullshitting with the older guys. He won’t know a thing.”

“Keep him occupied if you can. I’ll make every second count.”

“You got it, Cal.” Jimmy walked toward the house to keep Andy inside. I waited for Jessie to slip away and I followed after. We ran into the barn and slid in through the doorway. We didn’t even exchange words and she pushed me onto a pile of hay and shoved her tongue in my mouth. She began unbuttoning her very conservative blouse as I tried to take off my shirt as well.

And then my phone rang. My goddamned phone rang. I grabbed it out my pocket. It was Julia. Before I even had a chance to answer, Jessie snatched it and threw it into the hay next to us and proceeded to act in a way that a prospective nun definitely should not. Just as she grabbed my pants, there was a pounding at the door.

“Jessie,” Andy said from the other side of the door, “you in there?” Jessie nearly jumped out of her skin and placed her hand on my mouth.

“Who the hell’s in there? I heard something and Jessie ain’t out by the fire.” The pounding grew heavier and more frantic. “Goddammit, you let me in right now.” Andy was shouting by this point. The door flew open and Andy stood there with a revolver in his hand.

“What the hell is going on here?” he said. He grabbed Jessie by her hair and threw her to the ground behind him. “I knew it, you’re a whore just like you’re goddamned mother.” He pointed the gun at me. “Kiss your ass goodbye, boy.” Andy cocked the revolver and walked closer to me and the barrel almost touched my forehead.

I didn’t even think about it. I pulled the 1911 out of the holster and shot Andy three times in the chest. He tumbled backwards, lifeless. Jessie began to sob uncontrollably. Smoke poured out of the end of my gun.

In the Library

By Megan Finsel

She stanched the bleeding with a piece of silk torn from her skirts and looked into his eyes. They were shining like stars in the darkness cast by the forest canopy.

“You’ve saved my life,” he whispered and touched her cheek.

She tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry. “Well, far be it from me to miss an adventure. You’re insane, thinking you could fight him alone.” she chided.

He began to sit up but she stopped him, afraid the movement would worsen the bleeding. His bewildered gaze was fixed upon her. “Margaret,” he began, but she kept her face turned away and refused to look at him. “I am indebted to you.”

“Rubbish.” She shook her head. “You owe me nothing. It was a lucky shot.”

“Right, a direct shot from between two trees and over my shoulder,” he said, “indeed, that was quite lucky.”

She tried to ignore the body lying nearby, bearing an arrow identical to those in her quiver. Instead she focused on applying constant pressure to his wounded arm, where the ogre’s sword had slashed him below the elbow.

“I did what any friend would do.” she said simply.

He touched her lips. “You know, you are more than a friend to me, my darling.”

She looked up at him then and felt her heart pinch inside her, causing her actual pain. It took all her focus to tie the two ends of the makeshift bandage to his arm. It was already beginning to bleed through.

“You need a physician.”

“I think I’ll survive. You’ve kept me alive for this long already.” As his lips traced her earlobe she turned and pressed her face against his neck, aware of his fingers following along her spine.

“Maggie!” The voice was distant but she still startled at it.

“What is it?”

“They’re calling me back.” She told him and felt a sob rising in her throat.

“You have to leave now?”

She groaned and laid her forehead against his chest, drawing him closer to her. “I wish I could stay.”

He pulled her into his lap. “But won’t you consider it?”

She knew she could always come visit him, but she could never stay for long. After all, I do not belong here in his world, she thought. I belong out there, in the real world, where life is hard and happily ever after isn’t guaranteed.

Lifting her face to look into his own he rested his forehead against hers and wisps of his hair brushed her skin. “I understand.”

“Do you?” She searched his face for any hints of sadness or disappointment.

He showed both of these, as he returned her gaze, and his fingertips traced the curve of her cheek. But he said, “Yes, I understand.”

“Are you upset?” she asked, finding she feared upsetting him more than the thought of leaving.

“I hate to see you go,” he admitted, “but I could never be upset with you. I am as much a part of you as you are a part of me. It would be difficult to separate us forever.”

She accepted the first of his kisses and tried to ignore their calls. But as their voices grew louder, she felt herself growing fainter in his arms. Finally she drew away and gazed down at his chest, tracing the intricate emblem of his kingdom embroidered upon his vest.

“I have to go now,” she said softly.

He sighed. “If you must leave me then I shall say farewell.” he whispered, “but not goodbye, for goodbye is final. Farewell means we will meet again.”

Tears choked her throat as she rested her chin upon his shoulder. “Farewell, Prince Leif.” she whispered. “I will return when I can.”

“Maggie, where are you?”

Reluctantly she closed the book, caressed the cover, and placed it upon the shelf, his kisses still lingering on her lips. “I’m in the library.”

 

 

Bio: Words have a great power to me. They can evoke emotions, thoughts, and ideas. They can start and end wars, and they can paint pictures. When I learned I could use words to express myself, I realized I had found my passion. Writing is my way to communicate the complex emotions and thoughts that we all tuck away in the recesses of our hearts. And if I can make at least one person aroused through my writing, then I know I have done my job 🙂

How to Avoid Heartbreak

By Moriah Luiz

Don’t tell anyone that you like him. Hide the fact that you like him. Put on a fake smile and force a laugh if necessary. Do keep yourself guarded. Don’t let him know the truth. Don’t think about him. Don’t look at him. Stop day dreaming about him. Find a hobby to keep you busy so you don’t think about him. Don’t let your mind wander. Stay away from his girlfriend. Don’t talk to his friends. When he talks to you act nonchalant. Laugh at his jokes but only a little. Avoid him in the halls and in the lunch room. If you see him in the halls or in the lunch room look the other way or look busy. Don’t make it obvious that you are avoiding him. Don’t become friends with him. Stay away from events where he might be there. Don’t to go to any events. Don’t go to the football games or the bonfires. Don’t meet his parents. Don’t date him. Don’t date any of his friends. Don’t become friends with his girlfriend. Do focus on school and other things. Do stay home on weekends or have other plans. Do always be busy or have an excuse if he asks you out. Do spend lots of time with your friends and make plans with them. Do spend lots of time with your family. Don’t confront him. Don’t let him confront you. Don’t get a job where he works. Don’t go to the place where he works. Do get a job that’s far away from where he works. Don’t work up front where he can see you if he walks by. Don’t hang out with him. Don’t hang out with his girlfriend or his friends. Don’t get excited when he calls your name. Don’t give him your number. Don’t let him give you his number. Don’t call him. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about not thinking about him and just let it go. Think of something else. Do forget about him. Do move on. Don’t develop a crush on someone else. Don’t talk to anybody else. Don’t look at anyone else. Don’t think about anyone else. Don’t become friends with anyone else. Don’t date. Don’t hang out with anybody. Don’t think about dating anyone else. Do find other things to take up your time and to keep you really busy. Do find another hobby. Do be busy all the time. Don’t let your mind wander. Do focus on other things. Do take harder classes with lots of homework and other assignments. Do keep your guard up. Do Follow all of these instructions and do exactly as they say. Don’t forget these instructions. Do make copies and keep one with you at all times. Do prepare for the worst. Do all of this and you might just avoid getting your heartbroken and having your world turned upside down.

Breaking Promises

By Megan Finsel

When he broke through the morning mist I cocked my gun, ready and waiting. But the first rays of pre-dawn light split the gloom and fell upon his face, and I knew I couldn’t shoot him. Now I was as good as dead.

“We’re going to survive this, I promise.” he had said to me, and I had clung to his words like I did to his hand as we ran, trying not to make a sound. It was one of the first days after this nightmare began; we had been hiding in the trailer park. We had tried to keep in the shadows, but the bonfires they had started made it difficult. Everything had been deserted, the sky dark and the ground burning. They were coming; I could hear their screams in the silence.

When we were curled up inside one of the dark campers with his rifle across our legs, we listened to the wails and howls piercing the quiet.

“Can we afford to make promises?” I had asked him with my head nestled upon his shoulder.

His arms tightened around me, and he turned and put his lips close to my ear, his breath warm and comforting on my skin. “Yes, we need to.” he whispered, and it had been enough to satisfy me.

Days passed like this, the two of us becoming suburban scavengers, warriors in this horrific war. As humanity disintegrated around us, we hung on to one another. That is why we survived for so long.

But when we crept into grocery stores, stealing what we could from the nearly barren shelves, I anticipated the decaying faces that could stumble from around the corners. Fear of them always followed us and I was thankful for it, for it kept us alert and alive. However fear can kill as well as any plague.

We stayed on the move in the camper we’d stolen, never spending two nights in the same place. One evening, somewhere outside of Arizona, I had asked him, “Do you think we’re the only ones left now?” We hadn’t encountered another living human being in almost three weeks.

“I don’t know,” he had replied, and I stifled a sob. Taking me into his arms, he cradled me in his lap and held me against his chest. I listened to his heartbeat, the steady pounding of another living soul, the sign that he was still mine. I cherished that sound.

“If anything happens to either of us,” he said, “I want you to know that I will love you until the world ends.”

“But the world is ending,” I had begun to cry.

“No it hasn’t, not yet,” he said, “Because you are still here. You are my world.” and he had kissed me through my tears.

Crossing the country together, hiding from them and from the fear within us, wasn’t nearly as difficult as it had been at first. We were together, a small family, but a family nonetheless.

That was, until, our little family fell apart.

We had made promises to one another, all probably foolish, but meaningful at the time. He promised me the house on the lake I had always wanted and I promised him children with eyes and hair as dark as his. We also promised to shoot each other, if either of us became infected. But that was a promise I desperately hoped I wouldn’t have to keep.

Now I knew that I couldn’t, even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t keep that promise. Now that the time had come I could only lean against the tree and watch as he stumbled toward me, shrieking and crying, his eyes dead, his mouth hanging open.

There were large bald spots on his head where his beautiful hair had been ripped out, and what was still intact was clumped with mud and debris. His face was ashen and spattered with dark blotches, probably blood; it was most likely not his. His veins bulged, swollen beneath translucent skin, like blue spider webs crisscrossing his body. His arms, which always held me so close, swung limply at his sides. His fingers, which had always touched me so tenderly, twitched abnormally. His shirt hung on his body in tatters; could he remember me buying it for him last year?

Deep inside that decaying body, could he remember who he was? Who I was? I watched as he began to run to me and I tried to pretend that he recognized me and my heart gave a tiny jolt of hope, which quickly died. There was wildness in his eyes which I had never seen, desperation; hunger much different than how he used to look at me, before all of this happened. Before our world fell apart.

I watched him turn his head in an unnatural angle, his stride jerking sharply. This was not the man I had fallen in love with in high school; the man who I had given my heart to or the man I was destined to marry.

He was coming, closer and closer and in that moment I knew I wouldn’t kill him. I pressed myself against the tree and slowly let my shotgun slip through my fingers. It landed in the grass by my foot. He shrieked. My heart pounded. I felt his hands grab me by the shoulders, slamming me into the trunk; he had never been rough with me before. I looked into his bloodshot eyes and realized he would never recognize me again. His mouth opened; a stench of rotting flesh on his breath.

I wondered, in the last moments, if it was weak of me to not have been able to shoot him. No, this is not weakness, I thought, and took comfort in the fact that if I turned out as he had at least we would be together again. I only felt guilty for breaking my promise.

Pain blossomed in my neck, as the infection spread slowly through my veins. I sank against him, falling into the arms of the undead man I had chosen to love instead of kill.

These are the last things I remember from being human, from being alive. What came next I cannot recall. Perhaps he helped me up, took my hand, and together we stumbled off through the woods. Or, perhaps he ate me. I really don’t know.

 

 

Bio: Words have a great power to me. They can evoke emotions, thoughts, and ideas. They can start and end wars, and they can paint pictures. When I learned I could use words to express myself, I realized I had found my passion. Writing is my way to communicate the complex emotions and thoughts that we all tuck away in the recesses of our hearts. And if I can make at least one person smile through my writing, then I know I have done my job 🙂

Hide & Seek

By Douglas Kolakowski

 

It always ended up that way, her on the floor and my fists being the cause of it. I never predicted I’d be this kind of person, or that we would
have this kind of marriage and though we were once united with love, we fought often. Our issues by morning would be “resolved” and nothing would have
appeared to have happened, but her face would still show the truth. Every day our marriage would fall a tiny bit more and by the end of each night we’d be
back in the same place, the only hope for a happy life was just an image to appease our son: Daren.

Ten years old, strong and healthy– Daren was certainly a daddy’s boy, always wanting to go on adventures, take naps and come to work with me. He
was certainly the perfect son and certainly my pride and joy.

The night had started off bland. I had returned home from work, sat myself down on the couch and went about my evening. My son, sitting in the
front of me; It wasn’t until my wife entered the room that I could sense something was wrong.

“Honey, Daren decided to go through our closet again– not only that but I saw him near your office! I don’t want him anywhere near there! Where you keep all your police officer crap!” her voice bringing an uproar to my ears.

“Listen, when I’m not home, all I can do is lock the doo–”

“That’s not good enough!”

Anger filled me and within moms I was up, standing in front of her and she was on the floor. Her voice was quieted and my rage was powering
through my every pore and pounding through my veins, but then I stood, looked around and my eyes met my sons. I hated how this was for him, he didn’t need to be subjected to my anger or my irresponsibility.

“Son, it’s time for bed…” was all I could mutter out as I picked him up and carried him to his room. Tucking him in, kissing his forehead and walking out was all this failure of a father could do.

The next few days were quiet, my wife and I held no conversation and Daren’s attention was primarily focused on the television.

“Son, I think it’s time we went out.”

The smile across his face was the only response I needed before scooping him up and taking him to the car. Driving for a few minutes under an
uncomfortable silence was new to the two of us, often he was tinkering with the radio or I was lecturing, but now, it was just unsettlingly quiet.

I, so, wanted to bring to his attention that nothing was his fault, that our failing family was primarily my issue and nothing more– but
bringing that to the attention of a child could be no easy feat and I wasn’t completely sure he could handle it.

“Daren, I need you to listen– this whole thing at home, it has nothing to do with yo–”

My sentence was cut short by his words.

“Daddy, what’s it like to kill someone?”

I stopped speaking, shocked and overwhelmed to the point where I pulled over. I turned towards him with a nervous smile.

“Well, I haven’t really killed anyo–”

“You shot that robber and he died that one time, Daddy.”

“Well, that’s true Daren, but he was a bad man. He was only bringing bad things. I guess, the point is, killing someone is wrong and shouldn’t be done, unless absolutely necessary… He tried to kill Daddy… so Daddy killed him.”

My eyes never left his and in return the same smile he always had never left his face.

That evening I found myself contemplating the earlier conversation I had with him. He was a happy child, but lately he seemed distant. There were
no games to be played, there was just Daren, his t.v and the fights that would sometimes overpower it. I wasn’t even paying enough attention to realize my boy had grown and changed. My mind wandered and before the night was over, he and my wife were asleep in their rooms and I was resting on the couch.

Sleep took me slowly, my thoughts pulled me into an abyss that could only be shown as true relaxation in my current stage of life, all at this time, finally felt right.

That’s when I heard the bang.

My eyes opened quickly, fear hit me as the blood rushed to my head from the quick motion of jumping off the couch.

It was a gunshot.

I ran down the hall towards the sound heading in the direction of the room my wife slept in; only to find her on the bed and my son standing
beside it.

The smell of gunpowder and shellings were still in the air as I noticed the bloodily and broken cranium that was once my wifes face. Her torso
was twisted in such a way that could only be part of some hellish nightmare and the tool and person responsible for this was– my gun and Daren.

I ran to her side ignoring the cause of her death as I tried to revive her from the state she had quickly and unknowingly been thrown into, my
full concentration was on her, my wife– the mother of my child. It was his laugh that snapped me out of my state.

“Oh Daddy, silly, silly Daddy. You just don’t get it do you?” my face was filled with horror as I saw his cute smile twist into a grin I had never seen bestowed on him.

“She was a bad guy, Daddy. She was in the way, always was and always would’ve been– but now she’s
gone, Daddy! She’s gone!”

Anger filled me as I ran over to him, grabbing his shoulder and shaking, his face surprised and for a moment scared.

“No! No Daren! You can’t just– You can’t just kill people! When I killed that man, he was bad! Your mother wasn’t bad! She was your mother! Your fucking mother!” I let him go dropping to my knees as my own pride and joy had taken our problems into his own hands.

“We can live happily ever after without her… We can! We can! We can!” a tantorum coming into place as he swung his arms, the gun going off firing into the ceiling.

“I did this for you, you ungrateful bastard! I did this for us! We can be happy!” his words of pent up aggression thrust into me like the venom of a snake. As tears filled my eyes, the only thing I could think of was her. I stood up and rushed towards the bed again, bringing my arms around the limp broken corpse.

“You still pick that deranged bitch over me!? How could you!? You think you’d appreciate it! This is so unfair! Unfair! Unfair! Un–” His speech stopped as he took a step towards the bed, anger aside and a grin forming on his face yet again.

“Everyone knew of your fighting, Daddy. They all knew how you and Mommy didn’t get along. They would never know it was me– they could think that you killed Mommy and then yourself!” the moment those words hit my ears I turned to face him, my lip quivered, my mind raced and in that moment, I knew that anything I did was futile.

“I’d be the victim, Daddy. The victim of a crazed man and a mean woman– I’d be the little boy who got away.” The end of his sentence was influenced by a slight laugh.

I was a failure to my wife, a failure of a Police officer and as the father of this young boy, an even bigger failure. My own child, my son, he
had changed and been affected by me, his own father, this whole time and what could I had done to stop him? Probably nothing. My fate had been sealed and my love for him unconditional as he lifted the cold barrelled weapon that I had respectively used to enforce the law towards my head and pulled the trigger.

Love Bites

By Raine Inozori

 

Her eyelashes curled like African grass blowing in the wind.

He had been sitting in a restaurant while he waited for her, and the wait had been well worth it. The creature that now sat before him was the most beautiful he had ever seen. She had full, red lips, an angular face, and eyes that shone like emeralds. Her platinum blond hair fell down her back in gentle waves.

A woman such as her didn’t belong on this shabby date, with such an average man like him. She didn’t belong in this gilded restaurant that made onlookers think it was fancy until they walked inside. She deserved a handsome, successful man who could take her to the Ritz every two weeks.

He had a slim face, high cheekbones, short cut brown hair, and blue eyes. He wasn’t exactly unattractive, but seeing her walk into the room, he felt unattractive.

“Samuel?” She asked him across the table. He must have looked funny, just staring at her and not saying a word.

“Oh! Um… Sam. You can call me Sam. Everybody does.” He told her with a nervous smile.

She smiled back. he had been expecting a wide, brilliant smile. But it wasn’t. It was small, shy, even demure.

“Ok, then. I’ll call you Sam. I’m Victoria.”

A beautiful name to match a beautiful lady. He wanted to say that to her, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. It would be weird.

He never should have let Kevin talk him into this blind date thing. Sam had known it would go bad. But, it was the strangest thing: She didn’t seem put off by him at all, even though he was probably sweating buckets, and all he seemed to be doing was gawking at her. He was all too aware of the people around them, casting glances in their direction every now and again. They were probably wondering how a loser like him, managed to hook a girl like her

But he hadn’t. It was just a blind date.

A few more minutes of awkward, clipped conversation ensued before a waiter came by to take their orders.

“Ladies first.” The waiter said, with a wink to Victoria. She gave him one of those shy smiles of hers.

“I’ll have the steak. Rare, please.”

The waiter nodded. “And you, Sir?” He asked Sam.

“I’ll just get the same as her.” The waiter nodded again before heading off. He must have been good at his job, because Sam hadn’t seen an order pad or
anything.

It seemed like an eternity of even more awkward conversation before the waiter came back with both of their plates. Sam was pretty hungry by now, so he picked up his knife and fork, and started cutting. As he ate, he would occasionally glance up at Victoria.

She would cut up a piece of steak, nice and small, put it in her mouth, and suck on it before taking out the now grey piece of meat, and setting it off to the side on her plate.

Sam was significantly confused. Why order a steak if you weren’t going to eat it? The strangest part was, she was doing it like it was completely normal. She
showed no signs of being embarrassed at all. In fact, when she looked up and saw him staring, she met his eyes and smiled. Smiled! it was baffling.

Of course, from that point forward the entire date was even more awkward. What was he supposed to say about that? However from this point forward Victoria was a lot more talkative.

“I’ve always found it fascinating how people act in groups.”

“Did you know that when it rains, Turkeys will stare at the sky with their beaks open until they drown?”

“My grandmother used to make the best chocolate chip cookies.”

No matter how uninteresting her words, Sam couldn’t help but be entranced. And it seemed like she never stopped talking. Sam was vaguely aware of the waiter taking their plates.

It was around midnight when she stopped talking. And as if someone released him from some sort of spell, he became aware of his surroundings again.

The restaurant was empty.

Where had everybody gone? Surely there was another couple out this late, right? This was the city after all. There had to be more people out.

When he looked back to Victoria, he found she was gone. Where had she gone now? What was going on? Suddenly, he felt a strong hand grip him by the back of the neck, and slam his face into the table in front of him. Sam struggled against his unknown assailant, but the person didn’t relent. At one point, he thought he felt an arm buckle, but he still couldn’t get away. Then he heard a voice in his ear:

“Just relax, Sam. it will be over soon.”

It was Victoria’s voice.

This made his stop struggling, mostly out of confusion. There was no way she was this strong. Then he felt something at his neck that made him gasp. It was a sharp pain, like she had stabbed him with something, but it also came with warmth. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but he felt himself growing weaker and weaker with each passing moment. He stared at the analogue clock on the wall until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, and he felt himself slip away into the dark.

Lady Lindy’s Landing

By Megan Finsel

 

They found the first message scribbled on the underside of one of the many shards of metal. This was probably from the nosecone, they assumed. But the wreckage was scattered across the beach, and each piece was a puzzle that slowly explained the unexplainable. The first note sounded as shocked as to be expected. It read:

We have crash landed. Fred hit his head and I tried to save him, but there was too much blood. Unfortunately, he died a few hours ago. There is very little left of our plane and from what I can tell we’ve landed on some island, in the middle of the Pacific. I think we’re off course. It is almost sundown and this will be my first night sleepingoutdoors. But I refuse fear. She signed it A.E., and that was all.

They pictured her as she emerged from the twin-engine Lockheed Model 10 Electra, blinking in the evening sunlight and clouds of smoke. Had the palm
forest anticipated the crash? Had their fronds seen the craft coming, smoke boiling from its engines as it fell from the Heavens? Had the seas stirred when
the plane met the shore, scattering seashells, foam and sand?

The second note was scrawled on the back of the only half of the propeller which was to be found. They could imagine her sitting there besides
the campfire she had made, writing the message with the only pen she could find in her meager supplies.

I buried Fred’s body today as well as I could, she wrote. There was sadness in her handwriting, and they could feel her pain. This was my first full day here. There was nothing else written.

The next note they found was on the left aileron; they couldn’t find the right one. It read: I slept in the plane last night, or what was left of it that hadn’t burned. It was not comfortable but bearable. It’s hotter here than I thought it would be. In my imagination I always assumed it would be romantic to be stranded on a deserted island, but it is growing lonesome. Today is day two.

Another message was found on the right wing flap and the handwriting was excited, or frightened, or most likely a little of both.

I decided to leave the plane today, it read, and it was productive. I found some fruit. Four coconuts, a few bananas and what I think is a mango. They could imagine her wandering the sandy shores, the surf lapping at her ankles, the sun glistening through her hair. Perhaps this island isn’t all bad, but I will need to find fresh water soon. Salt water, I discovered, is undrinkable. This
is day three…

I’m getting sunburned, my skin is pealing, my eyes hurt and I am always hot. There is no relief. I ate the last banana today and now I’m unbelievably thirsty. I keep thinking of Fred and how he died. This is my fault. And you, George, I think of you. I miss your voice and your eyes; all the little things I never imagined I could miss so much. This is day four… no wait, five… I can’t remember…

Then they found several messages written on the fuselage in short, panicky handwriting which was beginning to fade either from a drying pen or the remorseless sun. They were both frightening and disturbing messages; something to be concerned of.

I don’t think I am alone here on this island. At night I hear strange noises, like voices, but it could be the wind in the palmettos. And there is what sounds like drumming in the distance. Or it could be thunder. I can’t tell anymore, and I’ve lost count of the days….

They pictured her huddled within the wreckage, scrawling these messages while peeking through the broken windows out at the night with wary eyes.

…I went on my walk this morning and there was more rustling in the brush today; I think I was being followed. I definitely hear the voices tonight. They’re singing or chanting or something.  I need to protect myself… somehow…

Then the messages began to fade and cut off, as if she were unable to finish her sentences.

The rustling was louder tonight, and when I came back from my walk I found footprints around the wreckage… I might be in danger… I don’t think I’m aloneall I have is a little piece of metal I sharpened… I think I heard something…

The one they found on the fin was the most alarming yet; it was more a scribble than a cohesive message and they could imagine her kneeling in the sweltering noontime sun, writing it out in a panic.

This is for anyone who finds these messages… I am definitely not alone on this island. I don’t know who or what they are, but I’m sure I saw eyes in the dark of the woods, and I know they know I’m here. I have to hide…

The last one was written in brown, possibly dried blood, on a tiny piece of the rudder, and it was smudged almost beyond legibility. They could only make out three little words, and they decided they had enough evidence to put to rest the mystery of her disappearance and provide closure for her husband. It was tragic to end a legacy like hers in this way, yet history would remember her for the heroine she truly was. Abruptly upon reading it, they packed up and left the island. The message read:

They’ve found me.

 

Bio: Writing is my passion; it’s my way to share with the world how I see, and help people see and feel things they might not otherwise. To me, words contain great power, and I want to use that power to change feelings, to make smiles, and to create new perspectives. If I’ve made even one person feel better through my writing, then my job is complete. I’m working on my A.A degree and hope to someday become a Special Education teacher. Ultimately, I just want to inspire others 🙂

What’s the Song?

By Tim Kujawa

 

How do you differentiate your best friend from shape shifting androids who have a copy of said friend’s memories? That’s the inconvenient question Sawyer had to answer as he held his gun at two Geoff’s, only one was his friend.  He had to think of a question to ask them that just having his friend’s memories alone couldn’t answer.

Both Geoffs looked nervous. These androids were good at simulating emotion, though they never actually understood it. The only way to know for sure someone’s one of them is by killing them and see if the corpse combusted into flames. Sawyer’s hands were jittery, he kept his finger, the one on the hand with the tattoo that said ‘Elizabeth’ off the trigger, for now.

“What’s the song?” Sawyer asked. The two Geoffs simultaneously cocked their head to the right, typical Geoff reaction.

“What?” asked Geoff 1

“What is, the song?” Sawyer said.

Geoffs went deep into their memory. The fake one, was applying algorithms to all the songs the two friends listened together. The vagueness of the riddle perplexed it but numbers would prevail. Logically the one they listened together the most would be the answer. The real one was just remembering. Before the techno uprising, before these two scholars became soldiers. He remembered his friend come up to him one afternoon.

#

“There was this girl, we met at the checkout line at Target. We were both really disgusted at the song ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ playing in the store. Then, I dunno
we got coffee and talked for hours. She had to go but we exchanged numbers.” Sawyer paced in front of Geoff.

“So what’s the problem?” Geoff asked.

“I don’t know what to say to her when I call back. I mean she’s just so beautiful, and smart, and funny. How the hell could I have any kind of shot with her?”

“Just call her, she liked you enough to give you her number so that has to mean something.”

#

‘Achy Breaky Heart? No, look further.’ Thought the real Geoff.

#

“Amazing first date!” said Sawyer as they sat at their bar. “I took her out for dinner then she took me to this karaoke bar and we actually got up and sang ‘Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto.’ It was a great night.”  Sawyer took another drink from his glass. Geoff took note in the gleam in his friend’s eye.

“She’s gotta be something to get you up on a stage and attempt the robot.” Said Geoff.

“She is man, I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

#

‘Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto’? No, further, much further.  Geoff started to sweat as did his counterpart, the android was doing its job at imitating well.

#

The two friends were dressed in tuxedos holding their scotch and puffing on their cigars.

“Hell of a toast you made Geoff.” Sawyer tapped his glass to Geoff’s as they watched everyone having a great time at the reception.

“I should write a book ‘how to give a kick ass best man’s toast.’”

“Has a nice ring to it.”

“Nah, Mrs. Rachel Sawyer has a nice ring to it.” Said Geoff. Sawyer put down his drink.

“Here comes our song.” Sawyer walked over to his new wife and they danced to the song ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’ by Elvis.

#

‘‘Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’? No, more powerful.’ Thought Geoff.

#

Geoff let himself into the house and stomped the snow off his boots.

“Hi Geoff. Come in here and get warm.” Said Rachel from the other room. Geoff walked into the living room where Sawyer and Rachel sat on their couch between the Christmas tree and fireplace.

“Hey buddy. I bet having a fireplace in front of you is a nice change from a computer screen.” Said Sawyer.

“I promised myself no work for the rest of the year.” Geoff sat in a chair.

“As much as I like the idea of downloading memories of our wedding night into a hard drive the world will have to wait a little longer.”

“How’s the peanut?” asked Geoff

“Kicking like crazy. Must know Uncle Geoff came in.” said Rachel rubbing her bulging tummy.

“Can’t wait to spoil the crap out of that kid. I’m going to load it up with sugar and toss it back to you.”

“Yeah, you just lost any supervision over it.” Said Sawyer then laughed. Rachel gently rubbed her belly and began singing.

“Silent night, Holy night, All is calm…”

#

In spite of his dire straits Geoff grinned. That Christmas was one of his happiest memories. But that wasn’t the song. No, the song that will forever stay imprinted in his mind, and Sawyers, the song he had wished he never heard, was two years later.

#

Geoff and Sawyer walked into the E.R and saw Rachel sitting in a chair next to a hospital bed. On the bed laid a little girl with brown hair that went down to her shoulders. Her eyes were closed and her little chest slowly going up and down.

“How is she?” asked Sawyer.

“She’s stable for now. But her fever won’t go down.” Said Rachel. Sawyer rubbed Rachel’s back and kissed her head.

“Why don’t you go get some coffee sweetheart, I’ll be right here.” Rachel nodded and got up, gave Geoff a hug then left the room. Sawyer sat in the chair Rachel was in.

“Hey Lizzy girl, Daddy’s here.” Sawyer put her little hand into his and rubbed it with his thumb. His other hand lightly stroked her hair as he began singing
softly. “Baaaby mine, don’t you cry…”

#

“’Baby Mine’.” Said Geoff 2.

“What?” said Sawyer. The other Geoff looked at Geoff 2 surprisingly. Tears weld up in Geoff 2’s eyes.

“The last song you ever sang to your daughter, was ‘Baby Mine’.” Geoff 1 looked between Geoff 2 and Sawyer.

BANG Sawyer turned his gun to Geoff 1 and shot him. Geoff 1’s body fell, seconds later the body on the ground combusted into flames. Sawyer dropped to his knees and looked at the tattoo on his hand, tears rolling down his cheek. He held on tightly to a hand full of grass. Geoff went up to his friend and massaged his shoulder.

“You have to let go. We have to move forward.” Sawyer’s fingers slowly loosened. His right hand went up to his face as ‘Elizabeth’ wiped the tears. Geoff helped up his friend once again and they moved on.

 

Nice Guys Finish Last

A crash, sound of rumbling, a bang. Galvin’s eyes opened as he lay in bed, the sweat running across his forehead.

“What was that?” he thought, bringing his hand to wipe the small drops of liquid from his body.

Another crash, he got out of bed quickly, stumbling to the window as he tried regaining his senses; the sooner he could do that, the sooner he could comprehend what was going on. His hands rested on the window sill, grogginess causing his vision to only make out blurs, his hands quickly moving to his face to shake away the slumber he had just escaped, a bright glow coming through the window from the world outside. It was then he truly realized what was going on; the heat was apparent. The flames of the building beneath him spreading, the screams of confused children looking for their families. He raced to his door, smoke sneaking in from beneath it. Out of habit he instinctively reached for the doorknob, the metal too hot to handle as he pulled back in pain, the flesh of his palm seering and singeing, a layer of skin being left behind on the metal; a howl escaping his lips in utter horror. Pressing against the door did nothing; it wouldn’t budge. He was 26 floors up, escaping through the window wasn’t an option.

“what do I do!” the thoughts racing through his mind as he slammed into the door once more. Then it hit him– this could well be his last few moments of life. Galvin had always tried to do the right thing, bringing happiness to everyone’s life before himself , all that hard work of living a small simple life, going down the drain in a terrible accident.

“Veronica…” the word leaving his mouth in desperation as his back pressed against the wall. Smoke filling his lungs, the heat beginning to affect his barely clothed body.

“Veronica.”

 

#

 

“Veronica.” Galvin said as he stirred from his sleep. His lover laying in bed besides him. He looked over to her, noticing the beauty that his lover was; how she could make him feel. His finger traced her delicate collarbones, feeling her paper like skin before touching her silk hair, she rolled over, their eyes met as their arms wrapped around each other and their lips touched.

“Morning Beautiful.” Galvin said as he embraced her more, loving the way their bodies touched and felt together.

“Veronica.”

 

#

 

“Veronica.” Galvin’s breath hitched before finishing his sentence.

“Veronica, it’s not your fault that the baby wasn’t strong enough.” the worried expressions clearly showing his disappointment in the situation.

“Maybe I just wasn’t strong enough, maybe this is just a sign.” she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. Though it was true that they had been together for quite some time and were trying to start their lives together, something just always got in the way.

“You know that’s ridiculous. Things just happen and we can always-always try again.” He said slipping his arms around her waist as she placed her head on his shoulder.

#

 

The glow from the flames grew brighter and the air thicker with every moment that passed. Memories flooded Galvin’s mind as he continued to lay on the floor, his gaze becoming cloudier. He shook his head.

“Got to get up. Come on– fight!” he thought as he managed to get to his feet, dizziness from the lack of oxygen only causing more trouble.

#

“Veronica.” Galvin slurred stumbling into his apartment.

“Veronica! I’m home!” the intoxicated man said as he tripped over his own feet, sending him crashing to the floor. Looking up from his fall he noticed the engagement band she decided not to take when she unexpectedly left. His life had changed since then, the past few days he’d drowned himself in his own sorrow, not remembering what was right in his world and what was fabricated. He felt he lost the greatness that made him thrive. That paperskin, silk hair and now he would lose everything from her, he crawled the rest of the way to the table holding the ring, reached up, grasped it with his finger and studied it.

“I don’t need this, I don’t need you.” Galvin said in a hiss as he pulled himself up with the support of the table and headed to the kitchen, dropping the ring down the sink and turning on the faucet.

His mind wandered on what the reason could’ve been that she was now absent. They both had stable jobs and although it turned out Galvin was the weak link in reproduction, they said they’d work through it. Maybe he was wrong, maybe the conversation had gone another way. Maybe he said we could work through it and she didn’t respond.

“Most of those conversations went that way” he internalized as he slumped back to the floor, feeling the kitchen tiles coldness hit his skin.

 

#

 

Waking up every morning without her now had become a routine. He woke up, went to the bathroom, looked himself in the eyes and said:

“Make it a good day.”

After this he would undress, shower, wash his face, his hair, his body, get out– dry off and get dressed. Same color shirt, same color pants, same color tie. He would walk into kitchen, toast the same type of bagel and eat it.

His life has become such a routine that all the color in his life was gone. Yet, he hadn’t noticed, realized or even assumed these things. He was content and for some unknown reason everything felt right.

Galvin had changed, he found no resolution, he had nothing in his world, except for his suit and tie.

#

He stumbled fourth, getting to the window, the heat causing the ledge to clamp onto the frame preventing it to open. Thoughts crossing his mind as he pondered a solution. He moved to his closet, grabbing the lone dress shirt placed neatly on the wire hanger. Only a few moments passed before the shirt was tightly tied around his hand, using this as protection he moved back to the window punching through it.

#

The sound of glass breaking brought Galvin back from his daze, the t.v was on and company was over. He looked over to the corner of the room to see a picture frame on the floor.

“Galvin! Sorry man! But you really shouldn’t have pictures of Veronica out anymore bud!.” Eric said picking up the remains of the once framed memory and throwing it in the trash.

Six months had passed since Veronica left him, his routine had changed and he finally awoke from his depression to become the person he once was.

“Hey Galvin!” Michael, his other friend said patting his back.

“Excited to lose another match today!” Eric said laughing from the other room as Galvin protested.

“You know you only beat me because of those Gorilla hands of yours!” Galvin said with a laugh.

His friends pulled him from his slumber without Veronica, his life was back on track and finally everything was for the better. He realized that though Veronica did in fact leave, he could do better. He could love himself and have friends that loved him for nothing more but their friendship– he was happy. He often would find himself staring at the front door, waiting for her to walk through, smiling, her small frame running to his, the love they once had re-igniting. Though this would never be a reality again, he knew it wasn’t something terrible to think of every now and then.

 

#

 

The flames engulfed the rest of the building as everything around began to fall. The smell of the burning wood, concrete and cherished linen filled the halls and atmosphere. The fire department had yet to get there– though it had gone past the point of no return.

“Help! Help! I’m up here!” screamed Galvin sticking his head out the window.

“They can’t hear me… I’m too far up.” he murmured as his gaze dropped down to everything below. His life was finally in order, everything was back to normal and of course something out of his control, like childbirth, would happen, yet again.

The bodies of the people trapped in the building would be mummified in ash and copper, death being too quick to escape.

Galvin refused to end that way, he moved back inside and quickly turned around. The heat was becoming too dangerous to stand, the flames now entering his apartment, the smoke becoming thicker and Galvin’s body becoming numb. He fell back against the ledge, his sight blurring and his judgement almost out of his grasp. He went to move, but only ended up going backwards, his now exhausted body slipping through the frame of the window.

As Galvin fell those 26 stories only one thing crossed his mind. The sight of her small body, her smile, soft touch and the laugh she exuded when everything was right. She was his soulmate, his one true love and though she wasn’t with him now, she was in spirit as he hit the cold concrete at the bottom of his journey.

“Galvin, wake up honey.” the white form said.

“You’re home.”

Bio: Doug Kolakowski born and raised in Sarasota, Florida– picked up writing at a young age. With the help of his parents and the guidance they’ve always given him, he’s been able to follow his dreams thoroughly and accomplish many goals set forth.

The Labyrinth

 

This black labyrinth reaches into the endless chasms of the Earth to a destination known only by fate for each who pass through it. These walls have never seen stars nor felt the warmth of sunlight. They reach deeper and deeper into the darkness, housing a fate that each of its travelers seeks.

Alan had been seeking out his fate for over a 163,752 steps. Exactly how many more steps he had taken he couldn’t tell. Alan had lost all sense of time thousands of steps ago and only had the echoes of his footsteps to tell him how long he had been in the darkness.

The darkness was a black fog that reached deep into the bowels of the earth holding secrets that Alan forcibly tried not to think about. As he journeyed deeper into the labyrinth, the flames of his torch fought back the black for a few meters, though Alan knew it barely singed the darkness.

Alan stopped his march through the labyrinth for a moment, and held his torch up to the walls. He placed the edge of a long knife on the stone walls, sliding the blade down and across until he carved a thin star into the labyrinth wall. When he finished his mark, he flipped the knife in his hand and sheathed it at his hip, looking at the other marks on the walls.

There was a long streak of dark brown, probably the blood of another one of the labyrinth’s victims. There were claw marks, possibly from one of the strange animals that hunted within the labyrinth’s walls. There were chunks of stone missing from the walls, either weathered away by ages come and gone or broken away by a life now long lost to the labyrinth.

Each mark had a story to tell, a fate to find within the labyrinth’s endless dirt road. Alan wondered for a moment what his mark would tell to those who passed by after the labyrinth had gifted him his fate. Would it inspire them to move forward? Or would it be lost amongst the sea of stories these walls would tell?

Alan shook the thoughts from his head and pushed his legs forward, continuing his march even though his muscles ached with fatigue. It was best not to ponder on the future too long within the labyrinth. A man could go inside filling his head with such thoughts in this endless darkness. For Alan, there was only the now, and his Fate ahead.

He held his torch up high in a fruitless attempt to cast more light down the nebulous chasm. Each step he took echoed back at him throughout the long halls, chiming a lonely tune. A calm sadness washed over him as he listened to the echoes of his footsteps, imagining that perhaps they were an invisible man walking beside him.

For tens of thousands of steps, Alan had trekked through the darkness, seeking out his fate with the tenacity of a desperate man. He moved onward, alone in the dark, because he needed what lay at the end of the labyrinth. He needed to find his fate.

But the darkness had taken its toll.

Alan found himself thinking of his family outside more often now. The  only other life Alan had come across in the labyrinth were small rodents skittering across the ground, and the horrific sounds he heard during the few hours he rested. The rodents made a decent meal when he grew hungry–having run out of food supplies a few thousand steps ago–but the endless cacophony of sounds he heard made him afraid to put out his torch and sleep, keeping him awake for what seemed like eons.

Alan’s legs grew weak from his march, and he knew he’d have to rest soon. He stopped and sat down, resting his back against the wall, holding his torch up next to him. He was too afraid to put out the fires just yet.

He looked around, trying to predict what might come should he fall asleep, but the light from the flames couldn’t pierce the darkness for more than a few meters. After a few fruitless moments, Alan put the torch down on the stone floor in front of him and watched as the flames slowly dwindled. The darkness crept in as the light receded and as the black came closer, Alan found his hand reaching closer and closer to his knife. By time the flames had disappeared and the black fog had engulfed him, Alan’s hand firmly gripped the hilt of his weapon and he listened, and waited, for the sounds to begin.

Alan jumped when he heard a soft cackling like that of a bugs wings. The sound came closer and closer until it sounded as if it were right next to his head and he jumped when he thought he felt something crawling up his shoulder. He patted himself down, but felt nothing crushed under his palm. He brought his legs up to his chest, hugging them tightly.

A long howl reached through the darkness and into Alan’s ears. The howl was followed by a symphony of howls, and as one howl began to fade, another would rise in its place. It was almost like a song to Alan, but one that ripped into his very soul. He buried his face into his knees

His heart raced, but his eyelids grew heavy. The howls persisted through the darkness and though he tried to fight it, soon enough he drifted off into a deep sleep.

He dreamt of sunlight shining against dark red hair.

#

A low growl resonated in Alan’s dreams, jerking him awake. His eyes popped open and he looked from side-to-side, but the darkness revealed nothing to his weary eyes. He patted the ground in front of him, and his hand eventually landed on the hard wood of the torch. He gripped the torch in his hands and lit it. Flames burst from its head and light filled the small space around him, cutting through the darkness and burning his eyes with the sudden brightness.

He brought his hands over his eyes and held the torch out in front of him, trying to cast the light deeper into the darkness, but the darkness just pushed the light back.

Alan relied on his hearing instead, listening intently for the noise that jolted him awake. The world was silent save for the torch’s cackling flame and Alan’s own beating heart ringing in his ears.

Alan stood up from the wall, unsheathing his knife just in case. He moved forward slowly, cautiously, deathly afraid that his next step might be his last. His footsteps echoed throughout the halls as they always did, but this time their tune didn’t feel lonely. Alan could feel the presence of another life nearby, and while he found himself excited by the prospect, Alan knew that the labyrinth was not known for the gifts its travelers received during their journey.

Alan winded around a corner and three steps in he heard the growl once more. This time it sounded like it had come from in front him, and Alan stopped in his tracks. He held his knife in front of him and stared into the darkness as if trying to will the creature out from hiding. The growl receded and all was silent once more save for the cackling of the flame.

Alan stood frozen as the echoes of inhuman steps tracked around him. He followed the sound as worked through the darkness until it was behind him. Having had enough, Alan pushed his torch forward in his hand and this time, the torch’s light pierced the darkness just enough. There it stood. The creature of the labyrinth.

It stood on four long legs, each with a large claw digging into the earth below. Thick muscles bulged from underneath its oily, black skin and a long maw protruded from its cheeks, with lips slightly curled up to reveal sharp yellow fangs. Alan found himself staring into the creature’s face, but it had no eyes to stare back. There was only a thick slab of skin where its eyes and brows should have been

Alan found himself trembling. “What are you?”

As the last words slipped off his tongue the creature jumped, smashing into Alan’s body. The torch flew out of Alan’s hands and rolled across the ground, dousing the flames. He barely managed to throw his knife-arm up in an attempt to slash at the creature’s jaw, but only his forearm slammed into the creature’s neck.

Alan could feel the creature digging its claws into his shoulder and screamed in pain, desperately trying to hold back the monster as its maw snapped in his face. The darkness did not reveal the monster to him, but he could feel its neck straining against his forearm and smell the scent of decaying flesh on its breath. Each loud crack of its closing jaw ripped through the air and Alan could only imagine how close each snap of its mouth came to tearing of his skin.

The creature dug its claw deeper into his shoulder and Alan screamed louder. He could feel his fate slipping away from him, his journey falling into nothingness . . . just another mark on the wall. He could feel his death drawing closer in the darkness.

But from the rim of his sight a light pierced the blackness and he could once more see a half of the creature’s eyeless face. The creature snapped harder than before, and Alan pulled his head back, throwing his cheek into the floor while pushing his arm into the creature’s neck. The creature’s fangs cut across his cheek and he could feel the blood sink from the stinging wound.

The creature’s head shot to the side as Alan looked back up and suddenly a streak orange slammed into the creature’s skull. The creature let out a screech that sounded as much like pain as it did fury, and was thrown off of Alan. Fire engulfed the creature and it made a painful howl that could break through the silence of death

Alan watched the flames rise with a twisted joy until he felt a hand grip his shirt and pull him up. He scrambled up to his feet to follow the hand and looked up to see exactly what’s hand was grabbing him.

The light of a torch showed just enough. It was a man.

“Run. More will come,” the Stranger said before spinning around and breaking off into a dash.

Without hesitation Alan followed the Stranger into the darkness, adrenaline challenging his legs to run faster than they had ever run before.

Their running steps broke through the usual silence of the labyrinth and Alan tried to count each one, but he couldn’t keep up. The sounds of both his and the Stranger’s steps disrupted his count, and Alan felt lost without his only grip on reality.

He tried to focus on the light of the Stranger’s torch and followed as best he could. Soon, more steps joined Alan and the Stranger’s, but these were the inhuman steps of the labyrinth’s creatures. They had heard their brother’s dying howls and came to seek their vengeance on the men who stole his life.

“We have to hurry!” the Stranger yelled into the darkness. “I can feel the labyrinth’s pull, but they will reach us faster than our Fate if we don’t push harder.”

Alan only nodded in return, knowing that the man couldn’t see him. Alan wondered what the man meant by the “labyrinth’s pull” until he too felt the strings pulling on his heart, as if they were guiding him down a path. He felt hope in those strings, and he prayed that he wasn’t being led under false pretense.

The creatures’ growls cut through the darkness behind them and the Stranger ran even faster. Alan had to push harder too, but he found himself lagging behind. Would his Fate be stolen from him so easily?

“It’s not long now! I can see a door!”

Alan wondered how the Stranger could see through the black fog, but it wasn’t the time to question things. He simply followed, and hoped.

The growls were louder now.

The stranger’s light stopped.

“What are you–“ Alan cut himself short when he saw what the Stranger had stopped for. There really was a door.

It towered above them high along the labyrinth’s walls and the torchlight revealed a sea of inscriptions carved into the door. There was a single, long handle just at a man’s height and the Stranger was grabbing for it, trying to pull the door open.

“Come here and help me!” he said, and Alan obeyed.

Gripping the door handle with both hands, he pulled back with all his strength alongside the Stranger. The growls were close now and Alan looked behind him as he pulled. He could’ve sworn he saw shapes moving closer in the darkness and they compelled him to pull even harder.

The door broke free, creating a narrow open just big enough for a man.

“Get in!” the Stranger said, and they both squeezed through the door. When Alan made it through, the Stranger shut the door behind them.

It wasn’t long after when he heard the demonic barks of the creatures and their claws scratching at the door. The Stranger and he were safe . . . for now.

“We did it!” Alan said. It hurt his throat to speak. He hadn’t realized just how long it had been since he last spoke, but it felt good to no longer be alone.

The Stranger didn’t answer. Alan looked at him and saw that the Stranger was looking off into the darkness as if he had found something within it.

“What is it?” Alan asked.

“Look at her,” the Stranger said.

Alan turned to face the darkness and slowly the black fog receded revealing a dimly lit room with stone tiles. In the center there stood a woman, shackled to a stone pillar in the ground.

When Alan looked upon her, his heart beat so fast he thought it would burst from his chest. She was clad in a white dress that reached down to her ankles and her figure was frail. Her face was gaunt, but she wasn’t old at all. She must have been starving. Alan looked into her face and saw strands of deep red hair had fallen over her eyes. There was something familiar and powerful about seeing her. Like an ethereal hand was reaching out from her, pulling him in.

Alan then knew. She was his Fate. Finally, he had reached the end of his journey.

“Finally, it’s over,” the Stranger said. “I’ve found her.”

Alan’s hopes shattered and his heart seemed to slow to a dead stop. Was this Stranger feeling the same as he? Did he believe the girl to be his fate as well?

“No . . . “ Alan said, his voice frail and weak like the girl.

The Stranger looked at Alan with a confused face, but it quickly dawned on him what must have been. “You felt it too?” he said. “The strings pulling you down the labyrinth?”

Alan nodded.

The Stranger sighed as a look of sorrow filled his face. “Then go. Hurry! Break her bonds and get out of this place.”

He was giving her up. “But what about you?” Alan said quickly.

“I’ll be fine. Just go.”

“But–“

“GO!”

Alan obeyed, running to the center of the room where the woman stood. She was thinner than he thought she was and her hair was dirty and dying. Her skin was drying and her wrists were covered in dried blood and bruises from where the shackles tore at her skin.

Alan grabbed the shackles to inspect them, trying to find if there was a way to pull them off, but he found nothing. No keyhole, or weakness in the metal. It was as if the shackles had been molded around the woman’s wrist. “What do I do?” Alan asked himself.

“Hurry!” The Stranger said from afar. “They’re breaking through the door!”

Alan heard the creatures throwing themselves against the stone door. A loud banging resonated within the room and he thought he could hear something crackling nearby the door.

He had to seize his Fate now.

Alan grabbed the shackles and started smashing them against the pillar. He threw them against the stone harder and harder, but he couldn’t even put a dent in the shackles’ chains. He tried again and again, but nothing came of it.

He pulled out his knife and in a desperate move tried to cut through the chains, sawing at the metal until the edge of his knife’s blade went dull.

He couldn’t break the woman’s bonds.

“I can’t do it,” Alan said to himself.

He had failed.

“Alan . . .” the woman moaned.

Alan’s eyes shot open. Was she calling for him? Did this woman know him?

“I’m here,” the Stranger said beside him. He pushed Alan out of the way and grabbed the woman’s hands.

The woman stirred a bit at his touch and Alan realized it had not been him, but the Stranger she had been calling for. Had they shared a name this whole time?

“I’m sorry,” the Stranger said as he gripped her hand tightly.

“What are you going to do?” Alan asked.

“Break her wrists.”

Alan heard a loud snap as the Stranger jerked the woman’s wrist against the shackle and she screamed into the darkness above.

Alan froze, jaw dropped in astonishment.

There was another loud snap followed by another one of the woman’s screams before the stranger started pushing the woman’s hands through the shackles, forcing her fingers to slide through the shackles’ tight openings. She grunted and moaned in pain. Alan just watched as the Stranger freed her from her bonds and she fell to the floor.

The Stranger crouched next to her and lifted her into his arms, turning to face Alan. The Stranger presented the woman to him, urging him to take her into his arms.

“Go now! This is your chance. Take your Fate and Go!” the Stranger said.

It was his chance. The Stranger had freed her for him and he could just take her and run away, leaving the Stranger behind. The woman would believe he had saved her and he could return to his family, to sunlight. He could leave this place and once again start counting days instead of steps. But, was it his to take?

“No,” Alan said, to both himself and the Stranger.

The Stranger looked confused. “What do you mean no?”

“She’s your Fate. Not mine. I’ll just have to find a new one.” Alan tightened his grip on the hilt of his knife smiling.

The light around them was fading away and the banging was getting louder, stronger. Soon the creatures would break through the door.

“Idiot, you need to take her away from this place,” the Stranger said.

“No! You do!” Alan thrust his knife ahead of him, aiming its tip at the Stranger. “You freed her from her bonds, now finish the job!”

The Stranger stood for a moment, but nodded, smiling ever so slightly. “I’ll come back for you,” he said.

“No. You won’t,” Alan said. “Now go.”

The Stranger held the girl in his arms and ran into the growing darkness away from the door, leaving Alan to stand there in the last bits of light the room held.

He would have to face the labyrinth and its creatures again. Perhaps he would have to face another hundred-thousand steps. It didn’t matter.

The stone door came crashing down in a thunderous roar and Alan could once more hear the growls of the creatures of the labyrinth. Light faded away, leaving only the darkness behind.

The creatures of the labyrinth surrounded him.

Bio: My name is William Hugel and I’ve lived in the Sarasota County area for my entire life. I began writing in early High School after being inspired by James Clavell’s Epic novel, “Shogun” and I would later be drawn into the fantasy genre by authors such as R.A. Salvatore, Brandon Sanderson, and Steven Erikson. I’ve always enjoyed telling stories and building worlds and writing has been my vent for this love.