*Dreamless

Moose reminded me that I wrote this story. This is a Fan Fiction piece based on characters from the anime series Ghost Hound. This is a series that Moose and I really enjoyed. It is a psychological horror. It is not what I expected it to be.

Taro wished he could dream. Since being at the university in Tokyo he hadn’t been able to dream let alone travel to the Unseen Realm. After five years he wasn’t sure he would ever do it again. He had hoped to Soul Traveled when he reached the island. His sleep was plagued by the pain in his chest.

He used the sleeve of is coat to clear the condensation from the glass as he looked at the passing scenery. He focused on the mountains. They seemed to have aged thousands of years in the time he’d been gone. He couldn’t see the shrine hidden among the trees. He wondered if Miyako would even be willing to talk to him again. He pressed on his chest and gasped as another round of pain threatened to crush his heart.

No one stood at the bus stop. He hadn’t told anyone he was coming home.

The winding road up to his house was slick from the light rain. Every step increased his heart rate. Puffs of breath accented the raspy breathing.

He watched the still from a distance, trying to regain his breath. People milled around the brewery, their focus on the product. One person paused in their movements and looked over at him, standing in the yellowed street light.

“Taro, is that you?”

Taro dropped his bags to accept a hug from Kei, the Master brewer. She nearly bowled him over.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? We would have sent a car to meet you. Come on out of the rain.” She kept an arm around him. He couldn’t even his breathing. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Did you hear about Miyako?” she asked. Her brows were drawn together.

“Yes.” Taro picked up his bags again and hurried to the house.

*

The next morning the sun peeked out over the trees as Taro rode his old bike into town. The pavement still showed wet patches but would be gone before lunch. The newsroom was packed with desks and chairs. One man sat in his chair with his feet propped up on the desk typing on a laptop that looked like any movement would send it crashing to the floor.

“Can we help you?” someone asked.

Taro tried to catch the eye of the man who was typing. “I was just hoping to have a few words with Masayuki.”

The man’s head popped up and a grin split his features. “Taro, why didn’t you tell me you were coming for a visit? How long are you here?” He just caught the laptop before it fell and set it on his desk.

Masayuki directed Taro to a small bakery down the street from his office.

“You’ve gotten taller,” Taro said as he looked at his friend. “And you cut your hair. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Masayuki ran a hand through his hair and grinned. “It just wasn’t cutting it for me anymore. It’s good to see you. How long are you in town?”

“I’m back. I just graduated and got a job.”

“You got a job back here? Why would you do that?”

“I’m the high school’s new psychological counselor,” Taro said peeling his pastry apart and hiding pieces of it in his napkin.

“Have you visited the others? I’m sure they would love to see you as well.”

“I plan on visiting everyone. But there’s something else.” Taro tossed his uneaten pastery in the garbage. “Have you seen anything in the Unseen World?”

Masayuki let out his breath. “I haven’t had an O.B.E. for almost three years now.”

“Do you know why?” Taro looked up, searching for any sign of pain on his friend’s face.

This time it was Masayuki who paused. “I moved in with Reika.”

Taro counted to three before he felt his voice would be normal. “I hope you and Dr. Otori are happy together.”

“We are,” Masayuki replied. “Most of the time.”

*

Taro sat on the steps leading up to the shrine. He held a letter in his hands that he had folded and refolded hundreds of times over the years. The year after he started his Masters he had received the letter in the mail: Taro, I’m getting married. The pain in his chest had started shortly after this.

“Taro? I hadn’t heard you were visiting.”

Taro was shaken from his reverie by the low voice. Makoto had gotten taller but nothing else had changed. His long hair was pushed back from his face, and no smile lines even hinted. He held a guitar case in his hand.

“It’s nice to see you, Makoto.” Taro stood and brushed at his trousers to clear the dirt. “What are you doing here?”

“I always come to the shrine at this time of day.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “She’s not dead.”

Taro stuffed the letter back in his pocket. “I know she’s not dead.”

“Do you regret leaving?”

They started the climb up to the shrine. The steps had been repaired in a few places and Taro focused on the new patches as he tried to keep his breathing even.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard.” Taro paused on the stairs, trying to regain his breath. The stairs continued upwards into the trees. “I feel the weight of everything I left behind. I wonder if I made a mistake and lost something irrevocably.”

“College made you speak in big words.” Makoto stood a few steps above him, his breathing catching only here and there.

“Did you ever want to leave?” Taro asked and winced at an especially sharp pain.

Makoto turned his back and started up the stairs again. When Taro reached the top Makoto was there with a glass of water.

“Thanks.”

“Taro?”

Miyako stood a few feet from him. She looked exactly how Taro pictured her. Her hair was still tied in two parts behind her ears. She didn’t wear her shrine maiden’s regalia, but rather plain clothes. There were holes starting in the knees of her trousers. Her mouth was the thin line of somberness that often covered it when she was young.

“Miyako-san.” Taro winced as he stuttered. “I hope I am not disturbing you, but I would like to talk to you and your husband.”

She folded her arms and looked him up and down before giving a nod. “Come into the shrine.”

*

Miyako’s husband was a thin fellow who often had to push his glasses back in place. He explained that he had come to the shrine to study with Miyako’s father. Taro nodded and clenched his hands. He had chosen to leave. There had never been anything between him and Miyako more than Taro’s childish infatuation.

“Taro?”

He looked up and met her steel gaze. It was the same look as always. When she turned towards her husband it soften. A faint smile played across her lips and the corners of her eyes crinkled.

“I wish to express my congratulations. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it to the wedding.” Taro held out a gift and bowed his head.

“That was thoughtful of you,” Miyako’s husband said taking the gift. “I have heard a lot about your adventures when you were all in high school. It is good to finally meet the last of the group.”

Taro smiled, taking in the sight of Miyako smiling. He still wondered what would have happened if he had stayed. Voices of children could be heard outside. Makoto sat in the corner the case across his lap. He set it aside and stood up.

Miyako’s husband waved him back in place. “I’ll go take care of that. Would any of you like something to drink or eat?”

All three shook their heads. Taro stared at the floor, a buzzing in his ears. He held his breath.

After Miyako’s husband disappeared, Miyako turned towards Taro.

“Are you alright?”

Taro shook his head, his breath coming in labored gasps.

“College made you soft. We used to run up and down those stairs all the time,” Makoto said.

Taro pressed a hand too his chest. “It hurts. It’s like part of me is missing and my body can’t fix it.” His vision blackened around the edges. “I can’t do this anymore.”

*

Taro lay on a futon and stared up at the ceiling. Candlelight flickered across the rafters and he could just make out thin trails of smoke. Music thrummed. He tried to sit up and settled for rolling to his side. Makoto sat in the corner a child asleep on the floor in front of him. He held a guitar and picked at the notes softly.

“Is she yours?” Taro asked in a hoarse voice.

Makoto looked up from what his fingers were doing and nodded, not missing a note that Taro could tell.

“I didn’t realize you had a child. Are you married?”

Another nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There are a lot of things you would know if you had bothered to keep in touch,” Makoto said.

“I tried — I wanted to. I didn’t want to leave.”

“No one forced you to.”

“Once I decided not to take over the family business, I had to find my own path. I always planned on coming back.”

“At least you could have come to visit us.” Makoto’s voice was soft. “You were the glue that held us together.”

“You and Miyako still seem close.”

“Our daughter’s enjoy each other’s company. And my wife is religious. She finds it important, so I find it important.”

Taro pushed himself up and his breath caught.

“You should see a doctor.”

“I have. There is nothing physically wrong with me. I thought that seeing Miyako—” he trailed off. “But that was apparently a stupid conclusion.”

Makoto strummed another chord. “How is your spirit doing?”

Taro shook his head and lay back down. “Nothing’s there. I can’t enter the Unseen World anymore.”

“We all tried to leave. And we all came crawling back. Even Masayuki can’t last more than a month away from the shrine.”

“What do you think it is?”

Makoto leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Our spirits are tied here. Our bodies can go, but our spirits stay. I’ve seen flashes of your spirit in the unseen realm. I didn’t realize it wasn’t your conscious self. I thought you were just ignoring me.”

“I wouldn’t ignore you.”

“That’s what I kept telling myself, but then you never contacted me in the Apparent World.”

*

Taro sat on the steps and looked down the long flight.

“I won’t carry you.” Makoto said. His still sleeping daughter was on his back secured with some cloth. From the way Makoto moved, Taro assumed he had often carried her in this fashion.

“But you would give me a push?” Taro said with a half-smile.

“See you around.” Makoto gave him a small smile and started down the path. His flashlight beam focused on the stairs.

“Taro?”

He turned to look at Miyako. He rubbed the back of his head and blushed.

“I’m sorry I was such a bother this afternoon. I really am happy for you.”

She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I want you to have this. Whenever we go visit my husband’s family I feel ill. This always helps make it better. Wear it especially when you sleep.”

Taro took the small charm bag from her. “Thank you Miyako-san.”

With the borrowed flashlight, Taro crept down the stairs. His bike rested at the bottom, leaning against the arch. How he always left it. A note lay in the basket. Makoto’s address and phone number.

“Come to dinner next week.”

*

Back at the still Taro lay on his old futon. His crystal radio sat on his desk untouched save for his mother’s habitual dusting. With the charm around his neck, Taro realized that his breathing hadn’t been quite so labored as he walked up the hill. The pain in his chest eased just enough that Taro slipped into a dream.

*Smals

Intro: Years ago when I was in Jr High I started writing a fantasy story with the help of my little brother and cousing. We came up with an vague plotline and some awesome characters. My character was a gymnist street fighter, my cousing was a wizard, and my brother was a bodyguard. That seemed to have stuck with my brother and after all of these years he still makes reference to this character. We never finished the novel, though I am sure I have the papers somewhere. I decided it was time to resurrect the best character of the three (mine and my cousins were a little overthetop). However I am not writing him in a fantasy setting. I decided to try a cyberpunk setting, though that isn't really important to the story. I hope you enjoy. (And I don't promise there will be another story next week.)

Smals daubed the liquid bond across Kyler’s temple. Kyler hissed between his teeth then clamped his jaw shut. Smals raised an eyebrow and repacked his med kit. With both men on their feet, they surveyed the remains of the apartment.

“It looks like the blast came from this corner,” Kyler said.

“The door would block our view of the device until we had fully entered.” Smals crouched down and stared at the blackened metal work. “The trip was off.” He looked back at the door. “From here you can see the door was to lock behind us.”

Kyler’s brows drew together as he examined the bare floor. “Nowhere to hide.”

“President, Commander,” Lt. Jefferies, entered and saluted to Kyler than Smals. His gray and black uniform matched the one Smals was wearing. “If we don’t transport you know, I don’t think we will be able to avoid the media.”

Smals stood and ran his hand along the external locking pin. The metal snapped to a lock position with a clang. Kyler winced and shook his head.

“I don’t really want to talk to the media. We should be going, Smals.”

“I am going to stay behind. There is still a lot of information we can get from here. This is supposed to be a furnished apartment.” Smals gestured around the room. “So what happened to all of the furniture?”

Kyler started to shake his head then stopped, his body swaying for a moment.

“Get the President out of here and take him somewhere private. Leave a bike for me and I will meet up with you when I am done here.”

Kyler sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I just want to see my family again.”

“You will, President. I know you will. As soon as we catch the monsters who are targeting you,” Jeffries said.

Smals gritted his teeth and turned away as Kyler was ushered from the room. He watched as his men provided cover so the President could get in the gray hover and drive away. The apartment building groaned and creaked. The other tenants could be heard talking, or shouting, through the walls. A few poked their head out of the door but slammed them shut as Smals stalked by. He took the stairs down two at a time. The bespectacled night clerk pushed his visor back up and licked his lips.

“Is someone going to pay for that room?”

Smals swiped his palm over the register and a 50 appeared on the screen. The man licked his lips again and reached for the console. Smals grabbed his wrist.

“We were told we would be getting a furnished room.” Smals swiped his free palm over the register and the number dropped to 40. “What is your definition of furnished?”

“I was told you wanted an empty room.” The man tested Smals grip. “Blame your subordinate who made the reservation.”

The number dropped to 25.

“I made the reservation.”

The man rolled his eyes. “You made the first reservation. But that was cancelled and replaced with one for no furniture.”

Smals let got. The man claimed the money and pushed his visor back in place. Smals could see a faint shadow of the bank deposit notice as it scrolled across the visor.

“A second reservation? Why wasn’t I notified?”

“It came through your official channel. That soldier who walked the other dude out. He was the one who made it. He had a document with your approval. And you were notified. I sent out the notification myself.”

“When was this change made?”

“About two hours ago. Who was that dude? Someone important?”

Smals raced through the lobby pulling out his phone. The new message icon blinked at him. He muttered under his breath as he ran down the stairs and to the alley. His bike rested against the wall next to the trash receptacles. It started as he approached and practically took off before he was fully seated.

He pulled his helmet on an activated the emergency headset. “Kyler, it’s Jeffries. Kyler. Repeat. Jefferies is the assassin.”

Smals dodged around the other cars in traffic. The windshield showed the map with a yellow blinking dot. He used one hand to steer while loosening the cover on his firearm. As he approached the yellow dot he slowed enough to jump safely from the bike. It turned up the alley and he lost sight of it. A lone man sat on the stairs to the tumbled building. Smals kept his gun raised. The man’s head snapped up and Smals’ gaze flicked from the barrel of the gun to the man’s face.

“Kyler. Are you alright?”

Kyler’s hand shook and the gun fell from his hand. “I got your message. I killed him. I killed Jeffries.” He looked at his shaking hands and gave a hoarse laugh. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

Smals sat down on the steps, holstering his weapon and picking up the one Kyler had dropped. “I never wanted you to. That is my job.”

“I had to grow up sometime.” Kyler smirked. “I don’t think anyone every expected you to grow up faster than me. And you grew out of an "l" while you were at it.”

Smals bit back a sigh as he studied his friend's ashen profile.

“Talls and Smalls. Maybe I should have kept the name. President Tals. We are still quite a fearsome team.” Kyler chuckled which died off. “I think the adrenaline has run out, finally.”

Smals cracked a smile. “Let’s get you home. Your family misses you.”

*Key to Peace

Intro: I had an odd dream that involved a key. The key was important and it was something that was limited to a few number of people. I had a few ideas for this and this is the one that I went with.

The key hung on a chain from the Mayor’s belt. Every Mayor wore the key, a sign of who they were. It wasn’t that the key was a symbol of the Mayor’s mantle, but rather the key was charge. The key weighed on Melissa Clayton’s belt and her shoulders, bowing them under the responsibility. As a child she thought she had seen the key but it hadn’t been significant. Now that she bore the key she wished she had put aside the goal of becoming Mayor.

Melissa sat behind her desk, tapping the key on the wood. Supplications littered her desk. This family wanted a larger ration of flour. A young man wished for a ring to propose. A child was asking for a new blanket. Melissa continued tapping.

“Is everything alright?” This came from Bradley, her Second. He was leaning against the doorframe.

“I feel like the sky is about to fall,” she replied.

Bradley’s gaze flicked to the key. “I think you’re just stressed. You should come back to bed.”

In addition to Bradley being her Second, he was also her lover. Marriage was expected, but there just hadn’t been time, and she had so many other commitments, like the key. That trumped every other situation and was her future, not Bradley, even if she wanted it.

“I have lots of work. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

His bare feet padded across the floor. His robe was open to his waist and she appreciated the view. He knew that. When he was behind her, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“I always have a hard time sleeping when you aren’t in bed. It makes me feel like I am shirking my duties.” He kissed her neck. “You should work me more, make me exhausted, so I can sleep.”

Melissa’s breath caught as he continued seducing her.

“Come to bed. Those can wait. It’s not like anyone is starving or dying. At least no one outside of those expected and they are taken care of.”

The tapping of the key started up again. She stared at her hand and the brass rod. It looked like a trinket, bobble, nor a key. Keys were an archaic technology.

“Let it rest.” Bradley reached out to still her hand but Melissa slipped the key away and broke from his embrace.

“I’ll come to bed when I can. Keep the bed warm for me.”

She stood and kissed him, taking her time to taste. As she walked past she slapped his butt.

“Come back,” Bradley said.

Melissa walked through the streets. There were a few people out, picking up the trash and washing. The Commune was getting ready to celebrate its four hundredth year. She had been working Bradley non-stop during the day and he often fell asleep on the couch while waiting for dinner to arrive.

At the wall she rested her hand against the cold metal. She grew up in the Commune. Outside of their peaceful world was anarchy. She knew because she spent five years outside as part of her training. She looked up.

The sky sparkled with the planes exploding overhead. The Commune existed as humanity’s last hope. And yet, the key tugged at her. She walked along the wall, feeling the divots in the wall. No one knew what they were for, except the Mayors. She walked all the way around. The imperfections were evenly spaced save one place. Three-hundred and ninety-eight divots and one hole.

“It is time.”

She pushed the metal rod into the hole. Already she could feel the wall humming to life. Her life was for the greater good of the city. With the last Mayor in place, the wall would slowly grow outward, spreading the commune and peace. The four hundred year test period was at an end.

“Goodbye, Melissa.”

Melissa turned and looked at Bradley.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I knew I couldn’t keep you forever.”

“Marry a nice woman. Make her happy. Forget about me.”

“Never. I wish you would have married me. I don’t mind being a widower.”

“But you deserve a family. Marrying me would have prevented that.”

“I guess we’ll never know. I love you.” He waved as her mission as Mayor was ended, with her life. Her mind melded with the others who had given their lives. They would live forever as the collective mind focused on peace.

*Blind Effects

Intro: Look, I got all three posts in this last week. This story came from a conversation I had with Moose. He fell asleep while I was driving and when he woke up I made a comment about "Nice to have you back." He replied with "But I didn't go anywhere."

“Were you watching me while I was sleeping?” Charles suppressed a yawn.
“No,” Martha said. “You went somewhere, again.”

Charles rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I feel like I’ve been through a war.”

Martha pushed herself up on her arm, her black hair falling to the pillow. “You look like it.” She ran a hand across his face, smearing the dirt.

“How can you see?”

“I turned on the light when your body disappeared.”

“What time was that?”

“About two-thirty.”

Charles fumbled on the bedside table and picked up his watch. He felt the face and let out a sigh.

“Only two hours. I still have time.”

Martha swung her feet out of bed and pulled Charles after him. When she had been in college her room had shown her priorities, anything but cleaning. Working part time and going to school, in addition to her community choir, left no care for cleaning. Marrying a blind man had changed that. She had met him in college. He was new to the city and had a hard time getting around. She always found him sitting in the back of the auditorium listening to the choir. She’d found him attractive and cute. Clueless but not helpless.

Charles stumbled and Martha caught him. The left leg of his pajamas was shredded. She half carried him to the bathroom and deposited him in the tub.

Once he was clean, and bandaged, they sat huddled together on the couch.

“I dreamed, but I don’t remember what it was. I think, I think I could actually see. But I don’t know. I just remember the loud noises. Gunfire.”

“How do you even know what gunfire sounds like?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Like in the movies.”

“We’ve never seen a movie with guns. They don’t even make movies with guns anymore.”

Martha shook her head. “I think we need to go back to the surgeon. This started happening when you had your surgery.” She shivered. “I keep thinking that if we could eliminate war and create clones, we could return your sight.”

“But it isn’t returning my sight. I never had any to begin with. It’s been this way since I was a child.” Charles pulled her close. “I’ll make an appointment with the doctor.”

That afternoon, Martha found herself frozen before the glass doors of the hospital. The lack of violence hadn’t made hospitals obsolete like everyone had hypothesized. Not even the new methods of childbirth had been as miraculous.

“Are you coming?” Charles asked. His helmet shone in the light. They couldn’t return his sight, but he wasn’t completely hopeless. Martha wasn’t sure what the scientificness was behind the helmet, but it kept him from running into things. It also caused headaches, which was why he never wore it at home.

They were shown to the examination room where the doctor was waiting for them.

“I understand something is wrong. What can I help you with?” Dr. Matthews asked.

“I am not sure. Martha is the one who can explain it.”

Martha shifted on the padded chair. “Ever since the surgery Charles has been disappearing when he sleeps.”

Dr. Matthews tapped his computer. “Disappearing? As in he doesn’t respond to you?”

“As in his body is no longer there.”

“Sleepwalking?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Martha gripped her knees. “No. One minute he is asleep next to me, the next he is gone. He returns the same way, only it’s like he’s been somewhere else. This morning he came back injured.”

“With your husband’s condition it isn’t surprising that he would be injured. No offense.”

Charles merely snorted.

“I just don’t want you to worry about nothing. I can prescribe a sleep aid.”

Martha scooted forward on her chair. “This only started happening after his latest surgery. I want you to make sure that there hasn’t been any complications because of the new sensors.”

“There is nothing wrong with the sensors.”

“Dr. Matthews, I would like my implants to be checked out.” Charles said. “I don’t like what has been happening. I don’t like waking up beaten and bruised.”

“Charles, you have always been accident prone. I remember hearing about how your mom used to bring you in all the time because of your accidents.”

“Yes,” Charles licked his lips. “Accidents like what I have been going through. I went through surgery when I was a child, to stop the nightmares.”

Martha clenched her hands, just as transfixed as the doctor.

“They implanted my brain, to keep me from Traveling. What did you do to me?”

Dr. Matthews moved away from his computer and clasped his hands. “It’s not the implants that are failing. Your being pulled back to your time.”

Charles rested his head in his hands. “I don’t want to go back.”

“You have to. You weren’t supposed to be here for this long. You have to go back and tell them what you found. Tell them about the side effects of dimensional travel. They have to find another way of escape. I can maybe give you two or three more days.”

Martha covered her face with her hands and wept.

Charles wrapped his arm around her. “I thought I could stay. I didn’t mind living blind if it meant I could live with you.”

*Set You Free

Intro: I have always felt bad that lawyers have a bad rap. There are some that are skuzzy, but there was a time when there was more honor to the name of lawyer. There are plenty of good lawyers out there.

“Did you kill Mr. Jorge?”

“Yes.”

I couldn’t keep my pen from slipping on the paper. My client already had my signature. I was under his spell. Not for the first time, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. I thought I was better at reading people.

Mr. Trent sat across the table from me, his hands clasped and resting on his knees. When he first approached me about representing him in court, I had done my own research on them. He was divorced, his wife remarried, but overall the relationship between exes was better than most. The couple could almost be friends and happy; they just couldn’t be married and happy.

“Tell me about your relationship with Mr. Jorge.”

“He was my neighbor. We shared a property line.” He shifted on his seat, never meeting my gaze. “I found him stealing my water to irrigate his lawn. He’d been doing it for years.”

“How did it escalate?”

The man looked up, and met my gaze. “I asked him to stop. He didn’t.”

“So—” I motioned, not sure I wanted him to continue.

“I killed him. I calculated it out. Over the course of fifteen years, he had stolen almost two million dollars’ worth of water. I gave him an ultimatum give me my money or I take him to court.” Mr. Trent rubbed the back of his neck, his hands brushing his worn collar. “He burned my field then told me I didn’t need any more water.”

I flipped through my papers. There had been some damage to his property, a third of an acre. Mr. Trent had sixty five acres. From the reports it showed that it was probably a lightning strike.

“I was tired of the problem. I took my gun, and shot him.” He held up his hands as if sighting something in the corner of the room.

I put my papers down. As a lawyer it was my obligation to represent my client to their interests. I always told myself that I would never defend a guilty man. I wouldn’t become a lawyer that could be bought. But my signature was on a contract that tied me from divulging information told to me in confidence. That would be about the same as testifying against yourself.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Hunsacker?” Mr. Trent pressed his hands against the table. There was a glint in his eye that made me sit back in my chair. “You wouldn’t be thinking about turning me in, would you?” He reached down and pulled out a piece of paper. “I have a piece of paper here that says you will represent me fairly.”

I nodded, my stomach sinking. My career was over. Mr. Trent let out a smile and sat back.

“I’m glad we see—”

“I am sure you will be much happier with someone who wants to see you go free. If you will excuse me. I am leaving.”

“You’ll never work as a lawyer again.”

I ran my hands along the paper. “Not in a court. But I am sure there are plenty of innocent people who could do with a bit of advice.”

As I walked out, I felt a little lighter.

*Blast Off!

Intro: Another attempt at Space Opera.

“Take the helm while I weld the hull shut.” I jumped from the chair and hurried to the back. “We can’t go saving anyone when we’re taking in space.”

“But, Mom!”

“You can do it. Just dodge the blasts.”

The ship shuddered as another bolt slammed into the hull. My husband had built the ship, using the various technology from the different civilizations we visited as orphans passed around from group to group.

“Sorry!”

I steadied myself against the bulkhead and took a breath. My mag boots kept me upright, this time. The ship rolled and I hooked my arm around a support. When the ship stopped twisting I took a second to orient myself. As long as the ship was just moving forward or turning slowly, the broken gravity generator wasn’t a problem. I had promised Jackson two years ago that we would fix the generator. When we saved up enough money, he always chose something else to fix up. When he was old enough I would drop him off at the colonies. From there his life would begin. He didn’t want to accept it, but that was how it had to be.

I grabbed the tool bag, breaking the magnetic connection and drag it behind me. I slipped a mask over my head, connecting it to my suit. After a minute the suit was pressurized and I opened the blast door that had sealed when a bolt ripped through the metal.

“There’s another one coming through the gateway. I can’t outrun all of them.” Jackson’s voice came through the intercom in my helmet.

I checked the pressure in the room. It was holding steady.

“I’m on my way.”

My boots clanged as I hurried up.

Jackson was white-knuckling the wheel. Five ships was more than she could expect even her husband to take.

Another blast sent us into a spin.

“Help!”

When my hands took control, Jackson moved out of the way.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I said.

Jackson helped secure my belt then strapped himself in. I spun the wheel and dove out of the way, towards the gateway.

“If we leave now, it could take years for us to come back.” Jackson said. “Dad may not be alive when we make it back again.”

I nodded, my teeth gritted against the force and my vision blurred. “I know.”

Jackson worked the switches in front of him. “Boosters ready.”

Blasting through a gateway was roulette. We didn’t know where we would end up, or even if our ship could withstand the pressure. My husband was dead to me. Jackson was the only reason I looked for a body.

“Last chance. Do we stay?”

Jackson shook his head. “Thrusters engaged.”

We slid our goggles in place as the gateway illuminated space around us, sling us into the distance.

I let out my breath as the pressure lessened.

“We have a problem.”

I removed the googles and stared at the backs of the five ships. “Throttle full.”

“It is,” Jackson replied.

I pried my fingers from the wheel and let my hands drop. A blast cracked the glass. I reached out and held his hand. I fumbled with the belt. “Get out. Get out of the belt.”

“It’s not going to do any good.”

“Do it!”

I dragged him behind me.

“You will survive.” I shoved the helmet at him.

“Mom, no!”

I used my shoulder to shove him to the stasis pod.

“No!”

Jackson had just enough sense to move his hand out of the way as the door slid shut. The pod hissed as the seal took and was ejected. I heard the glass break and took my last breath looking through the porthole as the pod blasted towards the gateway. Another orphan of the war.

*Late Night Talk

Intro: My husband and I have been watching a cute show called USAGI DROP (BUNNY DROP). It is a cute story about a 30-year-old bachelor taking in his 6-year-old aunt. I have read stories like this before but this has been my favorite because of the relationship between Daikichi and Rin.

I walked to my car, smelling of French fries. My hair and face was covered in grease. Four weeks into the job and I was already looking for something new, though I knew it was probably helpless. It had taken two months for me to find my current job and it suited my needs, to a point. Two of my coworkers walked by laughing and joking with one another. They were both in high school.

“Tony, can you give us a lift?”

I pulled the key from my door and looked at them. “I thought you got your license, Bill.”

Winston punched Bill’s shoulder. “Having a license doesn’t mean his parents trust him with a car.”

“Get in,” I said as I leaned across the seat and unlocked the door.

The two climbed in, bouncing on the seats a little.

“I don’t get it,” Bill said.

“You don’t get what?” I asked, already regretting the question.

“You have a college degree in something important—”

“Public Relations,” I added.

“Right, you’re old—”

“Thirty-two.”

“Why do you work at a fast food restaurant and drive a crappy car?”

I ran my hand along the worn and patchy steering wheel cover, staring at the dark streets. I should be getting home immediately, not driving these two. That is what their parents should be doing.

“It was work sixty hours a week, or leave. I left my job. It wasn’t worth the time.”

“How much money were you making?” Winston asked.

“What we make in a month I was making in a week.”

“Why did you leave? That’s just stupid.”

I shrug, not really wanting to talk about it but knowing they wouldn’t leave me alone otherwise.

“There are more important things than money. The money wasn’t worth what I would have to give up.”

“Like this car?” Winston slapped my shoulder.

“I like this car. It’s reliable and easy to fix.”

I stopped in front of the house I drove to at least three times a week. Winston hopped out of the back and waved as he ran up the stairs and into the house. Bill lived four blocks away. He didn’t get out of the car when I pulled up.

“Can I ask you something, personal?” Bill asked.

“Sure.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. It was almost two in the morning. I hated getting home late.

“What would you do if your girlfriend was pregnant?”

The tapping stopped. I stared at the dark house.

“Do you think she is?”

Bill shrugged. “I think she might be.”

“So” I cleared my throat. “You’ve had sex?”

Bill nodded.

I turned towards him. “Do you think your parents will mind if you come with me for the night?”

Bill hunched down in his seat and motioned to the black house. “They’re not home. If one of them was home the light would be on.”

When I made it home I paid the baby-sitter and made sure she drove away. I led Bill into the apartment.

“You have a kid?” Bill asked. He was standing at the mantel.

I pulled off the greasy shirt and tossed it on the washer to clean in the morning.

“That’s Steph, my daughter.”

“How old is she?”

I pulled a sweatshirt on and sat on the couch. “She’s seventeen.”

Bill turned to stare at me. “That’s my age. You’re not old enough to have a kid my age.”

“You asked me why I took the lower paying job, it was that, or lose my daughter. I needed a job fast, and this is the one that worked. I only work nights once a week. The rest of the time I get to work while she’s at school. Her mother, my ex-wife, has turned to alcohol and is unable to be a guardian, let alone a mother. I could have kept my job, but I wouldn’t have known my daughter because I would be working long hours. I had already wasted too much time on unimportant things. I have enough saved up that with my income from this job, we can live fairly comfortably. We’ve both sacrificed, but she wanted to know me. So let me tell you what your options are, if your girlfriend is pregnant.”

Bill sat down on the chair, and I stared at what I had once been. I tried to think through what would have helped me at that age. The only thing that came to mind was how scared I had been. Life was never going to be the same, whether Bill made the same choices I had at his age. Being a father at sixteen would make his life difficult. I only hoped he could end up as happy as I was living in a two bedroom apartment with my daughter.

*Once Spring Comes

Intro: There were two snowstorms this week. I know that it isn't even Halloween yet, but I felt like writing a snowy story.

The snow drifted down, reflected in the headlights of the train. Martha pulled the sled along behind her as she trudged along the side of the tracks. The firewood pressed the runners down so far the front of the sled pushed through the snow like a plow. As the cars trundled past she counted them. Unlike walking along the side of the road with horses and carriages, Martha had little fear of slush splattering her. She was already wet from the day’s journey. Spring could not come soon enough.

When she reached the divide in the track she turned west, the snow now blowing in her face. She hunched her shoulders, wishing to readjust the scarf around her neck. She’d already tried once and it had only allowed more snow in before settling back exactly where it had been. The soft wool was soaked through and scratchy.

A light to her right caught her attention and he adjusted her course. Walking from the tracks to her small home was dangerous with limited visibility. She was just glad the lamp had kept enough oil. She knocked the snow off her boots as habit and pulled the sled inside with her. The snow from the logs fell to the ground in small trails. The lamp in the window she would leave lit, but never the fireplace. She’d lost a house that way.

The remnants of her last gathered firewood went in the fireplace, while the snow covered wood went in the corner to dry. She used the lamp to start the fire. The fire gave enough light for her to examine her cottage. It looked exactly the same as she had left it. Ever since her husband and two sons died from the plague three years earlier, it always looked empty and felt cold.

She put a pot of water on to heat and methodically removed her outerwear. She exchanged every wet article of clothing for a dry, albeit, cold one.

She ate a dinner of stale bread and salted meat and sat on her bed. Winter was half over, and already she felt the strain of waking each morning to the cold, empty room. Last year it had only been for the last two weeks. Once spring arrived she was able to forget the troubles as she worked as a medicine woman of sorts. With the faint firelight dancing on the walls, she curled up in a blanket and fell asleep.

A wail woke Martha. The fire was embers, and her breath misted before her. She sat up, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, and listened. The wail came again. The window was frosted and it was too dark to see anything anyways. She moved to the door and opened it a crack. The cold air forced in, but the snow and wind had calmed. The wail came again, louder.

“Who’s there?” Her voice cracked from disuse.

Something bumped against her legs. She scurried back and looked down. An albino cat crawled out of the snow and collapsed on the dirt floor. Martha stared at it. She hated cats. She always told her children not to feed them. They were excellent mousers but did not belong indoors. The red eyes looked around, unfocused. Like many albinos, Martha realized it must be nearly blind. It wailed again. Not a meow, but moving and heart wrenching. It seemed to sense the direction of the warmth and crawled towards the fireplace.

As it approach a coal Martha scooped it up in a panic. “Careful.”

The cat wriggled and she nearly dropped it.

The draft from the door made them both shiver.

Martha moved to the door and looked out at the snow. She shut the door and moved to her bed, pulling her now dry scarf off the rack. With the cat wrapped in the scarf and the fireplace walled off by firewood, a safe distance away, Martha climbed back into bed, the cat at the foot of the bed. Martha fell back to sleep.

Fur up Martha’s nose woke her. She batted the cat away and frowned. She put the cat back on the scarf at the foot of the bed. The rest of the night was a battle of where the cat would sleep. By dawn the cat was asleep at the foot, cradling part of the scarf between its paws. Martha woke and got to work, devising something the cat could eat. She soaked some of the salted meat in hot water to soften it. As she stared out at the sun, she realized that this was the first sunrise of winter she’d seen since the death of her family. Before she had remained in bed long after she should have risen. She turned to the cat on the bed and set the meat down.

The cat raised its head and seemed to look right at her.

“This does not mean you can stay in the house once spring comes.”

*Lost Humanity

Intro: It is October and I always feel like I should do some creepy story. This is my take on zombies. The virus infects those who are compassionate and intelligent, and it feeds on the compassion. Those who aren’t so much are for some reason spared. What kind of society would that make?

I ran across the field between the buildings, keeping myself as low to the ground as I could while trying to be fast. The sound of gunshots ricocheted around the buildings. The magazine of my gun had been empty for over a week, but no one else knew that. I could keep my hand steady and bluff through my teeth. People moved out of my way. The problem wasn’t the people, it was those who could no longer be classified as such.

No one was sure where the virus had come from. Considering the scientists were the first to fall victim, I had my guesses. It had taken a few weeks for people to understand what was going on. The virus didn’t so much as eat the mind, but the humanity.

I saw a shape moving in one of the broken windows and rolled to the ground just before the bullets impacted. My time on the streets before the penitentiary had taught me well. Though no one was fast enough to dodge a bullet, I had the scars to prove it. It wasn’t dodging a bullet if you moved before the trigged was pulled.

I climbed through a broken window and made my way upstairs. The man stood at the window, his gun trained on the field outside. The butt of my gun struck where skull met spine and he crumpled. I took everything that was useful and left the empty gun behind.

Back outside I pulled out a compass and continued on my trek to the inner city. My shoes made little noise as I crept. A dark shape raised out of the grass in front of me. The man’s face was twisted, deformed from where he’d been injured. The virus slowed down the healing process, leaving wounds open and festering, through the blood remained clotted. Instead of being a liquid, blood more of welled and thickened when meeting with oxygen. Most of the time, the easiest way to kill a virus infected man was to open a hole to their heart. The blood would clot and cause a heart attack, that or in the brain. Though sometimes that just caused lack of motor control.

I brought my gun up and the man halted, his head tilted sideways.

“Move on.” The man said. “We have no business with you.”

I moved so I could look around. Despite my precautions I had wandered into the middle of one of their camps. I could see computers and electronic devices glowing faintly. The virus seemed to feed on compassion and intelligence. It seemed to do with the chemicals released in those types of situations. Therefore they had the technology, because they were the smart people. Criminals like me were less likely to be infected, but we weren’t the smartest of the bunch. I had dropped out of school when I was fifteen.

The man took a step forward and I raised my gun.

“Do you think that is going to stop me?”

If I couldn’t kill him with the first bullet, I was dead. The blood clotting was an advantage when it came to other wounds, because it kept them from bleeding to death.

“Just kill him. He isn’t worth it.”

I turned and fired. A woman sneaking up on me was thrown backwards and hit a building. She stood up, shook herself and stared at the hole in her side. A black gob dropped to the ground.

I ran, firing whenever anyone got too close. A bullet to me across the arm and I dropped my gun. I continued to run the people behind me hobbling, blood clots having moved through their bodies and ended up in their legs. I heard one of them drop, probably from a clot reaching their heart. I didn’t stop. Just when I thought I too would succumb to a heart attack, the sound of pursuit ended.

I crawled into a building and lay there gasping. With no humanity left on the planet, I realized that I might not want to actually live through the night, but I refused to let those monsters win. I would kill everyone if I needed to. Tomorrow I would make it to the inner city, and once I was there, I would take control of the humans left to their senses. From there we would stop the virus. I heard a faint noise and looked up. The man I had met at the clearing was standing over me, my gun in his hands.

“Goodbye.”

*Fluffy Bunny

Intro: Moose said I should write a story about a boy who has a volcano that is his bodyguard. I laughed and decided instead of a moving mountain, he could have a cloud.

Tama looked over his shoulder. The small cloud was still behind him, looming. Tama scowled. It would stick out like a sore thumb. One cloud amidst a clear sky. At least in Hawaii his bundle of emotions had been well camouflaged most of the time. There were days he sent it to hoover over the volcano. There was nothing to do about it now.

He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder and walked through the school gates. It was November. The school year started months earlier. Texas contrasted with his homeland of Hawaii, but since his dad had the job with Lockheed Martin, they no longer had to rely on other’s charity in order to each every day.

The sunlight faded for a moment as it disappeared behind the cloud. No one even glanced his direction and as Tama continued walking the sun became visible again. A sharp wind whipped his clothes and blasted his face, his shoulder length hair blowing behind him.

Other students milled about the school, waiting for the bell to ring before actually setting foot in the institute of learning. Tama looked around and felt his heart drop. He liked school. He was good at school. But no one here seemed to want to be here. His enjoyment would stick out like a sore thumb. The schools here were different. Instead of having middle schools, they had Jr. Highs. He was joining the Sophomore class and once again he was on the bottom of the totem.

A few drops of rain struck his head and the surrounding pavement. He stared up at the cloud and frowned. He schooled his loneliness and focused on something else. When the bell rang he joined the herd flowing into the building.

At lunch, Tama ate outside. The cloud had shifted from a dark foreboding, to a pearl gray of hope. A group of boys swaggered up. They were in Tama’s classes and one of them was a loudmouth. The others just kind of swarmed around him, never saying much, but never far from him. Every time one of the teachers called on him, he made a sarcastic remark, and then gave the answer. At first Tama thought the other boys had been feeding him the answers, but in the second class, math, he realized that they were more the strong, silent type.

“You’re new. What’s your name?”

The cloud overhead bristled. None of the boys looked up and Tama looked away.

“I’m Patrick.”

Tama looked at the outstretched hand. “Tama.”

Patrick sat down and the other boys arranged themselves around him. Tama eyed them and Patrick merely shrugged. “I’ll help them resolve their issues when school is done. My parents don’t like it when I skip school to help the dead. By the way, nice cloud.”

Tama opened his backpack and pulled out a box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts. His dessert. “Want one?”

The cloud could have been mistaken for a fluffy white bunny.

*A Destiny to Grow Into

Intro: I am not sure where this idea came from, but I actually had a lot of fun writing it. I could see this becoming something more, when I have time.

The red sun offered no mercy as it rose to its apex. I shielded my eyes against the glare from the sand. White robes covered me leaving only a slim gap but it was more than enough. Some people wore thin veils but I always found that to be suffocating. I needed some connection to the sun, even if it was blinding.

The weight of the pack pressed me down with every step. My boots, molded from a rubber leather compound would keep the sand from seeping in, since there were no seams or layers, But, more and more trickled in the top with each step.

Meylir was three days behind me, not even a speck of light on the horizon. I was glad to be gone from the city but my water supply was almost non-existent. Taking the time to harvest water was not a luxury I could afford on my trek.

When the sun moved behind me I threw off my head covering. My smooth skin rejoiced at the feel of warmth. I pushed up the sleeve of my robe. The gray tint to my skin was already fading to its natural burn orange color. The back of my head would act as a beacon against the white sand but I had gone 27 hours without feeding and every step taxed my energy. Before that I had feed every half day so I was weak.

When I felt the sand shift under the soles of my boots I pulled my hood back up.

One of the skimmers from Meylir whipped up a sandstorm as it flew overhead, the ground vibrating with the engine feedback. They were looking for me. This brought the total to 17 I had seen, though it was the first one since last night.

By now news would be spreading around the despite security measures. A sun god in the capitol city Meylir. The president Touched, and dying. Or at least it would seem that way. In another two days it would be apparent he was dying but had been chosen. His skin would change from the pasty white to a bronze or golden color. His blood replaced with a clear sticky substance and he would lose every hair on his body. Just like I had three thousand years earlier. I didn’t think I was going to survive. Becoming a god was harder than dying.

When the sun sank to the north I slipped the pack from my shoulders. I had reached my destination. I knew because I couldn’t go any further south. My legs wouldn’t obey my desire. Even gods are bound by laws of nature. My destiny was to be fulfilled.

I set up the water harvester in a circle. All the water would be pulled to the middle. The machine hummed the sound bringing back memories of my mortal life before I was chosen.

I wasn’t like the President of Meylir. I had been a simple farm boy. Our house had been in the poor section of a city named Tiborn, no longer a speck on any map. I farmed the pollution from the air. We filled tank upon tank of the contamination which were shipped to a facility that filtered the fertilizing chemicals out then disposed of the waste. I never learned how. The day the sun god came and changed me was the day the city was quarantined because of plague. I was the only one who survived the burning.

The chill breeze stimulated me and I removed my robes. The syringe with the sun god formula fell to the sand. I brushed a finger against my eye where I had been injected. Sight, mortal sight, had returned after a hundred years. I could still picture the visions and lessons that taught me what to do.

The water lapped at my knees as I stood in the water. My reserve was gone but with the sun at my back I faced Meylir. In hours the city would see me in my final form. And in a week the new sun good would begin traveling the world, fulfilling his own destiny.

I felt the sun on my back, the water between my toes, and sprouted.

*Night of Hunting

Intro: I am still trying to recover from the conference this weekend. It was really good. I had a wonderful time, but it means that I have burned out my brains on contest stuff. Next week should be a lot better.

Rain lashed the windshield. Hank thought the windshield wipers were going to fly off and launch into orbit. An oncoming car flew around the corner. For a moment the high beams filled Hank’s vision before he could avert his eyes. The thin fog illuminated like a paper lantern, casting a hazy light an obscuring all details of the surroundings. By the time the car passed Hank needed to yank on the steering wheel to keep the car on the road.

His eyes scanned the darkness even as he tried to block off the pain. When a small silver spark shone in the dark he glanced right and left. He found another glint to the right and turned the wheel. The left wheel slipped onto the shoulder and he adjusted until he was back on. He continued looking for the signs of the road reflectors from his headlights, and being blinded by the other cars.

The usual hour long drive stretched closer to three. His head swam and the moisture in his sock could have been wrung out. Hank pulled to the side of the road and pried his fingers from the steering wheel. The pressure in his jaw moved to throb his temples. Hank peered into the blackness. The headlights penetrated only a few feet into the trees and fog. He wasn’t even sure the road continued in the direction he looked.

He glanced at the hand drawn map and sighed.

“Her saying no can’t be any worse than hunting for clues in the rain. Next time, I’m just going to ask her to prom.”

*Shades of Death

Intro: This story started out as something completely different. I was going to have Pete be the main character and do it that way, but this idea seemed more interesting.

Carl didn’t enjoy the walk to school. That wasn’t new. The walk to school was often a run, avoiding the dogs, and bullies, and sometimes the bullies’ dogs. They were the worst.

This morning, Ripper, the Rottweiler caught him in the dark alley behind the drugstore. The teeth sinking into his leg made him scream. Generally speaking, Carl didn’t think men or boys should scream. This was something he often discussed with his friends. Yelling and hollering were fine, but screaming and shrieking should be left to women and girls. Carl screamed. He fell and the rest of the dogs were on him.

“We’ve killed him.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Carl might have enjoyed the ride to the hospital, if he was conscious. He died on the operating table half an hour later. Blood loss.

When Carl woke, I was there to comfort, greet, him.

“What happened?”

“You’re dead. I just have a few questions for you. Truthfulness is key.”

Carl patted himself down. Dead was live to dead but dead to live. It took some explaining. If you were dead you felt alive. If you were alive, you felt alive. If you were dead the live felt dead.

“What is your name?”

“I’m dead?” Carl looked around. The world was faded, but Carl’s body was in the body bag. It was best to get this over with before the family came.

“Yes. That is the situation. Your full name, please.”

“Carl Gordon McFinnigan.” His voice was tremulous and his lip quivered.

“You’re doing well. Three more questions. How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

The body bag was moved to one of the cold lockers. I was in luck.

“Are you dead?” I asked.

Carl stared at me, his brows pulled together. “Am I dead?”

“It is a simple yes or no question.”

If he thought this question was hard, I was in trouble. The last questions always tripped people up. Not a good sign.

“Yes. You told me I was dead.”

Carl showed more promise than anyone gave him credit for. Most of the time people accused him of being slow. In the time that I was shadowing him, I learned he wasn’t slow, but I must have not been paying attention.

“Last question. I have to ask it for formality’s sake. Do you believe what I tell you?”

“You told me I was dead.” Carl said.

“Yes I did.”

“I believe you.” Carl looked around. “But, why can’t I see you? Are you a ghost?”

“No. But I am here to offer you a job. If you don’t want it then you can just proceed to the afterlife.”
“Will I go to heaven?”

“That isn’t for me to decide. Pete takes care of that.”

“St. Peter?”

“No, he doesn’t actually have a name, that I know of. We just took to calling him Pete because he wanted a name.”

The light came on. We fled with the darkness. Let the living remain with the living. The toolshed in the school yard was a perfect place to talk.

“What is it I am supposed to do?”

“You will become a guardian angel.” I went on to explain the duties. We couldn’t always save people from death, but we could offer protection and guidance.

“So do I get a pair of wings?”

“Not exactly. We are creatures born from light.”

“What do you mean?”
Even now I can see the change in Carl’s body. His colors are becoming richer, darker.

“Remember what your church teachers used to say. That Jesus is the light of the world.”

“Yes.”

“We can only exist where there is light. We stick as close as we can to those we guard. We are their shadow.”

*Illegal

Intro: I like to take terms from our society and apply them to science fiction.

The wheels bounced on the pavement. I breathed a sigh of relief that the worst of the trip was over. A mile or so later flashing red lights flickered in my rearview mirror. I pulled my truck over and fished for my paperwork. The contents of the glovebox spilled to the floor. My seatbelt locked as I reached for the envelope. The officer tapped on the window. I looked at him and he motioned for me to roll it down.

I sat up and cranked the handle.

“License and registration, please.”

I reached for the paper, only to be brought short by my seatbelt again. As I reached for the buckle I pushed my coat out of the way.

The officer backed up a few steps and pulled his gun. “Keep your hands on the steering wheel.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Open the door from the outside and step out of your vehicle.”

Once outside I was shoved again the truck and my legs spread. The officer took the gun strapped to my left hip. He cuffed my hands behind my back and pulled me towards the squad car. The back was too small to accommodate my long legs. By butt was perched on the end of the seat, because of my hands behind my back, and my legs were crossed, twisting my ankles between the seats. I shifted so I could see my truck. The officer was fishing around the cab. He climbed out with a bunch of papers crumpled in his hand.

He pressed them out on the roof and flipped through them. He tossed them back in the cab and moved around to the tailgate. The camper shell on the back had glass, but I had blacked out the windows with paint. He tried the handle but it didn’t open.

I breathed a sigh of relief, until he pulled out his gun. I fell over and pulled my feet up. The shots pinged off the metal.

I kicked the door but it didn’t budge. The officer moved to try the handle again. I kicked at the glass. The metal studs embedded in the heel of my boots hit the glass with a crack. A second kick shattered the glass. I hooked my legs over the edge and pulled myself out the window. A few shards of glass caught at my clothes. With a little finagling I stepped over the handcuffs. The tongue of my belt buckle released the cuffs. I ran over to the back of the truck. As the officer lifted the back hatch I grabbed his arm and yanked it behind him.

“Now, I’ve been a nice person. You had no reason to pull me over, and I came quietly when you asked. So I’m going to ask you nicely, please don’t look back there, and let me go on my way.”

“You’re a trafficker,” the officer said. He tried to pull away but I brought arm up.

“It’s not any of your business.” I snagged my gun from the officer’s belt and pushed him away. My gun remained trained on him. “Time for you to leave.”

I waited until the officer was in his car. I closed the tailgate and hatch and jumped in. I sped away. Two hours later I pulled into a park. The sun had set nearly an hour before. The park was empty and my black truck blended into the darkness. I opened the back and stepped aside. The five children crawled to the front, their blankets wrapped around their shoulders.

“Sorry for the delay.”

“Where are we?”

I smiled and helped them down. “Earth. We made it.”

*Desert Breeding

Intro: Last year during NaShoStoMo I wrote a story about time traveling slavers. I didn’t like it. So I tried again. I am still a little hesitant about it but I think it turned about better. Who knows? I may do something more with it because I like the idea.

Xudu raised his bow, his sight on the antelope grazing just a few dozen feet away from him. The tip of the arrow was coated in a poison that would cause the animal to grow drowsy. Then he would slit it’s throat, quickly and as painlessly as possible.

The earth rumbled. The antelope ran off. Xudu lowered his bow and looked up at the sky. But there was no man-bird in sight. A few years ago Xudu’s tribe hadn’t realized the loud birds were men who could fly, but after a group of the large pale people had ended up in their tribe they had learned more about the world outside their land.

Xudu turned to head back towards the village, hoping he could find some more possible food on the way, but froze. Two pale people walked towards him. They spoke, the words being sounded in their throats. Xudu turned to walk around them, but they mirrored his movements. He turned the other direction. The men lunged at him.

Xudu stared at them in disbelief. His bow was knocked from his hand. The dirt and sand bit into his back as they pressed him into the ground. They flipped him over and wrenched his arms back binding his wrists together. Xudu struggled and everything went black.

When Xudu woke he was sitting in darkness. He looked around but couldn’t see any stars. The ground he was sitting on was hard and cold, it wasn’t like anything he’d felt before. It wasn’t stone. It wasn’t dirt.

“He’s awake.” The words reverberated in Xudu’s skull. It was as if he was hearing double. “Clean him up.”

Hands grabbed him. He tried to resist but his body was weak and his head swam. The dark shapes loomed over him. Xudu’s feet dragged along the ground, still that same cold surface. They threw him into a room that felt like it had a stone floor. Cold water blasted him. Xudu slipped and landed on his shoulder.

“Get up.”

Xudu pushed himself up, gripping the smooth, wet stone with his toes. Wet, cold, and mad, Xudu was led down another dark tunnel to another cave. Unusual animal hides were thrown at him. They reminded him of the clothes the pale people had worn.

“Get dressed.”

When Xudu couldn’t figure out how to put on the strange hides someone came in and beat him then did it for him. The worst was the coverings over his feet.

Outside the sky above was a clear blue. Xudu shaded his eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn’t home, but the air smelled better than before. There was a tang and bitter edge to the air. Xudu took his gaze away from the sky and focused on his surroundings. More people than Xudu had ever seen in his life milled around. Many of them wore similar coverings. Xudu was on the short side. He was of marrying age in his village, but there were obvious children in this area who was taller than he was.

“Keep moving.” A shove in the back punctuated the statement. Xudu tripped along with the heavy coverings on his feet. At another solitary cave, Xudu was fitted with a cold band around his neck. He tugged at it.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Pain flamed up from the back of his head and around his neck. Xudu crouched down, grasping his skull and gasping.

“While you were unconscious we implanted a chip into your head. If you tamper with your collar it registers with the chip.”

Xudu shook his head, his mind tumbling the unknown words around. He touched the collar again. The pain returned. Xudu understood. The band was to be left alone.

“You are now a slave. You will do everything that is told. If you don’t you’ll be killed.”

Xudu looked up at the man. He opened his mouth. The man swatted the side of his head.

“You will remain silent. H2L9”

The next month was a blur for Xudu as he absorbed all the information he could. Not only was he living hundreds of miles away from where his family was, he learned he was thousands of years away from them too. Though the none of the slaves spoke while serving their masters, they were plenty talkative when by themselves. The implants in the backs of their head allowed for translation of languages, which is why Xudu heard double. The masters didn’t have the implant so even if the slaves had talked, the majority of them wouldn’t have been understood.

Xudu was the shortest of the slaves and the most nimble. He was often given the task of picking fruit from the orchards. Raw marks from the straps crossed his shoulders and back.

“H2L9, get down here,” this was said by J8P1, the head slave. Xudu climbed down the branches and set his basket on the ground.

“You haven’t paid me my dues.”

Xudu stood, and waiting. His mind was sharp, remembering the training his father had taught him when he was just a boy. The pale people had caught him by surprised before, but now Xudu knew. If he was going to survive then he was going to have his own pride.

J8P1 attacked, and Xudu was waiting. It was over by the third blow.

“You follow me now.” Xudu said. “Understand.” The other slaves nodded. Xudu picked up his basket and climbed back up the tree.



###



The master of the home sat back in his chair and stared at the video feed. He turned to the slaver at his shoulder.

“Didn’t I tell you? That slave will make the best soldier. Go back and get the rest of the tribe. All of the bushmen you can find. Once they get up to speed, get them into the crash training program. The Kalahari breeds a hard people. Perfect for our war.”

“Are you sure?” The slaver asked. “His brows furrowed.

“We’ve scoured the centuries looking. Who better to send to Mars than someone who practically grew up there? Besides, it’s not like they’ve had a great impact on society. Don’t worry about the timeline. It will be fine.”

*Right to Remain Silent

Intro: Today is the third anniversary of me starting this blog. I never thought it would get as far as it did. This story is not flash, but closer to 2,000 words. The idea started from a conversation I had with Moose. I just added my own tweak.

"There's an 11-44 at the corner of Lexington and 23rd."

"On our way," Leigh said into the radio as Nate did a u-turn and headed in the other direction.

Another body? Could this be more gang activity? Except they didn't say. The thought came from Nate. Everyone's thought voices, as Leigh called them, were a caricature to their speaking voices. Most women's voices were higher, most men's voices lower. Nate's speaking voice resonated, which wasn't surprising since Nate was 6'4" and still built as if he played football. His thought voice sounded like his own if he were eating gravel.

Leigh tried to avoid listening in on his friends' thoughts. He could always hear the thoughts around him, but most of the time he managed to tune out specific people. Every thought was clear, if it were loud enough. It wasn't proximity that increased the "volume" but emotional levels. The fact that Nate's got through made Leigh blink. He forced his mind to avoid the string of expletives that came next.

The body was a young man, in his early twenties. The coroner was already onsite with the forensic team. They glanced up when Leigh and Nate approached.

And here comes the crazy.

They better not touch anything.

Maybe if they did their jobs this wouldn't be happening.

The kid died the same way the others have. This has got to be related to the gang murders. "What can you tell us?" Nate asked.

Leigh and Nate had been partners for nineteen months. That was sixteen months longer than Leigh's seven previous partners. The only reasons the nine partners before that had lasted longer was they couldn't transfer sooner than a year. Though Leigh had time seniority, being on the force fifteen years, he was still a low rank. Nate outranked him even though he'd only been on the force eight years.

"Execution style to the forehead. The victim had his hands tied in front of him." The medical examiner said. "Large caliber. There is a chance this is related to the other murders."

Cops can't even keep the streets safe anymore. "This is your fault." Leigh looked up and examined the women yelling at them across the street. She was a white woman, her clothes worn and dirty.

They won't figure it out. Too stupid to even see the evidence in front of them. Javier even left his calling card. No one messes with him and his drugs and gets away with it. That was another woman's voice, but it was pitched low. Unusual for a female thought. Leigh looked around. A woman dressed in black with chains connected to various hardware elements on her face watched from a window. She ducked out of sight when they made eye contact.

I think he saw me. Sh—!

What is Crazy looking at now?

"Send us the full report after you're done," Nate told the ME. "Leigh, come on. Let's knock on doors and see if anyone saw anything that would be of any use."

Leigh pulled his attention away from the window and followed Nate to the house on the corner. The doorbell was muffled.

We're not here. We're not here. We didn't see anything.

"Next house," Nate said.

Leigh cast one last glance at the door and followed Nate. The next two houses were empty, or the people just weren't thinking, at all. They crossed the street. When they reached the door of the woman in black, Leigh flinched.

I'll die before I let them in. Where's my – gun.

They heard someone scrambling around and things clattering to the floor.

"Police, open up." Nate pounded the door.

Found it!

Leigh placed his hand on his gun, but since Nate was in front of him, his partner didn't see.

"Hold your —"

"Leigh, draw your gun."

Leigh's ability to read minds was a secret to everyone but Leigh's younger sister. His parents thought him delusional, his younger brother thought him insane. Then again, no one liked having their innermost thoughts known. And since people were most passionate and emotional when it came to their deepest secrets, that was what Leigh always heard the loudest. Nate was slightly paranoid, and overly cautious, so Leigh never had to try and explain his odd tendencies to know trouble before it happened. This was why their partnership had lasted as long as it did.

Leigh unclipped his holster and drew his gun.

Now it ends.

Nate motioned for Leigh to stand back. "One last time, open up. We only want to talk with you."

A gunshot cracked.

—!

Nate kicked the door at the deadbolt and the wood splintered. With Leigh bringing up the rear they entered the house. The woman lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Her face was gone.

Nate turned on his radio. "We need another body bag."

###

"Any luck on either victim?" Nate asked.

Leigh looked away from his monitor and glanced down at his notes.

"Bradly Thomas, twenty-three, dropped out of the local tech school where he was studying to become a welder. His father is still living, but serving in the state pen. Last known address is his father's house." Leigh turned the page. "Grace Porter, thirty-five. Worked at a comic shop part-time. Her address is not the house we found her in but rather lists her out of state in Texas."

"So no leads."

"No connection that I can see."

"Who owns the house we found her in?"

Leigh turned back to his monitor. "That's what I was checking up on. In the past ten years it has changed ownership seven times. Supposedly it was vacant."

Why do they get the case? I could have it solved in under an hour.

Crazy should be fired. I'm surprised Nate-dawg's still working with him.

"But whose name is it under now?" Nate asked.

Poor Nate. He should just put in for another partner already.

Leigh pointed to the screen and moved back. The other officers were already at their own desks, but Leigh was tired of talking.

Nate peered at the screen. "Jorge Espinoza?"

"That person doesn't exist." Leigh said. "None of the people who have owned the house seem to exist."

"The house is a front, but for what?" Nate moved back around to his side of the desk and sat down. He leaned back with his hands behind his head. "Drugs, sex, money. Which of the three? What do you think?"

"I'll keep looking, but maybe we should send some K-9s over there to see what they can find."

"Good idea." Nate raised an eyebrow. "Have you already sent them?"

Leigh paused for a second and then nodded. "Half an hour ago."

"Anything else you want to tell me?" Stop hiding.

Leigh shook his head. "I'll let you know as soon as I find out."

You'd better. I’m getting tired of this.

###

Leigh rested his head on glass and looked at the man in the interrogation room. Nate walked around the tattooed man like a thunderhead.

“Javier,” Nate drawled the word. “It seems that you are in an odd business. There aren’t many people who think they can make money by selling a house, to themselves.”

“I’m not losing money,” the man replied. This — pig doesn’t have anything on me. He’s just poking.

Nate leaned against the wall, his muscles bulging under his shirt. “But it is a drug house. Our dogs went crazy in there.”

“Nuttin’ to do with me.” Still poking. This is going to be fun.

“But it’s your house.”

“But I’m not the one living there. Why are you holding me?” Fun’s over. I’ve got work to do. Where’s my lawyer. I’m done stalling.

Nate’s gaze flicked to the glass. If Leigh is wasting my time, again.

Leigh moved away from the window but the thoughts of the two men continued to bombard him. Nate planning a transfer. Though Leigh couldn’t see why. Something had changed from the week before. Had it been him sending out the K-9 unit before asking Nate, but Leigh had done stuff like that before, if only on occasion. Javier’s thoughts brought Leigh’s head up with a snap.

The evidence is now gone, and the bodies hidden. They’ve got nothing on me. This cop’s family is next. How should I do it? Drive by shooting? Or just a hit on the street? Maybe I’ll kidnap them first then lead him on a wild goose chase to find the remains.

Captain was right. Leigh’s just holding me back. He doesn’t offer anything to our partnership. I thought he was just useless, but he’s holding me back. No one takes me seriously because of him. And this Javier is a dead end. I’ll go to the captain, as soon as I release him.

Leigh rubbed his hands across his face.

“Sorry for detaining you. You can leave, but the house is condemned.”

“Accidents happen.” And now your family dies. I’ll take away your house as well.

Leigh watched Javier leave the police station. Nate walked past and directly into the captain’s office. Three minutes later, Leigh was called in.

The conversation was like all of the others. There has been a complaint. Nate is requesting a new partnership. You need to get your act together.

It would be better if you quit.

Leigh closed his eyes as the thoughts got worse. The more the two men thought, the more their anger rose.

“I understand. It seems that this isn’t working for me. I’ll turn in my badge.” Leigh placed his gun and badge on the desk and turned.

“By the way, Nate. Your family is in danger.”

“Is this your attempt at a threat?” Give me a break. This guy is a freak.

Leigh glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

Wasted doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Leigh reached out and picked up the gun. Nate and Captain drew their own.

“Don’t do this.” What the —!

Leigh looked down the barrel. “It was easy at first. Leading people to the crime scenes. I was the lucky one. And then people started to question my motives. They thought I was part of it all. I was stuck. How do I help without condemning myself. So I drifted to the shadows, trying to help without causing problems. Only that labeled me as lazy. To go from the cop with the most solved cases to a sidekick freak. Did I even make a difference when people didn’t believe me when I spoke.” Leigh raised the gun pointing between the two men. “The right to remain silent? The biggest joke of them all.”

Freak!

Insane!

Leigh stared down the barrel and pulled the trigger.

—!

*Yoyo and Momo Revolt

Intro: Moose said that if I got dinner ready he would write a story for me. I agreed. He tried to back out of it, but then he wrote one. I made a few edits, but overall, the story is his. It makes me laugh.

The Mormoto’s always wondered what their dogs, Yoyo and Momo, and cat, Rodent did when they weren’t home. And whenever they were home, the animals didn't want to do anything but lounge. Mr. Mormoto knew.

When they left for the day Rodent took charge. She would show the dogs who was in charge. First she would get Yoyo to carry here on his back around the house to inspect her castle. While this was happening Momo would go to the kitchen and make ready her majesty’s breakfast of fresh tuna, lightly seared on both sides. After the inspection and breakfast, Rodent would then have Yoyo and Momo entertain her. They would wrestle with each other and do tricks just for her amusement. If she was not satisfied she would jump at them scratching and clawing till they made her laugh.

Eventually Yoyo and Momo got fed up with Rodent’s antic’s and the revolt was planned. First Momo knocked over the TV in the middle of Rodent's favorite show and refused to clean it up. While Rodent was busy bossing Momo to get her favorite show back on Yoyo ran into her throne knocking it over and sending Rodent flying.

The fight was on.

Yoyo and Momo chased Rodent all around the house knocking over the furniture and making a mess. Rodent climbed up on to a shelf out of the way of the dogs. An hour before the Mormoto’s were due home all the animals came together to clean up the house. When the Mormoto’s got home their pets were just too tired to go outside and play with the Mormoto’s.

*Sisters

Intro: I am a fan of PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. I have read multiple retellings and I thought I would try my own hand.

"What do you mean you don't know where she is?" Jenny paced around the dorm room.

Her fiancé, Colton, sat on the couch with his arms rested on his knees. His face was haggard. Eyes rimmed dark and bloodshot. He let out a sigh which turned into a yawn.

"How could you lose her?" Jenny's voice cracked. The voice on the other end of the phone remained silent.

Colton got up from the couch and took the phone from her hand. "Katie? Where did you last see her?"

"Jeff White walked her out to his car."

"You've got to be kidding me."

Both Jenny and Colton looked up at the new voice. David stood in the doorway, bags of takeout in his hands.

Emmaline stood behind him her face pale. "What happened?"

"Katie lost Lindsey," Jenny said.

"I told you we should have called the police." Emmaline moved past David and into the room. David seemed to shake himself out of a stupor. He set the food down on the table.

They heard Katie sniffing.

"It's not your fault." Jenny said.

"Just go home," Emmaline said. "We're going to call the police. Martha's already there and the two of you can calm mom and dad down."

"Alright." Katie hung up.

David pulled out his own cell phone. "If you'll excuse me. I have a call to make."

"Where are you going?" Emmaline asked.

David held up his phone and walked out.

Emmaline folded her arms. "I don't get him."

"But you love him," Jenny said.

"That may not be enough."

"David can take care of it," Colton said. Jenny moved over to him and buried her head in his chest. "What are we going to do? If word gets out that our sister is involved outside of matrimony with a career criminal that will be the end of us." Jenny cast a glance at Emmaline.

"So you don't want to call the cops."

"Let David handle it," Colton said again.

Emmaline frowned but with Colton and Jenny engaged in offering words of comfort to each other, she slipped out.

Growing up in a house with six girls was not easy for Emmaline. As the second oldest and coming after the practically perfect Jenny, Emmaline did nothing that was expected of her. She didn't excel at the feminine arts, which would attract her a wealthy husband. Instead she focused on her education as a biology teacher. If she had been a scientist, her family would have been more pleased, though still not exactly happy.

Emmaline sat on the bed and looked at the cell phone. David was perfect. He didn't care that she came from money, and that she was expected to marry someone of equal or higher status. She'd refused to date him at first because he was friends with Colton, who was posh in every sense of the word. Only David wasn't posh. She wasn't even exactly sure what he did. He never talked about his work, and not even talking to Colton would give her any clues. It had only been in the last two weeks that David had admitted to liking her, even if it was against his better judgment.

"You're better judgment? Is that suppose to flatter me?" Emmaline had almost thrown the book she was studying from.

"I am just telling it from my perspective. Our lives are different. It won't be easy. If I ignored all of the difficulties it wouldn't make things any easier, and we won't be able to work through the issues."

"I have issues?"

David raised an eyebrow. "Yes, as do I."

Emmaline pursed her lips. "And how would you solve these issues?"

"Do they have to be solved? I told you I like you, despite your issues."

Emmaline's fingers shook as she dialed the number.

"New York City police Department, how can I help you?"

For a moment the voice sounded familiar. But she had to talk, before her nerves got the better of her. "I need to report a crime." She gave all the details she had and then hung up.

"Emmaline, what have you done?" Jenny stood in the doorway her hands raised to her mouth. "We could have settled this quietly. We don't need other people involved. Katie and Martha won't have anyone even glance at them after this hits the news. None of our friends will want to be associated with us."

"Then they aren't our friends to begin with. True friends won't care what our little sister does. True friends will help us. How can you think so much of our image? Do you think Colton will leave you because of what Lindsey has done?"

"He would never."

"Then believe in the rest of us. You don't think ill of anyone so believe that they won't think ill of us. Be strong. Lindsey will be safe."

Jenny nodded and sat down on the bed. "I just keep thinking there was more that we could do. I feel like I've ignored her with all of the wedding preparations."

"It's not your fault." Emmaline said. They spent the rest of the evening eating ice cream and trying to laugh at an old classic movie.

At two in the morning there was a knock on the door. Emmaline glanced at Jenny who was asleep leaning on Colton. Colton looked like he would stand up but she waved him back. When Emmaline glanced through the peephole. A man in a blue uniform stood at the door, his hat brim covered his eyes He held up his badge.

"Can you let me in?" His voice was muffled. "I have information about your sister."

Emmaline opened the door and stepped outside, closing the door behind her. "I don't want to disturb my sister. She just fell asleep."

"We caught up with your sister as well as Jeff White. They are both in custody though your sister should be clear once the investigation is over." The officer looked up and caught Jenny in a hug.

"Thank you. For calling the cops. I didn't want you to think you would hide behind your money."

Emmaline looked more closely at the officer. "David? You're a police officer?"

David stepped back and took off his cap. "Yes. Is that going to be a problem?"

"You're right, we both do have issues. But if you being a cop is the worst one, I will love you all the more for it."

*Kiss and Tell

Intro:I like reading about strong women, but there are times I fear femininity is sacrificed for strength. I wanted to write a story that shoes princesses aren't always prissy, useless, or unhappy with their lot in life.

The princess Heather was the only child of the King of Jepher. It was a small kingdom situated at the apex of three other countries. King Fredrickson doted on his daughter, as any good father should. She probably ate a little too much cake, and there were times when she stayed up too late, but most of the time she was a good daughter and he was a good father. The Queen Margaret loved her daughter and spent the majority of her time educating Heather. Her lessons included dancing and embroidery, not to mention diplomacy and elocution.

Heather found some of the lessons boring, including the lesson on mending. Heather liked to sew, when she could chose what and how she did. Mending torn stockings were such a bother. She had servants for that kind of work, but Margaret insisted that she at least knew how to mend a stocking. The trip to the farm was fun, until she realized not everything she was walking was mud. Even that wouldn't have bothered her, if she had worn the sturdy shoes her father had told her too. And, fixed her stockings the right way.

Other lessons included riding, and even a few lessons with the sword master,because no princess should be completely defenseless. The lessons were fun, it gave her the opportunity to thwack the master who liked to tease her. She was better than anyone anticipated, but even at a young age, she was sure that wasn't really a compliment.

At sixteen the three nations surrounding Jepher declared war with each other. Jepher was to become the battleground.

"Your birthday is in a couple of months," Fredrickson said over a dinner of venison. The dogs scrambled around the table as he threw scraps to them.

"Yes, Father." Heather enjoyed eating, but her father's tone of voice churned her stomach, but she still managed to finished the rest of her plate. Though she had a healthy appetite, she was always busy running around the castle that she probably could have eaten twice what she did and still fit into the same gowns.

"You are old enough to get married."

Heather grimaced. "Yes, Father."

"Is that all you're going to say?"

Heather sighed. "What else is there to say? I have been raised to be a wife. Please excuse me." She stood and retired to her room.

The epistles were sent and all three kingdoms responded. Heather's lessons switched from learning about trade, to learning about war strategies. Her afternoon was filled with more dancing. With the heirs coming, there would be dancing, and more dancing, and with the men sometimes hitting the mead a little heavy, she had to be extra good to make her partners look good or at least to save her feet.

A week before her seventeenth birthday the first heir arrived. He was from the second largest country. He was twenty, and brought her flowers. A day later the second heir arrived. He was from the smallest country. He brought her a necklace and looked younger than his nineteen years. Three days later, the day before the event was to start, the third prince arrived. He was the oldest, at twenty four, and only had a cocky grin.

The next day brought the first round of events. Heather made sure to clap for all of them. That night she listened to them praise her beauty and explain everything they could offer her. She kept her back straight and a fairly neutral expression. They promised peace, land, and wealth.

The next day were more events and this time Heather had a chance to spend time with each of them. The youngest Lord commented on her beauty and wisdom. He promised that once they were married there would be peace.

The prince of second country spoke more about how his army would protect her.

The third, eldest prince, talked of himself. He tried to kiss her.

The day of her birthday was dreary and heavy with rain. After Heather danced with each heir she stood on the dais next to Fredrickson.

"Thank you for joining us. We are here to establish peace amongst our lands. The treaty is such that the land of Jepher is to act as a peace offering. My daughter is to act as the bridge. Her choice will stand."

Heather moved forward and looked at the three men.

"I choose the Prince Kalin."

The eldest prince smiled and stepped forward. He took her hand and kissed it.

That night, after their wedding, Kalin watched his wife.

"And why did you chose me?"

"Because you tried to kiss me," Heather replied as she brushed out her hair. "And you talked only of yourself."

"And that is a good thing?"

Heather cocked her head to the side. "I spent my whole life training for this moment. I wouldn't settled for someone weak. And trust me, you may be able to run a country, but I can keep you in line, as any good queen can."

"Careful, Heather, or I may fall in love with you."

Heather shook her hair out. "You don't even stand a chance. My mother taught me well."

*Lady Mary

Intro: The matriarchs of the early 1900's strike fear into the hearts of everyone. I think that if more of those women existed today, that life would be a lot different.

Lady Mary of Wettnshire woke up and stared at the blue sky. She was laying on the ground. Though her joints protested she got to her feet and looked around. No one was in sight. She brushed off her dress but froze when a large, something, moved past her. The rest of her surroundings looked as odd. With her chin raised, she marched off towards the nearest building. There was little grass, and instead of the roads being dirt they were hard like stone, only there was no stone large enough to cover the expanse.

Lady Mary followed the stone through a small patch of grass. It lead to the side of the building which appeared to be made of glass. She'd never seen such smooth glass of such a dark color. A portion of the wall swung towards her. She stood her ground. The person on the other side of what Lady Mary realized was a door, stopped in his tracks.

"Excuse me," the man said.

He didn't even offer her a bow. Lady Mary sniffed as he rushed by. She stood outside the building. No one opened the door. She frowned. The sun was too hot to wait for a lazy footman. She opened the door and stepped in. The difference in temperature between outside and inside made Lady Mary shiver. She adjusted her skirts even as she scoped out the servants in the entry hall. She waved to one. The woman remained fixed in place.

"Have you no manners?"

"Excuse me, but who are you?" One of the men said.

"I am the Lady Mary of Wettnshire. I request you take me to the master of this house."

"You've got to be kidding me? Lady, you are crazy."

Lady Mary turned on the man. He was bald and there were metal rings in his ears and even his eyebrow. She sniffed and took a step towards him. "You will mind your tongue, and you will do as I say."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You can refer to me as mi'lady. What position do you hold?"

"My dad owns this company."

"So you are the heir? Then you shall take me to your father."

"I don't know if that is a good idea. He doesn't like visitors."

Lady Mary strode past him. "He will see me."

Though she didn't know where she was, with all of the electric lights and the strange clothing, women wearing trousers, Lady Mary was going to make the best of her new life. She was Lady Mary of This Company. And in five minutes she would learn what that actually meant.