Complex FmailyComplex FamilyBy Lucky O. Cicilia and May had anxiously awaited this letter. May had applied to many of the theater agencies in Minneapolis and was waiting to see which one she would be working for. At the same time Cicilia had applied to accounting firms because she didn’t want to live miles away from her best friend and main support system. Cicilia held her breath and opened the letter. “I GOT IT!” she squealed with joy. May and Cicilia celebrated with excited hugging, jumping and squealing. “Oh Cici, this will be great! Not only will you be able to keep being neighbors but this firm will pay you loads more than this one! How long till you start?” May inquired. Cicilia looked over the letter again. “Next Saturday… Wait, did I read that right? You’ve gotta be kidding me! They’re only giving us 2 weeks to move 500 miles?!” May patted Cicilia on the back. “Better get packing, and break the news to your kids.”The year was 1994, and Cicilia was a single mother of 2 kids she adopted. Adoption was unusual for a single mother in the mid 1990s. Chelsea was her 7 year old and Anna (Annabel) was her youngest at 4 years. She got her and her kids packed up, on the train, and off to the big city in one week. The next step would involve making their new apartment feel like a home, and part of that was getting to know their neighbors. Cicilia made a dozen cookies for each door on their floor, and it was time for her to introduce herself and her family. She gave a few baskets of cookies to Chelsea and they went out.“Stay close to Chelsea” Cicilia instructed Anna. Cicilia knocked on the first door, number 53. It opened to a relatively fit middle aged man with a cigarette in his mouth. He had an annoyed expression on his face. Cicilia thought to herself, “Oh great… No, be open minded…” She exhaled, “Hello I’m Cicilia and these are my children. We just moved in three days ago and thought we would introduce ourselves. We have cookies for you!” Cicilia smiled nervously. “Oh awesome! I love cookies, man! I’m Reggie, feel free to come knockin’ if you ever have mechanical issues. I’m really good at that stuff.” The man exclaimed. Cicilia was pleasantly surprised by how nice he was.She moved on to the next door, 54. This time there were 2 people at the door, a married couple. She introduced herself once again. “Hello! I’m Cicilia, and these are my children Chelsea and Anna. We just moved in across the hall and thought it would be nice to meet the neighbors. We brought some cookies!” A little boy peeked out from behind the woman in the doorway. The woman said “Oh my! This is lovely!” The man chimed in, “It’s nice to meet you Cicilia, I’m Elijah! This is my wife Amelia, and our son Karter.” He stuck his hand out for a handshake.After a few doors they came to door 58. A nervous young man opened this door. “Uh.. Hello?” he inquired. “Sorry to bother you. I’m Cicilia and this is my family. We just moved in and thought we would introduce ourselves. We brought cookies.” Cicilia felt a little awkward at this door. “Oh, well then hello! I’m Mathew, well Matt, I recently moved here too! A- About a month ago. I just got done with college and… Well yeah, that's it.” He uttered nervously. “Well it's nice to not be the only new ones around.” Cicilia said, a little and awkwardly.They visited all the doors except the last one, number 60. Cicilia knocked, and waited a minute. No one seemed to be there so she was going to put the cookies by the door with a note. As she bent down to put the cookies on the floor, the door opened. “What are you doing?!” An old lady was standing at the door, and she did not look happy. “Oh! I… Uh… Have cookies!” Cicilia attempted to compose herself. “I’m Cicilia and-” The lady interrupted, “I don’t want whatever you're selling.” Cicilia replied “Oh no, we're not selling! These are a gift. We just moved in, these are my ki-” Cicilia was interrupted again, “Well that's great.” Before Cicilia could say anything else the door was closed. “That lady was rude!” Chelsea said, holding her sleeping sister. “No, she was probably just… tired.” Cicilia didn’t want to make any quick judgments about people. They went back to their apartment.At the end of the week Cicilia gets ready for work, walks her kids to school, and they go about their day. Cilcila at work has a fast paced first day, and feels overwhelmed. Cicilia picks up her kids at the end of the work day and runs into the couple that live on the apartment floor. They walk home together and make lunch plans.The morning before the lunch plans they are getting their mail and the old lady is there too. Anna starts talking to the old lady, and asking her silly questions because she is 4. Cicilia tries to get Anna to come back and stop bothering the lady. When she goes to grab Anna,Cicilia asks the old lady if she wants to join her for lunch. She just grunts, closes her mail box and walks away.Cecilia tells her kids that Elijah will watch them as they have a play date with Karter. Chelsea is wary of this because she saw Karter chewing on legos at school. Cicilia tells her to suck it up and be more open. She goes out to lunch. When she comes back, she takes her kids home, and they talk about their fun day.About a month goes by and she gets a letter from May saying she will be in Minneapolis in a month and half. Cicilia has become well established in her apartment community and wants to have an apartment floor party. She invites all her neighbors including the old lady, hopeful that she will show. When the day comes she does not show, but Matt asks Cicilia to help him and a friend with a project.She meets Matt and his friend Penny. Penny lives on the top floor and wants to start a community roof garden and is asking for help. Cicilia loves the idea and says she will help, but is only available on weekends. Once the garden is going, they invite the neighbors to visit and use the veggies. Cicilia notices this draws the old lady out. Cicilia finally finds out her name, Harper, Ms. Harper.Cicilia takes her kids over to Ms. Harpers and they spend the day making soup. Ms. Harper even cracked a smile a few times while cooking with the children. While there Cicilia sees that while Harper's kitchen seems full, the rest of her apartment is rather empty. She offers to help her decorate, and suggests Amelia as a master at decorating. Ms. Harper is hesitant, but agrees to some small decor.About a week later Amelia and Cicilia start the decorating project. While they decorated, Ms. Harper got to teach more recipes to Chlesea, Anna, and now Karter. When Cicilia and Amelia finished their light decorating, Ms. Harper allowed the kids to take some homemade bread with them.It was time for May to finally move out to Minneapolis. She wasn't able to get an apartment in the same complex as Cicilia, but she got one nearby. Cicilia was glad to have her best friend nearby again, and the kids were happy to see their (basically) aunt. May was able to get Cicilia and her kids discounted tickets to the play she was assisting in, West Side Story.Cicilia invited Ms. Harper to come along, and Matt, as he was surprisingly a theater connoisseur. Cicilia left Anna with Elijah and Amelia, as she would probably not understand most of it. As they were watching the play Ms. Harper began to cry. She got up and left the theater. Cicilia followed after. Cicilia sat outside with her, comforting Ms. Harper. As she wiped her tears, Ms. Harper began to explain how she never got a love story of her own. She always longed for a family, and a grand romance of some kind. As she got older she became bitter and shut the world out. Ms. Harper was convinced she would die alone, with no family to ever call her own.A few nights after the play, Cicilia heard a knock at her door. When she opened it Ms. Harper was standing outside. Her fridge had stopped working, and she wanted some help. Cicilia went right next door to Reggie. He was happy to help. Ms. Harper was starting to have a realization that there may be people out there that would care for her. Maybe she should’ve kept trying to form connections.A week or so goes by and Cicilia notices that Ms. Harper hasn’t been out doing her normal activities. She knocks on her door but there is no answer. Cicilia asks around and finds out Ms. Harper went to the hospital as she was having some medical complications. Cicilia gets everyone on their floor available, calls up May, and takes her kids off to the hospital to go visit. They all arrive and wish her well with flowers and cards. Anna and Chelsea bring her homemade cards. Ms. Harper is shocked that they all care so much. She smiles so bright, and realizes she does have a family of her own.For Better or Worse (2025 November Art Challenge)Death was hardly ever thought about or something to be concerned with. At least for M45P18, (or “MP” for short). It was hard to comprehend what it even meant for robots. Humans had theories about afterlife’s and omnipresent gods to please. Families and friends they could be leaving behind. Opportunities that were missed or fun times never to be experienced again. Even all the emotions that could come from something else dying. Alas, a robots only function is to work, then to recharge their battery. There’s no need for any extra function’s not related to work. Emotions, connections, worries, exhaustion- that’ll just interrupt work. A worker bot that can’t work is just a useless waste of good metal. So why was MP and all the older worker models going to be incinerated? MP pondered this to themselves, while staring out of the garbage truck window. They watched all the same looking buildings go by. Sleek white tall skyscrapers on top of sleek white metal ground. All fenced away from what lays underneath. (The fence’s were painted white too, of course.) Everything almost melted together in a way. MP’s programming never prepared them to face something like this. One minute, MP was installing new beige flooring to go with the freshly painted beige walls. That also was to go with the beige furniture and wall fans. The next minute, their work is interrupted and they’re scooped away onto this very truck. MP owner’s probably got a newer model to replace them. They might have been over a decade old, but MP could work just as good as those newer models. Come to think of it, the other older models still could too. There was no need for any replacements. MP’s programming didn’t allow them to do much, feel much or even say anything. Even if they could speak, what would it even do? Who would listen to a useless hunk of metal? Nobody. So, they just kept staring out the window. The truck swerved at a rapid pace, going from left to right, one direction to the next. It was like this ever since MP was thrown in. However, it felt oddly smooth for a few seconds. Almost like a brief sense of, (what humans would call), calm. Suddenly the truck began to violently spin, crashing off the road. Before it flipped a couple times more, launching right into the white fence. All the robots were shaken all over the place. Being thrown from one side to the next. MP was no exception, being launched onto the very back. That wasn’t the very end the things. Almost like a cruel joke, the garbage truck’s back door opened. Sending all the robots into the dark bottomless pit below. MP fell helplessly into the void, watching as everything got darker and darker. So this was it huh? This was going to be MP’s fate. Not an incineration, just falling into an endless pit. This felt like a crueler fate than being burnt away. But what else was there to do but wait for the inevitable end? It was a long way down before MP smashed onto what seemed to be ground. It was hard to tell in all the darkness. They were crushed into a million pieces. MP’s broken parts launched everywhere. Everything was dark for a good while. It almost felt like hours were passing by. Then a warm light cut through the darkness. It glowed ever so slightly. MP was entranced by it, quickly grabbing it. They opened their hand, letting the light back out. Their hand suddenly appeared more.. doughy. MP stared in awe before the light got brighter and brighter. Quickly it consumed everything. MP quickly jolted awake, almost stumbling to the ground. Their vision spun around at everything. The bed they were lying on, the bedroom they were apparently in. These new colors were also mesmerizing. MP had never seen colors like these before. They were so.. bright. Something else caught the corner of MP’s vision too. A long mirror. MP stared at their reflection, instead of a tall metallic sleek white robot, was a small child. One that looked to be about eleven-ish. Big eyes, flushed cheeks and short messy hair.They were rebuilt obviously, but why as a human? MP slipped off the green blanket, looking at the long night gown and pants covering them up. They lifted up the nightgown, noticing a large bandage wrapped around their chest. Looking in the mirror again, there was a huge one wrapped around their head. Actually it seemed like there was bandages all over MP’s body. Lots of tiny bandages on their short arms and tiny legs. All hidden underneath their clothes. MP’s hands were tightly wrapped as well. All of them were painted with these brown blotches too. Curiously, MP slide their hands under the bandage on their head. They felt this odd, crusty dry patch. It let out this awful sensation, making them pull away. That patch felt horrible and extremely uncomfortable. It hurt. For the first time ever, MP began to panic. Their palms began to sweat, their body began to violently shake, the room began to spin. They were practically gasping for air. This was far beyond just advanced programming. Could they really be human? But, it can’t be? How? MP closed their eyes really tight, waiting for this all to end. The sound footsteps interrupted MP’s episode. It was hushed at first, before getting closer and closer. Alarmed, they jumped under the blanket then curled up into a small ball. Maybe this was all just some sort of malfunction; a dream? Was this a hell for robots? The door opened. A smaller figure stepped into the bedroom, placing a tray on a dresser. The figure peered over the bed, slowly pulling away the blanket. MP felt the figure staring over them. Slowly MP opened their eyes, staring back. It was a tiny old lady. She was hunched over, and covered with a large crochet cloak. “Are you alright dear?” She asked, her voice was quiet yet raspy. MP grabbed their pillow, shoving it over their head. The old lady chuckled. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t bite.” She sat on the bed, beside MP. “I found you scratched up, lying in a small puddle outside my garden. You poor thing, I’m sure you’ve been through so much. You’re a very long way from town. I’m sure your parents are worried sick about you.” MP took the pillow of their head, slowly getting up. They draped the blanket over themselves, mimicking the old lady’s cloak. “You do come from town, correct?” The old woman asked. MP tried to speak at first, but only a small squeak came out. They were about to try again but a sense of shyness washed over them. So they just shook their head instead. “My gosh, where do you come from?”MP paused, this threw them for a loop. They had never been questioned before. MP thought for a minute, really pondering the question. What could they try to say that would make sense to this human being? Something that could explain the strangely complex circumstances they were experiencing. MP had absolutely no clue so they just shrugged. The old woman grabbed the food tray and brought it over to MP. “Why don’t you drink some water and have something to eat? I’m sure that’ll jog your memory. I have some bread and a nice sweet persimmon for you.” MP stared down at the nice tray of food. They awkwardly poked at the water. They nearly jumped up in disgust. “It’s just water dear.” The old woman looked rather confused. MP thought back to how they saw their owners drink water. Trying to act from memory, they grabbed the cup, and took a big gulp. MP’s face twisted as they swallowed. Maybe they’ll have better luck with the Persimmon. They grabbed it, inspected it before eventually taking big bite. It was very squishy but really sweet. MP ate the whole thing in a matter of seconds. “It’s good right? I loved to eat them when I was your age.” MP nodded, now taking a large bite of the bread. “How’s your memory now?” She asked again. MP stared for a minute, still trying to find a good honest answer to such a question. Instead of trying to find any, they just shrugged again. The old lady thought for a moment. “Why don’t you stay with me for a while? At least until your memory comes back. Then, I’ll return you back to wherever you came from. For now, I could use extra help in the garden.” MP gobbled down the rest of their bread, before just nodding. “Do you at least remember your name?”MP knew they couldn’t be silent forever. They took a deep breath, about to sound out their name. Instead something else slipped out their tongue. “P…Per..Per-simmon?” “Your name is Persimmon?” The old lady repeated. It wasn’t what they were intending to say, but it wasn’t such a bad name either. MP, now Persimmon hesitantly nodded. “Well no wonder you like the fruit so much. I’m Rhubarb, it’s nice to meet you Persimmon.” Persimmon replied with a small smile. Persimmon spent the next couple of days learning how to garden. Picking fruit and watering plants. With every plant name Rhubarb told Persimmon, they tried to sound it out. Rhubarb also checked their bandages, slowly tending to their scabs until they went away. Days grew into weeks. Weeks grew then grew into months. Overtime Persimmon learned how to do lots of things besides gardening. Speaking, baking, sewing, reading, and much more. They were even given their own crocheted cloak by Rhubarb. Persimmon learned of all the new colors. All the shades of brown dirt, the pinkish blue sunsets, the purples in lavender plants. The textures too, all the delicate blades of grass and the harsh spikes of roses. It was all so dazzling. Time had also lent itself to forgetfulness. The days of a past robotic life became murkier slowly yet surely. Eventually it turned from a distant memory into a forgotten dream. The missing pieces to a forgotten puzzle. Being human was no longer something foreign. For better or worse, It was now the only thing Persimmon knew.trophyThe Three Marks of Delusion (Long Version)<img style="margin:auto;" height="400" width="400" src="https://i.postimg.cc/KcP5cJfY/shortcover-500r.jpg"><br><h2 style="margin:0;text-align:center;">The Three Marks of Delusion</h2><p style="text-align:center;">Written by Z.S.</p> <br><h3>contact(a): Sleep Start</h3> Half a restless night brings empty courage to fall asleep. Assisted into unconsciousness, something strikes in passing. An incomprehensible terror he foolishly hoped would leave him be. <p style="text-align:center;">* * *</p> In a blink dancing wheat and a brightly blackened sky greet his gaze from upon the ground. Their rhythmic sweeps bring an obscuring calm in their shade. He’d lie here forever to stare endlessly at the moon in this calm, bring them both to a standstill in their shared gravity, just enough to let time slip between in its meaningless flow. But though he had no recollection of where he came from in the moment, he knew he had elsewhere to be. Where was the question, however. The wheat certainly carried no answer in their stirring peace. The man only known as Captain feels around for his crumpled loose jacket amid the dirt, finding it covered in the same layer of fine dust as he. With a spry youth to his step he rises soon enough, pats the earthy particles off of his business attire, and combs his fingers through his mid-length hair before shouldering the jacket and moving through the gentle swaying stalks in their guidance. Across the endless sea of wheat a scattering of pale angles accompany Captain at a distance. They jut from the earth, a series of unspoken architecture frozen in a sense of hopeless reaching for the moon’s light. It proves hard to tell of their structures in passing, carrying a vagueness straddling an unfamiliar recollective the longer he looked. When the vagueness steers too closely to an echo of uncanniness Captain chooses not to look upon them any further. Instead, he looks ahead towards what lies across the horizon, a grand wall that stretches endlessly through the field. The stalks carry Captain closer to its bricked surface, eventually nearing the only pair of glass doors marking the entrance. A crowd of eyes across the very structure open upon his approach, small and curious in their witness except for one. High above the very entrance a grand gaze awakens. Upon its charge standing before the lone doors the polygonal iris rotates in thought. Captain counts seven angles total in their spinning, the second pointing down upon him as its eventual judgment. The grand eye closes, and the glass doors open for him to pass with a faint hiss. There’s a pause here. The eyes watch closely Captain holding his breath just before he steps through a shifting wave of sterility, into a sudden blur of white bolting across his view. It takes a few steps more to be welcomed by a quaint workplace filled with tiny moving bodies—figurines of ceramic formed in simple animal shapes. Captain towers amid the bustling crowd yet they move unimpeded by his presence, skittering through and around and every which way in their multitude of calculated tasks. They had no time to view this new stranger, only to work. Past the amusing sight of these delicate little things entertaining their office papers, it took a set of pronged horns planted between two long ears to catch his attention. Temptation beckons Captain to follow the lone jackalope lest he lose sight of it, but in his next steps the porcelain crowd begins to clatter around in a thicker flow, making the walk further awkward. Captain quickly loses his footing and catches the nearest structure of a computing machine, in his best effort to keep from falling over and crushing the busy figurines surrounding him. His very weight throws the machine off-kilter. It throws its weight into another nearby and knocks it off-balance in a repeat of his stumble, which then throws its weight over and knocks another structure off-balance, and then another. The chain of falling cabinets and equipment grows into a hail of obstacles, and with the heavy rain follows an explosive scattering of little porcelain bodies caught in the fray. Among the sudden mess Captain witnesses the jackalope weaving effortlessly through the crowd, until it’s easily knocked aside by a coworker interrupted in its path and falls into the open maw of a trash compactor. Captain runs over soon after, but by then the jackalope had disappeared into its endless depth. It seems to reach towards the lower levels. Captain frantically looks for a means to follow behind, and finds one just by another explosion of bodies. He takes to the open elevator lift in mere moments, missing the wave of white animals spilling across the floor when the doors close. With a moment to recollect himself Captain quells a lingering tension in his racing mind. It proved difficult to notice through the chaos, but he could have sworn, looking within the trash compactor, that he’d heard something in its depths. He couldn’t understand what it entailed. The more he clamours for a clearer recollection of the faint echo the more mumbled the sound of it repeats, fading further with each read. Whatever it may have been, the thought scatters under the next moment of surprise that awaits him when the lift doors open. A starkly new scene greets Captain in the lower level he visits. The empty, barely lit floor proved strangely abandoned, its worn structures and scattered relics covered thoroughly in a fine layer of grey. Captain slowly steps across the floor, his mind torn between his search and a growing bout of confusion. The level resembles little of the noisy office above. Instead, on further trudging through the brittle relics littering the floor, Captain’s wandering eyes catch wind of just what this place had once been—a hospital. An unexplainable chill runs through, and he clings to his new sense of unease the further he walks. To further feed into it the shadows skitter almost uncomfortably so at the edges of his vision. One such shadow moves in a blur of grey. A momentary shock brings Captain to a standstill, but he wrestles down his unease and pushes himself to chase after, feeling it to be the jackalope he’s searching for. The encompassing dark flooding the halls keeps the skittering figure vague, its shape taking different angles in passing—long ears, whipping long tail, flitting paws, static, an open beak. A pang of misery gurgles through his gut the longer he looks. This isn’t who he’s searching for. They’d been lost here for much too long for him to remember. The gurgling brings him to cringe away from such a recollection, and weighs him down in his chasing.Captain stumbles to a stop at the ground level of an open reception area amidst multiple floors. Here the fine dust seem to float gently in the deathly quiet, amid a single light shining from the levels above. Hunching over to ride the queasiness out Captain notices it brighter than the darkened ambiance seeping through the cluttered halls, almost blindingly so. The fleeing shadow had since moved on, and with no other means to find it he looks up to see what could be letting so much of this light through from high above. A long-eared body throws itself over the highest railing, following the light and dust to the ground like snow. <br><h3>contact(b): Regret Complex</h3> Faint wakefulness yields another scattering strike. He couldn’t recall it bearing itself in such grotesqueness, but thought no further with his fleeting mind giving way once more. <p style="text-align:center;">* * *</p> In a blink the dark of a decrepit hospital returns to his sight. A strange emptiness follows in the wake of the light’s disappearance. Before Captain can grasp its meaning, nor why it had left him with such a harrowing aftertaste, a new chill runs through him. Something unseen lingers. Not the hollow stillness that once presided over the abandoned floor, but a faint squelching of something hidden beyond the faded edges. A thicker chill clings to his back in its excessive crawling. Captain moves from the noise to find the silence, and leave the uncomfortably visceral presence far behind. The squelching follows incessantly with closing distance, refusing to sink into the quiet. Its stalking pushes him into a sprint, refusing to allow it any closer. Speed works against Captain in kind. The hospital floor and its abandoned structures bend in his racing view, unable to keep up. Confusion brings the squelching presence closer. In his desperation he stumbles quicker away from its heat closing around him. The entire floor warps further until it holds no longer in his frantic retreat, stretched to the inevitable rip at its seams. Every crack and split yields to empty space. Captain keeps whatever footing he can on remaining ground, but its further dissipation leaves little to maintain pace with. The squelching presence being almost upon him in the vacuum, Captain couldn’t help but to catch a glimpse in his slowing. He recognises the flash of bright eyes staring back with searing anger. And then, in a blink, he wakes up. He lies still with his pounding heart in the bed of a small hotel room. Night hadn’t yielded yet, caught in its darker hours where moonlight once lingered. His dreaming left him numb with tension once again, to his frustration. Captain wearily slides his legs out from underneath the bedsheets to sit over the edge and catch his breath, yet feeling the ground solid and silence prevalent fails to give him any assurance. Something about the dark bothers him. It blurs the room in grimy shadow. Given he’s awake now there isn’t much that can be done about it. He may as well keep himself occupied in the remaining night, until it’s time to be where he must be. The thought of it kept Captain from viewing the clock at his bedside. Its light carries a hint of something fading quickly into obscurity, but he’d rather not know just what it was nor how long he has left. Rising with some difficulty Captain heads for the bathroom, time skewing in each hobbled step. When the lights prove unresponsive he plants his focus on the brittle faucet of the sink, and prolongs a look in the mirror with a quick rinse of his face. The dark allows him little view upon his reflection, making the mirror appear as if it had rusted over. The grime blurs his youth with an addition of wrinkles he hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps a mere illusion from his tiredness. He leans in closer and the wrinkles deepen into his skin with further clarity. A startle brings Captain to pull away from the inexplicable change. In stepping back he catches glimpse of a mass in the bathtub. He whips around in its direction and finds himself facing the rotted remains of a familiar body, much like his, resting there. Captain awakens in a panic that jostles him out of bed. Moonlight returns the hotel room to normal, as he had left it. The dark may very well have just been a memory, gone as the seconds within it. Yet in recollecting his surroundings his ears catch wind of clattering and clicking just beyond the hotel room door. The mysterious monotony draws Captain up on his feet, straightening his casual attire of shirt and trousers before approaching. With a cautious turn of the doorknob unfiltered light and sound immediately seeps through the cracks and greets him to a strange factory view. In the level’s grand automation everything his eyes fell upon bent the wrong way. Nonsensical machines constructed shapes and colours together in a perplexing manner, and passed them along in undecipherable directions. Captain steps out onto grated flooring in his wonder. The factory stretched into forever, upways and down, with a multitude of walkways suspended between the countless clusters of machinery. He spots hands maintaining the inner workings at a distance, yet not a single worker around. Rather, every pair of hands and slender arms attached to the same long, blocky body slithering about. It ends in an elusive feline head that sees him from far off through its waves of hair. It twists its neck upright in interruption of its work, and bears its teeth in a wide grin. Captain meant to smile back, recognizing such a lovely face until it hit him immediately. The long body twirls and skitters haphazardly between suspended gratings, adding a cacophony of ringing metal that signaled a haunting fate in its arrival. He backs away from the edge of his platform and runs quickly for the closed door to his room. The knob refuses to budge in continuous tugging and turning, forcing him to flee with the crawling growing louder by the second. The connecting walkway loops Captain around active machines, too locked in his rush to slow down among them. He ducks under a mechanism swinging overhead, stumbles with another nearly catching him across his face, and trips clumsily past the cluster, somehow unscathed, to continue bolting onwards. The blocky centipede, having abandoned its duties in its manic chase, merely barrels through and rips the assembly line to shreds. The broken machinery interjects their neighbors, throwing their timing askew in a starting chain of self-destruction. Captain chances a glance in his tumbling retreat to see the spreading carnage and the feline head following behind, its many hands clawing towards him. The hauntingly manic excitement in its grin still remained pronounced. In a long stretch of narrow walkway Captain and the centipede sprint with little thought for the ripping machinery all around and the endless pitfall just below. Through the endless, unbearable noise Captain kept his focus only to the open doors of an elevator lift at the very end that promised an escape. The railings start to groan with the frantic flight, yet the large centipede refuses to abate, its one-tracked mind bringing the far end of the walkway to snap from the lift’s platform. Captain leaps the gap in time, his feet barely landing on solid grating and launching him into a roll with his remaining momentum. He sits back up inside the lift, the centipede looming just outside. Before it can reach in for its prize, in the growing explosion of screeching gears its head splits in twain. Captain presses his back further into the far wall of the lift, witnessing the last moments of the centipede’s consequence. It collapses onto the platform, twitching underneath broken machinery that pierce and bury it. The lift doors close before a single hand can reach in, nor his out, embracing Captain in bittersweet nothingness. <br><h3>contact(c): Molting of I</h3> Teeth gnash through a gap of lucidity, a jolt to inject its venomous mire. He begs not to live this sorrow once more, yet the waves of consciousness part. He sinks lower into its inevitable end. <p style="text-align:center;">* * *</p> His thoughts stew upon coming to in the elevator lift. The uncomfortable squirming feeds his aimless nervousness, ticking in time with his yet unfinished journey. Captain still cannot comprehend the before and after of his fleeting time. Just mere silhouettes blurred through the frosted glass he peers into. Only the now exists in full clarity. But the holes in between have grown too wide to ignore, yet too deep to look upon. Something still keeps him from doing so. He knows there’s somewhere he must be, and he’d rather focus on that. A chime cuts the conundrum short, allowing him to bury it once more. The doors open to a new floor, musty and wet, a shallow marsh within the white walls of a pristine laboratory. Swallowing hesitation Captain cautiously wades through the shade until dim light grows softly full in a new room. But he’s met with a morbid sight in return. In a corner a grand machine stands just above the waters. Its edges are lined with the remains of an aged body shredded to a pile of old flesh clinging to pale bone. Captain averts his gaze, sickened to the pit of his stomach, but finds more of these machines lining the edges across from it, each housing their cracked, rotted effigies lying forever in twisted agony. He covers his nose under an open palm and seeks an elsewhere uncluttered by such dreadful idols. Looking upon them summoned a sense of vague recollection he dare not seek, in their pained reaching. Passing in his stark ignorance of the rest he misses a gap somewhere in between, yet to be occupied. A dead end hallway brings a halt to Captain’s wandering. At the end stands one lone machine, similar to the others before aside from the cleanliness of its structure. An untouched ceramic sculpture stands tall from its open maw in near incredible height, enfolded in slumber. A temptation pulls Captain closer to the peaceful sight, before he recognises the pronged horns affixed between two long ears. Another pit weighs in his stomach. The familiar effigy trembles in each step, and adds to that weight when it opens its empty eye. With a chorus of cracking skin it unwinds in elegant stutters, bends low, and crawls on its arms towards Captain. There’s an erratic gracefulness to its glitching, within the murky waters the effigy drags itself through. In its wake pieces of its shedded porcelain sink in little trails of red. Seeing the sculpture mindlessly defacing itself pains Captain so, but an icy chill of fear keeps him from acting. He slowly backs further past sprawled lab equipment littering the hall, refusing to run yet uncertain of staying. He can’t understand why it wants him, specifically. It babbles away in its spurts of noise that could very well have been anything other than words, and continues to claw closer through the marsh. In his helplessness Captain trips against a panel embedded into the wall. He clings to something sticking out from it, but it gives way under his weight with a heavy clunk and sends him on the way down. The machinery housing the live sculpture whirs to life, and with its cycling teeth it pulls the effigy back in with a sickening crunch. Captain falls into the waters. He sits up and finds horror forcing him to watch the sculpture ground further and further through indifferent gears, still desperately clawing for him and loudly babbling in its terror. The gooey mess within the machine eventually sticks the gears solidly together. Half of its body minced into bloody pieces, shattered beyond recognition, the sculpture collapses and finally lies still in a mix of murk and blood, left to dry out and rot as the others have. Captain crawls frantically away from the creeping red still after him in death. He shuts his eyes in a painful pang of guilt, trying his hardest to ignore what had transpired and picture a different outcome from nothingness. It couldn’t have ended this way so quickly. Anything other than this. When his eyes open he’s in a new shade of dark, the pristine lab and its repulsive displays having all but disappeared. Only an etching of the felled sculpture is left in the forefront of his mind, still fresh in his present. With this newly adamant refusal to leave, something is bridged between the holes in his thoughts. Reaching around himself Captain feels a new combination of wall and ground free of clutter and moisture. He rises with some difficulty, pushing through the aching of his joints back on his feet. In his weight he almost doesn’t recognise that of his own body, the one thing that has slowly changed amidst everything. He leans against a wall in pause, a twinge of tired, dreadful realisation faintly reaching him. He’d been knowingly pushing it all aside in his habit, but this has all happened before. No matter where he turns there is no escape from this shifting of places and moments. Though this string of events struck him in terrifying newness it has all happened exactly, like the felled statue etched forever within him, doomed to repeat with each visit. In every night of sleep he will always have somewhere to be, and every step will only ever take him one way through. Finally coming to grasp this, he knows where he must be is close by. Captain can hear blood under his continuing footsteps, by now having grown numb to it. The dark yields to an aged wooden hallway decorated in the dusty textiles of an old hotel. Every door in passing remains closed, some hanging partway into nothingness, some rotted completely shut. Captain only finds one that appears occupied up ahead, leaking a haunting bluish glow. Several labored steps more and he pushes the door open to a rather dull scene. Past the glow the walls of the room fade away under endless dust. Housed in its center is an old squared television set tuned to a flickering broadcast, music playing from its old fuzzy speakers. Captain enters in silence, ignoring the long gone song of yesteryear with his attention to the other prominent sight in the room. A tall man sits erect at the edge of his bed before the screen. The man’s winged arms cling tightly to his chest, unresponsive to the visit. Joining him at his side Captain finds him masked with a porcelain bird’s face. A moment passes in trying to see just what lies beyond the dark holes of its eyes, finding nothing as he always does. Without thinking, once more compelled by morbid temptation, Captain slowly reaches to remove the man’s mask. Out of all he had seen, in every visit made, he’d never had the privilege to know what lies underneath. The music broadcast cuts to loud incomprehensible noise. Captain blinks, drawn into glimpsing the flashing images. He recoils and moves to back away from the screeching, the anger, anguish, and unspeakable pain it carried. A cold hand clamps around his arm, keeping him frozen in place. He sees the winged man holding him from where he sits. The bird’s head turns just barely in a silent series of cracks growing across his neck. Captain blinks, still unable to see beyond the holes of the porcelain mask. Between the wordless bid to stay and the growing volume of static gnashing at his ears he finds himself unable to act anymore. The tumultuous static creeps into the edges of Captain’s sense. The wallpaper and wood of the room peel away in the growing rumble of a coming storm. The floor itself gives way for him to sink through. More feathers grasp him upon slipping. Captain looks one more time into the hollow stare of the bird mask, finding aging, knowing eyes that have waited for him all this time. Captain blinks, and within the creeping rain of static reflected in the porcelain he sees his young self, carrying years lost and years to come. Captain blinks, and through snowy teeth wrapping around him sinuous hands grip the yoke that leads him and his onward towards inevitable agony. Captain blinks, and through their eyes is witnessed a great collapse in a brilliance of colours. The hollow structures of the dream and its bodies within fall apart, crumbling in the arrival of a deafening tempest. Captain blinks, and he flies through a recursive eternity. Their bodies fall where they always have, through his stretched fingers meant to hold them. He remembers each and every face in their last moments. Captain blinks, and in losing himself once more dark feathers let him go. Before the dawn of awakening, in the wake of endless tears, he falls backwards into the gaping maw of an empty machine. No matter its form, nor its order, that’s how it all came to be, how it always will, and that can never change.Adding upI saw an angel sitting on my porch this morning.A man with brilliant silvery wings and dark skin, clad in a silky white dress shirt and holographic jacket, sitting on the bench resting outside in the morning dew. They were looking down at some sort of dizzyingly complex tablet as it floated in front of them. They did not touch it, but it remained in place as numbers were written into it.Cautiously, I approached them. They were muttering something, and as I got closer, I realized what it was.“6… 5… 10…”My curiosity now getting the better of me, I walked up to them.“Excuse me,” I asked. “What are you doing on my porch?”The angel briefly looked up at me with desaturated yellow eyes and deep, navy blue pupils, then went back to their tablet. “Oh. Hello there. 20… 2… 12…”I huffed and crossed my arms. Divine entity or not, I demanded I know their business being on my property. “That didn’t answer my question, why–”“Sorry, I’m a little focused right now. 40… 2… 80… I’m doing some important work right now, been moving around a lot, and this spot looked comfortable enough to rest a bit, so. 12… 29… 5…”I looked down at their tablet and its steady flow of seemingly meaningless numbers. “And… what is it you’re doing, exactly?”“Counting. 67… 8… 7…”“Yes, I can see that. But it’s rather out of order, isn’t it?”“It’s not counting up, it’s gathering numbers. 2… 120… So, really, I’m not counting, I’m adding- well, it’s adding.” they gestured towards the tablet. “487… 68… Numbers appear, I say them, and they’re added to a sum in a different program for collection- data’s important.”“Seems rather inefficient that you’d need to speak into it, doesn’t it?”“Well, it keeps my hands free. 9… 15…” They said, not doing anything notable with their hands. “Besides, if I did use my hands, I’d surely lose them from how much I’d have to type.”The angel suddenly paused, looking worried. “Wait… hold on.” they scrolled upwards on their tablet. “487…? Geez.” They swiped at the screen on their tablet, causing a second screen to appear beside it. They typed something on it as they continued babbling their strange numbers, but I couldn’t see it.I sat down next to them. “What’s it for, anyways?”I seemingly caught their attention again. “Oh, I can’t tell you right now. Maybe in a minute or two, depending on how severe this gets. 860… 1647?! Shit! It is going up! What the hell?! 2… 78… 346…”“I thought angels didn’t cuss.”They stifled a laugh. “That’s a stereotype- I sure as hell do. 2689… 345… 32… You would too if you had my job.”“And… your job is…?”“Again, I’ve already told you, adding up. 2345… 456… 823… 25…”“Surely it can’t just be that, right? Surely there’s something else to it, right?”They sighed a little. “Yes, but I don’t believe I’m allowed to tell you that either. 3007… 124… 743… 6789…”“Why?”“It’d scare you. 599... And I’d get in some real trouble if someone found out. 12786…” They scowled. “12786- Fuck me! What’s going on right now?! 345… 2345…”Well, it was no use trying to get any answers at this point. I figured they couldn’t tell me much, so I decided to ask them something else. “What’s your name?”They smiled a little. “Mavu. And I don’t believe anyone here has bothered to ask that before. 3245… 8275… 1235…”“Mavu huh?”“Yep. 456…”“Say, what’s it like being an angel, anyways?”Mavu chuckled. “You ask odd questions. 23467… 9032… 5678…”“What do you mean?”“Most people don’t ask these sorts of questions. 46256… 23435… 2345…” They suddenly seemed incredibly nervous, and looked through the previous numbers. They mumbled something vulgar under their breath, but shook themself and continued. “Usually it’s stuff relating to their religion or whatever. You know, what happens after death, who god is, etc, etc. Both questions I’m not allowed to answer, by the way. 3245… 13567…”“I’ve never been a super religious person. Besides, I guess I’m just curious.”“Hm, I see. Well, an angel is just kind of what I am, it’s my job that really matters. 213245- I… GOD! What the hell?! Sorry- that wasn’t at you, 2468… 8927… As for my job, it’s… not fun, but someone’s gotta do it. 9348...”“I see. Does your job pay well, at least?”“Angels don’t have a need for money. 345…”“I almost envy you…”Suddenly, they stared blankly at their tablet, almost in a horrified way. “938237… 4234… Ok, no, this thing has got to be broken.” They pressed a button on the screen and the same number appeared again. They pressed it over and over, but the same thing happened every time. Tears began to well up in their eyes. “No… no… no… no…” They briefly looked my way. “I’m sorry, this is sudden, but… can I… hold you?”I woke up a little, both surprised and perhaps a bit flattered. “Uh… any… particular reason?”Mavu went quiet for a moment, then wiped tears from their eyes. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Just… please. 1023478… 583394… shit… I… I… just really need some comfort right now, that’s all.”“Ok, sure.”“Thank you.” Mavu gently grabbed me and pulled me closer until I was leaning aganist them, and wrapped their wing around me. They rested their head on my shoulder and squeezed me tightly, almost like one would hold a cat while they were stressed. “14568646… 435567… 4358892… 239884111… oh god… no… no… no… This can’t be real, it can’t be…”“You know, for the record, I believe this counts as cuddling.”“I know… 100023478… I’m sorry…”I sighed, trying to blow off some steam. Their tension was rubbing off on me, not helping my already confused state.I looked up at the sky as they went back to softly muttering their strange numbers. The sun had only risen a few minutes ago, and birds were chirping everywhere.Everything seemed remarkably normal, and rather peaceful, until I turned my eyes to my right. On the horizon to the north, was an ominous rim of glowing red light. Unexplainable rumbles could faintly be heard, and I could’ve sworn they were getting closer.Mavu squeezed me even tighter, their tears now soaking my shoulder. “302983217… I… I believe I can tell you what my job is now. I-I don’t think the numbers will matter anymore in a moment…”“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, you know. I don’t mind.”“No… I… I think it’d be the right thing to do at this point.”The rumbles in the distance were getting noticeably louder, so much so that it was obvious it wasn’t from a thunderstorm.“Alright, then what’s your job?” I asked.Mavu wiped away their tears. “I’d like to apologize, first. For being so clingy, I mean. You see, I-I’m not usually this way.”“Hey it’s alright, don’t get all bent over that. Besides, this is one hell of a story to tell my friends. If they even believe me in the first place, heh…”They chuckled a little, and teared up even more.“Hey, it’s ok, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”“It’s not that. I wouldn’t mind either way, I know very well nobody would believe you.” They looked up at the sky in a lonesome sort of way, then back down at me. “Thank you for comforting me like this.”“It’s really no problem, it’s just the kind thing to do. But I do think you’re dodging my question.”They rested their head on my shoulder again, closing their eyes. “I’m not sure if I want to tell you.”“Again, you really don’t have to.”“No, I do have to. I’ve got my arm around you, I’ve been talking to you. You deserve to know. You see… my job…” Mavu put his hands together, and his tablet turned into light, retreating into his pocket.I waited in anticipation, watching the sky. As Mavu hesitated a little, I saw streaks of red dash through the clouds, burning them away and giving everything a red tint.Soon, the entire sky was ablaze, waves of fire dancing across the sky like a hellish version of the northern lights. I could feel the ground shaking, car alarms starting to go off and birds taking off into the air.The air was getting hotter, too hot to breathe, screams were echoing in the distance, steadily growing louder, and a horrendous, terrifying roar like a motor was rising up from the depths of the earth, becoming louder and louder.It was then, softly, Mavu spoke again, scarcely audible over the now deafening turmoil around us, his voice somber and quiet. “My job... is tallying up human deaths for soul collection.”The monkey’s manuscriptWhen Audrey found the old, rusted typewriter in her grandfather’s attic, there was one emotion racing through her mind: excitement.She’d been trying to find it ever since she was a little girl, for it was no ordinary typewriter. Her grandfather made sure to hide it well, fearing the consequences it could bring to the family, or the greater world should someone find it.According to him, anything written using it would come to fruition, but with unpredictable, and often unfavourable consequences.He’d told her it’s story a thousand times;First he found out by accident. The start of a small story had included a brass trawler lamp crashing to the ground. Only moments later, the same trawler lamp appeared before him and nearly lit his study ablaze as it smashed into to the floor.Then, he’d written about the family acquiring a fortune. In the next few hours, the government had arrived at his door, offering an enormous sum for him and her grandmother to move so the new highway could be built there.After moving houses, he’d hidden it away, fearing severe consequences should he continue using the typewriter.And now, after checking under a loose floorboard, Audrey had managed to find what neither her mother, her many aunts and uncles, nor siblings could ever find. The typewriter of family legend, the one which could change fate to her whims.She scooped it up in her arms, and began carefully taking it downstairs and to her room. After setting it down on her desk next to her laptop, she studied it from a distance, contemplating what to do next.Naturally, she had many ideas. Winning the lottery, becoming famous, finding her soulmate, world peace, all of the above at the same time, etc, etc. The possibilities were truly endless with such a thing, and her grandfather had hardly scratched the surface!But... she wasn’t stupid either. She knew how horribly all that could go, she’d seen the monkey’s paw, she’d heard of the genie who takes wishes literally.Get too ambitious, and she could send the world into a dark age. Get too personal, and it could cost her her life for all she knew. Play it too safe, then what’s the point?She scratched at the back of her neck staring at it, and her eyes began to wander around her room.Meet her favourite band? No, what if they turn out to be criminals? See that movie for the first time again? No, that’d definitely result in one way time travel. Give herself that one figurine she always seemed to be missing from her collection…? Maybe, but that seemed a bit boring for what she was faced with.Then her eyes locked on her laptop. More precisely, what was open on it. It was her current project- her first attempt at writing a story.Right now, it was almost done, but she was desperately stuck. She’d gotten to a point in the plot that required her to come up with a bunch of new ideas, and that’s what kept her stumped. She felt like giving up, but was far too attached to the protagonist Jay to do such a thing.She smiled, getting an idea. A couple of ideas for a book's ending surely can’t cause that much harm, can they?She sat down, and slid a piece of paper into the typewriter."Audrey gets ideas for her book."Just like clockwork, an idea for how to finish her story appeared in her head. Though… it wasn’t exactly what she wanted, and involved killing off Jay in a big final battle with the main antagonist.She sighed, maybe she expected that. Oh well, it was an easy fix. She’d just change it up a bit and make it so Jay instead survives within an inch of his life. As rushed as it was, she'd polish it up later.After that, much of her evening was spent writing away, jotting down ideas before she forgot them in the morning. By the third hour, she’d gotten a summary of the new ideas written down in the document she’d made for her notes.She leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling. Her room was dark now, it was getting around the time she’d usually go to bed, and she was tired.She marvelled at her predicament. A simple sentence had saved her possibly months of work in only a couple seconds, and the only consequence was just having to change it up a bit.She looked over at the typewriter still sitting on her desk. It’s surface had rust in spots, but it still shone brilliantly as it was hit by a beam of moonlight from outside. Now that she thought of it, those ‘consequences’ her grandfather always went on about never really seemed that severe, did they? Nobody died, no lives were ruined, just a small inconvenience.What could she really get away with?Her eyes wandered around her room again, and the same ideas about the band, the movie, and the figurine went through her head. All those felt boring now that she knew what she knew. Even though part of her still screamed ‘CAREFUL!’ she couldn’t help but think bigger and bigger.If the result outweighed the consequence by this much, then why should she even worry about it at all?She could just undo anything bad that did happen, couldn’t she? Even if it was just three wishes, she still had two left. Worst come to worst, she could just undo her previous wish entirely.At last, her eyes paused on her bed. On top of it laid a plush of Jay she’d gotten commissioned.An idea crawled it’s way into her sleep drunken mind.Yes. That’s what she’d do next. That's exactly it.Something she wished almost every night holding that plush, every time she drew Jay, every time she wrote him.She turned around, faced the typewriter, and stared at it’s keys.She took a few deep breaths, trying to slow her heart, which was suddenly pounding.Oh what the hell. Worst come to worst, he’d probably just appear dead or something. She could just undo it when it got too much."Jay becomes a real person"Jay blinked. He was suddenly in an entirely different house, away from his friends.He looked around frantically, but found not even a trace of where he was before.Trying to calm himself down and assess the situation, he noticed a typewriter and laptop sitting next to each other on a nearby desk. His confusion helped distract him- why would someone need both?He first picked up the typewriter, it was easily the strangest out of the two. Though it held a piece of paper, not even a letter was written on it. In a way it made sense, the laptop would be infinitely easier to write on. ...But why was it here to begin with?He set it back down, and looked at the laptop next. There was a document open, it looked to be a story of sorts. Curious, he picked it up.It was a story about a girl named Audrey, and it was almost finished by the looks of things, just missing the ending. There was also a few notes open about the story and the ending whoever was writing it had planned.It looked like the original ending had involved Audrey being killed off, but had been changed in a very rushed, sloppily written way. Strange. He wasn't the best writer, but he knew bad writing when he saw it.He took another look at the document, then back at the notes.He shrugged. Might as well finish it. Whoever was before clearly didn't know what they were doing.Jay sat down and began to write.RM | Is she watching?Lefosige slide back to the edge of a circle drawn in the snow around them. Panting heavy he felt the pressure of this test sinking in deep. Rules were clear, no claws, no maiming. However Mesi was pulling no punches. He wanted to see all the ungdom had to offer as a future Marauder. Though concern had been brought up about Leo’s twisted leg he would never let that show. No matter how it throbbed. Brows furrowed as he took the pause to look over his shoulder at his parent, Weynild. Concern written on their features that they hid behind fur coats. Leo had been training a while with Mesi, he worried Weynild would be getting cold by now. Through another pant his eyes shifted closer to the mid side of the ring. His closest friend and Mesi’s charge sat besides watching with an odd shifting expression. A concerned half smile on Nilute’s face. Leofsige couldn’t help but return a cocky, proud smile before turning to look at Mesi again. The lion was also breathing heavy as he watched the smilidon with caution and pride. “Are you taking it easy on me?” Mesi questioned getting a swift shake of Leo’s head in response, “Nah I’m just warming up!” “Round continue!” Called Hornswaggle from the other side of the ring. Leo took the charge rushing forward and throwing himself up over the lion’s mane. He clung on for dear life as Mesi gave a buck and then another as Leo tried to slide him forward to flip him in a bid to show off. His heart pounding as from the side of his eye he looked to see if Nilute was maybe, maybe watching. It took only a moment of broken concentration and he was suddenly roughly bucked off sliding him outside the ring leaving the snow push back and causing the rings break. “Round end! Mesi’s win!” Leo groaned a bit but still that smile sat on his face as Mesi approached. “How’d I do?” Leo panted slowly sitting up. “Like a true Marauder.” Mesi nodded his head in approval. “Though maybe think a bit more before you act. And….” Leo’s ears flinched starting to drown out Mesi as his eyes wandered to where he last had seen Nilute. She was watching right?…. She had to be. His heart still pounded as he his name again. “Leo? You alright?” “Oh? Yeah… Yeah!” Leofsige bounced back at attention before laxing again. “Just gotta check on something quick really quick..” With out waiting even a moment Leo was heading over to Nilute grinning proudly, “Not half bad right?” He beamed as Nilute gave a bit of an eye roll. “Eh, you didn’t make a fool of yourself so I’d say it’s not a bad job..” She nudged his shoulder a bit sharply as he settled himself besides her. “What where you trying to do back there? Grab Mesi’s neck? Flip him?” “Well, Flip him. I could do it no problem!” He declared looking determined. Nilute huffed to hide a laugh unsure if he was serious. The smilidon didn’t seem to notice to enthralled he even managed a half smile out of her. She stayed and she had been watching and that made Leo happy enough.Captain's Class: The New KidNadia Sighed, looking Around the Classroom, Colton & Brianna were Talking with Tamia, The Three Students were Early.. Gash Led his daughter, Hurricane into the classroom, and went to Join Siren who were talking with two of her students, Meldia & Deila. hours passed, Cyclone looked Frustated all his students were late as usual, Arrow dropped Lily and Pebble, her pups, off at his classroom and went to her own, where her students, Sol, Mico and Stellar were waiting. Licia was Talking with her friend Becky as they walked in "Late as Always..." Cyclone rolled his eyes, Cloud and Rowan ran in Next "No Running in the halls!" Shiver, Cyclone's Co-worker, called after them.. Ricky looked around his classroom, his students, Jinx, Runa, Paris, Storm, Rosewood, Leal and Luna, Meanwhile Reed, Misty and Storm were hanging round the halls. Felix and Lacie Were working together on Something when Taka, their Teacher, Spoke up "Meet Glory, shes new" Lacie looked over at the new girl..diamond dayTender oak leaves and acorns, a slow warm wind kicking them up into little tornados, little rockslides. Along Silas's path have been little stacks of rocks, too, some flat slices, some delicately pieced together towers of pebbles. To insects and other small things they'd be like skyscrapers. Towers of Babel. She keeps her tail tucked close to her body while she walks, thriftstore hiking boots protecting the soft pads of her feet. The skirt swishes silently. It's stiff brown denim and it is loose, too big, tightened with a belt and wrinkled at the waist line from being cinched. Simple sweater, Nordic print and brown and very soft from age and washes. It's early spring. This area of the trail hasn't been fully tidied, lots of detritus everywhere. Rocks, thick blankets of leaves, soggy and fat and heavy from recent rain. Pine needles and leaves coagulated into mats because of the decay. All of this litters and muddles the path, thin red trees stretching up to the sky like so many nimble needles, birdsong occasional and sparse. On walks in summertime she uses her tapes. Listens to songs, headphones over her big, soft, velvety ears. Listening to Milk and Honey, maybe something else old and crackly and nostalgic and slow, swapping the tapes frequently from her pockets as whim led her to. 'Low simulation' she had heard it described as. For her, it was a balm to the way her insides sometimes felt so tattered... Today, though, some intuition of the heart and soul had told her to listen to the world, and she had reluctantly left it at home on her bedside table. So she was hiking this trail, early in the season. More of a walk than a hike but she thought maybe any walk in what she thought of as 'deep nature' was a hike; if it wasn't paved, it was hiking. If one might spot a badger or a fox or get eaten by a mountain lion? Hiking. Lost on this train of thought she would realize her feet were moving off the cleared path and onto a winding, thinner path between some trees to her right. A footpath, not one cleared but trodden over so many times through the years that it lay just flat and just wide enough for feet and bodies to slide through, like a singular thread through a shirt. Normally, she would never venture off path. She wasn't silly. She was very serious, in fact, about how dangerous that was. But something in her chest was tugging her, some hand on her upper back pushing, something beckoning and urging. Come see me. She would look behind her and take note of any landmarks. Funky frogshaped boulder. All right. Down the path and right back and if not, she would end up kitty jerky. Silas's thick boots don't crunch as she starts down along the thin footpath, but they do squelch. The moisture does not penetrate, blessedly. The trees are very close to her, close enough to knock into her elbows if she is not careful, doesn't keep them tucked into her waist like a prehistoric creature. She thought idly of the giant ground sloth, the megatherium, as she slowly progressed. How it could reach one shaggy arm up, bend a tree like an aforethought elbow, and eat from it. How sometimes she felt that way around shorter folk, too, being tall herself... Abruptly she finds that, surrounding her on all sides, are an absolutely oppressive amount of trees. Tucked in close and almost breathing. Nothing in front or behind but the thin path, thin like an exposed fingerbone. Tall spikes of rust color, dark and mushy earth, big pale sky of light. Fear tightens her chest and her breath is crushed in that grip, too, big fist grabbing up from her stomach and trying to climb up. What a mistake. And as she starts to turn, her small pink nose catches the scent of something. Salt water. If she keeps going, there will be ocean water. But then, what if she is well and truly and fully lost? But she's never seen the ocean. And it is so close, so close that, when she ventures to let her tongue peek out, she can taste the salt in the air, as though the granules are rolling and dancing across the overwhelming and heady petrichor like glass smashed by a hammer. Into smithereens. The thought of the water so close she could hold it in her arms is too strong of a temptation. So she keeps going. Wanders forth with anxiety in her step, on rubbery legs, passing between the trees. Like how she imagines memories get lost, slipping between thoughts, shrinking to a pointed atom that slides like a dust mote between shafts of light. The ocean is close now and she knows because she hears it moving. Breathing. Waves connecting with the shore, over and over, like punches. Crashing isn't enough to describe the way her ears hear each droplet hit the earth then recede back home. Snaking in rivulets over-- Innumerable pebbles. No sand, or at least not visible. The path ends in an opening that reveals a stretch of nothing but billions of damp pebbles in many grey-and-earthen tones. Dead stars. And a massive and neverending expanse of ocean that matches the sky. Pale gray. Frothing with foam as though it has rabies. Not a soul in this place. The beach stretches left, and right, and ends at that rusty treeline there, too, squared off in a long rectangle. It feels godly and sacred and very old. Ancient. Very big and very small and very cold. Another planet. In this place she feels God acutely everywhere but also feels very alone under the great magnitude of it, the majesty. Alone and very small. Observed by the big Eye. She tentatively steps forward, cold wind slowly rolling into her like misty ice. Her legs are still very shaky. She is scared of this place but so intensely curious. Feels undeserving but desires desperately to be familiar. "I am just a lamb." She whispers, softly, stepping slowly over the loose pebbles. In some places the foot traffic is evident but she does not step there. Whatever feet they belonged to were respectful of this place because there is no litter to be seen, no leftovers, no human structures or belongings. No boats, no chairs. No bottles or styrofoam or cigarette butt's. Just little depressions from footpaws and boots and even then she cannot make out the precise shapes. Terrified she makes her way across to the water. Kneels slowly. Feels the damp slowly soak into her skirt and touch the fur of her knees. Her glasses get lightly misted by the salt water and she just looks, mouth open and tasting the air. Silas sits this way, mind mostly empty, watching. Hypnotized by the swell. Enchanted by the flow, the crash, the noise. It is so much all at once that, with a shuddering and raw gasp, she begins to cry. Feels her heart open like a wardrobe and gush blood like a rotten fountain, pulsing in heavy, stuttery beats. The catharsis and release of it pulls a soft scream from the pit of her stomach and it racks her lithe, long form. A ribbon whipping in a hard wind. Making sound that isn't heard over the rush. Whispering fervently, stream of consciousness, whatever word crawls out from between her lips. Begging and questioning and cursing. Grabs a few fistfuls of pebbles and squeezes them. Claws at the ground and feels her handpads ache with cold. It grounds her, the earthly feeling. That and her glasses slipping down and off of her long nose and plopping with a sharp clatter onto the pebbles. It renders the view muddly and blurry like a late Monet and she quickly retrieves them and wipes them on any dry fabric of her clothing that she can find. Sleeve. Puts them back on. No scratches. She doesn't cry anymore. Sits back with her feet under her bottom and watches, again, this time without as much fear. Almost like friends. -- The way back is fine. She finds it fine. Treads the path quickly, though, not wanting the wasteland-aloneliness feeling to be bearing down on her shoulders anymore. Wants to get in her car and go home and make tea with honey and climb in bed and read. Get warm. Sleep. Get up and go get soup and baguette later. Have space to reflect on what just happened and wonder if it was good or not. Her little hatchback is green and old and she loves it. She calls her Ivy. Silas's keys are on a dinged up carabiner hanging from her belt and she unlocks the car, sits in, and locks the door immediately. It smells good inside, like lilac and old seats and coffee. French vanilla and caramel. "Thank you." She mumbles, in her whispery voice, and lays her head back against the headrest. Starts to close her big, clear eyes, just for a moment. Between the slits of her lids she sees lightning spider across the sky in a great explosion of tributaries, electric veins, so bright it turns the darkling day into full sun. It flashes this way, flickering and rolling in ways for what she guesses is maybe three seconds, before fading and being immediately suffixed by probably the loudest thunder she's ever heard in her life. Silas makes a choking sound and claps her hands over her ears, folds them down over her cheeks and slams her eyes closed. It doesn't block much of the sound. Her forehead makes contact she didn't know was impending with the steering wheel and the horn gives an elongated 'neeeeeeeeeeeeet' as she hunkers down in shocked horror. It rolls like a thousand dropped bowling balls, like God dropped His marbles (maybe His pocket tore?) and the sound rattles the car, vibrating the windows. Off in the distance, where she knelt on the pebble beach, is a leftover smoldering structure of fulgurite, spidering and strange and alien. Twisted and gnarled and textured in the approximate shape of her silhouette.Tupla Doll Incident Be Me, Princess2006 I watched Murder Drones. I saw my favorite character named Doll. She died at the end of the series... Sad. Watched some videos on YouTube. On my Recommendation about Tulpas. I watched videos about them and did a lot of research on them. Decided to make a Tulpa of Doll from Murder Drones. Did it before going to bed. Wake up to see My Tulpa of Doll. She is the same in the show. But she Doesn't have her Red Neon Eyes on her visor... And she's mute. I do remember she is introverted. I Didn't think too much of it until she started Screaming Bloody Murder, She has Sharp teeth. I don't recall her having sharp teeth in the show. I don't know why she's doing that. She is still screaming Bloody Murder and Banging on The doors and Walls as well as scratching them. Screaming something in Russian. (I don't know Russian that much) But she's repeating the words Why in the Russian language. She's still screaming Bloody Murder and Banging on the doors and Walls and scratching them... Oh God tell me What have I done wrong?short gay ponysona thingPink’s heavy eyelids slowly began to blink open, though it was almost hard to differentiate between when they were closed or not from how pitch black his surroundings were. It was the cold that woke him up, piercing through his worn down blanket and sending unpleasant stimulation down to the bone. He was shivering slightly as his mind adjusted to conscious thoughts… Celestia, how he hated this time of year. He couldn’t help but furiously envy everypony who had a warm home to peacefully rest in, they having not a single worry about what may happen if they lost that luxury. Jealousy quickly turned to rage and spite for the incubus, intensifying the shakes in his body. He sighed. It was far too early for this, couldn’t he wait to spiral until at least the sun was rising? Unfortunately, it didn’t work that way, and he knew forcing it down was just as bad… Even if he tried to bottle it up, though, he couldn’t. Every bottle had broke long ago. At least he could mostly hide it in public. Mostly. Trying to hold the thin sheet closer, Pink attempted to close his eyes and drift back to sleep, ignoring the constant jitters and aches… … … …The demon sleepily fluttered his eyes open, slit pupils gradually expanding to take in the dim view. He was in a typical Ponyville bedroom, under the soft covers of a bed for two, in the arms of a unicorn stallion. It took him a moment to come back to reality, to realize that it was just a vivid playback of a memory, but he got there eventually. At first, he felt empty, but a delayed sadness soon washed over him. Why? Shouldn’t he be happy that he’s safe now? Shouldn’t he be relieved that all it is now are flashbacks instead of reality? That just made him feel worse, which in turn brought up more awful moments from the past. It didn’t take long for Pink to feel his tear ducts burn with activity, biting his lip harder than necessary to unsuccessfully stop the emotional release. He involuntarily swallowed nothing, taking in a shaky breath and trying to stay quiet. Then the morning alarm went off. Oh well. The aforementioned unicorn stirred, faintly grumbling as he reached over to turn off the rather annoying sound. Pink pretended to be asleep for now, which he was good at; however, it was much more difficult to suppress things like hiccups from crying. The unicorn gave a big yawn, stretching his limbs and pulling the demon closer as part of it. This was Pink’s boyfriend, Starry, who happened to be a therapist. “You awake?” Starry gently asked, using a free hoof to stroke Pink’s long mane. The incubus decided to act like he was just waking up, slowly extending his own arms and legs to stretch as well. “Mmh…” Pink murmured in response, and then sniffled without thinking. This put a look of worry over the other’s face. “How are you?” Starry questioned, but didn’t want to be too direct for various reasons. A sigh escaped Pink, who started to fidget with the sheets. “I… had a nightmare,” the demon hesitantly admitted, feeling embarrassed, but he knew it had to be said eventually. This was probably the only pony in Equestria that he was okay with sharing his feelings to, though, so that helped somewhat. Starry made a quiet sound in understanding, attempting to physically comfort the smaller one even more than he already was. “Thank you for being honest, I’m sorry to hear,” the unicorn told Pink. “Wanna talk about it?” The incubus thought on it for a short moment. “Uhm… Not yet, sorry… Thanks though,” Pink faintly shook his head, enjoying the embrace. “No need to apologize, let me know if I can do anything,” Starry offered with a small kiss on the back of the head, his voice kind and soothing to the demon. “I love you,” Pink expressed, almost struggling to get the words out from how much he meant them. Starry softly chuckled. “I love you more than a universe of universes.”For Ameliadear amelia "i know you haven’t talked to me in a long time. i’m so sorry for not talking to you. i just couldn’t bring myself to talk to my friends because i was so busy wallowing in my pain and the trauma i experienced from my girlfriend. i can’t forget how much she tried to make me her little patsy. she thinks she can use me and treat me like shit, and not expect me to leave her. anyways, i just want to tell you, you ok bro? i saw the art you posted on myspace two days ago, and it scared me. why did you draw someone being brutally beaten? i know you turn to very violent games to cope with the sudden murder of your best friend, and your town is filled with violence, but the beaten up girl looks like you. i love you platonically and dont want you to do anything drastic. on a lighter note, may you please meet me at my apartment? i would really want to see you in person again, and i can show you the albums i just bought a week ago. also got this new ouija board!” sincerely, nicolas parker, 11/24/2005i burned my past awaylast week, i was at my best friend paige’s house for her birthday rave. by friend i meant “abusive bastard who only is my friend because my parents approve of her and no one else.” i was planning for a method to make her realize the harm she did to me, and how much she tried to manipulate me into being her damn lackey. luckily, i had a plan. when the actual raving started, i told her i had to use the bathroom, and that i had some, rather gross problems i had to deal with. she let me go, not knowing my plan. i was going to burn down her house, and take some of her stuff to keep and to sell. so while she wasn’t looking, i called my brother to bring a mattress next to the house, and i threw her band merch, tarot cards and pretty jackets there. after i got back, i decided to dance with some of the strangers there in order to hide my intentions. i do love raves and dancing, anyway. after 10 minutes, i then went into the hallways, without her permission, and found her kitchen. i then cooked up some eggs, put gasoline, and then lit that baby up. the rave was over, mostly by then, so it wouldnt be a major problem. that bitch was already too tired from drinking too much, so paige couldn’t realize the smoke and her kitchen in flames. i then gasolined her living room and everything was burning. i escaped and jumped on the mattress. i told my brother to keep it there to avoid any evidence remaining. i then laughed and blasted some good old 90s hiphop jams, and rode into the sunset. after the stupid stuff i did she would get mad for, the harassment, the cruel pranks, mind games and abuse, i finally got my vengeance, free shit, and an opprotunity to get 500 dollars. you should’ve treated me better and installed security cameras, bitch! hahaI Regret Watching ThemWhy did I watch them? Why didn't I trusted my instincts. I felt like there were something wrong with the videos, but my curiosity got me in the way. I hope I die peacefully. As I looked through the trending videos to get myself out of boredom, I found two videos that intrigued me. The first video was called "Don't Go There" and the second video was called "Happy Dream Land". At first the first video's title sounded like a click bait but I had an uneasy feeling the meaning of the title. I wonder why it called like that. I watched the video and regretted watching it probably giving me a nightmare. The audio and visual quality were good which I can see the details clear. The camera person showed plastic statues based on the Disney characters. Woody, Buzz, and Wendy appeared to be lifeless liked a smiling hanging corpses. Their cold dead eyes terrified me. The person showed another statue which was Bullseye. It was weird when the person started banging the statue with a stick. Why would an idiot do that? My humor gone when the voice yelled, Hey! Stop that!" The person turned around and viewed a guy in his mid-30s wearing a Captain America pajama onesie. The guy stared at the person angrily. The guy stilling watching them as they walled backward slowly and ran away quickly which ended the video in static. I felt creep out after watching this. I didn't want to watch another video but I wanted to know what is Happy Dream Land and who is that creeped. I watched the second video without having second thoughts. It was a different camera person since the position of the camera appear to be shorter than the first camera person. The camera person was facing the dog from the film Up named Dug with two metal walls standing far apart from the statue. They drew closer to the statue and immediately banging it like no tomorrow. Great another idiot. The same creep shouted at them, "Hey! You! Get out!". While the creep observed the statue for any damage, they ran back to the statue and bang it even more. "That's it!" the creep yelled and the video turned static. After watching the videos I felt goosebumps on my skin and a chill on my spine. What is Happy Dream Land? Who was that creep in the videos? What happened to them? I do not know why but he looked familiar. I then heard the doorbell rang on my front door. Oh cool! My friend is here.Sasha's Encounter<center><h1>Sasha's Encounter</h1><h3>By CoggsOfMerryweather</h3></center><hr><p style="text-indent: 25px">The bright sun cast its warm rays into the fog of a fresh rain. The air was unbearably humid, almost as if it was alive and breathing. Vivid juniper palms lined every path and stream, occasionally accompanied by a cluster of banana trees. If one walked through the dense jungle, they would hear nothing but the calls of strange birds and the rushing currents of distant waterfalls. If there was anyone who knew this region well, it was the travelers; people who wouldn’t mind walking for days on end just to see the world. The region was known as Faron: a rainforest and jungle of mysteries. There were ruins with tales older than the founding of the kingdom, as well as dangers that plagued the minds of many who dared seek them out. There was talk in the southern village of Lurelin about the increasing frequency of monsters. Everyone quickly spread news, both true and fallacious, about what was becoming of the jungle. It turned Lurelin and Faron into a quiet, daunting place.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha was determined to set things straight. Being a trained huntress, she would take down the infamous lynel on Kamah Plateau and bring a bit of peace back to the world. However, her journey was a long way, as she was only on Floria Bridge. As she walked, she thought of battle plans while occasionally pulling her hair away from her eye. Eventually, she tucked it behind her ear. She continued to think of anything to take her mind off of her concerns. She was waiting for anything to spring up and attack at any given moment; it was a fighter’s number one rule to keep their guard.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">A while into her walk, she came across Lakeside Stable. Sasha always found the architecture of the stables to be a bit tacky, but also inviting. She walked over to one of the stable’s cooking pots and started to prepare one of the snacks she’d brought: honeyed apples. While she didn’t get to have it often, it was one of her favorite dishes.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Ah, I knew I smelled it! Yes, that sweet aroma! That’s definitely honeyed apples.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha looked up from her snack and was surprised to see a rather spunky woman with silver hair and dark skin. She seemed to be the traveler type.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Yep! They’re delicious, too. You want one?” Sasha held one out to her.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Oh, no. I’m fine. Thank you, though. I was just wondering what you were up to. Normally, I don’t talk to a lot of people, but today… Today seems a bit different. Name’s Letty, by the way.” Letty gave a smug smile.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“I’m Sasha. I’m about to get rid of that pesky lynel on the plateau by Bronas Forest. Y’know, they say he’s a tough one,” she smirked and bit into her apple, “but he doesn’t see me coming!”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Letty let out a sudden laugh. “Good luck with that! Everyone I know that’s been on that plateau has come back either bruised, beaten, or nearly dead. It’s not wise to tackle one by yourself, or at all.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“I know that.” Sasha gestured to the weapons on her back. “What do you think I do for a living? Gonna kill that thing, sell the parts, bring peace back to Hyrule, yada yada. It’s the same thing. Ever since that <i>thing</i> at the castle has ramped up, I’ve been seeing way more monsters than there usually are. I like a little challenge every once in a while, but with all this… I think it’s best that someone takes care of some of the monsters now before they colonize.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Well,” Letty sighed, “whatever you decide to do, I hope it goes well for you. Good luck!” Letty walked back into the stable, leaving Sasha with her apples.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Once Sasha finished her snack, she decided to rest for a bit longer before continuing on. After regaining her energy, she packed her bags and started walking again. On the way, Sasha stopped to collect a few mighty bananas from all the trees.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px"><i>It’ll stop those Yiga freaks from coming here…</i></p><p style="text-indent: 25px">She decided to snack on one while walking. She could taste the sweet flavor of the bananas, their texture smooth and creamy. The smell was even sweet, proving that they were perfectly ripe.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Every step Sasha took reminded her of how close she was getting. Her route wasn’t that simple; she would have to go around to Sarjon Bridge, then climb her way up the plateau. She made sure to prepare by bringing climbing equipment.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha soon came upon the fork in the road that split to either the bridge or Martha’s Landing. She could see the bridge ahead, but something caught her eye.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">A blond man was limping rather slowly. He dragged his sword against the ground while holding his arm with his other hand. Sasha sprinted to him as he swayed and hobbled, step by step. He weakly gazed up at her, his eyes darkening. She saw the bruises on his face.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Sir! Sir, are you okay?” Sasha knew he wasn’t, but asked out of concern. She wrapped his arm around her back, trying to support him as he walked.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“I’ll… I’ll be fine.” He sounded exhausted, his words being forced with each breath.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“You’re clearly not. Do you have anywhere around here you're headed to?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">The man simply shook his head. “I’m a traveler.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha knew she had to help him. “C’mon. Keep talking to me, okay? What’s your name?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">The man closed his eyes. “I’d rather not say. What’s… what’s yours?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“You’re not part of the Yiga, are you? Well… either way, I don’t think I could just leave you like this.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">He sighed. “I’d rather you leave them. They’re jerks… But no, I’m not one of them.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Good. Name’s Sasha.” She eyed a clearing in the woods. It didn’t appear to have any monsters, which was a perfect place to set up a camp. “Look. You see that little spot over there? That’s where we’re going.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“I think— I think I can make it to the stable.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Though he protested, Sasha walked him to the clearing. She laid him down beneath a tree and began to build a fire. She luckily brought a tent along, which she promptly set up. After everything was set, Sasha examined his wounds. There were gashes on his arm and cuts all over him, as well as more bruises. At that point, she wondered how he was even alive.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“What happened back there?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">The man hesitated for a bit, but finally answered her question. “I was… at the Spring of Courage. I guess I was caught off guard, because some moblins showed up. There were already lizalfos, which made it more difficult. I wasn’t prepared.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha cringed at the thought of how painful it must have been. “So the moblins beat you up, huh? Yikes…” She started cleaning his wounds and bandaging them. While working, she noticed the quality of his clothing. It was above standard for nowadays, but somehow it looked dated. The stitching was like nothing she had ever seen, along with the embroidered emblem on the front. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her: why was he at the Spring of Courage?</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha realized the sun was beginning to set. She started to cook a meal. “You eat meat?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">The man gave an attempt of a nod. “Love it.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Good. Meat skewers are on the table for tonight.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Oh, that sounds good…” He sat up, but had his head down. “My name is Link.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Link, huh? Wait… <i>the</i> Link?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Link finally gazed up at Sasha. “What do you mean?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha nervously laughed. “Well… about a hundred years ago or so, there were five Champions who tried to seal away Calamity Ganon. One of them was named Link. I’ve done my research! All the zora said he even had a thing with—”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Okay, that’s enough!” Link sighed. “I don’t need you recounting my life to me.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha was taken aback by Link’s sudden frustration. “Sorry… I just— it’s hard to believe you’re here. How are you even <i>alive</i>?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“I— I don’t know.” Link looked down at his hands once more, sighing. “All I know is that I woke up in a room. It’s… crazy that I didn’t even know my name.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha frowned. “I couldn’t imagine… You don’t have a home, do you?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Link looked at the food cooking by the fire. “No. I tried to bargain with a guy in Hateno, but even then, I still didn’t have enough rupees. Not like I’d need a home, anyway. I’m always on the move. Now the Yiga want my head on a platter because I’ve killed Kohga. I’m sure they’re going to get a new leader soon. I just wonder who and how strong they will be.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha gently patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, I wouldn’t worry too much right now. I’ll fight them off if they even think about bothering you out here. I hate those guys. Besides,” Sasha continued cooking the meat. “they don’t want to mess with a lynel hunter.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“You hunt lynels? That’s impressive. I haven’t met a single person yet who’s ever killed one.” Link gave a small smile. “I’m glad I can have faith in someone for Hyrule’s future.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha smirked. “You betcha.”</p><br><p style="text-indent: 25px">After the two ate their skewers, Sasha insisted Link sleep for the night. She noticed he was definitely not getting any sleep. She decided to keep watch in case anyone or anything made the mistake of attacking their camp.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Before Sasha sat down, Link looked at her. “Sasha?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Yes?”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“Thank you.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">“No problem.”</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha sat by the fire, staring at its intense flames that flowed with the direction of the wind. The warmth of the fire combined with the hot climate reminded her of Eldin.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">A faint noise—almost a rustling sound—made Sasha snap out of her gaze and scan the woods. She drew her dagger, listening. The howling of the wind was the only sound remaining.</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Link peeked out from the tent. "What's wrong?"</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">"It's nothing... just a hog."</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">"Oh. Well... goodnight."</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">"'Night."</p><p style="text-indent: 25px">Sasha stared ahead into the trees, watching the pair of red eyes that stared back.</p>I roved out in search of freedom