The 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.Patient 218I got ill at work the other day. It started with a sore throat, and a few of my coworkers disappeared with no real explanation. I think someone over there at work gave me a bug. Now my head is banging and I've got a hectic fever. I had to be sent to my town's decontamination center to make sure I wasn't horribly ill. A couple of months ago, the world was suddenly swept with a debilitating illness. It was incurable and highly contagious. Anyone infected would essentially choke on their own blood before dying. The thing about this disease was that it started out with flu-like symptoms, and anything worse than that meant that it was caught far too late. Sending people to these decontamination centers for the sniffles sounds a bit extreme, but I guess it was necessary to curb the spread of the disease. I sat in the waiting room, the bright lights and stark white atmosphere were overstimulating and making my headache worse. The building stank of antiseptic, but also had a slightly metallic scent to it. I was told to wear a long sleeved shirt with matching pants, the color and texture akin to a hospital gown, with a tag on my shirt labeling me as "219." The clothes I was previously wearing were taken to be "properly disposed of," which basically meant they were burned. The room I was in was filled with other people, but we all had to sit in small cubicles to prevent any direct contact. All I could focus on were the dull blue walls of the cubicle surrounding me, and the door to the decontamination room. It was the only door in the entire building, besides the main entrance and any fire exits. It was a very heavy-duty door, it was made of metal and had three metal bars keeping it locked. There was a large light sitting on top of the door, and a large speaker sitting on top of that. Both seemed haphazardly installed, with bundles of wires sticking out of the holes cut in the wall that they were sitting in. For what seemed like an eternity, I watched people enter and exit that room. Whenever someone was done, the light above the door would shine green with a loud buzzer, and a woman on the speaker would announce that whoever was in there had been successfully cleared. She would then announce the number of whoever was next.For hours, I had to hear her say "Patient whoever is now ready for examination" and "Patient whatever had been successfully cleared." And I'm starting to think having everyone lined up like cattle for mild symptoms is a bit overblown. Despite the loud buzzer, I was half asleep at this point, but I heard the number of a patient being called, which perked me up."Patient 218 is now ready for examination."My tired eyes widened as afterward I would be up next. As I looked at who got up and left, guided by the nurses wearing blue isolation suits, I recognized who it was immediately. He's someone I knew at work, I recognized his blonde hair and pudgy stature from anywhere. That bastard must've been the one that got me ill. I watched as he stepped into the room and the door slammed shut. I sat waiting and waiting, trying my damnedest to not fall asleep so I wouldn't miss my turn, but I was suddenly startled awake by a loud, siren-like blare from the speakers as the light above the door turned red, and an announcement played that made my stomach turn. "Patient 218 has failed the examination. Decontamination will now begin momentarily." A collection of gasps were heard throughout the building. Loud machines started roaring behind the door. It sounded like if someone were to simultaneously use a vacuum and a saw blade. The roaring got louder and louder, as he started screaming. The whole thing went on for several agonizing minutes. I covered my ears and shook violently the entire time, trying not to think of what could possibly be happening behind that door. The screaming, what little of it I could hear over the machines blaring, turned to gurgles, and went quiet. Suddenly the machines whirred down. The light shined green as the lady on the speaker announced, "Contamination has been successful. Operations can now continue." My heart sank as she made her next announcement."Patient 219 is now ready for examination."gifAdding 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.