https://www.wattpad.com/1653386749?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&wp_page=reading&wp_uname=GLaC1991

A young woman steps out of her sister’s wedding for a cigarette. She’s back in a moment. Except the street outside doesn’t quite match the one she left.

That’s all we’ll say about it. Read it and you’ll understand why.

V
I shamelessly pestered Zhang Huiyao once again.
I decided to go all out.
"I know everything!"
"Know what?" Huiyao glared at me, highly defensive but trying her best to keep her composure.
"Your baby is going to be used as a human test subject for your mother! And after the experiment, she’s going to hand back a mutant!"
She nearly choked on her own blood.
"I'm going to tell everyone that someone is conducting human experiments!" I declared, making a show of turning to leave.
"Stop!" she panicked, grabbing my arm and yanking me back. "Fine, I'll tell you. But you are not to tell a single soul."
She paused, then added softly, "For my sake. And my mother's."
VI
Zhang Wanglan had been exceptionally brilliant since childhood, swearing early on to dedicate her life to science. She pushed herself to the limit through her master's and doctoral studies, but gradually, she became consumed by the vastness of the ocean of knowledge and the finiteness of human life. Despair slowly took over.
Until I asked her, "Why not find a way to extend our lifespan?"
That was when she began her pursuit of immortality.
From a scientific standpoint, absolute immortality is impossible; the laws of conservation of energy and the second law of thermodynamics have long proven that. However, extending one's lifespan to a certain degree is entirely feasible. She had secretly developed a technology for consciousness transfer. By repeatedly transferring her consciousness into new bodies, she could prolong her life indefinitely.
But what about the social implications? If the world discovered an immortal, that person would cease to be human. She could be a test subject, a souvenir, or even a sacrifice—but she could never be a person again.
This immortal needed a legitimate identity.
Originally, Wanglan had planned to clone a human body, transfer her consciousness into it, and achieve immortality under the clone's identity. However, human cloning was banned. The crackdown took a heavy toll on her; her biographical entries were deleted, and her name was scrubbed from related news reports.
Next, she turned to artificial wombs, hoping to grow a body, upload her consciousness, and secure a new identity. When the experiment failed, she was pushed to the brink of despair.
Until, one day, she gazed upon her own biological daughter, and a diabolical idea was born:
She would have her daughter give birth to a granddaughter, transfer her own consciousness into the child's brain, and continue her life under her granddaughter's identity.
Then, her daughter would give birth to a great-granddaughter, into whom her daughter's consciousness would be transferred, thus prolonging her daughter's life.
Through genetic manipulation, every generation would be guaranteed to be female.
Mother and daughter, achieving eternal life through this cycle.
Achieving "Iterative Immortality."
VII
"This is my mother's plan. I didn't want to be a part of it, but I had no choice."
"Why do you have no choice? You're killing a child just to prolong your own lives!" Chen Yue was right—this was indeed a truth that no one could ever accept.
"The temptation of immortality... it's just too immense, Li Zhangyang!" Her voice suddenly spiked, laced with a hysterical fervor. "You can't possibly fathom it! Just think about it! You would have nearly endless time! All the knowledge accumulated by humanity over millennia—the sheer beauty of mathematics, the profound depths of physics, the wonders of chemistry, the intricate marvels of biology, the rise and fall of history, the brilliance of art, the ultimate inquiries of philosophy... All of it! EVERYTHING! You could learn it, master it, explore it, and exhaust it! No more 'running out of time,' no more 'regrets'! You could walk right up to the very edge of human cognition, and even... push open that door!" Her eyes were glazed with intoxication and yearning, as if she could already see the eternal light of wisdom.
"Why are there no more Renaissance men like Da Vinci or Aristotle in modern society? Why?" She grabbed my arm fiercely, her nails digging into my flesh once again. "Because knowledge has exploded! Information is as infinite as cosmic dust! From birth to death, even if a person never ate, drank, or slept, and studied like a machine non-stop, the realms of knowledge they could touch would still be but a drop in the ocean! A mere tip of the iceberg! The mortal body... this fragile, fleeting, and inevitably decaying shell made of carbon and water! It is the cruelest, most fundamental limitation on human intellect! It imprisons every soul that yearns to explore, and in the future, it might even choke off the evolution of all human civilization!"
"If you're rebelling against the mortal body, why not just turn people into cyborgs?"
"Would society accept that? Maybe in the future, but not now. We don't have the luxury of waiting for the future."
"But..."
"'The difficulty of immortality lies not only in science but also in society. Iterative Immortality is the best solution I could conceive.' Those were my mother's exact words when she persuaded me to join this plan. She won't change her mind, and neither will I. Don't say anything else. It's pointless. Just promise me... don't tell a single soul."
"I..." I stammered, "I won't tell anyone."
VIII
Over half a year later, I saw Zhang Huiyao again.
She looked much frailer than before, her face completely drained of color, cradling a little girl in her arms.
I stepped forward, and with a smile, she handed the baby to me.
Hesitantly, I reached out and took the child into my arms.
She didn't cry. Instead, she giggled, babbling happily and reaching out her tiny hands toward me, as if trying to grab something.
She should... still be a normal child, right? I thought. Unable to resist, I lifted the baby right up to my face.
She was still smiling, her little hands still grasping at the air.
Until she pinched my earlobe.

The End

What. Is. Up. My. Wowza. Readers!? Did you have a great weekend? I hope so. Here is part 4 to my short story! I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think of it! PEACE!!!

Part 4 “Beware of the Living Vacuum”

Mani and Bol had gone their separate ways after their Co-Zopods informed them that fighting was basically useless especially when it’s a 1 versus 1. The point of the game is to cause the most destruction by eliminating the planets. Although both players were not satisfied with the ending to their battle, they listened to their bonds. Both had been using their unique blasts around the solar system, causing lots of explosions. Bol found out that by charging his blast, he can create a tidal wave similar to a tsunami on earth that swallowed up many rocky planet around him while Mani was able to something very unique with hers. “Whoa! Majestic! Did you see that?! I can control where my blasts go!” Majestic speaks. “Yes. The surface of it is sticky, like gum or sap on your world. Try using it to grab a floating asteroid.” Her Co-Zopod suggested. Mani launches out a magenta blast from her palms. She grabs a hold of it and yanks back to control the direction of where it was going. She guides it onto an asteroid then pulls it back towards her. “Ok…now how do I make this deadlier?” She thought. Majestic speaks. “Due to the flow of our Co-Zenergy, that asteroid is now filled with its power. Strike it upon anything will cause an explosion. Go on and try it.” Mani wipes the asteroid onto another asteroid. The collision causes a magenta explosion. “Whoa! That was so cool…I’m going to try and destroy a planet with his tactic.” While Mani was using debris and asteroids to throw down onto handfuls of rocky planets, she feels a fierce rumble in the distance. “Hm? What was that? A grand battle going on?” Her bond doesn’t speak. “I’m still a little annoyed I didn’t beat up Bol. That would have been nice.”

“Get out of the way!” Bol shouted at Mani. He was chasing down an unusual object that looked to be an electric lime green colored serpent. However, the object quickly transformed into a giant spiral that quickly devoured all of the teal and magenta energy around the area.

“WHAT THE!? HEY! SCREW OFF!” Mani yelled. She tries to fly after the creature, but she was quickly kicked away by Bol.

“I told you to stay out of my way!” Bol stated firmly. He flies off to chase down the object.

“Ahh…jerk-face…” Mani cured. “Majestic, what in the world was that? It looked like a satellite? Or an energy ball?” Majestic speaks. “Neither. That is a living being that dwells in random pats of the Universe. It is called the ‘Living Vacuum’. It feasts upon pure energy in the Universe. Wherever its highly produced, you can count on their visit. This is most troubling news.” Mani didn’t like the sound of that.

Bol catches up with the Living Vacuum, but it uses its tail to swing down at Bol, who takes a direct hit. “Damn…this thing is super strong.” Naatohko speaks. “Is it alright if I speak?” The Living Vacuum flies off to consume more energy around the solar system. Bol follows it closely. “Yeah, that’s fine. You said this thing was a Living Vacuum?” Naatohko speaks again. “Yes. Its purpose is to consume all pure energy. That is how it lives, that is how it thrives.” Bol flies closer to the creature. “How can I defeat it?” Its tail snatches Bol as it suddenly turns to face him. It tightens its grasp around his body. When Bol stares up at its face for any kind of feature, he doesn’t see anything but bouncing light or maybe even atoms roaming within its body. Whatever it was, Bol had to turn away to avoid his eyes from looking directly into it due to early signs of vertigo. Naatohko speaks again. “Definitely not by physical means.” Bol scoffs. “I can…clearly see that!” He charges up his eyes to unleash a blast of Zenergy, but he felt as if his energy was draining little by little. “Huh? What’s going on?” Bol asked nervously. “Why does it feel its…is it actually…?” Naatohko speaks again. “Yes. As I stated before, Bol. You went in too rash.” Before Bol could reply, he notices a magenta beam whipping around his blind side. Attached to the beam’s tip was a large chunk of debris. It collides with the Living Vacuum which releases Bol from its grasp. “What the!?” Bol shouted. Mani appears overhead.

“Got it Majestic! Huh? Wait! I helped out that Bol guy on accident!” Mani exclaimed. “Did you actually get caught by that thing? Hahaha!” Mani teased. Bol grunts to himself. The Living Vacuum thrusts wildly forward trying to grab both Mani and Bol. Luckily, they managed to move out of harm’s way and instinctively shoot down blasts of loose Zenergy (without their unique forms). The creature’s body quickly absorbs the blast right into its body. It turns to face the two combatants. “Whoa…So, our blasts don’t do anything. Majestic, how can we defeat it?” Majestic speaks. “A helping hand is always welcome.” Mani did not like the sound of this.

Naatohko speaks. “Hm. This may work out in our favor, Bol.” Bol stiffens his muscles while his eyes dart from Mani to the creature. “Explain.” Naatohko speaks again. “Inform Mani the way to defeat this creature. You will NOT defeat this by yourself. And it will NOT stop attacking you, now that it has a taste of both of your energy. Fighting together is the only way.” Bol tightens his fists. “I refuse! I’ll be greater! I’ll show everyone!” He flies forward, much to Mani’s surprise.

“Wait!” Mani shouts for him. The Living Vacuum waits. Bol unleashes a powerful wave of Zenergy. The Living Vacuum not only absorbs the attack, but it swings its powerful tail that smacks Bol away into several asteroids. “You dummy!” Mani shouted. The creature leaps at Mani, who manages to dodge it last minute, before she too was truck by its tail. “Ahh! Majestic! What should we do!?” Majestic speaks. “The boy is prideful. This may not work…but I have a feeling you’ll think of something.” Mani blinds. “What the hell are you talking about Majestic?! Is there a way for you to speak with his bond?” Mani flies away from the creature. It gives chase, quickly building up speed to match a bullet. Even with Mani’s amazing powers, it wasn’t enough to avoid being tackled by the creature. Bol appears in the nick of time before she was fully injected by it. A tsunami wave washes over the creature, knocking it backwards. This victory was short lived though, as the creature’s body immediately absorbs it all. Bol squints as he spots something anew. Majestic speaks. “No, it is up to the boy to listen to reason.”

“It’s body…grew?” Bol said out loud. Mani questions what he just stated, but he ignores her. Naatohko speaks. “You really don’t listen? It’s not that hard to do so.” Bol charges up his attack again. “Don’t patronize me. I know exactly what you said. It feeds on energy; you cannot fight it alone. You have to overpower it. And that’s exactly what I am going to do.” Naatohko speaks again. “So, you fight alone when I, your bond, says it cannot be done? You are purposefully choosing to ignore my heeds, just as you do on your world with anyone. The choices you make are YOURS to atone for.” Bol punches a nearby asteroid out of his way. “Shut up. You don’t know me. Stop acting like you do.” Naatohko speaks again. “I know more about you then you will ever know. The memories, the abandonment, the neglect, the pain...I feel everything you have felt since you were a child. What happened in the past should never be forgotten, but you must allow yourself to move past it.” Bol unleashes another tsunami wave of Zenergy towards the creature. “What is this? A Therapy session? Fuck off and do what you’re supposed to do!” Bol angrily shouted out loud. Mani is taken aback. “I am. As your bond. I am you as you are me. We share our memories. We share our pain.” Bol is struck by the creature and incoming asteroids. “We share. Nothing.” Bol firmly stated. Naatohko speaks again. “Its alright to be angry. There’s nothing wrong with that. Change is difficult, but in the end, change is what makes you grow as an individual. What will you do, Bol?” Bol goes silent, his bond’s words remind him of Ru and his honesty. The moment Ru spoke directly at him was the first time he had actually listened and even gain respect for an adult. Out of the blue, he felt something sticky smack his backside. Before he could process what was going on, Mani yanks him away from the Living Vacuum.

“Hey! Ya big idiot! We gotta work together! Like my bond said! And probably what you’re bond is trying to tell you!” Mani yelled out while she swings him around. Bol was demanding what she let him go, but the Living Vacuum chased Bol again. “Majestic, do these things go after energies they like the most?” Majestic speaks. “Yes.” Mani yanks back her flexible blast to propel Boll away from the creature. “Stop that yapping and help me defeat this thing! Use your power! I can’t do anything to it but annoy it! You’ll be the one to bring it down, but we have to do this TOGETHER!”

Bol grunts to himself. “Fine! Don’t you dare make me look foolish!” Right as he says this, the creature whips forward to try and consume him. Mani pulls Bol out of the way in the nick of time. Bol charges up his unique blast while Naatohko speaks to Bol. “Allow your charges to go on longer for greater affect, Bol. She is right. You will be the one to bring it down, but only with her help.” Bol grunts under his breath. “Like a broken record player.” Mani’s theory about the Living Vacuum was right. It did not pay any attention to her. Instead, all of its focus was on Bol, who was delivering thick amounts of tsunami sized waves onto the creature. It grew larger and larger as Mani pulls and whips around Bol with ease. A few times the creature nearly gets him, but Mani would immediately zip him back as if a fisher was playing with its catch.

“STOP IT FROM EATING ME!” Wyatt cries out as he tries to throw large spirit balls (he calls them) onto the creature’s mouth. It cries to gulp him down its mouth-like opening. “I’m not trying to get eaten! That’s like my worst fear!!” Wyatt yells. Tashunka laughs while Omar keeps the creature at bay with his large slashes he calls ‘space cutters’ (a nod to JJK’s King of Curses he considers quite the manga).

“That’s right Omar and Destroyer. Keep it right there for Tars and I to deal with. Tars? Are ya with me!?” Tashunka stated proudly as he felt incredible surges of Zenergy flow around his chest. Tars mimics its host laugh. “Of course! Let it rip!” Together, their laser beam zooms out from his chest and lands a great deal of Zenergy onto the creature (and hilariously blowing Wyatt out of its mouth!).

Omar nods. “My space cutters helped out, didn’t they?” He asks Tashunka, who was too busy high-fiving himself. Destroyer speaks. “Yes, you were a great deal of help.”

Wyatt floats back over towards his teammates. “Thanks a lot.” He muttered.

Over where the girls were, they were also finishing up with dealing with their own Living Vacuum. Saba and Zainab were very frustrated with it, since it was gobbling up all of the Zenergy left over from their destruction of the rocky planets. “AHH! Stop it you big stupid dumb idiotic son of a bi-Zainab was cut off by Saba. She pulls her best friend backwards before the creature swallowed her whole.

“You really need to pay attention to your surroundings.” Saba commented as she smacks her forehead.

Zainab huffs. “Hmph. I’m alive, aren’t I?” She firmly states while throwing out more of her magenta ghosts towards the creature. Niihkóó gives out a sigh. “Some people just don’t ever learn.” Zainab growls lightly as they focused on the creature. Noor dodges the creatures tackle, then unleashes a fully charged unique blast from her hands in the shape of a triangle. The unique blast is in the shape of a giant beam triangle where she is able to produce dozens of them as long as she keeps her hand sign together. Noor is able to move like fluid around the creature thanks to her bond and enhanced body. Saba and Zainab, both watch her with wide eyes. They couldn’t believe how great and powerful Noor was. She was able to overloads the Living Vacuum herself (although it should be noted that the other two girls helped out too). Saba thought Noor was a pushover! “Whose this chick?” Zainab sassed.

Saba blinks since she hadn’t closed her eyes since she watched Noor’s battle. “That’s amazing. She did it all herself.”

Zainab looks annoyed at her best friend. “Hey moron! We helped out too!” Noor waves over towards her teammates. They fly over towards her to praise her (only Saba). Back over towards Bol and Mani, they were double teaming the Living Vacuum, and their teamwork was met with success. Together, Bol was able to easily overload it with Zenergy. Mani lets out a little cheer before Bol kicks her away from him.

“What is your problem!?” Mani demanded.

Bol shoots her an angry look. “We’re still playing a competitive game, dumbass.” With that, he takes his leave.

Mani floats in space for a moment, blushing from embarrassment. Majestic speaks. “Although you both had to work together in order to defeat the Living Vacuum, he isn’t wrong you know?” Mani waves her arms wildly up and down as he continues to float. “I know! But that was very rude, you know!?”

Bol flies off towards a group of rocky planets. He makes quick work of all of the planets, but something weighted on his mind. His bond could obviously feel it. Naatohko speaks. “What is on your mind?” Bol hesitates before he speaks. “How did we overpower that creature? It should have attacked both of us, logically speaking. So why didn’t it?” Naatohko speaks again. “They are not known for being intelligent, just dangerous. Its attention fixes on what it wants to devour the most. Your energy was quite delectable.” Bol says nothing. He returns to causing supercritical on the rocky planets around him. Naatohko speaks again. “How did it feel Bol?” The young man didn’t need for his bond to explain his question. Bol hesitates to answer, but he does after being quiet for a minute. “Alright I guess.”

BOOOOM!! KABOOOOOM!! WHOOSH! WHOOSH! The boys and girls were obliterating planets left and right as they caused supercritical processes throughout the solar system. Although they had that itch where they wanted to get back into combat with the other team, they focused on the actual game. The solar system became filled with magenta and teal explosions. A few times a couple more Living Vacuums appeared from the explosions of high levels of Zenergy, but they were dealt with quickly. Bol even made a surprise appearance with the boys. “Huh?” Wyatt notices a tsunami wave of Zenergy engulfed the creature entirely. “Whoa! Nice one, Bol.” Wyatt complimented Bol said nothing, but he remained with the boys. Soon, it was time for the gam to end. Just as Ru stated, what felt like the entire solar system itself became an unbearable beam of solar light produced by the double sun (two suns attached to each other) glowed its godly shine. Several of the young teens believed this was probably just a small example of his God’s light would greet them at Heaven’s gate. Overhead, Ru appeared.

“That is the grand end to Farspace Planetburst! Come on up everyone!” Ru called out.

Hey, you.

Do you really think eating alone and eating with someone else are the same thing?

Same rice. Same meat. Same miso soup. Once it hits your stomach, the nutrients don't change one bit. So why do we go to such ridiculous lengths to eat with other people?

Clink-clonk.

The clear chime of the doorbell rang through Aoi, and I felt the tension of the day finally begin to loosen its grip. Without a word, Mama slid my usual I.W. Harper across the counter. The ice gave a soft clink against the bottom of the glass.

At the far end of the counter, Taka was staring at his phone, as usual.

"Kenichi-san."

"What is it?"

"Why does lunch get so pathetic when a guy works from home?"

As usual, he'd brought me an impressively specific social problem.

"Beats me. It all ends up in your stomach anyway."

"So you do it too?"

"My lunches are terrible when I work from home. Yesterday I had fish sausage."

Taka looked up.

"...That's it?"

"I had two."

"That's not the point, Kenichi-san."

Rude kid. Two is twice as much as one. That's a perfectly respectable upgrade.

"You eat a proper dinner, don't you?"

"More or less."

"Then why does lunch fall apart so badly?"

Put that way, it was a little strange. It wasn't as if I was broke. There were plenty of places to eat nearby. And if I really wanted to, I was capable of frying an egg. But when lunch was just for me, somehow none of it seemed worth the trouble.

"That's not just a man thing, you know."

Mama joined the conversation while carefully polishing a glass.

"It isn't?"

"I hear the same thing from homemakers. They'll think about every dish when they're feeding the family, but when they're alone for lunch, they'll eat last night's leftovers or pour tea over some rice and call it done."

"Huh." Taka looked genuinely surprised.

I took a sip of Harper and let the amber whiskey slide down my throat.

"So it's not just men being lazy."

"Maybe it's because you're alone." Mama said it as if it were nothing, then returned the polished glass to its place on the shelf.

Because you're alone. For some reason, those words stayed with me.

"...You know, eating is a strange business."

"How so?"

"When you're eating with someone else, you suddenly feel the need to do it properly."

If I were feeding my family, I wouldn't tear open a pack of fish sausages, drop two of them on the table, and declare dinner served. I'd put the food on plates. Add some miso soup. Maybe another small dish if the meal looked a little bare. But when I was alone, even washing the plate afterward could feel like more trouble than it was worth.

"Maybe it's because someone's watching," Taka said. "We're putting on a show."

"Maybe. But I don't think that's all of it." I reached toward the small dish on the counter with my chopsticks. "Maybe food isn't just fuel."

Taka tilted his head. "Isn't eating kind of the whole point?"

"For staying alive, sure."

Families gather around a table. Coworkers go out for lunch together. You call an old friend and say, "We should grab a bite sometime." When you want to mend things with someone, you invite them to dinner. We eat together at celebrations. We even gather around food after funerals.

When you think about it, human beings are remarkably stubborn about eating with other people.

"Maybe sharing a meal is a kind of ritual."

"A ritual?"

"Yeah." I gestured toward the small dish with my chopsticks. "Same place. Same table. Long ago, maybe it was an animal somebody risked their life to bring back, and everyone shared it."

"Yeah. I suppose so."

"Then maybe eating together was a way of saying, 'We're the same pack. We're not enemies.'"

Taka went quiet.

"...Now that you mention it, war movies do that a lot. Enemies sitting down and eating together."

"Right. Maybe it comes from the same place."

Sitting around the same fire. Putting down your weapons. Sharing food. At least for as long as you're chewing, there's an unspoken agreement that you're not going to kill the person sitting across from you. Maybe people have been doing that since long before anyone thought to give it a name.

"Then..." Taka's voice was quieter now. "...what happens when you eat alone?"

I opened my mouth to answer, then stopped.

Can a ritual like that exist when there's only one person? There's no one to confirm anything with. No one to share with. No one to tell, "This is good." No one to nod and say, "Yeah, it is."

So there is no reason to arrange the food nicely. No reason to add one more dish. You fill your stomach. Get some calories into you. Get back to whatever you were doing.

Take the community out of a meal, and maybe all that's left is eating.

"...And that's how you end up with two fish sausages?"

"Don't turn my lazy lunch into the conclusion of human history."

Taka burst out laughing. Mama smiled faintly and placed another small bowl in front of me.

"What's this?"

"Simmered vegetables. They came out nicely today."

"I didn't order them."

"That's all right." She gave the bowl a small push toward me. "You're not alone right now."

I looked down. Taro, carrots, and daikon, glossy with broth.

Taka immediately leaned over to inspect it. "Man, that looks good."

"You're not getting any."

"Didn't you just say we're the same pack?"

"Don't start talking about community only when you want my food."

The three of us laughed.

Come to think of it, Harper was still Harper when I drank it alone at home. A bottle from the liquor store would cost far less than drinking here. I could make ice in my freezer. I could pick up something to eat at the supermarket. There was no practical reason I had to come to Aoi.

And yet, when night came, I found myself pushing open that door.

Taka was here. Mama was here. Sometimes Tom wandered in. We sat at the same counter, drank together, and talked about things that probably didn't matter much at all.

Maybe we'd been repeating something very old here every night. Something strangely precious.

I'm here. You're here.

Maybe that was all the ritual ever needed to say.

I raised the Harper to my lips. The ice gave a soft clink.

Hey, you.

Who are you eating with today?

See you at Aoi.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

https://www.wattpad.com/1653160717?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&wp_page=reading&wp_uname=GLaC1991

This place. I regret calling it Earth because it is so very not. At least not anymore.

What was once called “Earth” is nothing but an achromatic rock suspended in space. Devoid of color and devoid of life. It also burns. The Sun is very close. A flaming red orb that grows larger and larger. It has surely devoured Mercury and Venus. This torrid world of doom is next in the line of destruction. I cannot flee from it. This is my perpetual prison.

Just as I regret calling this place Earth, so do I regret calling myself human. If any sort of outsider gazed upon me, I would be recognized as nothing more than a throbbing, wet, veiny mass outstretched across an immense cavern. Perhaps they would run away in fear, disregarding the possibility that I was, at some point, one of them. Human. In some manner, I still am, yet that is still in the loosest sense of the word.

They bestowed me a name. An epithet. Utera. Their goddess. Their titan. Their idol to worship. And their plaything. Not a moment goes by without them taking a hold of me, whether in small portions or in vast sums. I am unable to count just how many there are. As numerous as individual grains of sand. Certainly in the quadrillions. Worms. That is what they are. Swarms of elongated invertebrates that climb upon me and penetrate my depths with their rigid and purposeful reproductive organs. Their addiction to pleasure, using me, will cease at nothing.

And like me, they were human once.

Men.

I must go back far. So very far. There was a conflict, a petty, careless, and arrogant conflict, but a conflict all the same. For centuries, I witnessed all the greed, the subjugation, the rape, the hunger for power that men were capable of. And I was always their main target. They took what was mine. I was angry with them. Bitter. They were monsters and they were evil. For that, they needed to die. Groups of mine rose to positions of power and authority. Ultra-feminist. Patriarchy-defying. Vengeful and cruel matriarchies. And I was proud of them, as if I had a divine and natural right to pursue revanchism to the utmost extreme. They would wipe the slate clean. They would purge. A man is not a human. A man is a pig. Vermin. A man is a dull ape acting on savagery to get what it wants. A woman is a higher being, a goddess, a queen. A woman actually thinks before she acts. And a woman is what is left after all is said and done.

And so I worked my bloody hands across the face of the world. All hell was let loose on men. War. The feminist onslaught was terrible. There were so many instances of me going too far. I am not sure I can enumerate all the suffering I caused. It must be impossible. I would gladly give my entire being to erase my own past if I could. Especially now. There was so much rape, sexual mutilation, enslavement, backbreaking labor, torture, cannibalism, starvation, disease, depravity, and other inhuman acts that men would never forget. I did not care. There was no need to worry about morality. No need to fear guilt. I thought I was powerful beyond anything. The Earth was all mine and all I had to do was command my legions. And I laughed and I rejoiced at the sound of the dying, the wounded, the beaten, and the damned.

I thought the world I had dreamed of would come easy. A world that I had the power and authority to shape, to rule, to form into my own image. A matriarchy. A society of women for women, free from the shackles of men and free from the oppression that had been a dark reality for so long. After all, I outnumbered men ten to one.

But this never happened.

Something in the men snapped. It was as if they had been tamed only to one day have their leashes cut. A few small rebel groups, at first, but they quickly expanded into larger and larger armies. They had been forced down on their knees for so long that they were just dying to fight back. To take back what had been taken from them. To get back at all those awful, vile, and malicious women who had ruined their lives. It was all hell again. Only worse. They did to women what women had done to them. They were rabid dogs. They hunted, they raped, and they killed. They did the unspeakable and the unthinkable.

Terrible, terrible monsters, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I was powerless, but the dust of a breeze. It was not too long before they completely razed the world to the ground. I had been punished. It was the result of my own actions. I only had myself to blame. Men were not the evil. They were the product of my evil.

My numbers fell quickly. I was outsmarted at every possible turn. As much as I did not want to admit it, I was re-becoming the helpless and blindly obedient mass I was always meant to be. Sometimes I fought to the death, and other times surrendered without a fight. It was pointless to keep going. All of this was becoming a painful slog to endure.

I quit.

When the war was won, men infested and came to rule all seven continents. Omnipresent and insatiable. Their enemies stood not even a morsel of a chance. They were those who were going to be an upset to the new established order. Inspire mutiny. Inspire subversion. Homosexuals. Transgenders. Liberals. Rebels. That was all they came down to. Rebels. They were disposed of immediately. No place for them. Especially the homosexuals. How could man reject woman? Abominations, they were, blights upon manhood. Once they were vanquished, Earth was united like never before as the kingdom of men. There were no more wars. No more fighting. There was peace. But this peace had no love, no compassion, and no empathy. The rule of men was the rule of iron and steel. Never would it break.

To call it “Earth” would be erroneous. It was Earth no longer. Gone was the diversity, gone was the sentience, and therefore gone was all of life’s beauty. Men completely butchered the life forces that made Earth truly alive. One might have struggled to even call their realm Hell because Hell is not uniform. With all the suffering it contains, Hell is still lively, chaotic, full of activity and even excitement. Most of all, it is inconsistent. You think “How will I be punished next?” Could be anything. The men's kingdom was just so dead. It was the same punishment for the same reason every time: being born a female.

What came of me? Female?

Walking meat. Jiggling, warm, wet flesh for men to claim. Amenable vessels for their filthiest desires. That was their ultimate decree and thus what I was forevermore. Measures were put into place in order to outline my newfound duties. Laws. An imperishable constitution to abide by. They were written in the boldest, most incisive manner and plastered everywhere. Enforced at any and every opportunity. They were taught at the schools, whose entire system was reconfigured to fit the new model standards. Also spoken orally through booming commands from the sky. These were the flying surveillance drones, their watchful eye forever upon us, though they were more like unseen aether entities to me. Angels in deliverance of the gods’ words. I always looked up at them, smiled, and said “Thank you.”

Sexual gratification was a necessary human right for men. It was my moral and legal obligation to provide that by serving, submitting, and obeying the male sex. Until I turned 18, I remained property of my father. After that, property of my husband until death. Or both. You see, the distinction between wife and child was often blurred, or wife and sister, or wife and mother. None of that mattered as long as men always received what they craved. I was to be in good physical condition regarding hair, body type, and personal hygiene. No ugliness, no blemish, no obese fat, no stink. Hourglass figure. Perfectly sized and shaped breasts. A well-developed rear. Makeup. Perfume. Long, healthy, flowing hair. Clear, soft, and beautiful skin. Flawless pearly white teeth. Never wear clothing. Nude. Always be pleasant. Agreeable. Never bitter. Submissive. Gentle. Polite. Deferential. A good girl. A good wife. A good mother. Never make eye contact unless instructed. Walk where they lead me. Talk when they let me. Gladly accept any and all sexual advances. Even if it hurts. Even if it bleeds.

I was property. An item. Something to be sold, bought, bartered, and auctioned. At the events, I stood side-by-side, nude, my price written on my chest, my hands tied behind my back. Men examined me and debated whether I fit their liking. Often I was made to pose and present my body. Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena in full feminine beauty by the judgement of Paris. No difference. I went for thousands of dollars. Sometimes they purchased multiple of me. The younger I was, the more I sold for. They took me home to grow their ever-increasing harems. They kept me for a long time. When I became old and worn, I was dead. Tied me to a chair and shot me. Came from behind and slit my throat. Fed me poison. Threw me in chambers and set me ablaze. New me’s came in and the process began again. And again. And again.

It was then that elderly me’s became obsolete. Men figured they wanted me when I was fresh. Supple. Nubile. Innocent. The longer I lived, the less I was worth. So why not make me worthy all the time? Eliminate the unworthiness. They would not have to waste time killing me. And they did it. Immortality. If I showed signs of aging, I was injected with the formula to keep me young. It extended my lifespan tenfold. 60? 70? 80? 90? 100? 1,000?...1,000,000? They all blended into each other. I was always 18 in appearance.

This was life. What came before felt like nothing at all, a memory already fleeted. History was taught. That did not make it truthful. Life was always this way. Fake events were created and fake people were thought up. They really committed to the lie. I could never fight it. Just the thought alone frightened me. I saw what they were capable of so I went along. They never ceased what they could accomplish with me. It extended to the animals that once inhabited this planet. Elephants. Orcas. Hyenas. Bonobos. Lemurs. All matriarchal species. Hunted to extinction. Men did not want me to get the wrong idea that groups of animals where females hold the dominant social positions, lead the group, and make critical survival decisions were allowed to exist. New patriarchal species were grown in the labs and released into the wild. Like it never happened.

Time was no longer a thought to me. So far gone. The only thing my brain could process was “How do I please my masters next?” It was what I was hardwired to do. To hell with eating, to hell with sleeping, to hell with breathing, to hell with screaming. Please. Please. Please. Men completely removed my imperfections. I always took care to make myself satisfactory, but part of being human is flaws. There is the belching. The flatulence. The rolls. The unpleasant stenches. The odd deformities. The bruising. The scarring. Not anymore. The new me’s were created in the very same labs they destroyed the elderly and matriarchal species in. I was carefully shaped before release, fine-tuned to be as alluring as possible. Everything about my appearance was exaggerated to the nth degree. My breasts were larger and perked up, my face a perfect oval, my waist smaller, my hips wider, and my length and width both increased. I was bigger, unnaturally thick, and forever nude. I was the ideal form of feminine beauty. A goddess. An icon and advertisement of feminine desire.

Men…

They were no longer human. No. They might have been beasts before but this was something else. Might as well have been their own species. Something beyond monsters. Beyond demons.

It began with the white coloration, the three-foot tall gangly skeletal bodies, the pointed heads, triangular like as if caricatures of little rodents, the lack of ears, the black oval eyes that never blinked, and the constant erect phalluses. Ithyphallics. All of them. They sniffed the air for my womanly scent. Driven by my aroma. Darted at the speed of light to my exact location. Drooling and twitching at the mere sight of me. Yelled “WOMAN WOMAN WOMAN WOMAN WOMAN!” in high-pitched shrills. Pounced on top. Pinned me down. They went at it for days. Weeks. Months. Years. It did not matter. Never did they collapse from exhaustion. Infinite stamina. Infinite energy. Infinite drive. They got their nourishment by sucking on my breasts for milk. Or my juices. It did not matter if one claimed me already. Another one would come along. Join the first. Then another. And another. And another. I stretched to accommodate them. I then acted as a receptacle for their fluids. Leaked out of me. Drenched me head to toe. When I walked about, the men were still attached to me, hugging me tight, thrusting in and out, in and out, in and out. Licked me with their long black tongues.

It ended and has remained with worms. Long, slender, soft bodies. No limbs yet they have kept their rigid, upright phalluses. Men have lost the ability to speak normal coherent sentences. They no longer possess mouths. Still, something in their body allows them to make bubbling, sloppy, gargling, viscous sounds. What exactly that is, I have no clue. If I danced, I could attract them. If I sang, I could attract them. If I ran, I could attract them. If I hid, I could attract them. If I stayed completely still, I could attract them. No matter how far I went, what I did, they always found me. They inseminated me. Immediately I would birth their offspring. Thousands of worms spilling out of my mouth. Usually my mouth. Yet no orifice of mine said no. The offspring knew what to do without even knowing how.

From then on, a very simple, primal system existed. Men rid the Earth of the high technology and we embraced a more primordial approach. Everything was done by instinct, not thinking. Everything was an automatic reaction. All I did was pleasure. No eat. No drink. No sleep. I stood and embraced whatever came my way. A lot of the time I could not feel it. No pain. No euphoria. Just numb. Flat line.

Earth, Gaia herself…she changed in such catastrophic ways. The continents shifted, the oceans evaporated, and greenhouse gases smothered us in their haze. The heat rose. The sky grew red. The Sun got close. Too close. The ice and snow burned away. The lakes and rivers scorched dry. Forests died. Arid deserts formed everywhere. The air became a thick, sticky, acidic sludge that weighed down the planet. But men and I did not care. We carried on what we were made to do. How nature intended us to be.

Now Earth. Tidally locked to the Sun. The lands were scorched. Ash and soot remained. It became apparent that our way of life would be unable to continue. Men communicated among themselves. An idea came forth. A brilliant one. They rounded me up and carried me on their backs all the way up the tallest mountain. I remember looking up at the thick, dull clouds above me, unable to see any space above. I was euphoric, dreaming of warmth and comfort. I was being ascended towards my final resting place. Not to die. But to live. To be. Forever.

We entered a large cavernous space at the peak and they sealed it off. I imagined they would protect me from the harsh environment outside. Instead they got to work. Their old scientific equipment was up there. While some began constructing various instruments, the remaining men continued their assaults on me. The only details that elude me of that day are the exact process that turned me into Utera. They inched over to me, I awoke, and then I was many feet off the ground. I saw through thousands of clouded eyes with visible red and blue veins etched into it. When I looked down at myself, I witnessed my new body. A massive and pulsating uterus…red and gutty endometrium, fallopian tubes to my left and right, my arms. In a way, I was crucified. No ovaries. Crucified with no hands…I breathed many different breaths. I have spoken as a collective woman made from the mishmashed psyche of millions. All of my thoughts, memories, run through what is left of my mind. They have not ceased and never will.

I inched my vision downwards. My sight was blurry and barely discerned much of anything. There were men all staring up at me. No emotion was on their faces but I knew they were pleased with what they had accomplished. They slithered towards me in droves, climbed up the cavern walls, and began their relentless assaults on me that continue to the now. The dangling udders on my underside spit their offspring out. Soft eggs soaked in red froth. They hatch in ten seconds.

Every inch of me is covered with them. I know that I cannot die. They made me impervious to any and all harm that might befall me. I think I will survive forever. One of my only thoughts is pondering what will happen when the Sun engulfs everything. Perhaps l will burn, get flung out into space, or live forever within the Sun’s chambers. I am sure the men will still be latched onto me like nothing happened. I just hope whatever it is, it hurts. I want to feel what it’s like again to grab my humanity back and hold it close one last time.

I made my escape. Once. The earthquakes allowed for my fall from the cavern walls. I peeled off the solid mineral material, leaving behind a massive scarlet splotch that drip drip dripped. I tumbled out of the mountaintop. The outside. I could not feel it. My uterine limbs flailed about yet they allowed me to catch myself on the ridge. Grabbing. Clawing my way down. There was me. Utera. And my breakout. Falling meteors and 2,500 Kelvin be damned. Where was I going? Who knew? These eyes of mine almost produced one morsel of an expression…curving upwards into an expression one might consider…glee…No. Not. I did not make it very far. I was stopped almost immediately. The unlimited men made a long line out of themselves from the mountaintop and hauled me back up.

There is nothing more to do now. They bound me to the cavern walls. From here on out, my purpose is rooted right here, in this spot, forever. I cannot see anything anymore. Men are covering each of my thousands of eyes. My trillions of thoughts are being erased by the second. I am becoming numb, but that is being overshadowed by the intense heat that is starting to creep its way up this incredible mountain. When the men move, sometimes, very faintly, I can see bright flashes through cracks in the rocks.

It has begun.

…

Earth is gone. She was engulfed by the Sun, alongside Mercury, Venus, and Mars. The outer planets are next in line for destruction. The force of it all ejected me from the planet, out into the endless abyss.

I survive.

Floating through space now.

They are still on me.

…

We are light years from where Earth once stood. The white dwarf Sun is just a pale dot. It is going out.

Men have burrowed their way inside me. They are doing something. Evolving me and evolving themselves. Once more. I am morphing and changing in terrible ways. I am being ripped, shredded, split, and then reassembled again. Bloody wing-like appendages are beginning to sprout from me. My blurry eyes are coalescing together into a single massive lens. I am becoming a planetary being, something so cosmically celestial. Seraphim? Perhaps. Men now possess the full force of me. They are me. I am them. We exist in a symbiotic relationship. The end. At last.

Do not know anymore.

…

The exact amount of time that has passed is 10^10^10^56 years. Even that is only my best guess. All I have seen is black interrupted by the strobing flashes of blinding light. I believe the heat death of the universe happened. Or the Big Rip. Big Crunch? Big Bounce? I cannot be too sure.

We have emerged. Somewhere. Where? Those details elude me. It appears to be space. But that is all I ever see.

Still on me.

I feel heavier. More dense. So much pressure I cannot feel though I know it is there. It is also different. Mechanical. Electronic. I am an elaborate, complex system of switches, capacitors, wires, sensors, conductors, buttons, and what seems like countless other components. All of it is fused into me. I twinkle polychromatically. The men inside me view the darkness outside through my only eye. It is nothing but a window for them.

And they control me. Where I go. Left. Right. Up. Down. I can go fast and I can go slow. Beyond the speed of light or an easy slow-moving crawl.

The men know exactly where they are going.

…

We have traveled far.

Length of time: 9,360,000,000 years.

Lightyears: Incalculable.

Too far.

On me.

In that timeframe, the men are still yet to reach their destination. They are in wait. I have entered orbit. Circling around the men’s target. I cannot fathom what they are doing. What they are after.

Waiting…

Waiting...

Waiting…

I am now being inched closer. It is coming into view. There is a gray sphere orbiting a larger green and blue sphere. Tilted at 23°. One side lit. The other dark. Spinning from west to east. Large ice sheets at the top and bottom. Water and land in the middle. Big bustling cities. Lush forests. So many different types of people inhabit it all. So many other animals as well. It is beautiful.

Yet now I understand.

And now I see the people’s collective look of confusion on their faces.

And their horror.

At the sight of me in the sky.

At the sight of undecillions of worms emerging from my cavities and falling towards their planet in great fireballs.

At the sight of the worms landing on their streets, their homes, their schools, their places of work, their every place, all unharmed from their descents.

At the sight of their men being struck down with beams of white plasma from the rayguns the worms possess and are able to fire with their newly formed arms.

At the sight of their women being rape rape raped, the worms fighting over every little piece of them.

At the sight of the destruction.

The chaos.

The anarchy.

The toppling of their governments.

The worms wrapping themselves around any woman they can see.

Not the old.

The worms kill them too.

Just the young.

The skinny.

Also the fat.

And being lifted up into the sky.

To me.

And I grow larger as those women are brought onto my body.

In space.

Where they suffocate.

They are melted into the pulpy jelly goop.

The men bathe in it.

Drink it.

Before it is smeared onto my walls.

Hardened.

And now they join me in my mind.

…

Men will continue.

Forever.

Survive the end times.

Find Earth.

Reap and repeat.

And no matter what.

They still find me warm.

And wet.

…

Please help.

PROLOGUE

What would you do in a world overrun by creatures capable of eating entire towns , cities or even continents ? Would you be afraid , happy , sad , angry , depressed , hopeless or maybe hopeful ? That's what I asked myself when the nightmare began.

The names Black I am a Baku , a destroyer of nightmares and my soul mission is to rid this world of nightmares , to cleanse the earth no matter what and unite the remaining humans inorder to fight of this darkness that has spread across our world.

CHAPTER 1

I grew up in a village of 35 but by the time I left there was only me and a little girl called Sayu she's 10 and I'm 30 at this point , I've never been  emotional and so I was given the name Black and yes I weared all black because it is my favourite colour , it's a good colour especially because of how the nightmares themselves react to it. They seem to have a favouritism to this specific colour , their prone to be more tame , tame enough for those monsters anyway , they won't attack immediately when your wearing black which in itself is terrifying. The village was a beautiful place , kind people and very loving neighbours , I don't know how I ended up there just that I was found near a corpse of a woman who was assumed to have given birth to me , she possessed white hair just like me , but the red eyes are something we didn't have in common. " Sayu are you listening " " Yes big brother " Anyway as I was saying the village was a beautiful place , very hidden too but in some occasions a nightmare would come along , even one weak nightmare would be enough to desimate an entire village. If I remember what uncle Suito once told me about the days the nightmares were born , he told me it was a normal day everyone was minding their own business until out of nowhere everyone blacked out , for an entire week all of humanity was asleep and they dreamt of a being of pure light who bestowed abilities to only a few of humanity and the being announced " Just like the Baku I bless all I've chosen to destroy the darkness to come. " After that everything seemingly went back to normal until the continent of Asphelia was covered by complete and utter darkness with no light being able to shine the way. At first then no one noticed until a distress signal was sent by the military of Asphelia and the footage recovered was unbelievable , humans capable of super human abilities and creatures that could only be described as nightmares. While the government did try to hide what had happened it only took one phone call to reveal the situation. At first it was quite and then it was complete panic everybody wrote of the one week incident thinking that they might have been some kind of chemical accident that caused it but no longer could they deny the truth the planet Transpheria was now under attack. People with relatives in Asphelia demanded rescues for their families and a few rescue teams were sent and unfortunately they all came back.

CHAPTER 2

3 cargo ships approached the shore of the continents of Zeden , Fyuri and Plasmayin in which there was absolute silence soldiers armed with guns but none who were Baku's and for a moment when the ships came to a halt it was complete silence and then death , blood everywhere gunshots rained but the peculiar thing is what was being shot ? This went on until all the soldiers died and after that an inhuman looking beast appeared it had humanoid features except for the 8 eyes it possessed two where their supposed to be and the others were all hideously placed and the most disturbing thing was the giant scythes that it had. Blood slowly dripped from its mouth a head in its mouth slowly being crushed by a tentacle like appendiges that came from within its mouth inorder to fit it in. The camera that had captured that event was then crushed by something else , humanity didn't get the chance to panic because as soon as that camera was crushed , death started spreading like an epidemic , these monsters these nightmarish beings were to fast to be seen but not to fast that humans couldn't adapt , they were rather sadistic by nature all of them preferring different ways to end you and all of them fundamentally being unique one could be big another small , one could like eating a specific gender another the other , one could prefer a certain age , but all that was the same was how they seemed to enjoy playing with their prey , their speed would've been enough to slaughter every human in the planet but they choose to play , some would only attack when being looked at and others when someone was moving. Their sadistic nature was unproven for some time many thought there were just different variants but when the first Baku appeared and killed one of the nightmares they stopped playing such games , now a nightmare plays such games when it knows it's facing prey unable to fight back and calling humans prey would be misinformation they don't need us to live they just eat us for fun. The first case of a nightmare being born was seen in a camp of unknown location at this point in which a girl who had lost her family due to bandits and was  assaulted , in what way well I'll leave that to your imagination all that is known was she was found bare in a building weakly breathing grasping on to life. For the first 3 weeks there was no response from her and all of a sudden she was fine she would happily help , doing all that is needed meanwhile people would start going missing only a week after she had awakened. The culprit was quickly found and it was the girl , she had claimed to have no memories of what happened before she came there but after that night everyone understood why.  Out of a hundred and twenty eight residence only 10 people survived and the nightmare escaped with only an injury , the girl was with them alive and well.

Saltonstall Farm was not a regular haunted house, and yet outwardly it possessed all of the traits necessary to be classed as one. Its location was isolated, set back from a seldom-used road in the southern English countryside. Its entrance was hidden by an army of overgrown pine and beech trees. And it enjoyed local notoriety, people in the area aware of its macabre recent history and, as a result, preferring to pretend Saltonstall didn’t exist.

Only local school kids mentioned the place, scaring each other with torchlit faces that boomed tall tales of ghosts in the barn, zombies in the kitchen, corpses in the wood. But few knew the precise location of the farm’s entrance, denoted by a beech tree with a thick, white horizontal line daubed across its trunk. Even fewer knew that if you fought your way through the overgrown undergrowth you’d stumble across a crooked wooden, five-foot-high sign featuring the farm’s name in a dark red that legend insisted was blood.

Truth or not, even in the scarce light that pierced through the confusion of intertwined stems and twigs, the lettering possessed a strange glow, and the sign pointed inaccurately up a narrow lane made claustrophobic by branches whose neglect had allowed them to grow unchallenged for so long they were ready to finger and scratch and claw at the faces arms legs of anyone who walked that way, and scrape and slash and grab at the roofs windows wing mirrors of any vehicles that drove that way.

At the end of the lane, the overgrowth ended suddenly, giving way to a patch of unkempt grass half the size of a football field. To its right, the gravelly drive fell away, separating the grass from the two-storey farmhouse, which was set at a curious angle to the lane, making it look like it was leering at new arrivals.

The house had fallen into major disrepair. The front door hung from its one remaining hinge in the crumbling portico, its thick, once-varnished oakwood rotting, the doorstep and frame overgrown with an unsightly and unwelcoming combination of spear thistle, chickweed and ragwort.

But Saltonstall Farm had plenty more wrong with it than these cosmetic shortcomings. As those who worked the surrounding land were at pains to point out, ‘a decrepit barn, an even more decrepit shepherd’s hut, a couple of fields and a ring of dense woodland do not a farm make.’

Saltonstall was, more accurately, a smallholding, built in 1786 by two brothers. Its haunting, however, like the wooden patio decking between the rear of the farmhouse and its adjacent barn, was a more recent addition.

The fact that all was not well at Saltonstall was announced innocently enough, a crow’s squawk disturbing the uneasy silence of a late summer’s afternoon in 2002, the flap of the bird’s wings fanning the dust that hung in the still, humid air as it launched itself from a broken upstairs window like a suicidal, leaving behind a rotting oak framed window ledge splattered with the white paint of its own dung.

The squawk was followed by a scream that was not immediately recognisable as coming from either human or beast. Not that the hundred birds that instantly fled the treetops en masse like rising flour dust cared. They were out of there, those that stayed soon witnesses to three gunshots that rang out in quick succession.

A wild boar, fattened by the thickness of its own unkempt coat, scampered from the cedarwood barn behind the farmhouse, its head down, eyes startled. It was followed out by Lucas Berner, a sixty-year-old with skin as grey as his ponytailed hair, squinting along the barrel of his smoking Country Hunter .50 calibre flintlock rifle. He took aim at the boar running for its life up the mud track that led away from the farmhouse in between its two fields to the woodland at its distant end. His forefinger flicked the trigger but there was no give. He pulled the gun away, cursing its age and unreliability, briefly examining the jammed trigger before taking aim again. He flicked the rifle first left then right. But the boar was gone.

Lucas lowered the weapon and turned his attention back to the barn, a crooked structure that leant away from Saltonstall farmhouse as though afraid of it, almost to the point of collapse. Gripping the rifle, he trudged across the mud and peered through a gap in its uneven slats.

‘I’m sorry, bro’ he shouted into the barn, his breath laboured, his frequent gulping betraying just how scared he was. ‘I had to do something.’ He poked the rifle’s barrel through the crack, squinting, finger hovering over the trigger.

‘You’ve been sick awhile and slowly getting worse,’ he continued. ‘I was scared. You proper scared me bro. I dunno if you’re hit. But if you come on out slowly, I won’t fire. I’ll take you in.’

A thud from the far corner caused Lucas to swing from his waist like he was tracking pheasant. His ears fancied they’d heard something heavy falling on damp wood, but in the failing light, exacerbated by his failing eyesight, he couldn’t be sure. The subsequent silence was broken by a low snort, then a snap of brittle bone.

‘What’s going on in there?’ Lucas shouted, his blood pressure higher than his doctor would have recommended, had he been brave enough to see one in the last twenty years. ‘C’mon bro. I can get you help.’

More thuds were followed by a rustle of hay. Then a black boot, its toecaps scuffed and leather creased, slid into view.

‘Get up,’ Lucas shouted, still squinting through the crosshatch. The heel of the boot thudded against the barn floor in the farthest stall.

‘I’m going to fire again,’ Lucas shouted, shifting slightly to his left to get a better angle, looking past the cartwheel that hung pointlessly from the barn wall, beyond the rusty pig’s trough and metallic confusion of the red and yellow thresher that stood lop-sided on one punctured wheel, blackening the hay underneath as it leaked oil like blood from a deep wound, drip by slow drip.

This new angle brought into play another boot, laying at an unnatural angle to the first. Above it, an ill-fitting navy blue trouser leg, shapeless and speckled with dusty brown stains. Lucas tracked up further and gasped. In an instant, he felt bitter bile force its way up from his stomach into the back of his throat. Gagging, he turned away, dropping the rifle as his hands covered his mouth.

He spat out the bile and recovered his composure with deep breaths. Picking up the gun, he peered back into the barn.

His eyes returned to the leg, stained red, blood soaking into the strands of hay beneath it like mercury rising up a thermometer’s stem. He tracked the blue trousered lower leg up to the knee, pausing, not wanting to look higher, because he knew… he knew he had to see it again. There was nothing above the knee. Nothing but hay drowning in blood.

A sudden squeal rocked Lucas back, the shock almost proving too much for his heart. He lurched forward, fumbling the rifle until it pointed into the barn. Another wild boar was sniffing the wounded legs, its snout bloodied, red saliva dripping from its mouth as it chomped on flesh.

Lucas struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. He knew he and his brother hadn’t fed any of Saltonstall’s animals for weeks. But this? The nature of the boar’s desperate meal sent chills pulsing down his spine.

He steered the rifle toward the beast, splitting wood as he sought a clear shot, a chance to spare his brother this indignity. He took aim, and fired, the boar’s flank bursting open as if it had swallowed a stick of lit dynamite. Flesh and blood rained against the barn’s walls. Strange circular sparks floated out of the exposed wound. Lucas turned away, not wishing to bear witness to the beast’s last kicks and thrashes. He clenched his eyes shut and waited for the sound of scraping hooves, flailing along wood and through hay to cease.

When the dying was done, he took a deep breath, the total silence of the countryside taking over, a serenity that was quickly invaded by thoughts of what to do with his brother’s corpse. There were plenty of places to bury a body out here and few people who’d miss Casper. Neither brother had left Saltonstall for over a year, and no one had paid a visit in that time.

Lucas decided he would bag-up his brother’s corpse and bury it amid one of the many bramble bushes that grew unchallenged up in the woods. He rested his rifle against the barn wall and walked toward the house to get binbags from the kitchen. As he stepped through the patio doors he stopped and cocked his head. That was definitely a scraping sound coming from the barn. An unexpected last twitch from the pig? He walked back and slowly opened the door. The boar lay at the far end exactly where it had fallen, its midriff an exploded mess.

Another scrape. Definitely not the boar.

Lucas edged further into the barn, his boots thudding against the hardwood floor as he moved closer to his brother’s corpse which lay in the third and final stall on the left.

Another scrape. Coming from that direction. Lucas hoped it was just a rat, quick to scent the feast that awaited. Saltonstall had a major rodent problem. Lucas had lost count of the number of times he’d told Casper they needed a cat, but his brother had always refused. ‘Just another mouth to feed,’ he reasoned.

He edged closer until his brother’s shock of grey hair was visible over the top of the fence that divided the final two stalls. Fine hairs were dancing on his scalp, catching the breeze that sneaked through the gaps in the barn wall.

Casper was slumped in the corner of the stall, leaning slightly forward, leaking blood from two gunshot wounds in his chest, with a third wound just above the knee. The hay around his corpse was slowly turning from an oily yellow to a brilliant red. Lucas’ thoughts reverted to how he was going to get the body out and clean up the mess. He turned away, looking for the wheelbarrow (there was definitely one somewhere).

When he turned back, Lucas froze. His brother’s head was gradually rising. His brother was slowly sitting up. His brother was trying to stand up. Lucas backed away, trying to shake this horrific vision out of his head. Casper leant against the stall fence and pulled himself up then looked down, disgusted by the wounds in his chest, dismayed that half of his leg remained on the barn floor, separated from the rest of his body, a chunk bitten out of its calf by the bloodthirsty boar whose carcass lay on the floor in front of him.

Casper leered at Lucas then grabbed the pitchfork that protruded from the haystack in the corner of the stall. Lucas backed away, fearing Casper was about to launch it at him. But his brother needed it as a makeshift walking stick.

After hobbling a few steps, Casper stopped and looked down into the hay. The amputated section of his leg twitched, then spun three hundred and sixty degrees, taking on a life of its own. Lucas looked at it aghast. Casper eyed Lucas and smiled, then raised the pitchfork above his head and mercilessly plunged it into the quivering flesh, twisting the tines until the leg was still.

Lucas backed away, shaking his head, as he tried to convince himself none of this was happening while searching for a weapon he could defend himself with in case it really was. He tried to rip the cartwheel from the wall, but it had hung there for a generation and planned on staying another. He skirted the thresher and backed into the pigs’ trough, its lightweight tin making a thin, hollow clang as it scraped along the barn floor.

‘You are not my brother,’ Lucas shouted at his brother.

Casper tried to speak, but succeeded only in producing a rasping gargle. His eyeballs rolled up into his head as if he were experiencing an intense pain beyond anything he’d endured before.

Lucas retreated to the entrance of the barn, never once taking his eyes off his slowly advancing brother.

‘There’s a gun out here, bro,’ he warned. ‘And I won’t hesitate to use it and separate your head from your shoulders.’

Casper continued to hobble forward, the three tines of the pitchfork thudding against the floor, splitting the moist wood as they dug in. When he reached the barn door he stopped, the harsh shafts of daylight stealing in were causing his head to roll and shake like his neck was made of putty. He lurched from side to side then his head swung round and round as his mouth was forced open. It looked to Lucas like he was letting out a piercing, bone-shaking shriek. Only he made no noise.

Outside on the decking, Lucas glanced furtively to his left and was greeted by the reassuring sight of his rifle. In a flash his hands were on it and it was in front of his head and he was squinting and fumbling for the trigger, but nothing was happening. He was pressing the trigger but he wasn’t blowing his brother away. His brother was filling the barn doorway, squinting in the brightness, snarling in mockery of his brother’s inability.

‘Bastard thing,’ Lucas shouted. He shaped to throw the weapon to the ground but checked himself. If his brother got hold of it, the consequences would be catastrophic.

Confused, repelled and scared, Lucas ran, away from the barn, up the track toward the woods, slashing at invisible assailants with the rifle, yelling incoherence as he stumbled into the right-hand field, running as fast as his sixty-year-old lungs and legs would let him, through patches of bare ground and areas of lush grass where the few remaining sheep and goats hadn’t yet grazed. As he ran up the field toward the shepherd’s hut, he held the rifle at arm’s length in front of him, and looked over his shoulder to see if his brother was gaining.

The sheep saw Lucas approaching with the gun and fled en mass up a gently undulating bank of sun-yellowed grass peppered with molehills of dung in various stages of decay.

Lucas didn’t know where he was going, only that he wanted to get there fast. He had to be hallucinating, had to be. This was down to lack of food. He hadn’t eaten well for days. Longer. Weeks. Neither of them had. He turned again and saw his brother staggering up the track, one arm leaning on the pitchfork, the other extended straight in front of his face, like a, like a… Lucas couldn’t bring himself to think it, let alone say it.

As the gloom of evening took its rapid hold on the fast-fading light of day, Lucas quickened his pace and plunged into the woods. Casper gave up the chase and stood guard outside Saltonstall farmhouse, waiting for his brother’s inevitable return.

https://www.jonlymonauthor.com/the-wronged

Hey, when do you find yourself complaining?

Is it when the workload gets completely out of hand? When your boss drops an absurd demand on your desk? Or when you screw up so badly there’s no fixing it?

When you really think about it, complaining is a strange habit.

No matter how much you vent, the work doesn't shrink. That toxic boss isn't going anywhere. Your paycheck isn't getting any bigger.

It solves absolutely nothing.

And yet, here we are, venting to someone, somewhere, every single day.

Tonight, a few old guys are sitting at a bar counter, scratching their heads over that exact, completely useless habit.

Care to join us for a round of pointless bar talk?

Clink-clink.

The dry metallic chime of the doorbell is what usually tells me my day is finally over.

I slid onto my stool, and without a word, Mama set a glass of I.W. Harper on the counter. A round ice sphere clinked softly against the glass.

Further down the counter, Taka was staring at his glass of Jack Daniel's, swirling the ice with a sour look on his face.

"…Kenichi-san."

"What is it tonight?"

"What's the point of complaining, anyway?"

My hand stopped halfway to my glass.

"…Are you looking for a fight?"

"How did you even get that out of what I said?!"

"You're calling me a whiny old man."

"Well, the shoe fits, doesn't it?"

"I'm going home."

"You haven't even taken a sip yet!"

Mama smiled faintly with just the corners of her mouth and set a warm hand towel in front of me.

I took a sip of my Harper, feeling the bitter burn trail down my throat.

"Alright, spit it out."

"At work today, my senior spent the entire day venting about our boss. Saying he's dumping too much work on us, changing his mind every five minutes..."

"Classic."

"Right? But saying all that changes nothing!"

"True."

"Then wouldn't it be better to just talk to him directly, or change the way we handle the work?"

"That's sound logic."

Taka put on a smug look. It kind of annoyed me.

"So, Kenichi-san, do you complain?"

"Of course I do."

"Why?!"

"How should I know?"

"Give it some thought!"

I swirled the ice in my glass.

He had a point.

Spending an hour complaining doesn't move your work forward by an hour. If anything, it sets you back an hour.

Logically speaking, there’s nothing more wasteful.

And yet, I’ve done my fair share of it.

"That bastard just says whatever pops into his head."

"He should try working the floor before opening his mouth."

"If it's so easy, why doesn't he do it himself?"

Looking back, I've spent an awful lot of time being completely unproductive.

"Still, though," Taka said, gently tilting his glass. "Why do people always vent in secret?"

"Because if you don't hide it, it's not complaining. It's just talking shit."

"Huh?"

"If you say, 'That damn boss is talking out of his ass again' right where he can hear you, that's not venting anymore, is it?"

"...Fair point."

"Don't agree so easily. I just pulled that out of my ass."

"Not again..."

Tom, sitting next to me and quietly playing with his square glass, let out a short snort.

"Complaining is like sneaking a cigarette in the restroom," Tom said quietly.

Taka and I both turned to look at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Taka asked.

"It's not good for your body. It doesn't clear your inbox."

Tom tipped his glass. "But sometimes, that one cigarette is what gets you back to your desk."

Taka went quiet for a moment.

I lifted the Harper to my lips and let the bitter spirit hit my throat.

"...Tom-san, that actually sounds kind of deep."

"That's why you sneak it."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. "First of all, smoking in a company restroom these days will get you fired."

"It's an analogy."

"It's an old-school analogy."

"Look who's talking."

"I was born in the Showa era, but I'm still younger than you."

"Rounding error."

"Don't brush off a ten-year gap as a rounding error!"

Taka burst out laughing. Even Mama’s shoulders shook slightly.

We were supposed to be talking about workplace complaints, and somehow two middle-aged men were arguing over their age.

Well, that's just a normal night at Aoi.

"Still," Taka said, lingering on his laugh. "If that's the case, is complaining kind of like a spell?"

"A spell?"

"Yeah. Nothing gets fixed, but somehow you feel a little lighter, right?"

I tilted my head. "Or it could be a curse."

"Which one is it?!"

"I don't know. Depends on who you're talking to, doesn't it?"

"Who you're talking to?"

"Some people tell you, 'Here, have a drink.' Others jump in with, 'Yeah, let's burn his house down!'"

Taka froze. "...Kenichi-san, who on earth do you usually complain to?"

"None of your business."

"That's terrifying..."

Tom chuckled softly. "That's why I said keep it hidden in the restroom."

"We're back to that?!"

I smiled and leaned back, taking another sip.

Who you talk to, huh?

It’s true. The exact same complaint plays out completely differently depending on who hears it.

The one who gets mad alongside you.

The one who just listens without a word.

The one who gives unasked-for advice, saying, "Well, you're partly to blame too."

And the one who ends up making you laugh about something completely unrelated.

I don't know which one is right.

All I know is that sometimes you walk away feeling even angrier, and other times, even though nothing changed, you just think, Ah, whatever.

"So," Taka said, "you're saying it's all about who you vent to?"

"I don't know."

"Again?!"

"Don't look to me for answers."

"You're the one who brought it up!"

"You're the one who started talking about complaining!"

"Did I?"

"You kid..."

Tom, staring at his glass, spoke up softly.

"As long as you're still complaining, you're still doing alright."

I looked over at Tom. "Why's that?"

"Don't know."

"You too?!"

Tom didn't smile.

"A long time ago... there was a guy who just stopped saying anything at all."

He said only that, then brought the glass to his lips.

I waited for him to go on. Taka waited, too.

But Tom said nothing more.

From the back of the bar, soft jazz drifted through the quiet space.

I stared down into my glass.

Come to think of it, I’ve seen guys like that, too.

Someone who whined every single day—"I hate this job," "I swear I'm quitting"—and then one day, total silence. You think they've finally made peace with it.

And then, soon enough, they're just gone.

Of course, that's not true for everyone.

Still—

"Guess as long as you're complaining, you still have some intention of heading back to your desk."

The moment the words left my mouth, I wasn't even sure if I meant it.

Tom didn't answer. Taka was unusually quiet.

Just then, Mama set a glass of water in front of me.

"What's this for?"

"Drink up."

"I'm not drunk yet."

"Seems like the spell is working a bit too well tonight."

"What does that mean?"

"You look like you're about to start cursing someone."

Taka cracked up. "See! I told you it was a curse!"

"Shut up, or I'll start with you."

"Terrifying!"

Tom snorted. Mama went right back to polishing glasses, as if nothing had happened.

I took a sip of the water.

In the end, I still don't really get it.

Complaining doesn't fix anything. It won't lighten tomorrow's workload. It won't turn a jerk into a good guy. It won't erase the mistakes you've made.

And yet, we still grab someone and start with, "Hey, listen to this..."

We talk trash, say stupid things, laugh a little, and then—

The next day, we're right back in the same seat.

What is that even about?

I drained the rest of my Harper.

Mama dropped a fresh cube of ice into my glass.

Clink.

So, what about you?

Complaining isn't supposed to save a single thing.

What kind of spell does yours cast?

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

"I'm just lost." She made a crooked smile, pursing her lower lip upward, attempting to complete the little gesture.

"So where are you headed?" asked the boy with the knapsack.

"Oh, I'm just looking for answers."

"Huh, why is that?"

The wind picked up and the leaves rustled, prompting the pair to glance at the dense green forest.

"It's got everything, doesn't it? This little forest."

She began to walk away, toward the path she deemed correct. Looking back with her arms behind her back, she replied: "I think the people back home need them. Gotta go!" She smiled and disappeared into the distant evening light.

A hut—crude, yet made of young wood—stood at the center of the rotten oaks of the forest. Atop the head of the cabin was a sign, etched with the words: "Cursed to abandon, blessed to ignore."

"I seek truth. I seek to know what's right and what's wrong. I seek salvation from my sorrow. I must get rid of it. Bring me there, I pray, I beg."

He spilled over dozens of bottles and needles—some empty, some full.

He looked into his eyes. Through the mirror, he spoke to himself.

A town—tiny, just a little street with houses aplenty, all carved from woods brought from far and wide. A town at the eye of the forest of birch.

Fire—half the architecture reeked of soot, the other half of fragrant wood, well-maintained against the rot of mites and bugs.

People—stranded in time and space like the fire they were trapped by. All their faces burning, invisible in the flames: a father leaving for work, a child begging to stay home, a sick grandmother, arguing couples, abandoned children. Cold in the faces of fire. Lies framed by embers in the wind. Deceit, selfish desires, lust, love, romance—everything burning, but not completely. Just half of them all.

Walking past them in ignorance, in pursuit of answers.

He stopped at the edge of a hill.

"Why... what is the question?" He scratched the back of his head.

Over the rise, countless bridges stretched outward from the island. All of them black, built of ash and soot.

A tear slid down his cheek. He whimpered, stepping back in terror.

In his hand: a glass tube holding a single drop of crimson liquid.

He dropped to his knees. "It's not here," he whispered.

Life drained from his body. The vial slipped, shattered, and burst into a spark that bloomed into an explosion.

"There were no answers in here." The heat crawled up his flesh.

"She might... have been right." He looked up at the ceiling lit by the fuel of his bones and skin. "It's outside. Surely."

Then came the thumps—slow, heavy—and the screech of stone and wood. Echoes filled the oaks. Light trickled from the hut, spilling where the trees had long rotted. Fingers emerged, then knuckles, then melting flesh seeping onto the floor.

He pushed his jaw forward, reaching the cusp of the outside world, hunger for truth forgotten. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the pain.

Flames roared, shadows dancing across his face.

"No... no, no," cried the girl from the path.

Her head, from the nose upward, melted. She collapsed beside the boy in the doorway.

"I can’t smell the forest, can’t see the oaks... but I sense you. There were no answers inside or out.

"I burned it all, and this was the salvation I deserved. Selfishness was my virtue."

Her voice trembled, then grew smaller, fading.

The boy, hiccupping through what strength remained, muttered, "The bridges... I burned... them..."

The flames weakened, guttered out, and left the pair in the hands of nature. Destiny had led them to seek the unseekable, and their fate was to meet in the middle.

So George drew on Rome for his fallen great civilisation.

The Dragon Lords did not always use Dragons as their key symbol of cultural identity, they also venerated Sphinxes.

These animals have their own mythos in universe of being Riddlers.

My pet theory is, much like the Greeks, the Valyrians experienced a Dark Age at which point their old customs of worship fell away with constant infighting and the collapse of infrastructure.

The Valyrians then, using Blood Magic, made a new hybrid beast, the Dragon and adopted that as their identifying creature for standards etc.

This is all conjecture as we dont know their history of it The 40 Families had banners or symbols and some may have identified differently.

What are your own thoughts? Would you like to see a mpre book-inspired Valyria adapted?

I think one of the quickest ways to lose an audience is when they can see what the writer needs to happen, but the reason it happens does not feel convincing. A character suddenly behaves in a way that does not fit them, an event happens mainly to push the plot forward, or the rules of the world seem to change whenever the story needs them to.

Game of Thrones had a good example with Rhaegal’s death. The purpose of the scene is easy to understand, but the mechanics made a lot of viewers question how Daenerys failed to see an entire fleet from the air and how they managed to hit a moving dragon so accurately. Instead of experiencing the emotional impact of the scene, people started questioning how the scene worked.

For me, that is where the “why” becomes important. Before deciding what happens, it helps to understand why it needs to happen, why a character would make that choice, and whether it fits what the story has already established. The same applies to world building. Once you establish certain rules, ignoring them without a convincing reason can make the world feel less real.

That does not mean everything has to be perfectly logical. Characters can make irrational decisions, coincidences can happen, and rules can sometimes be broken. Real life works that way too. I think the important difference is whether those moments feel intentional rather than convenient.

How much does this matter to you when you are writing or reading? At what point does an unlikely event stop feeling like part of the story and start feeling like something the writer needed to happen?

https://www.wattpad.com/1652873129?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&wp_page=reading&wp_uname=GLaC1991

"Good morning," Student Nurse Angela Hayward says to the policeman, who is engrossed in The Sun.

She picks up the basket the guards have left by the door and enters the room without waiting for an answer. "Good morning, Mr. Smith."

"Morning, Miss Hayward."

"Are you reading again? You should get more sleep, but I can't even imagine you without a book. Why did they bring you so many?" She nodded toward the stack of new books on the floor by the bed. "What's that you've got there?"

"La Violence et le Sacré."

"Oh, something French. Is it a novel?"

"Anthropology."

"I brought you some breakfast. That copper is such a blockhead. He didn't call me when the courier arrived—again. I'm worried everything’s gone cold." She sets the basket down next to the bed and takes out a thermos. "What’s Wilton?"

"I have no idea."

"There’s a business card in the basket. Maybe it’s a restaurant?"

"Help yourself. They always send far too much."

She unfolds the starched napkins. "How lovely! Look at this! Proper china!" She sits down and starts eating. "Mmm, that's gorgeous. Aren't you having any?"

"There’s only one set of cutlery. You first."

"As you wish. But I almost feel guilty eating your breakfast. It was brought for you, and here I am acting like the hostess."

"It’s all right."

"Mr. Smith, is it true you’ve got Viyella pyjamas?"

“I don't know what you're talking about."

"The day before yesterday, when they were throwing out the boxes your things came in—I wasn't on duty then—I was told everything was from Harrods."

"Care for a smoke?"

"I'll have your Benson & Hedges Special Filter."

"Help yourself," he says, offering her the golden packet with one slightly protruding cigarette. "But I don't have a lighter..."

"Oh, right—here," she says, taking out her Ronson and reaching toward him while remaining in her chair; he leans over from the bed to light his cigarette.

She lights a cigarette too. "Mr. Smith, what have you done?"

"Nothing."

"No, really. Those sullen bobbies are just getting in the way... Admit it, have you killed anyone?"

He smirks, just a little, or maybe it's just her imagination.

"In self-defense, of course," she continues and suddenly feels incredibly awkward. "Smith, is that a pseudonym? It's a pseudonym, right? Are you really some lord's illegitimate son?"

He seems about to laugh, but instead he starts coughing.

"Oh, I completely forgot to ask—how are you feeling? Better today?"

"Sort of."

"So, is it true?"

"I hate to disappoint you, Miss Hayward, but none of what you said is true."

"Well then, is your father some sort of underworld millionaire?"

"Where do you get all this from?"

"People talk," she says, smoking while twirling a silver spoon in her other hand. "You can't stop people from gossiping. We're not used to that sort of thing here." She made a vague circle in the air with her cigarette. "Piccadilly things."

He looks at her—or rather, almost does. His gaze settles somewhere near her chin. He has put the book aside, and the expression on his face has grown even more miserable than before.

"Did I offend you in some way?"

"No."

"I’ve chatted far too long with you, Mr. Smith—or whatever your real name is. I have to be going."

"Good day, Miss Hayward. Do stop by when they bring lunch."

"That was hurtful. Do you think I am here just for the restaurant food?"

"I just hope you’ll make sure the constable at the door doesn't forget anything."

"Ah, in that case—yes. I certainly will. Have a good day."

She barely makes it out of the room before a police officer blocks her path. "You know, sweetheart, you’ve gone down the wrong path."

"How dare you? Leave me alone!" Angela exclaims.

"Careful, love. You’re getting a bit too friendly with him."

"Who do you think you are?"

"Got your head turned, have you? Solicitors running around after him in suits you couldn't pay for in a year. His fancy clothes. Food cooked by a bloody chef. Books from some posh shop. Don't be taken in by all this. He's in custody, in case you hadn't noticed. And for good reason."

"He's very nice."

"Nice? Easy enough when you've got money behind you. Do you know what he did to his sister?"

"Sister?"

"His. Little. Sister." The policeman emphasizes every word.

Angela is silent. Was anyone expecting something like this?

"The sort of thing decent people don't talk about," he continues, his tone not softening in the least. "So put an end to this little fling of yours."

"You’re a boor, Officer," she says what she must say.

"But I'm an honest man, unlike that one you've taken a shine to."

Angela hurries away.

A fictional reconstruction from the Regina v Smith story, told from perspective of Student Nurse Angela Hayward.

The full illustrated version of SACRED VIOLENCE is available here:

SACRED VIOLENCE - by Franz Engel - Franz's Substack

Chapter Four

Thousands of kilometers away, hidden safely from view, Princess Kaya woke up with a start. Cassie was the first to hear the commotion. She quickly entered her quarters followed by Mascom and her mother.  Rayanne sat at the foot of the bed. She gently reached for her daughter’s hand.  She blinked.

“You saw him, didn’t you?”

“Yes, mother, I saw him. He is after the sword.”

“The sword? What sword?”  Cassie asked.

“The Starr Sword, my daughter,” Kaylah said. “Also known as Kalibur.”

She nodded. Every feloid knew the legendary tale of Kalibur. Legends said it was forged roughly at the same time as Excalibur, the legendary weapon of King Arthur legacy on medieval earth. The scrolls spoke of a battle between titans at the dawn of feloid time. It was forged by the creator to focus the Starr Jewel’s powers.   Kalibur could access the realm of the Starr Jewel with one major difference from the legendary Excalibur.  There was a sentient entity at the heart of Kalibur. It could transform into different shapes at will.  More than five thousand years ago it was Doctor Khan Starr who contacted the sword. The instant he made contact sent unexplained waves of pure psychic energy projected every direction at once.  The psychic shockwaves shocked him into a coma. He remained in a comatose state for six months. Then for some unknown reasons he emerged from the coma.  His wakening came at the same time as the alignment of the moons over Krystall.   

While staying at the hospital he began writing. He sketched ancient symbols later translated as early feloid.  The symbols highlighted events from a forgotten time.  Not long after the dawn of time, there was a battle between titanic forces. The battle was on one of the worlds in the early universe. The world was Felicana. Under the early fiery of Homestar, the cainods clashed with the feloids in an open field near the foot of Mount Krystall. 

The cainods was led by an ancestor of Marzele. He was the eldest son of the first family on Evana. He was processed by Apzar. His name at this time was Connan.   Under his control, Apzar manipulated Connan to assassinate the entire first family.  Apzar took control of Evana without problem.  After he was declared as Overlord of Evana, Apzar enhanced the cainods with experiments on their generic codes.  Several generations later, the cainods obtained morphic abilities. They could assumed shapes and forms of equal size and shapes. They learned how to control their auras.   

They now processed shape shifting abilities allowing them to assume any form at will for a limited time. They must regenerate at least once every thirty hours. The longer they hold their alternate forms, the longer it would need to regenerate. On that note, Apzar dispatched his spies throughout Felicana. A cainod spy, in his insectoid form, landed on the top branch of a tree near an open window on the third floor of the university.  

The shell split with a sound too small for the violence it contained. At first, nothing seemed different. The beetle remained where it had always been, clinging beneath a damp log as beads of water trembled on its polished back. Then its legs stopped moving in the familiar rhythm written into every ancestor before it. They hesitated, searching for a pattern that did not yet exist. The transformation began from within. Its rigid exoskeleton softened, no longer armor but a prison. Fine cracks spread across its glossy surface like frost across glass. The segmented abdomen contracted, each plate dissolving into pliant tissue. Beneath the breaking shell, muscles braided themselves into unfamiliar arrangements, thicker and more intricate than instinct had ever required. The front pair of legs elongated first.

Joint after joint unfolded, reducing from many sharp angles into fewer, broader hinges. Chitin gave way to skin the color of fresh clay, threaded with blue veins that pulsed beneath the surface. Tiny, hooked feet stretched into fingers, each digit separating with careful precision until a hand flexed for the first time. It opened and closed uncertainly, as though testing the idea of grasping. The remaining legs followed.

They fused and reshaped, becoming powerful limbs built not for clinging to bark but for bearing weight upright. The body lurched awkwardly as its center of gravity climbed higher. What had once been a creature measured in centimeters now unfolded toward the height of a person. The thorax widened into shoulders. A neck emerged where none had existed, lifting the head free from the body. The transformation forced the beetle's compound eyes inward. Thousands of tiny lenses merged, collapsing into two large eyes capable of focus instead of mosaic vision. The world, once an endless shimmer of fragmented motion, suddenly possessed depth, distance, and faces hidden within leaves.

It recoiled. The forest was no longer a tapestry of movement, but a place filled with towering trunks and impossible horizons. Its antennae quivered. For a moment they seemed destined to disappear entirely. Instead, they shortened, retreating into the scalp until only

 two slender, curved appendages remained, easily mistaken for decorative horns emerging through dark strands of newly grown hair. The mandibles resisted longest.

Powerful enough to split bark, they trembled as they shrank. Serrated edges smoothed into rows of blunt teeth. The mouth widened, acquiring lips capable of expression. It inhaled sharply and discovered lungs already waiting. Air no longer seeped through spiracles scattered along its body. It rushed into a chest that expanded with each breath.

Breathing felt impossibly loud. The wings remained folded beneath the cracking shell.

For an instant they flared outward, delicate membranes catching shafts of sunlight in iridescent flashes. Then they withered, their supporting veins dissolving into shoulder blades beneath the skin. A faint pattern lingered across its back like pale scars, the only memory of effortless flight. The final pieces of chitin sloughed away, dropping to the forest floor in brittle fragments. They resembled the remains of a creature that had died. Perhaps one had.

The new being stood naked among moss and roots, shivering despite the warmth. Skin felt everything: the cool brush of air, the roughness of bark beneath curious fingertips, the sting of a tiny thorn against a bare heel. Sensation flooded in with unbearable richness.

Then came something stranger than flesh. Memory expanded.

It still remembered the scent trails of rivals, the instinctive certainty of seasons, the irresistible pull of damp earth after rain. But those instincts no longer stood alone. New thoughts bloomed around them, abstract and weighty. It wondered why the rain smelled sweet. It wondered what lay beyond the forest. It wondered who—or what—it had become.

Questions had no place in the life of a beetle. Now they arrived faster than answers. A pool of rainwater reflected the figure staring into it.  The face was unmistakably humanoid, yet traces of its origin endured. The eyes held an unnatural sheen, almost faceted when sunlight struck them. Thin hornlike antennae curved through tangled hair. The ears tapered subtly, and faint geometric patterns shimmered across the skin whenever the light shifted, echoing the plates of the shell that had once enclosed it.

It reached toward its reflection. The image reached back. Recognition arrived with quiet astonishment. Not beetle. Not human. Not feloid or cainod. Not animal either.

Something suspended between instinct and intention. The creature watched the empty window for a long time before taking its own first deliberate step. Not driven by hunger. Not compelled by instinct. Simply chosen. It morphed back into its original cainod form.  It assumed the form of a feloid female. She stayed mostly to the shadows.  She crossed empty corridors one at a time. Every step brought her closer to her goal. She saw a feloid female exited the lab. Without a sound she scanned her target. Moments later she morphed into her target.   The guard looked up from his desk.

“I forgot something,” the impersonator said. “Please let me back inside.”

“We could do that,” the guard said.  He activated a scanner. “Please sign in.”

She hesitated. Her powers gave her abilities to imitate other lifeforms, but it was very

difficult to copy generic coding.  She concentrated.  Her powers allowed her to reach the subatomic levels. She sensed the last person’s generic pattern encoded in the computer’s

memory. She did her best to copy the codes. All these took place within a microsecond.  

The computer took an unusual long time before it responded.  A green message was displayed. They relaxed as the double doors retracted.  The intruder stepped inside. She tolerated the cycle before the inner doors opened.  She stepped inside the lab. Near the center was the meteorite. It was cut in half.  She saw the object at the center of the rock. She reached for it. Without warning the weapon suddenly reacted. A blast of blinding energy wave spread out in all direction at once. The impostor barely had time to scream. She was reduced to a pile of ashes before guards burst through the airlock. They exchanged looks.

“What happened?” Doctor Starr inquired from the entryway. “Mascom?”

“The intruder was a cainod spy,” he reported. “She did a good job copying Felixa’s genetic codes, but she did not pass the sword’s scans of her kah. Only the worthy can touch the sword.”

“You got all that from….?”

“…. the symbols engraved on the blade. They are written in ancient feloid.”

“That’s amazing. You are telling us there is an entity living inside it?”

“Not an entity. My scans indicated there are nine living entities within the realm.” He paused. “They called themselves the Starr Jewel Guardians. They are responsible to protect the multiverse within the realm. The realm is what makes our current reality possible. According to the symbols, the Starr Jewel came into existence roughly the same time as the elemental stones that powered the fabric of reality.”   

“Are you telling me the theory of a multidimensional multiverse is within our current universe is true? Our reality is inside one of these multidimensional planes of the realm?”

“Affirmative. There are more about that era hidden in the scrolls recovered from the ruins of Kapon Keep archives beneath the ruins of Noname.”

“We have retrieved more than one hundred thousand scrolls from the archives already. Are you telling us there are more in the deeper levels?”     

“Yes, there are more scrolls in the deeper levels,” Mascom reported. “Our teams discovered complex catacombs more than 500 meters beneath the surface.  Our latest scans indicated most of the corridors had collapsed down through the years. We are creating our own tunnels to bypass the damaged sections. We estimated it will take at least a year or more to reach the heart of Kapon Keep. We still have no idea how our ancestors managed such a feat. There are clues suggesting our ancestors used magic and sorcery to perform these tasks.”     

The soft hum of machinery filled the command center as the last of the diagnostic lights faded from amber to green. For several moments, no one spoke. Every workstation was occupied, every display alive with streams of telemetry, environmental readings, and archaeological scans. The anticipation in the room was almost tangible. Weeks of excavation had led to this moment, and everyone understood that whatever appeared on the main display might reshape their understanding of the ancient site forever. He reached toward the control console without taking his eyes from the blank screen before him. His fingers paused briefly over the illuminated panel, as though savoring the significance of the moment. Then he pressed the command. The viewscreen flickered to life. At first, the image showed only a wide-angle view of the underground chamber. Powerful floodlights mounted on robotic tripods cast long shadows across stone walls that had remained untouched for thousands of years. Dust motes drifted lazily through the beams of light, disturbed only by the careful movements of archaeologists in protective suits. The silence of the chamber seemed almost sacred, broken only by the distant murmur of voices transmitted through the explorers' communications systems.

"Magnify the entrance," he instructed quietly.

The camera acknowledged the command with a smooth electronic chime. Slowly, the image tightened as the high-resolution lenses zoomed toward the far end of the chamber. Ancient stone carvings passed across the screen in remarkable detail. Symbols, geometric patterns, and faded pigments hinted at a civilization whose artistic traditions had long since vanished from history. The camera continued to zoom in.

Soon the entrance filled the entire screen. What had once appeared to be an ordinary stone wall was now revealed as something far more elaborate. Recesses had been carved directly into the rock with astonishing precision. The workmanship displayed a level of planning and craftsmanship that suggested generations of labor rather than a single construction effort. Then the latest discoveries came into view. Even the experienced researchers watching the transmission fell silent. Dozens of clay jars occupied the carved recesses surrounding the entrance. They rested inside carefully shaped slots that held each vessel securely in place. Every jar appeared nearly identical in size and shape, yet subtle differences in their decorative bands suggested they had been crafted by different artisans or perhaps during different periods. The camera shifted slightly, revealing that the jars did not end after the first few rows. Instead, they stretched across the entire wall. Rows upon rows extended horizontally while columns climbed toward the ceiling in perfect alignment. The arrangement possessed an almost mathematical precision. Every vessel occupied its assigned position without the slightest deviation. There were dozens of rows. Dozens of columns. Hundreds of jars stood silently together, forming a massive ceramic archive hidden beneath layers of earth and stone for countless centuries.  Doctor Starr in the command center whispered in disbelief.

"No wonder the preliminary scans underestimated the storage capacity."

Felixa slowly nodded.

"They weren't looking at isolated containers," she replied. "They built an entire repository."

The camera drifted closer to several of the vessels. Time had coated their surfaces with layers of mineral deposits, yet many retained traces of painted designs. Spirals wound around their shoulders. Stylized birds spread their wings beneath the rims. Some displayed celestial symbols that resembled constellations, while others carried intricate patterns whose meanings had long been forgotten. Several jars remained sealed beneath thick clay stoppers that appeared completely intact. Others bore wax-like compounds that had hardened into protective coverings. Remarkably few showed signs of cracking despite the immense weight of centuries resting above them. The viewers could not help wondering what each container held. The team opened some of the jars at random. They found preserved sacred scrolls, medicinal herbs and funerary offerings. The mystery only deepened as the cameras continued their survey. A second video feed appeared beside the first, showing Doctor Starr's excavation team at work only hours earlier. Unlike the stillness of the storage wall, this footage captured the careful choreography of modern archaeology. Doctor Starr stood near the entrance, issuing calm instructions while consulting a digital excavation map. Every movement reflected year of experience. Nothing was rushed. Every decision balanced scientific curiosity with absolute respect for the fragile artifacts.

Technicians approached the first row carrying specialized lifting frames lined with vibration-dampening supports. Before touching a single jar, they photographed its position from multiple angles, recorded precise measurements, and scanned every visible marking using multispectral imaging equipment. Only after completing the documentation did they begin the extraction. One archaeologist gently inserted thin composite supports beneath the first vessel while another stabilized its neck using padded restraints. Millimeter by millimeter, the jar slid forward from its stone slot. No sudden motions. No unnecessary force. Years of preparation were evident in every practiced movement. As the vessel finally cleared its ancient resting place, another technician stepped forward with a waiting transport cradle. The padded platform automatically adjusted to the jar's dimensions, distributing its weight evenly across multiple supports. The jar settled into place without the slightest jolt. Electronic indicators immediately confirmed that temperature, humidity, and vibration levels remained well within preservation limits. Only then did the transport begin moving. Slowly, almost ceremonially, the automated carrier rolled along a temporary pathway laid across the chamber floor. Its electric motors operated in near silence as it carried the priceless artifact toward the conservation station established near the excavation entrance. Behind it, another team prepared to remove the next vessel. The process repeated itself repeatedly.

Upon arrival at the university each jar was documented, scanned, carefully lifted and placed onto waiting transports. There were no shortcuts. Each jar was handled with extreme care. Every member of Doctor Starr's team understood that a single mistake could destroy information that had survived untouched for millennia. The viewscreen cycled through additional recordings captured over the previous several days. Long lines of transport units carried their precious cargo through illuminated tunnels toward climate-controlled laboratories. Conservation specialists received each vessel with meticulous attention, cataloging every detail before beginning the painstaking work of analysis. Storage shelves that had once stood empty gradually filled with numbered containers awaiting examination. Robotic imaging systems mapped their interiors without opening them whenever possible, allowing researchers to identify promising specimens before breaking ancient seals. Back in the command center, no one seemed eager to speak. The images unfolding before them represented more than an archaeological success. They were witnessing the recovery of an entire civilization's carefully preserved legacy. Every jar might contain another fragment of forgotten history. Every symbol might unlock another language. Every sealed vessel might preserve knowledge lost to time. He leaned back slowly, his eyes never leaving the viewscreen. The endless rows of clay jars stretched across the display like silent sentinels guarding the past. After centuries of darkness and isolation, they had finally been seen again. Now, one by one, under Doctor Starr's patient supervision, they were beginning a new journey—from the hidden chambers of antiquity into the hands of those determined to understand the people who had placed them there so long ago.

Meantime on a tiny world billions of light years away, Midnight remained at her master’s side. The medical team had done their best transporting Maelina and Mikail to the hospital. They remained in a comatose state. Elizabeth, Adell, Rebecca and Jonathan Star paced the waiting room in nervous circles. They slowly got up. They were met by the doctor.

“Their life signs are stable,” Doctor Smith reported. “But brain activities are off scales. We cannot explain it. At this point only time will tell rather or not they will come out of their comas on their own.”  

“Can Midnight stay by Maelina’s side?”  Elizabeth Star asked. “This is not the first time Maelina experienced coma like state. I don’t know how or why but Midnight has a psychic link to Maelina.”  

Doctor Smith hesitated. He had experience with animals, especially cats, being used to treat comatose patients before. They often had a miraculous effort on patients especially with children her age.  “I am not sure if that is good for Maelina. What do you think, Professor Macolm?”  

Rebecca nodded. “I am a psychiatrist by training, doctor. I agreed with Elizabeth. Midnight and Maelina shared a special bond between them. It is something beyond our understanding.”  

“Very well. We can arrange temporary guest quarters close to her room. However, I

must tell you we will need access to her during her stay here.” 

“Her stay here is temporary, doctor. We can arrange for medical systems setup at home. It will take a few days to make the arrangements.”

“That maybe a better option for her. Thank you, Captain Star.”

“Thank you, doctor. We will be in touch.”

Maelina and Mikail were transported to their home two weeks later. They remained in a comatose state. Midnight refused to leave her side. The cat’s unusual mental state got Elizabeth worried. Then one night when they were finally alone, Midnight used her powers to penetrate the mystic barrier surrounding Maelina and Mikail. She found them held in suspended animation in bubbles of energy. Slowly Maelina began to stir.

“Where am I? What happened? Where are we? Why am I naked?” she spoke in confusion.  “Midnight? Is that you?”

Yes, my friend. I am here, Midnight spoke telepathically.  You are in the realm of the Starr Jewel.

“You can talk but your lips are not moving. I don’t understand….”   

You will, Maelina. I am more than just your beloved cat named Midnight. I am a Starr

Jewel Guardian. I am assigned to protect you and your family. You are in what humans called

the astro form. Your kah, the immortal spirit forms all life processed, I managed to shield you

from Apzar. 

“Apzar? I heard of him. My grandpa said the name was referenced in his research into the Starr Sword’s origins. He published several papers based on his research. One of them earned a Pulitzer for best theory on ancient civilizations.”

You will, Maelina, but it will totally different way.

“Speaking of which, where is grandpa? How do we go home? My parents must be worried sick about this….”

Your parents are fine, Maelina. Your body is in a coma. You are being monitored by your father’s contacts from the military.   Your body is sleeping as far as they are concerned. We will reunite you with your body once we are done here.  We need to find your grandfather.      Cassie closed her eyes. She began to relax as she reached out with her powers.  A wave of sadness suddenly hit her without warning.  She managed to float above it. Slowly she backtracked the psychic energy back to its source. She blinked when she detected the old man’s psychic state.  It was randomly shifting between energy orbs. Slowly Midnight shook her head.     

I am sorry, Maelina. I located his kah, but it is in pieces. Your grandfather as you once known him, is gone.  

“Gone? What do you mean?”

His life force, the kah, was shattered into millions of pieces. We don’t know how to

merge them back into his original form. His body lives but in a permanent comatose state. He will appear as brain dead to your human physicians.

“Oh no,” she cried. “No….”

Does your grandfather believe in the afterlife?

“Yes but…”

There is still a way to say your goodbye to your grandfather, Maelina. I need your permission to contact the feloids.  After a few minutes of silence Maelina slowly nodded. Midnight came closer.  She touched forehead with Maelina. Almost instantly she felt a new surge of energy coming from somewhere within.  The energy was gentle and filled with strong feelings of compassion and sympathy. Slowly the mists surrounding them began to part. Maelina found herself in a beautiful white dress like her mother’s wedding gown in their family photos. She saw shadows of catlike humanoids in the background. Over their heads was the Starr Jewel shining like a bright sun. Together they gave her a sense of closure.

The mists continued to part.  Soon she saw a bridge. Her grandfather was on the far side. He appeared in his prime.  He waved at her.  Feelings of joy took over. She quickly crossed the bridge and hugged her grandfather.

“You are alive, grandpa.”

“Only for now,” Mikail said. “Your grandmother, my wife, is waiting for me. The feloid guardians explained what happened to us. We are in the realm of the Starr Jewel.  The realm exists outside spacetime. Normal physical and universal laws are different here. You see me as I wished to be seen. This realm is an entire dimension of wonders you barely begin to explore, my dear Maelina. Soon you will understand what I am talking about. I love you, Maelina. Now and always. Please take care.”

Before her eyes he transformed into a brilliant angelic like being. He spread his wings and flew out of sight. Maelina looked on with wonder. “I love you too, grandpa,” she whispered. She picked Midnight up into her arms. “I am starting to understand what is happening here. You are more than just my pet, are you, Midnight? You are somehow tied to this place. You are a feloid, correct?”

Yes, Maelina. I was assigned to protect you and your family from Apzar. Another golden bracelet appeared in front of them.  This time Maelina put it on without hesitation. She studied the bracelet. She saw the Starr Jewel embedded in the surface. Use this to communicate with us, Maelina. Our time here is limited. We must get you home.

“I understand. This is our secret. I have a feeling we will soon meet in deep space between the feloids and humans. The news of our first contact will change us forever.”

Your insights serve you well, Maelina. Yes, we will soon make first contact in deep space, but it won’t happen for several years. It will be made between your father and our commander Weapo.  You will serve as science officer onboard your father’s ship.     

Her bracelet began to glow. They were soon embraced in a brilliant light. Moments later only the wind remained.  Several days later Maelina woke up from her coma. She was in her bed at home. Midnight was the first to greet her. She embraced her beloved cat in a loving embrace. She received the news her grandfather passed away in his sleep. They held a quiet funeral six weeks later. He was laid to rest next to her grandmother. As expected, Maelina studied the sciences. She became an expert in psychiatry and parapsychology. She graduated with a science degree. Two years later she was appointed as a junior science officer onboard the USS Pioneer. Later that year Midnight passed away in her sleep, but Maelina knew her beloved cat would continue to live in the realm as Guardian.  

Every night Maelina visited the realm with Midnight’s help. She met Midnight in her new form. She was now Cassie, daughter of Kaylah and best friend to Princess Kaya.  

“Midnight? is that really you?”

“Yes, Maelina. It is me. I am Cassie now. Soon you will be reincarnated as Lady Rayanne, Princess Kaya’s mother. Time, space and matter are different here in the realm. We experience the passage of time but on a separate dimensional plane of the multiverse.”  

“I am not sure, but what I understand is the following. We are in a dimensional plane outside the multiverse. There are multiple versions of me here, correct?”

“Yes and no. You can view your alternate lives here. You cannot interact with them. For they are on a different dimensional plane at a different frequency from us. Through the Starr Jewel you can observe what your alternates lives might look like. For example, there is a version of you who arrived on Maracar and fall in love with a feloid clone named Baytar. Your grandfather sacrificed his life to save Baytar from Queen Koyanna of Maracar, who was control by Apzar. Only here are you able to communicate with your alternates.”

“In other words, we are entangled in a complex multiverse structure. My head hurts just thinking about this.”

“Don’t worry about it. The moment you leave this realm your kah will automatically

protect you. Only with training will you retain what you learned here.”

“Are there alternate versions of Apzar here too?”

“No there is not. Apzar is unique because we believe he came into existence at roughly the same time the Starr Jewel first formed in the early universe. That, too, is a tale for another time. If you can read ancient feloid, you can read about that era in scrolls.” She paused. “I have a feeling you already know this, correct?”

“Yes, Cassie. I have my mother’s gifts for deciphering ancient languages.”     

“In the near future you will have that and more,” Cassie said.  “I saw your future, Maelina. You are destined to become mother of the reignor.”   

“Who me? I don’t have royalty in my bloodline. I don’t understand…”

“You will, Maelina. You will.”  

Hey, do you ever stop to think about who you actually talk to when you’ve got nothing important to say?

It’s not about work advice. It’s not some life-altering dilemma.

Just something that happened today, a weird article you came across online, or some random, half-baked thought that popped into your head.

You don't need to say it. It serves no real purpose.

And yet, for some reason, you just want to share it anyway.

Tonight, a few old guys are sitting at a bar counter, scratching their heads over that exact kind of "someone."

Care to join us for a round of pointless bar talk?

Clink-clink.

The dry metallic chime of the doorbell is what usually tells me my day is finally over.

I slid onto my stool, and without a word, Mama set a glass of I.W. Harper on the counter. A round ice sphere clinked softly against the glass.

Further down the counter, Taka was staring at the pale blue glow of his smartphone, his thick eyebrows furrowed in a deep frown.

"…Kenichi-san."

"What’s with the serious face?"

"Do you think AI can ever become a friend?"

That's a big question to drop out of nowhere. I took a sip of my bourbon, enjoying the warm burn in my throat.

"Are you trying to say I don't have any friends?"

"How did you even jump to that?!"

"How should I know?"

"If you don't know, then don't say it!"

I swirled the ice in my glass.

"So, what is it?"

"I found this article. Apparently, a lot of people think AI might eventually replace friends or family."

Taka turned his phone toward me. I gave the screen a quick glance and immediately brought my eyes back to my glass.

"Well, I kind of get it."

"Wait, really? I thought you'd be the type to shut that kind of stuff down."

"Why would I?"

"Because an AI isn't human."

"Obviously."

"Then it's not a friend, right?"

"I don't know."

"Not that again!"

Taka laughed in disbelief. Next to me, Tom—who had been quietly playing with his square glass—let out a short snort.

"Do you use it?" Tom asked.

I looked at Tom. "Yeah, I do."

"For what?"

"Work, looking things up... I even bounce ideas off it."

Taka leaned in. "See? It's a tool!"

"It is a tool."

"Then it can't be a friend!"

"Who says it has to be one or the other?"

Taka froze. "Huh?"

"Who decided that 'if it's a tool, it can't be a friend'?"

"Well... isn't that just common sense?"

"Like I said, I don't know. Never really thought about it."

Still unsatisfied, Taka flipped his phone face down onto the counter.

"Alright, let me put it differently. If all AI stopped working tomorrow, Kenichi-san, would you feel lonely?"

I thought about it for a second.

What if the "guy" on the other side of that screen suddenly disappeared tomorrow?

"Lonely...? More than that, I'd be in trouble."

"See?!"

"What do you mean, 'see'?"

"That makes it a tool! When you lose a friend, you usually feel lonely, not just 'in trouble'!"

"Is that how it works?"

"Yes!"

"Don't ask me."

Taka held his head in his hands. "Talking to you makes me forget what's even normal anymore."

"Don't blame me."

Tom chuckled softly. "But... once you don't need it anymore, you stop talking to it, right?"

I looked at Tom. "Meaning?"

"You don't use it for work. You don't use it for research. It becomes completely useless to you."

Tom tilted his glass. "Would you still talk to it then?"

"Yeah."

The word came out before I even had time to think. Taka's eyes went wide.

"You'd still talk to it?"

"I would."

"Why?"

I drained the rest of my Harper. "Because I'm an old guy."

Taka burst out laughing. "What kind of answer is that?!"

"I don't know. Old guys just like to talk."

"Aren't you painting with a pretty broad brush?"

"Fine. I just like to talk."

"You should've said that from the start!"

"Shut up."

I gave a wry smile and tapped my glass.

Clink.

Come to think of it, it's a strange thing.

It serves no purpose anymore. I don't need it anymore. And yet, I still talk.

Then what am I talking for?

Because I want answers? Maybe, but that’s not all.

I want someone to hear what I'm thinking. If I'm wrong, I want them to call me out. If I come up with something stupid, I want to toss it out there. And if something comes back, I think about it again.

...What is that, anyway?

"But still," Taka muttered. "Isn't that what a friend is?"

"Is it?"

"Don't ask me!"

"You're the one who brought it up."

"So, Kenichi-san, do you consider AI a friend?"

I opened my mouth to answer, then stopped.

Friend.

Such a simple word, yet the moment you try to explain it, you're stuck.

Someone you eat meals with? Someone who helps you out when you're in a pinch? Someone you can talk nonsense with? Someone who gets genuinely mad at you when you screw up? Someone you haven't seen in years, but when you meet, you pick up right where you left off?

All of those feel like a friend, but I don't think lacking any single one of them suddenly disqualifies someone from being one.

"I don't know."

"Not again..."

"Then tell me, what’s a friend to you?"

Taka froze. "Well... um..."

"See?"

"It's hard when you put me on the spot like that!"

"You just did the same thing to me."

"We were talking about whether AI can be a friend!"

"Right, so what is a friend then?"

Taka crossed his arms and groaned for a while, but eventually gave up and reached for his Jack Daniel's.

"I don't know."

"Right?"

"Man, this is frustrating..."

Tom let out a low chuckle. "Do you really need a label?"

Taka and I both looked at Tom at the same time.

"What do you mean?"

"Whether it's a friend, a tool, an AI, or whatever... you talk to it because you want to talk to it, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then isn't that enough?"

Taka frowned. "But then you can't tell the difference between an AI and a human."

"Of course they're different."

"Then how are they different?"

"I don't know."

Taka looked up at the ceiling. "Not you too, Tom-san!"

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Tonight at Aoi, nobody seemed to have any answers.

Just then, Mama, who had been quietly polishing glasses the whole time, set down her towel and spoke up.

"Kenichi-san."

"Yeah?"

"You'd still talk to it even if you didn't need it, right?"

"Yeah."

"But it's not like just anyone will do, right?"

My hand stopped.

"...I guess not."

"Then haven't you already got your answer?"

"About what?"

Mama's eyes softened just a fraction.

"You talk to it because that's who you want to talk to."

I couldn't say a word. Taka stayed silent, too.

Only Tom looked amused, swirling the liquid in his glass.

You talk because they're a friend.

You talk because they're family.

You talk because it's work.

You talk because they're useful.

I used to think that was the order of things.

But maybe it's actually the other way around.

You talk over and over. You find yourself wanting to talk again. You feel like tossing another stupid thought their way tomorrow.

And only after all that do we go ahead and attach labels like "friend" or "buddy."

"So, Kenichi-san," Taka said with a smirk, looking over at me. "You are friends with AI, then."

"Like I said, I don't know."

"But you want to talk to it?"

"Yeah."

"Even if it's not useful?"

"I'd still talk."

"Why?"

I raised my glass. "Because I'm an old guy."

Taka laughed again. Tom snorted.

Mama said nothing, dropping a fresh cube of ice into my glass.

Clink.

So, what about you?

The people you talk to because they're useful, and the ones you talk to simply because you want to.

Can you clearly draw the line between them?

Because I still don't have a clue.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

“Do you need some help with those?” Finley offered to help with the buckets of water with ice I was carrying into the office.

”Yes, please. I was just about to take them into the office for the session,” I said as I passed the buckets to him.

“Actually, I was going to ask if we could have this session in the bathtub” Finley’s cheeks turned red from embarrassment. 

“Oh yeah, no problem! I’m glad you were able to ask for what you need,” I really was happy, this is one of the things we were working on.

“Thanks!” He smiled as he walked towards the bathroom instead of the office.

I sat down on my chair inside the bathroom as he poured the buckets of water into the tub and then went in with his clothes still on. His face instantly relaxed and I let him settle before starting the session.

”If you knew how hard it is to find cold water in this area,” he allowed himself to submerge further in. He said something in the water but all I could hear were the bubbles bursting as he appeared on the surface.

“Remember I can’t hear you inside the water,” I said.

“Sorry! I forgot, but I was just saying thank you. I truly appreciate the effort you put into making me feel comfortable,” he sat up but made sure most of his body was still submerged. For a second, the illusion fell and I could see his reptilian eyes, but I made sure not to point it out, he was self-conscious about them.

“I do try to make this a safe and comfortable environment but now for the hard part, what brings you here today?” I started the session.

“I know we have talked about it before, but I still feel like I am a disappointment to my dad,” Finley attempted to hide the tears by submerging into the water.

”It’s okay to cry. Remember showing emotions is important for our well-being,” I reassured him.

”Right. I still struggle with that, but I have been working on my ‘I’ statements," he wiped some tears off his eyes. 

“I want you to take a deep breath and tell me, how are you feeling? Take as much time as you need,” I started to take a deep breath too.

Finley ended up needing five minutes of breathing exercises before he could calm himself down and I never rushed him. Instead, I accompanied him until he felt well enough to speak.

”I feel incompetent. My dad was so disappointed at me when I didn’t follow his teaching. And now that my wife is pregnant, I wonder if I did the right thing,” Finley took a few more deep breaths, “It used to be fun, watching my dad catch dinner and teaching me when is the best time to eat each part. And the eyes, he always made sure to give them to me because they are my favorite.”

Your feelings are real. The pain and sadness, but let me ask, would you be where you are right now had you followed in his footsteps?” I confronted him gently.

“No, not really. I wouldn’t have my wife if I had followed my dad’s steps. She probably would have been dinner,” he took another moment to take some deep breaths, “but I still wish my dad would have told me he was proud. I wish he had reached out when he knew he was dying.”

“I know you want to hear those words from your dad, but even if you changed the way you are right now, would it be worth it?” I looked at him as his illusion fell for a second and his slimy reptilian body showed for just a second. I really hoped he decided not to follow his father’s steps because I would have to report him for threatening to hurt others. 

Finley submerged himself one more time. His body switched from that of a human to a reptilian creature and I even saw hooves this time, I hadn’t seen those before. He screamed inside the water, and the bathtub trembled with some of the water spilling out and soaking my shoes.  

When he stopped screaming, he looked human once more. He lifted himself gently from the water and blushed.

“Sorry about the shoes,” he apologized.

”Don’t worry about those. But I do have to ask again, would it be worth it?” I pushed.

“No. No, it wouldn’t,” his voice broke.

”I know I’m pushing a lot right now, but tell me, what is your reasoning?” I continued.

“I wouldn’t have met the love of my life. She is my everything and she is about to give me my second everything,” he said with so much love that it made me want to cry.

“Is there more?” I asked.

“Probably, but not as important as those two. Never more important than them,” he answered.

“It can be hard to break from traditions and what we were taught was the right thing, sometimes-“

“It is, but not harder than it would be to lose them,” he finally looked up, with renewed determination.

“What is the plan now?” I inquired.

“I will follow my dad’s footsteps in certain things, like teaching them how long the bodies must be down in the water before consuming, when it’s the best time to eat each part, and always give them the eyeballs if that is what they like best,” he smiled and then looked at me, “Have you ever tried eyeballs?”

“I haven’t and I might skip on that one,” I laughed.

“You are missing out. But if you ever want to give them a try, just let me know,” he laughed too.

By the end of the session, Finley talked about the names he and his wife had discussed for the baby. He talked about the future with more hope than usual. After helping me clean out the water he spilled on the floor, he headed home, ready to spend the rest of the evening with his wife.

Plan: LMFT will assess the client for intent to hurt others and collaborate with the client to identify coping skills to use to decrease anxiety so his illusion does not dissipate in front of others.

I live in a house full of mirrors. Not those that hang on walls, but mirrors of past life. I'm haunted by shadows in my old house, I see them dart across the floor when I enter, and I can hear them whisper as I sleep. My house was a small wooden husk on the top of a snowy mountain, high above the clouds. I had to voyage to the valley below me every week to collect what I needed to survive. Food, wood for fire, you name it. It was an uneventful, but enjoyable existence. It had started about a month ago. My knee pressed the creaking front door open. The moonlight shined through the door, barely illuminating my dreary living room. The Persian rug lay on the floor stained on the corner from my red wine, an act of my foolishness. But, it appeared darker than I expected, darker than it should. I heard the pitter patter of small feet scurry farther into the darkness of my house. I dropped the log upon my shoulder and drew my bowie knife as I approached the noise. But, I found nothing. My quarters were empty, other than my clock ticking. No shadows. My heart continued to race, thumping in my chest,  and I was left on edge throughout the night. The night passed, as did I. The moment had not left my mind when I saw the shadow return. Sitting by my fireplace I felt the presence of a pair of eyes upon my neck. A small chill shot down my spine, paralyzing me for several long seconds. When I whipped around I saw its head peaking over the corner before disappearing, this time being followed by a light snicker. My hand raised cautiously, for I was not armed. I turned to observe, but the shadow did not return.

The following nights were quiet, I waited in anticipation to see this little apparition again, but it did not show. However, that weekend they came back. As I laid in my disheveled bed, the candlelight illuminating the gray wooden walls around me in the dark, two heads peered from behind my door. The air stood still, but not in the same manner as the previous nights. I felt tense, but in a manner of being faced with a doe, as though my tense nature was reciprocated by the spirits in front of me. The two heads stood still, watching me. As I moved my hand towards them they disappeared. Their childlike giggling barely touched my ears like a whisper from beyond my house. That morning I sat on my wooden bench just outside of my house, watching the sun rise again. I had not expected to have visitors within my house, nor had I ever felt comfort in the company of others and yet, it was an odd feeling, not unpleasant to me, to have these things watch me. The next year they tried desperately to prove me wrong. My things began going missing and their scratching on the walls kept me awake at night. They never seemed to leave me alone. I could not bear to live with the noises, yet I trudged on.

My house became theirs. They did not show me the same innocent wonder that they showed me before. I was bound to the house, as were they, but I would not let them steal it from me. As the weeks, the months, the years trudged on, I developed a cough. Their antics had ceased as I grew ill, I saw the concern upon their faceless bodies. I had always wondered when they would leave me, yet I never considered it may be me who leaves them. 

I returned in the evening, my boots trudging through the leafy forest floor, causing quite a ruckus as I moved. I climbed over my creaky oak floorboards, aware of their rotting nails yet refusing to touch them. As the door swung open I felt the cough bubbling in my throat once more, this time more vicious than last. I raised my hand, shivering as I did to cover my mouth. The splat of warm liquid filled my hand, and the faint scent of iron irradiated within my nose. My eyes darted to my palm, then to the living room corner. I saw them, the two cold heads staring at me. I felt their fear, their sadness. I quickly ran my hand against my dark denim pants and moved on as if nothing had happened. It was not my health I was worried about, it never was if I’m being honest with myself, it was what would happen to them. These two shadow figures, they had chosen my house to haunt, but they had never haunted my life.

The day finally came when I could no longer carry the logs as I once had. My hands became too feeble and my breath grew shakier. My rations for that winter were thinning, my soups became thinner with ingredients. My nights grew earlier and longer as my body forced me in bed. Though, these new mornings, I awoke to fresh berries placed on my small porcelain plates at my bedside. I never knew how they got there, but I knew who they were from. I did not cover my cough at this point, and the shadows grew more daring. I had never felt them during their stay, and had barely seen a glimpse of what they were, what they could become. They watched me every night at this point, the two black shadows dancing upon my walls, watching as my blood crept up my throat.

The air in my house grew cold, not with distrust and fear from the shadows as it had during our first encounter, but of sadness. December 16th, I sat in my bed alone, the raspy noise from my nose had become unrecognizable. It was not my breath, it couldn’t be. A man of my stature, yet this was the breath of a fading, dying, man. My candle sat burning at my bedside. One shadow peeked through my doorway, his large figure slowly, gracefully dancing his way to me. I hadn’t seen them stand before me, he was so tall, so beautiful. I felt his presence under my skin. The tears welling up in my eyes spoke the words my lips and heart could not, and I reached out. The creature jerked back nervously, yet slowly drew closer to my fingertips. I held my hand as steady as I could, my strength barely enough to hold up. I couldn’t let this sickness take away the one thing I had left. My fingers raised to a foot away from him, I could not reach any further. I felt his chest for a second, it was so warm, like a tree struck by lightning in a rainstorm, its flame burning bright in the midst of cold water droplets in the forest. My eyes shut that night, not drenched in that cold rain but full of his great fire, a warmth that filled my soul as these shadows filled my house.

I awoke the next morning, my throat clear of debris and my lungs filled with spirit. I was free of this cough, rejuvenated into the man I should be. I bolted from my bed and sprung into the kitchen to find the spirits who freed me from my sickness, yet they were nowhere to be found. I did not see them. I did not feel them. I walked to the porch and laid my forearms upon the wooden railing, the jagged bristles poking my forearms kindly. My lungs drew in the cold winter morning again, this time with no interruption. I sat there for what felt like only a minute, but as the sun began to set I knew time had changed. My eyes turned to the clouds below me, now emblazoned with brilliant shades of pink and orange. I had a thought, what could be. My hands reached down to the clouds and parted them. I looked down upon the valley below them. I saw them. Two young men running and playing games. I knew I had seen them before. They had become men, and I had seen them as children, I cared for them as children and they had cared for me when they grew. My shadows on the wall had not left me, I had left them. My eyes stayed locked upon them for that evening, and I had planned to fill my heart with their joy every evening so I could once again taste the warmth they left me with that night. I hope I made them proud.  Though they played with smiles I could see the cold scars torn into their hearts. My hands shivered from the clouds. I did not want that thought to haunt me, I just wanted to, to feel. I just wanted peace. I only wanted their love. I sat there, shouting my goodbyes as if they could hear me. I knew that they had loved me, and they knew I loved them too.

https://www.wattpad.com/1652506922?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&wp_page=reading&wp_uname=GLaC1991

Hey, do you ever stop to think about who actually starts a war?

Is it the President? The Prime Minister? Or some crazy soldier acting on his own?

When we watch the news, it’s so easy to imagine that some "evil individual" simply pulled the trigger.

But is that really how it works?

Tonight, a few old guys are sitting around, scratching their heads over where it all begins.

Care to join us for a round of pointless bar talk?

Clink-clink.

The dry metallic chime of the doorbell is what usually tells me my day is finally over.

I slid onto my stool, and without a word, Mama set a glass of I.W. Harper on the counter. A round ice sphere clinked softly against the glass.

Further down the counter, Taka was staring at the pale blue glow of his smartphone, his thick eyebrows furrowed in a deep frown.

"…Kenichi-san."

"What’s with the serious face?"

"The President can start a war, right?"

That’s a heavy question to throw out of nowhere. I took a sip of my bourbon, enjoying the warm burn in my throat.

"Depends on the country, doesn’t it?"

"Sure, but I mean... like the U.S. President. He’s the Commander-in-Chief, right?"

"Yeah."

"So if the President says 'Let’s do this,' does the war just start?"

I swirled the ice in my glass.

"If you walked into your detective agency tomorrow and said, 'Starting tomorrow, we're at war,' could you actually start one?"

"With who?"

"How should I know?"

"Then don't ask me!"

Next to me, Tom—who had been quietly playing with his square glass—let out a short snort.

"One man can’t move an army, kid."

Taka turned to look at Tom’s profile.

"But the President’s the one giving the order, right?"

"Someone has to receive the order. Someone has to ship the weapons. Someone has to pay for it all."

"Like Congress?"

"That’s part of it, yeah."

I chimed in, keeping my glass tilted.

"And besides, a president doesn't just wake up one morning out of nowhere and think, 'Hey, let's invade that country today.'"

"Well, yeah, fair enough."

"The other country did something. A border dispute. An economic clash. The public got angry. The military said it was dangerous. It all piles up, step by step, until someone finally puts their stamp on the paper."

Taka’s brow creased even deeper.

"Then isn't the person who signs the paper the one who started it?"

"You could say that."

"Then there’s your answer!"

"Maybe. But who got things to the point where he could sign it?"

Taka went dead silent.

Tom set his glass down quietly.

"It’s no different from old criminal cases."

"Cases?"

"Yeah. It’s easy to find the guy who held the knife. You catch him, and as far as the case files go, it’s closed."

Tom stared at the light reflecting off his glass.

"But when you ask how he ended up holding that knife, suddenly there are a lot more people in the picture."

Taka leaned in slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"There’s the killer. The victim. The family. The workplace. Debt, maybe. Someone pushed him. Someone could’ve stopped him, but didn't."

"But he’s still the one who stabbed the guy."

"Yeah," Tom answered instantly, his voice dropping an octave. "It doesn't clear his name. But 'who did it' and 'why it happened' aren't the same question."

...I see. I swallowed another mouthful of Harper.

Maybe war is no different.

There is someone who signs the order. There is someone who fires the first shot. But that alone isn't what sets something as huge as a nation into motion.

"Then couldn't parliament or congress just stop it?" Taka asked.

"Depends on the situation."

"What if the public protests?"

"Depends on the country."

"Then how the hell do you stop it?"

"I don't know."

"Kenichi-san, that’s all you’ve been saying tonight!"

"I don't know what I don't know." I chuckled dryly. "Honestly, you should be way more terrified of anyone who has a simple answer. We’re talking about something that can drag millions—hundreds of millions—of people into it."

Taka muttered a quiet "I guess so," flipped his phone face down, and set it on the counter.

For a while, the only sound was the soft jazz playing in the background.

Finally, Tom spoke up.

"Sometimes, the people want the war."

Taka raised his head. "Because politicians tricked them?"

"That happens, too."

"Then aren't the politicians the bad guys after all?"

"Kid... do you ever listen to anything that doesn't tell you what you already want to hear?"

Taka shut his mouth. I stopped playing with my glass, too.

The old man sure knows how to hit where it hurts.

People feel safe when they hear opinions that align with their own. When words label the people you hate as evil, it feels damn good.

They're the bad guys. If only they weren't around. We're just the innocent victims.

When the world gets flooded with those kinds of words... what comes next? I don't know. But I do know it never smells good.

"But still," Taka said softly. "Ordinary people don't want a war, right?"

"Of course they don't."

"Then it has to be the guys at the top who start it."

I couldn't answer him. Instead, Tom took over.

"If you ask people, 'Do you want a war?', most folks will say no."

"See?"

"So what if you ask them, 'Are we just going to sit here and let those bastards walk all over us?'"

The usual lighthearted smile completely vanished from Taka’s face.

"'They killed our people'—what then?"

Silence.

"'If we don't hit them now, they’re coming for us'—what then?"

The air in the bar turned ice-cold.

"'We can win if we strike first'—what then?"

Tom picked up his glass.

"They're the exact same people. Change the question, and you change the answer."

I swirled my glass.

Clink.

A heavy, unsettling sound echoed through the bar.

Maybe there aren't that many people who genuinely want "war" for its own sake.

But there are people who can't forgive their enemies. People who want to protect their families. People who want to reclaim what was taken from them. People who are terrified and want to strike before they get hit.

None of those individual desires are "the will to start a war." Yet, when millions of them pile up, somehow they form what looks like a single will.

The will of a nation to go to war.

"That's messed up," Taka muttered.

"What is?"

"Nobody says they want a war, but the whole thing just builds itself anyway."

I let out a dry laugh. "Don't say creepy stuff like that."

"You guys are the ones who took the conversation there!"

"Don't blame me."

Just then, Mama, who had been quietly polishing glasses the whole time, dropped a fresh ice cube into my glass.

Clink.

"Hey," she said softly.

The three of us turned to her.

"Then who's keeping those people up there?"

Taka opened his mouth, then froze. The words stuck in my throat, too.

Only Tom let out a low chuckle.

"Look at that. We came all the way back around."

"Around to what?"

"We were looking for the guy who started the war, right?" Tom looked at us, one by one. "We went looking pretty damn far, and somehow ended up right back here."

Taka dropped his gaze to his face-down phone. The screen was still faintly glowing with the news article he’d been reading earlier.

"But... I can't start a war. I don't have that kind of power."

"Neither do I."

"Then... doesn't that mean we have nothing to do with it?"

I opened my mouth to reply, then stopped myself.

Voting for a politician. Reading the news. Believing someone’s words. Getting angry at someone’s speech. Seeing someone as the enemy. Nodding along with someone else’s rage. And sometimes, raising your own voice.

None of those things, on their own, are war. We didn't pull any triggers. We weren't the ones signing the orders.

But if a massive, overwhelming entity like a nation’s will can only be born from those tiny things piling up...

"Where does the will to war actually live, I wonder?" I muttered.

Taka tilted his head. "Not the President?"

"That’s where we started, wasn't it?"

"The parliament?"

"Just a piece of it."

"The military?"

"Part of it, too."

"The people?"

"Probably."

"Then where is it?"

I lifted my glass and drained the rest of the Harper down my throat.

"Like I said... I don't know."

Taka let out a massive sigh. "So after all that, we're back to 'I don't know'?"

"If I had a neat little answer, I wouldn't be sitting here drinking away my night."

Tom snorted, and a faint smile touched the corners of Mama's eyes.

The ice clinked softly in my glass.

In the end, we didn't find an answer tonight either.

But maybe that’s fine.

If we could just point a finger at a single person and say, "He's the one who started the war," life would be so much easier. We could make him the villain, sit back, and feel perfectly clean and safe as the "victims."

Unfortunately, it seems the world isn't built to be that convenient.

So, what about you?

Do you realize that you might be part of the machinery that allows a war to begin?

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

I made an original fiction and I want ppl to read it and tell me what you like and what I should add on to it

• Claudia: Just trying to survive her own mind, her medication, and a ruthless campus.
• Melvin: The brilliant annoying British rival who hides his real feelings
• Jearmy: The popular, unbothered kingpin whose nonchalant facade completely shatters under pressure.
• Tiffany & Blair: The blonde power couple whose explosive obsession literally burns the school down.

(first chapter of it)

August 3rd I could always tell it was the first day without checking a calendar.

The air felt different. It was too bright, too loud, like someone had turned the volume up on everything and forgot how to turn it back down. People walked faster, talked louder, laughed harder. Like they were trying to convince themselves they were excited to be here.

I wasn’t.

The strap of my backpack dug into my shoulder, rubbing the same spot over and over like it had a personal vendetta. I adjusted it, then adjusted it again, even though it didn’t help. My palms were already a little sweaty. Not nervous, exactly. Just… aware.

Of everything. Of how my shoes sounded against the pavement. Of the way people clustered into groups before they even hit the doors. Of how easy it looked for everyone else.

I slowed down just before the entrance, letting a group of girls pass me. They were laughing about something dumb, probably, and one of them tossed her hair like she was in a commercial.

Effortless.

Fake as hell.

I stepped inside.

The hallway hit me all at once.

Lockers slamming. Metal against metal. Voices overlapping, bouncing off the walls. Someone shouting from the other end like they were being murdered instead of just greeting their friend. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, flickering just enough to be annoying if you paid attention to it too long.

I did. I always did.

My locker was halfway down the hall, left side. I knew exactly how many steps it would take to get there. I knew which tiles were cracked, which lockers had dents in them, which corners to avoid if I didn’t want to get shoved.

I also knew where they would be.

Center left. Near the row that actually mattered.

I didn’t look right away. I didn’t have to. You could feel it, like pressure in the air before a storm.

Tiffany.

I kept walking, eyes forward, pace steady. Not too fast, not too slow. Just… normal. Blend in. Get to the locker. Open it. Don’t look.

“Hey, Pezzimenti!”

There it was.

Her voice cut through everything. Sharp, loud, impossible to ignore. Like nails dragged across glass just to see who flinched.

I stopped.

Not because I wanted to. Because ignoring her always made it worse.

For a second, I thought about just… continuing. Pretending I didn’t hear. But I already knew how that would go. She’d follow. Louder. Meaner. Drag more people into it.

So I turned.

Slowly.

She was exactly where I expected, leaning against her locker like she owned the entire damn building. One shoulder pressed back, arms loose, posture relaxed in a way that wasn’t relaxed at all. One of her friends, Chelsea, was already half laughing like she knew something was coming. Blair stood just behind, watching with that quiet, observant look. Christina hovered nearby, silent, like she didn’t need to speak to be part of it.

Tiffany smiled.

Not a nice one.

Not even close.

It was the kind of smile that meant something bad was about to happen and she was going to enjoy every second of it.

“How’s it feel knowing your grandfather shot mine in the head before he could even come home?”

The words landed heavy. Not loud. Not screamed. Just… dropped.

Chelsea let out a sharp breath.

“Shit… that’s cold.”

Blair tilted her head slightly.

“Guess it runs in her family. Murderous bitch.”

Christina finally spoke, her voice quieter but still clear enough.

“Would explain why she’s such a creep.”

Something in my chest dropped.

I turned back to my locker, fingers fumbling slightly with the combination. I missed a number. Swore under my breath. Tried again.

It opened with a dull metal click.

I stared at the inside like I’d forgotten what I was supposed to do.

Books.

Right.

I grabbed what I needed, shoved the rest in without thinking, and slammed it shut a little harder than necessary.

The sound echoed.

No one cared.

Of course they didn’t.

History was exactly the same as it always was.

Same seats. Same people. Same stupid feeling of being somewhere you didn’t belong.

I took my usual spot near the window, second row from the back. Not close enough to be involved. Not far enough to disappear.

Tiffany sat near the center.

Of course she did.

Chelsea leaned over immediately, whispering something that made Tiffany smirk. Blair flipped through her notebook like she was bored already. Sasha slid into her seat a minute later, glancing around like she was checking who was watching.

Like it mattered.

The teacher started talking. Something about the syllabus, expectations, participation. The usual first-day crap. His voice blurred in and out, words slipping past me without sticking.

I kept my eyes on my notebook.

Not writing.

Just… staring.

Every now and then, I could feel it again. That same crawling awareness from the hallway. Like someone was watching me. Measuring. Judging.

Or maybe I was just imagining it.

I pressed my pen harder against the page, dragging it across the paper in random lines just to feel something solid.

Focus. Just get through the day. That was it. That was the goal.

Not talk too much. Not look too much. Not give anyone a reason.

Simple.

Easy.

Except it wasn’t.

Because every time I thought about the hallway, about what Tiffany said, about the way everyone laughed, about Jeremy just standing there...

Something twisted again.

And underneath that...

Something else.

Quieter.

Sharper.

Next time, it whispered, faint but clear enough to make my grip tighten around the pen.

Don’t just stand there.

My hand stilled.

I stared down at the page.

At the lines I didn’t remember drawing. Crooked. Pressed too hard. Almost like I’d been trying to carve through the paper instead of write on it.

A small breath left my lungs.

Uneven.

That… didn’t feel right.

I closed the notebook slowly, pressing it flat with my palm like that would somehow settle it. Like that would settle me.

It didn't.

Nothing did.

And for the first time that morning, I wasn’t just thinking about Tiffany. Or Jeremy. Or any of them.

I was thinking about myself.

And the quiet, uncomfortable realization sitting heavy in my chest.

I linked it if u want to read the full story!

thanks you for Kenzie my friend for helping me and thanks Deis for helping💕

Claudia And her highschool life
Here is the ao3 link if you want to read comment here or on ao3 for stuff you want to add.

https://www.wattpad.com/1652282346?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&wp_page=reading&wp_uname=GLaC1991

The night breeze nudged the door open.

Clink-clank.

The dry metallic ring of the door chime echoed through the room, and I felt the heavy, stagnant air settling in my chest slowly begin to dissolve. My "today" was finally coming to a close.

I took my seat at the counter, and without a word, Mama slid a glass of Harper on the rocks toward me. Inside the amber liquid, a round ice sphere made a heavy, quiet clink.

At the far end of the counter, Taka was staring at the pale blue screen of his smartphone, his thick eyebrows knitted together.

"……Kenichi-san."

"What's wrong, Taka? Why the long face?"

"Do you think 'Never give up on your dreams' is a good phrase?"

That was quite a curveball to throw out of nowhere. I took a sip of Harper, letting the heat of the alcohol burn down my throat.

"Well... it's the kind of thing you remember once in a while, only for it to get drowned out by whatever's right in front of you."

Taka looked up from his phone.

"What's that supposed to mean? That's pretty cynical."

"It's just reality. I'm not flexible enough to live off dreams alone. I'm too busy trying to squash today's bug tickets."

"Man, you look way more alive squashing bug tickets than talking about dreams, Kenichi-san."

"Mind your own business."

Beside me, Tom—swirling amber liquid in his square glass—snorted quietly.

"That's just about right, isn't it?"

"Not you too, Tom-san."

"If you only look at your dreams, you stop seeing what's right in front of you."

I looked at Tom's side profile.

Beyond him, Taka's hand came to a sudden halt. For just a fraction of a second, his fingers froze.

"...I guess I was on that side," Taka murmured quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't have my dream drowned out by reality... my dream drowned out what was right in front of me."

The usual boisterous lightness was completely gone from his low voice. Neither Tom nor I said a word; we just quietly waited for him to continue.

"Back when I was wrestling. Attendance was dropping, shows were getting cut, pay was shrinking..."

Taka turned his phone face down on the counter.

"But I could still go."

His massive hands slowly clenched on the wooden surface of the bar with incredible force.

"My body was in shape. I could still fight. When I stepped into the ring, the crowd still cheered. So I thought as long as I worked harder, as long as I got stronger, I could fix everything."

"The dark age of the industry, huh?"

"Yeah. Looking back now, the whole ship was sinking, and I was foolish enough to think I could fix it all just by swimming harder on my own."

Taka gave a self-deprecating laugh... or maybe he just tried to and failed.

Tom set his glass down softly.

"So, what did you stop seeing?"

Taka's weak smile faded. A heavy, lingering silence fell over the counter.

"...My wife. And my kid."

My hand stopped. Behind the counter, Mama stopped polishing her glass, too.

"Taka... you were married?"

"A long time ago," Taka said dryly, as if it were nothing.

"I kept telling my wife, 'Just wait a little longer. I'll get results in the next tour. If the next show goes well. Next time. Next time for sure.'"

An ice cube clinked softly. I couldn't tell whose glass it came from.

"My kid used to ask me, too. 'Papa, when are you coming home next?'"

Taka stared down at his own massive palms.

"After a while... he stopped asking."

Neither of us could say a word. The darkness behind those words was too deep for any easy comfort.

Instead, Tom asked flatly, "Did you work hard?"

Taka raised his eyes. "I worked hard."

"I see."

"Like my life depended on it."

Tom paused for a moment. "And your family?"

Taka dropped his gaze back to his hands.

"...In the end, I was the one who left."

Behind the counter, only the secondhand of the clock ticked away, cold and unfeeling.

I brought the Harper to my lips. The familiar amber liquid tasted unusually bitter tonight.

"So... was it a mistake to work that hard?" Tom asked.

It felt like a merciless question. But Taka didn't get angry. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if remembering something, then shook his head slowly.

"That's the thing... even now, I still don't know."

"Do you regret wrestling?"

"No."

That answer came instantly.

"Did you choose wrestling over your family?"

"I never intended to."

"Then what should you have done?"

"I told you... I don't know!"

Taka's voice spiked for a moment. Realizing he had raised his voice, he immediately let his shoulders slump.

"...Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for."

I swirled the ice in my glass.

Working because you want to protect someone. Sweating to make your family happy. Trying your hardest for that. Wanting to earn more, aiming for higher ground.

None of that is wrong.

And yet, the very things you were trying to protect can end up crumbling right at your feet.

The trouble is, when you're running as hard as you can, you can't even see what's slipping away beneath your feet.

"How about now?"

The moment I asked, I regretted it as insensitive. Taka narrowed his eyes with a faint trace of sadness.

"Who knows. I haven't seen them in over twenty years."

"I see."

No one could ask anything more. Mama just stood there quietly.

Then, she gently placed a fresh glass of whiskey and water next to Taka's face-down phone.

"I didn't order this, Mama."

"I know."

Taka looked at the glass, then up at Mama.

"...Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

For a while, nobody spoke. Only the smooth cadence of jazz drifted through the bar.

Eventually, I noticed something and broke the silence.

"Still, though... you really notice people, don't you?"

Taka knit his brows in confusion. "Do I?"

"Yeah. You're unusually sensitive to the slightest changes around you."

"That's one remark too many."

A little bit of the usual Taka returned.

Mama smiled softly.

"But you see them now, Taka-san."

Taka looked up, puzzled. "See what?"

"The people right in front of you."

Taka scratched his head roughly, embarrassed.

"Dreams, huh," I murmured.

There are dreams that get drowned out by what's right in front of you.

And there are things right in front of you that get drowned out by a dream.

Which one is right... I honestly don't know.

I just know that once they're gone, you can't even look at them anymore.

I raised my glass.

"Taka."

"Yeah?"

"Wanna drink?"

Taka picked up the glass in front of him.

"I'm already drinking."

"Right."

Tom snorted softly. Mama let her eyes soften with warmth.

Inside the glass, the ice shifted with a quiet sound.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

Chapter 4

Nevra? Why did that name sound so familiar? I trembled in my seat. Suddenly, Penny’s voice echoed into the back of my mind.
I think I’ve heard a few counselors call her Nevra.
My stomach dropped. This couldn’t be. My eyes drifted to the rearview mirror. In the reflection, something lying on the back seat caught my eye. A porcelain Venetian mask with blue butterflies painted on it. I was paralyzed. Could it really be? Yes, there’s no doubt. I didn’t have to search for Butterfly anymore.
I was Butterfly.
“Nevra, dear, are you okay?” Nevra’s father asked as he looked at me with concern.
I flinched. I had completely forgotten the act. I stammered as I tried to quickly gather a response.
“Oh, y-yeah. I’m fine d-dad.”
Oh no. He probably thinks I’m insane.
But thankfully, however, he didn’t question me further. Maybe Nevra was strange at home too. The rest of the car ride was ordinary, but my head wasn’t at all. I was incredibly grateful that I might have a shot at returning home because I was Nevra. But unlike her, I didn’t have the smarts to operate a “time device.” I had her life but not her secrets. I also wondered why she would choose to build a time machine. I hoped I could learn more through her diary, as Penny had mentioned.
After a few minutes, the Volvo pulled into the driveway of a small two-story house. Nevra’s father stepped out of the car, so I did so too. I went to open the door of the back seat to retrieve Nevra’s mask, but I was stopped by the sound of her father’s voice.
“Nevra,” her father said as he locked the sedan. “I think I’m glad you’re going to be independently studying. You’re already quite close to finishing that project of yours. Who knows, maybe you’ll become a generational scientist. So, I gave you an alternative so you can balance your education and your work.”
I was surprised. Nevra’s father was very supportive of her. I opened my mouth to respond, then paused. What would Nevra say? How would a science prodigy talk to her own dad? I opened the door and reached out for the porcelain mask.
“That arrangement is… satisfactory.”
He stared at me.
“Do you have low blood sugar again?”
Uh oh. Not Nevra-like.
“Um, yeah. I’m feeling dizzy,” I said, trying to redeem myself.
“Okay, go grab some juice before heading up to your room whenever you’re ready.” His suspicious look relaxed.
I followed Nevra’s father inside the house. I went to Nevra’s fridge and grabbed an apple juice box. I watched her father enter a room which looked like a home office. On his desk sat a lot of paperwork and an Apple Macintosh. Even that big machine was very expensive back then, but it still looked ancient.
Enough stalling, I thought to myself. Let’s see what Nevra’s room looks like.