Author’s note: The setting of this is a sort of medieval time where they don’t have cars or phones, or any form of electronics. They get their lights from candles and lanterns… Anyways, this is basically just an excerpt of a possible scene I am writing in one of my “books.” Enjoy the read! 

Taking one step beneath the large parapet wall revealed a vivid and bustling world, a stark contrast to the quiet softness of the forest outside. The darkness of the night had been replaced by brilliantly shining lanterns and flaming torches lining the streets. Chatter filled the air almost as much as the wondrous wafting smell of sizzling meat.

Laughter rang out, drawing her attention to a small round table of yodeling knights guzzling frothy mead. Grunts and thumps reverberated around the packed street as people, squashed like sardines, shoved and stumbled over the uneven cobblestone road. Whinnying cut through the air, infants crying carried along the late-night breeze, slamming of doors rang out, rolling of barrels boomed, every noise blended together and made the brightness of the street seem even more illuminant. 

Banner and flags draped down from strings stretch from house to house. The vibrant assortment of colors gently swayed above the oblivious passerbys, getting disturbingly close to some of the flickering flames. It seemed as if miles upon miles of urban settlements and marketplaces had been crammed into a confining box. From the outside of the tall wall, everything was dark and open. On the inside everything was buzzing and abutting.

“Who would’ve thought that the city would be this busy at night,” Everett stated from her side. “It’ll take us forever to get through this crowd.”

Diana turned to look at him. 

The white haired teen’s eyes were blown wide by the liveliness of the street. She watched as he kept looking between different groups of people. He must’ve been completely mystified, for it didn’t seem that he would be able to see anything like that back in his hometown. Diana smiled and linked her hand in his and tugged on it. 

“Come on, let’s go exploring while the others try and get the carriage through,” Diana grinned and dragged him away from their transportation crew, much to the soldiers’ disappointment.

As Diana and Everett weaved through the crowds, in a very accentuated form of waltz, they managed to look at many different shops and people. There was a butcher’s shop that seemed relatively popular, since there were lamb chops and pork ribs grilling right in front of the customers' noses. There was an herb stall at the front of a physician’s store. Some carnival booths were crowded with cheering people. The two teens accidentally barrelled into a pair of drunkards who were cackling and leaning against each other for support. Luckily the two men didn’t pay them any mind and continued on their tipsy merry way. When Diana righted herself, she found that she was face to face with a rather dazzling kiosk. 

“Does jewelry interest you?” Everett asked her and stepped forward to peer down at the golden necklaces. 

“I’ve never really been inclined to wear any,” Diana said, kneeling down so that she could get a closer look at one of the silver bracelets. “Since my mom accessorizes herself with jewels and gems everyday—to the point where she seems like she’s drowning in it—I kind of feel like I’ve already had enough gold and glitter in my life.” She continued to peer down with longing filling her lidded eyes.

The silence that fell over the two of them was filled with the bustling shouts and flaps of clothing on the street behind them. Just as Diana was going to stand up, Everett squatted down next to her, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“You really seem to like that bracelet,” he said, pointing down at the curling silver band that had a deep blue sapphire twisted in with the reflective metal. 

Diana could feel her lips twitch upwards. She was admiring that bracelet, but she wasn’t going to buy it, the two of them had something they were supposed to be doing. Quickly launching back to her full height, she spun around and looked back from where they had come. The carriage was just a little ways away, managing to get through the relatively stubborn midnight crowd. 

There was a sudden coldness on her wrist. Whipping her head around, grabbing her sword hilt with her free hand, she wasn’t prepared to see a staring Everett, his hand still holding up her own as the blue gem glittered in the warm light. Easing her grip off of her sword, she looked from the bracelet to the shop woman who was counting the silver coins in the palm of her hand. Diana could feel her expression become tender as she looked back at her friend. His cobalt blue eyes seemed to glitter in the same way as the bracelet when he saw her smile.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he said softly.

The rain spilled out of the rusted gutter along the side of the cottage. As she observed the sky, gray with uncertainty and clouds shrouding the sun, she noted the sense of reflection. It was a time of unknowing, just like the cold autumn weather. The green lawn and rose garden flooded with the rain, the sound of the water splattering on the brick edge. As she strolled around the garden, she fantasized about what the garden might look like on a warm summer day. The thoughts she might have had, the feelings she experienced, the emotions of the day ebbing and flowing with time. Not this day, though, and not for many days to follow. Just like the sky her mind was clouded with thought, anxiety spreading through causing the uncertainty in her life to escalate. The future was up for question, with almost none of it in her control. All she could do now, just like the clouds, was wait for the storm to pass.

The low growl of the car carried on with the wind, the cloudy headlights barely shining through the thick fog. It felt as though the road went on for an unforeseeable amount of time, no starting or stopping, no end in sight. The cold, wet, low layer of fog coated the forested road, no other cars to be seen. A late night in the rural countryside often brought beautiful sunsets, starry nights, with the moon shining overhead. Rarely did it ever look as it did tonight. No moon in sight, no starry sky to fill the void. On either side, tall trees stretching as high as you could see, and even further than that. The road felt magical with the never ending feeling of unknowing, while at the same time keeping the mysterious nerve that there was more than meets the eye.

Author's Note: This piece was written for a prompt about the book Maus. Maus is the story of a Jewish man in World War 2 put into ink by his grandson. This prompt was for when his wife found out their children died despite sending them to what was supposed to be a safe space. 

We sent our son away to protect him, and comforted ourselves with those words, he was now protected. They could not get to him as they were getting to us. Everything we endured we thanked God our son was not here to experience. But as it turns out, he had already been lost. Endured our struggles and been forced to give in. Is suicide better than dying at the Nazi’s hands? Is it any different? The same souls are released, and the number of Jews still decreases. Their death was maybe a slight rebellion, but one that the Nazis will not mind, because they are dead nevertheless. They are dead along with my grandparents, my parents, my sister, my family. And those outside the family, Jews we passed on the street and maybe gave dirty looks to, who now suffered the same fate because of one shared trait. The list of casualties just grows, each day people fall to the ground as I did today and each day we walk around them. Vladek hugged me, comforted me, and got me on my feet, but he cannot promise anything. He cannot bring our family back, he cannot ensure our survival, and he cannot end this war. Even if we survive, what kind of world will we return to? We will live and breathe even knowing the number who cannot. Hundreds, thousands, maybe millions by now, and it’s not lessening. I truly believe they will take us all out, and even if they don’t, I’ll take myself. 

On Super Bowl Sunday in elementary school the Baltimore Ravens were playing the 49’ers. On the way to my grandparent's house, my mother was preparing us for the yelling and fighting that was going on. During the drive, my mother and her ex-boyfriend had been bickering because of something small. Once we arrived at the house it was like nothing had ever happened. Everyone sat in the living room while my grandma was in the kitchen cooking. The smell of chicken casserole and spinach dip was wafting through the air. I was sitting a few feet from the TV quietly watching, while the men were screaming at it. Once the last few minutes were on, the screaming from the game became more angered because of the 49ers losing. When the game ended we said our goodbyes and got in the car. The energy in the car was tense and created a horrible environment to fall asleep in. Once I did fall asleep I kept hearing them argue and trying to stay quiet. When I had gotten home I wanted to finish watching the puppy bowl so my mom walked me to her room and turned it on. I remember walking in and seeing the bedsheets on the floor the mattress lying across the wall and the bedframe askew. I was a little confused about why it had been like that but I knew what had happened because I had seen it before. Earlier when we left our house they had been in an argument and there had been loud bangs on the walls, stuff being thrown, running and screaming. As I watched the puppy bowl with my mom he had come in screaming and she had rushed out of the room and closed the door. She came into the room again after much yelling and her face was red and so were parts of her arms. She grabbed me and told me to go into my room so I did. She locked the door and gave me her phone and she told me to call the police. After she gave me her phone she walked back out there I was sitting on the floor wishing to go back to my dad's house but ten minutes later there had been a banging on the front door. Once they had gone outside someone had come to my door and told me to open it. After I opened it an officer walked me to the couch sat me down and turned on a movie and we watched Shrek until they had left. I remember at that moment I no longer felt scared but relieved that it was over. The next morning when I went to school my mother told my teacher what had happened and I was so embarrassed because I had just wished to have a normal family and not one like this. 

Author's Note: Various works of sci-fi (Arkady and Boris Strugatskys' Roadside Picnic, Frank Herbert's Dune, Jules Verne's The Time Machine, and some video games such as the Stalker franchise) were what helped me decide to write this play as sci-fi. My choices for this play's setting and atmosphere were largely taken from these inspirations. While writing the play, I decided to name it after one of the songs on my playlist that I was listening to, as I couldn't come up with anything myself: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKmYRsnMsOk. I also came up with some aspects of the setting based on the title. 

Characters in the Play

Prophet - Planner and surveyor for a soon-to-be-built city, takes samples and conducts research from areas to determine their capability to support life and potential profits

Huntress - Works as the head of the mercenaries planetside, personal bodyguard to the Prophet

Charlatan - Coworker of the Huntress, mercenary

Mercenaries - Hired guards working under the Huntress

Castaway - A biologist who was of a previous colonization and terraforming attempt

Prospectors - Residents of the planet who attempt to make money using methods of varying legality, whether that be through extracting the planet’s resources, smuggling, or even armed robbery

Overseer - Oversees the Prophet’s efforts in colonizing the planet, will decide whether or not to begin construction

Act I, Scene 1

Inside one of the Universal Enterprise Ship “Voyager”’s many meeting rooms, in orbit above the planet known as Gelu IX. Enter Overseer, examining a map of the planet facing away from the door. Enter Prophet and Huntress, who burst through the door. 

Overseer: Well? What took you so long to get here? We agreed to gather here in Meeting Room 19A at 10:30 sharp. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how to get here in the past day, and you have a watch; explain yourself. 

Prophet: (gasping for breath) Couldn’t find my PDA, sir. It fell behind my nightstand. Then when I did pull it out, Huntress here had forgotten to check in at the armory ahead of time, so they had to look over her ID before preparing her gear to be sent down. By the time we had sorted everything out, it was already 10:25, and I’m sure you know well how big this ship is, sir.

Huntress: What he said. Sorry for being late, but I’d rather open up an airlock and send myself into orbit before heading planetside with just my bare fists to protect my squadmates.

Overseer: Well, don’t let it happen again, or I’ll move your quarters down to the lower decks with the rest of the menial workers and custodians. The morning hour has gold in its mouth, you know.

Prophet and Huntress: Yes, sir.

Overseer: To begin the meeting, we are here today to discuss the plot of land that you will be surveying over the next week. Good news: the planet’s native fauna seem to avoid this sector, and if all goes well, you won’t need to visit the planet’s surface to scope out sites of interest anymore. The Trust has recently hired someone more qualified to take your place, and you will be stationed here to plan the city for the duration of this project following this assignment. 

Prophet: Thank you, sir. 

Overseer: Bad news: the area is a hotspot of less-than-legal prospector activity. You’ll need to proceed with caution; there have been reports of them stopping travelers passing by and asking them to pay a fee to continue. If you refuse, they aren’t above robbing them at swordpoint or trying to take your belongings from your dead bodies.

(Prophet sucks in air through teeth and sighs)

Prophet: Great.

Huntress: Good thing we just got a fresh shipment of shield charges. I’ve been meaning to test out my fancy new crossbow, too.

Overseer: You’ll be working with the standard team size of five. Your objective is to explore the potentially rich cave systems connected to a crater - henceforth referred to as Sites “B” and “C” respectively - to consider the possibility of creating a mining outpost to extract exotic matter. -Overseer sighs- I am required to define exotic matter each time anyone is working with or close to it as a reminder to exercise caution: exotic matter is any material that behaves differently than the laws of physics demand, whether it has an otherwise impossible density, serves as an infinite source of power, or even instantly heals any wounds in the vicinity. Being around the exotic matter and handling it improperly, however, carries risks such as paralysis, loss of limbs, loss of consciousness, and much, much worse. Moving on; Huntress.

Huntress: Yes, sir?

Overseer: There will be three hired security personnel under your command to ensure you can conduct your work safely. You may request specific personnel in the case that you know any specialists who would suit the task at hand. As usual, the prices of all of the equipment you rent out will be partially deducted from your company account as a down payment, which you will pay in full if it is damaged or lost. Take the designated space elevator down to the surface level in one hour, then requisition a shuttle that will transport you just outside the site’s boundaries. There should be one already prepared with specialized equipment for the job. Send it back with the autopilot module when you get there and call it back on the way out. 

(Overseer looks up from the map)

Remember that we strive for progress and prosperity by any means necessary; the ends always justify our means. 

(Overseer picks up his suitcase and straightens his tie)

Exit Overseer

Huntress: So, people are the main threat here and not just the usual bugs and ash. I’ve met some clean prospectors before and they’re not terrible people; they’re just stuck here trying to get their hands on some money, whether it’s for them, their family, or someone else. The other kind isn’t just another threat to add to the list, though. It is a shame that we can’t use guns on the planet; the ash can make it impossible to aim and jam up your peashooter. I’d like to shake the hand of the absolute saint who invented the shield core, though; the thing’s saved my life more times than I can count.

Prophet: This is one job out of the hundreds of others we’ve run together. You were hired because of your experience, fighting spirit, and ability to keep calm under pressure. There’s no need to be nervous; you won’t suddenly forget how to think because people want you dead instead of just the planet itself. Besides, you give me plenty of reasons to doubt you can think under normal circumstances.

Huntress: I’m going to ignore that last part for your well-being, but we’re in scary situations daily, and that’s an understatement. Corrosive ash that falls out of the sky like snow and an average daytime temperature that can freeze your blood in its veins if you’re not careful. Sure. Horrific aliens lurking in holes waiting to snap you up like you’re a takeaway meal? Alright, just put me in command of a magnetic cannon and tell me where to point it; I need the target practice. Other people with weapons, strategy, and the ability to think and talk? Ha, no thanks. The company’s code of conduct is stopping me from putting my inner sailor’s vocabulary to good use right about now. I guess it could be worse, though; we just might get sent into a den of hungry psy-weavers by the end of next week. I hear they can block your brain’s electrical signals from getting to the rest of your body and you’re a goner, just like that. Or they might just use their telekinetic powers to squeeze your gear against the rest of your body like a dinner roll under a hydraulic press.

Prophet: You make a fair point, but can we not talk about this anymore? I want to get this over with; we might get a bonus if we work quickly.

Huntress: You and me both. 

(Prophet sighs)

Prophet: “Progress and prosperity” is great and all, but you can’t exactly pay the bills with ideals. 

Exit Prophet and Huntress

Act I, Scene 2

On the surface of the planet, just outside the crater. Enter Huntress, Charlatan, and Prophet with brightly gleaming medieval-times-esque weaponry conversing, with two Mercenaries keeping watch.

Huntress: Thanks for coming out here. Would be a lot worse if we got stuck with rookies for squadmates on a job like this.

Charlatan: Well, our squad had to pay you back for that one raid on the Pluto outpost. Geez, my shoulder still hurts from then… I don’t owe you anything after this, you hear? 

Mercenary 1: Is it just me or can I feel the cold through my suit? It’s been five minutes out here and I’m already starting to regret this. 

Mercenary 2: Visibility should only be good for a few more hours before ashfall. You could probably make some quality ice cream out here if it weren’t so ashy… 

Charlatan: You had to remind me about that now? Stars above, I miss real milk ice cream. Can’t remember the last time I was stationed on a planet that made it.

Prophet: We can get to work when you guys shut up. We don’t have all day, the cave entrance is right there, and I don’t like the idea of standing out in the open chit-chatting for everyone to see our shiny new equipment.

Charlatan: Fine, fine. Let’s jump right into the dark pit before we make sure nobody’s following us and that our gear is in order. That sounds like a perfectly fine idea made by someone right in the head. Look, if someone were to see us, we’d see them coming. There’s nowhere to hide other than that ridge way out there, and our stuff should keep any looters from thinking of us as easy targets.

Prophet: The more desperate someone is, the more dangerous they are. The sooner we get this done, the fewer risks we take by hanging out here. I don’t want to sacrifice any team members or pricey gear because we loitered a few minutes longer than we should’ve. It’s only our lives we can lose, right?

Huntress: There’ll be no dying on my watch. I swear if you die, I’ll dig you up and bring you back just so I can kill you again. 

Prophet: We only die once each, but if you say so. Anyway, I’ve sent the shuttle back in self-driving mode. It can find its way back to the depot alone, but I’ll call it here if things go south.

Mercenary 1: Man, don’t worry about the car, worry about us; we’ve got a group coming in from the southwest, fifty meters out! They’re not crawling along the floor; they’re either people or aliens who look a lot like people.

(Charlatan draws his longsword)

Charlatan: Because that’s just what we needed right now. Get below ground and hide. The sooner you finish your end of this, the sooner the rest of us can get out of here. 

[To Mercenaries]

You! Mercs! Get over here! Why should the Trust pay you if you can’t do your jobs?

Prophet: We should stay together. Splitting the group up over a few wandering flea-infested vagrants isn’t worth it; it just makes the rest of the job that much riskier. Let’s try to talk it out before doing anything else.

Charlatan: If you say so. Oh, and in case we do end up in a ditch with our pockets light and our bodies with more holes than a sponge, I want to make sure that you all know I was right and that we did end up seeing them coming over that ridge.

Prophet: Grow up.

Four Prospectors approach with makeshift weapons drawn. Castaway trails behind them.

Prospector 1: What do we have here? Some tourists who can’t handle the cold and a little dust? Go on, tell them how long we’ve been out here.

Prospector 2: Six Earth months and counting. 

Prospector 4: And how many shinies have we made?

Prospector 3: About ten thousand credits each. 

Castaway: What’s the point, if there’s nowhere to spend it in this hellhole? Open your eyes and get out of here. Can’t you see where you are? Ashfall is soon.

Prospector 1: Shut it!

[to the other Prospectors] 

Where did that gag go?! I need quiet while we’re doing business! 

[to Prophet]

The point is that we’re looking to get off-planet by the end of this week, and this raid should be the last one if it goes well. Even if you take some of us with you, the rest of us will be getting a pretty penny’s worth of stuff off your dead bodies, and that sounds like a fine investment. You have ten minutes to give us that or else.

Prophet: We don’t have money on us. Besides, why would we take it here if we knew people like you hang around to catch the ones who do? 

Prospector 4: They’re right… How about your gear?

Huntress: No can do, chief. If we went where we needed to go without this stuff, it’d be a death sentence. Ashfall is soon, and I don’t think even you guys would leave anyone to die like that.

Prospector 2: We’re not monsters; even we wouldn’t let you die like that. Just tell us why you’re out here with all this fancy stuff. Radiant iron weapons, Mark III shield cores, osmium-tipped bolts for your self-loading heavy crossbow, biosignature and exotic matter detectors, and even specialized full-body suits? I don’t even know what the other half of this stuff is and I want it. 

Prospector 3: We could just take their things and leave them in the cave. Say, why are you out here with all this stuff?

Prophet: None of your business. Leave us alone, and we can all walk away from this in one piece. Don’t you have something else to do?

Prospector 1: Maybe they’re treasure hunters looking for some buried treasure. You got a secret map or something? What, X marks the spot? Give it here, or we’ll have to run you through. (grabs at Prophet’s PDA)

Prophet steps back, Huntress raises crossbow

Huntress: Oh, now you’re in for it.

Fighting. All of the Prospectors die off, leaving only the Castaway standing.

Castaway: You made sending them to meet their makers look easy. I see the Trust’s patches on your shoulders. How many years have you spent killing in the name of “progress”?

Mercenary 2: Don’t know, but this mess here means there’s four more to add now.

Prophet: No time for this; those prospectors might have had friends waiting around in case something went wrong. Everyone in the cave, now. 

Charlatan: Yeah, I think ashfall is coming early; these AI meteorologist programs aren’t worth their weight in lint and latrine filth. Does anyone have flares? I’d hate to go in there with just these dinky headlamps. Please tell me someone brought flares. I’d even take glowsticks.

Huntress: I just hope this haul is actually worth what we just did. Killing four people for a handful of weird rocks and plants isn’t the best reason I’ve had to do that, even if the rocks can power a city and the plants can raise the dead.

Exit All

Act I, Scene 3

Inside the cave system of Site B. Enter Mercenaries, Huntress, Prophet marching with headlights on and holding flares, Castaway following.

Charlatan, sarcastically: That’s the third superdense clot you’ve found so far. They weren’t kidding when they said this place was rich. Wait. Is it just me, or do I smell a used fuel cell and a handful of loose nuts and bolts somewhere around here? I guess riches really do beget riches.

Prophet: Please. Clots go for a handful of credits on the black markets, you know. We’ve had to stomp out some giant bugs, but that just means more parts to sell to the biologists. Also, can you stop talking about the goods like that? You’ll jinx us and scare them off, and I would prefer to spend my next weekend off in a mansion instead of a pine box six feet underground. 

Huntress: (nudges Prophet)

Hey. What time is it? We’re supposed to head back by 19:00 before the night crawlers come out. 

Prophet: PDA says… 18:33. 

Silence, more marching

Castaway: Did you ever wonder how this planet came to be covered in ash?

Mercenaries, Prophet, Huntress: No.

Charlatan: 

to Prophet

C’mon, just talk to her so the rest of us don’t have to; take one for the team.

Prophet: 

[to Charlatan]

Fine. I’ll even split off from the rest of the group so you don’t have to hear us. Wait here and look at the readings. Don’t say I never did anything for you.

[to Castaway]

Let’s move away from the others so we can talk in peace. How’d the planet end up like this exactly?

Castaway: I hate it when people answer questions with questions, but here goes. Did the Trust ever tell you about the Anima Vitae branch of their company? Everyone there was rugged, brave, and hard-working. They were three hundred seventy-five good people, through and through; sent here aboard the UES Pax Gloriosa to terraform the place and make it suitable for a residential colony, scientific bunker, and exotic matter extraction site. They had their job cut out for them, but it wasn’t supposed to be too hard. Just another icy planet in the middle of space that happened to have life; it was peaceful, even. They would have all set up a walled city with mineshafts and warehouses, patted each other on the backs, and moved on. That was the plan.

Prophet: So what went wrong?

Castaway: Everything. The gear they were given by the Trust’s quartermasters was too cheap to work right, and their ship had just enough fuel to carry them here before conking out. Guess the higher-ups at the Trust expected them to “pull themselves up by their bootstraps” and all that other motivational corporate drivel. We weren’t the first crew that got stranded here, either. Turns out the Trust had essentially been dropping hundreds of squads of workers off here to build all sorts of their facilities before eventually dying at the hands of the planet’s wildlife, shoddy leadership decisions under people with… unbalanced personalities, or just plain bad luck. All the ash came from those failed attempts at settlements, great piles of junk hastily thrown together and burned just to keep warm for a few hours longer, and who knows, maybe even some mass burial pyres. The planet is practically unlivable now, covered in unbreathable caustic smog and originally docile monsters haunting the outskirts of the few “civilized” places that caused this. The psy-weavers are the perfect example of this, showing plenty of signs of intelligence in the beginning for anybody with half a brain. They enjoyed or seemed to enjoy song and dance, they had what looked like a spoken language, and some even attended our bonfires before supplies ran out and we still had hope the Trust would come and rescue us. Now, they attack us on sight. I will admit that progress was made, but at what cost? 

Prophet: One that outweighed the benefits. But why do you refer to the crew as “we”? 

Castaway: I’m stuck here on the planet, wearing an old Trust uniform with one of their ID patches reading “Anima Vitae Chief Xenobiologist - Dryad”. Pretty obvious, don’t you think?

Prophet: Oh. I… I’m sorry all that happened to you.

Castaway: You say as you’re covered in their equipment, sponsored by the Board, surrounded by bodyguards and thugs hired on their dime while doing what they say to the exact letter. It’s alright. You do what you can to survive out here. Besides, things could have gone much worse; at least you aren’t incompetent. You aren’t trying to gain my trust before betraying me to the Trust, right? 

Prophet: Why would I do that?

Castaway: They don’t want this story to get out; it would tank their stock values. I don’t doubt that they’ve put a price on any other exiles’ heads for that reason. -checks her PDA- It’s… 18:50, you should probably get going. 

Castaway holds up her hand to stop and looks to the side into a crack in the wall

Wonderful. Just our luck. There’s a psy-weaver burrow down that way. Let your squadmates know and sneak out quietly before it squeezes your head like an orange; they don’t have perfect vision and can’t hear too far out.

Prophet: 

Thanks for the visual, but I can’t just leave you here. Can’t you give me your comms link so I can try to get you out of here?

Castaway: I’ll figure something out myself. Besides, they’d probably track me down through that. Just get back to your getaway vehicle before you get left behind too. 

Exit Castaway, Prophet watching her leave

Fade to black

Act I, Scene 4

Back in the Voyager’s meeting room. Enter Overseer, Huntress, and Prophet.

Overseer: So? How’d it go? Any valuables?

Prophet: There wasn’t anything of serious value. Just clots, bugs, and psy-weavers. To be fair, we had less than an hour to explore before we discovered a nest and had to turn back; there still might be something if the prospectors haven’t picked it clean yet. 

Overseer: Good, good. Anything else you want to tell me?

Huntress and Prophet: No.

Overseer: Be honest, now. Anything?

Huntress and Prophet: No, sir. 

Overseer: Stop lying. I’ve seen your bodycam footage. Who is that woman you talked to?

Prophet: You should at least know her name, considering you signed her death sentence along with countless others. 

Overseer: You don’t know what you’re talking about. Take a seat.

Prophet: You better have a truly great reason to justify this, old man. I’ll hear you out, but only as long as it takes to clear all this up, and not a second more.

Prophet sits down

Overseer: I used to be a land surveyor like you before we had even discovered this planet here, but on a planet that was much worse than this one. It was called Tartarus IV. Lava, intelligent and even sadistic aliens, and even rival companies trying to encroach on our territories were everywhere, every day. This was during a time when the Trust was in a state of decline; their company value was plummeting, and we were on the verge of bankruptcy. We quite literally couldn’t afford to have a moral compass. My mission was to find something, anything of value that could get them out of this. They called me Atlas then; a man with the world's weight on his shoulders.

Huntress: Cool story, but I don’t care. Get to the point.

Overseer: I had to do things I wouldn’t have dreamt of before taking those jobs just to meet my quota. Day after day after day. My point is, everyone has to make sacrifices sometimes. I kept working, though the lines between days and years blurred. Eventually, I ended up here. All I had to do was make one more decision; one more sacrifice to outdo everything else. I signed the order to send out the terraforming crews under the equipment rules we have today, instead of the shared gear system we had previously. Three hundred seventy-five people set out. Maybe thirty came back. I had to do it to keep my position here, or I would’ve had to start that journey all over again. It worked though; the Trust brought in enough money to keep the Board happy while scrubbing the papers clean of any information that we had done this, and so here we are. 

Huntress: Let me get this straight. Did you actually get hundreds of people killed over some weird rocks, dead coral, and burnt sprouts? All of this was for money in the end. Wow, you are one greedy penny-pincher.

Overseer: I’m an old man now. Can’t you see what led me to do this? I sold the world; now let me reap my share of the benefits even as I lose everything else.

Prophet: You should’ve quit and joined another company. Nobody should knowingly choose to kill that many people. You had plenty of experience; I’m sure any other company would have taken you in a heartbeat with triple the wages they pay here. 

Overseer: I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Look here; let me make you a deal. You don’t talk about this to anyone else or me again, and I’ll see to it that you move up in the ranks immediately. I could probably grease enough elbows to get you all your very own private planets.

Prophet: Let me one-up you: I go tell the press what you and the Trust did, and you leave me alone while I do that. 

Huntress: Yeah! If you take the deal, we might even put you in a nursing home once this all blows over. The kind with the fancy microwavable mashed potatoes and a curfew later than 9:00.

Overseer: laughs 

That was pretty funny, I’ll give you that. You know, you remind me of myself when I was younger. I was hoping we could settle this some other way. The thing is, I don’t think you’ll make it off of this ship. 

Overseer pulls out a revolver from his coat

Prophet: What, are you going to shoot me? Pull the trigger right now and I’ll make a break for it faster than you can get out of your chair, you prehistoric dirtbag.

Overseer: Bad move, kid. You can move as fast as you like, but you can’t outrun bullets, son.

Overseer raises revolver

Huntress: Get down!

Huntress pushes the Prophet aside and tackles the Overseer. They grapple, Huntress knocks him out and grabs the gun, but gets shot.

Prophet: Why did you do that for me? I was stalling so you could get out of here with the documents without getting hurt.

Huntress: I’ll be fine; I snuck a shield core past the gear deposit box, which seemed to stop most of the bullet. I can probably stop by the med-bay before anyone realizes what happened. Guess he always was old-fashioned. Seriously, who uses a revolver these days? Could’ve at least used a Paragon make; now those sixty calibers are lethal.

Prophet: What should we do with him? Do we shoot him while he’s down?

Huntress: Leave him here. He’s at fault for both too much and not enough at the same time. You could blame him for what he did, or blame the Trust that gave him that option. I think living with what he did should be enough once he gets held in the public eye. Come on, let’s… -coughs- let’s grab the briefcase and get out of here.

Prophet: You’re right. Stop by the med-bay before we go to the escape pods, though. You’re alive for now, and I would prefer you keep it that way.

Huntress: Yeah, because who else would bail you and your fat mouth out of every situation you get into? 

Enter Charlatan

Charlatan: Hey, what happened here? Looks like I missed out on all the fun.

Huntress: This guy here turned out to be pretty much killing hundreds of people for money.

Charlatan: Self-aware much? That’s our job description in a sentence. Really though; are you sure it’s this old geezer who killed hundreds of people? I could probably take him in a Wild West-style duel with nothing but the clothes on my back, one hand tied behind my back, and while blindfolded.

Huntress: He wasn’t killing them himself, but that’s beside the point. You can help us get out of here. or you can not tell anyone we did this when the Enforcers come knocking. 

Charlatan: Actually, can I come with you guys? It’s been boring working here anyway. I think I’ll go back to freelancing. Here the pay sucks, you don’t get to own your gear, and he -jabs thumb at Overseer- always creeped me out for some reason. 

Prophet: Sure, whatever. I just can’t wait to put all this out into the hands of the newspapers and move on. 

Huntress: Really, how outdated of a perspective can you have to say that the ends always justify the means? They couldn’t have thought of a better motto to live by. Not, I don’t know, be kind to one another or try to help everyone live a better life no matter what. Even if they wanted to stick with that, they could’ve given the people they were sacrificing a say in their final destination instead of throwing them to the wolves without any heads-up.

Charlatan: I guess the Head of the company needed a new pool by the end of the month. 

Prophet: I just don’t get why they still wanted to justify losing that many people for a comparatively small gain when they had already managed to get what they needed from Tartarus. The ends might have justified the means if they were big enough, but it just didn’t make sense here. Shame that they chose to go with their motto instead of common sense. 

Huntress: I don’t think we have much time left before someone starts knocking. We want to make sure the Trust’s end can justify our means, and doing that is going to be a lot easier if it’s not from behind bars in an Enforcer battleship. 

Exit All, fade to black 

Author's Note: I want to bring good literature work to a young audience. I believe that a great form of literature is bringing so much to the table and in the end, smashing the table to bits by making everything you said previously untrue or not defensible. I do have a strong feeling towards the McRib and I want it to be shared with everyone here at York. 

Everything is beautiful and so are you. We attempt to question whether we are attractive or not at some point in our short lives. Some are blessed to fit the standard of what is or what is not considered beautiful, but the beauty standard isn’t an attack. It's like reading the reviews of a movie, where it could generally be rated good or bad, but in the end it solely matters on your enjoyment. We are so focused and chained by the idea of wanting to follow certain standards or reviews that we forget to focus on what truly matters to us. Regardless of what others think or say, you are beautiful. Something that does surpass that phrase of our language is the McRib. A toasted sesame bun, gently cradling the glamorous tender, rib-shaped pork patty. It is meticulously seasoned and glazed to perfection, honored by its maker and the fine tools used to create this beauty. The savory and sweet blends of flavors as they hit your tastebuds will have you jumping in your seat as you go in for another bite. The McRib is truly ahead of its time and we are blessed to be living now out of any year of living and being able to taste its divine sauces. I’ve never tried it but I think it would taste pretty good. 

Author's Note: This was inspired by a prompt I found online, "Write a story from a ghost's point of view." This isn't a fully wrapped-up short story and has possibilities of being expanded upon. Happy reading!

There was a grey haze coating the world. Everywhere he looked, his vision only stretched around five meters out. It was a strange fog, a cloud with different strings of mist branching off like spider webs. Reaching a hand out he tried to grab the fog by walking closer and closer to the cloud. But, as he took step after step, the mist seemed to keep getting further away, just out of reach. 

After having been stumbling forward, grabbing nothing for a good couple of seconds, he was bamboozled by a sudden appearance of a teen girl right in front of him. He stumbled out of surprise and couldn’t stop himself from barrelling into her. Well, barrelling through her. He was surprised by another mysterious situation of tumbling to the ground after having passed straight through the girl. She didn’t seem to even notice what had just happened. In fact, she continued walking along and soon disappeared into the fog. 

On the ground, breathing heavily, he stared wide-eyed in the direction the girl had gone. What had just happened?! Why didn’t she notice anything?! What was going on with him?! Bringing his hands up in front of his face, he didn’t notice anything drastically wrong. He was normal, he was alright, he was solid. Pushing himself to his feet, he shook off what had just happened and took tentative steps in a random direction. He didn’t know if it was north or south, east or west, it was just some way he was walking to somewhere where he could possibly find out more about the cloud surrounding him. 

As he continued to take step after step, each getting more and more confident and sure, he heard a strange thrumming sound, a swift whooshing sound, a roaring in the wind. Then, all of a sudden, just like the appearance of the girl earlier, there were two blaring spotlights trained on his person. The noise and sounds from before was coming from these two spotlights. He recognized their vibrant stare and the urge to leap out of the way was irresistible. So, he did just that. He leapt out of the way, but didn’t make it very far before the spotlights had reached him. 

Just as he thought his world was going to come to a bleak and dark end, the blowing speed of the car that had just been in front of him, billowed through him. It was a strange feeling, a vehicle passing through him. He had never thought he would experience that in his lifetime. Usually something so strange and paranormal would happen to intangible beings like ghosts…

Then it hit him. The mist, instead of running into that girl, and now the car zooming through him like he was air. He was a ghost. That was it. He was no longer alive.

As he came to a crashing stop on the asphalt of a horribly paved road, he waited and waited for the next one to come. The want to get out of the way when the next set of spotlights appeared in front of him was very tempting, but he resisted for his little experiment. He thought back to all that had happened in his life just in case, just in case at the last minute he decided that it was better worth living. But, then his mind told him: remember, you’re already dead, so he stayed put.

The wheels of the truck that was bumbling towards him plowed through his body, but there was no pain. He wasn’t even affected by it. His body stayed in the same position, on the same portion of road that he had been in before. That proved it. Standing up he completed his journey to the other side of the road and stood there, shoulders slumped thinking about his circumstance.

He wouldn’t be able to touch anything ever again. That meant he was never going to be able to eat any amazing food anymore. That meant he was never going to pet the random animals he meets as he’s walking down the street. That meant he was completely cut off from the world. Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t see hardly anything around him, thanks to the unnecessary death fog. 

Stumbling down the road he slowly came upon a building. Walking through the sliding doors that didn’t open for him, he dragged his feet towards what looked like the edge of a desk. As he got closer, the cloud moved as well and revealed a welcome desk that said in big letters: Best Western. So, he was in a hotel. Standing right up in front of the desk he waved a hand in the face of the woman standing behind it to welcome customers. But, she didn’t react.

“She can’t see you,” a voice came from behind him. “The living can’t see the dead.”

Turning around, he came face to face with a dreary-looking man. His eyes were sunken in with sadness and he seemed to have a permanent frown on his face. He was a ghost too. The man was standing right in front of the sliding glass doors, but they stayed adamantly closed. 

Watching as the sad man tried to walk forward, a strange invisible force was pulling him back. And he continued to take a step forward only to be returned to his original position. The ghost of a boy stepped towards the man. He moved so that he was in eyesight of him and just waited until that sagging stare turned in his direction.

“Why do you keep doing that?” He asked, not necessarily sure how to word a question about an invisible force.

The man shook his head. “It’s not me. I can’t leave.”

There was a short pause before the ghost man started to talk again. “I’m stuck here in this hotel, it’s my prison.” He sighed. It was such a sad noise that the boy looked down at his feet. “I died in this hotel, and I’m doomed to walk its halls forever.”

The younger ghost looked up. “I’m sorry,” he turned away. “I don’t know what I can do for you… but I need a little help understanding the fact that I’m dead.”

“It happens to everyone buddy,” the man said. “It’s just sad that you’re so young.”

The man had stopped trying to leave the building and instead moved towards the boy. He rested a hand on his shoulder and gestured for him to follow. The two ghosts went to the lounge and found a couple cushioned chairs that were empty. They sat down and the older man leaned forward, drawing the boy’s attention. 

“You probably already know that you can’t really get hurt as a ghost,” the man said, one of his eyebrows slowly lifting on his face. 

“Right,” the younger ghost responded.

“Actually, that’s wrong.” The man spoke forcefully, which made the teen scoot a little away from him. “You can’t get hurt from objects made by the living, but you can get hurt from the dangerous prowlers of the dead. Plenty of his followers to look out for, I tell you, it’s a hard job living as a ghost in a hotel such as this.”

The man lifted his hands to motion towards the surrounding lounge and grandioseness of the hotel. Except, the teen didn’t get it. How would being stuck in a hotel be hard? Other than seeing the same exact things every single day.

“What do you mean?” The boy asked.

Right as the man started to talk, a person of the living plopped down on the chaise. The ghost sluggishly stood up, scoffing at the interruption. Then he moved to stand, leaning up against an ocean painting on the wall that was to the boy’s right. 

He lowered his head and scanned the room before continuing. “Hotels that have a lot of customers every day, they attract the not so friendly sort. You know, the henchmen of the guy with two red horns and a red spade-shaped tail.”

“The Devil?!” The boy burst out, nearly jumping from his seat. If there were some sort of demons roaming around the hotel, he had to get out of there!

“SHHH, not so loud,” the man said, urgency in his voice but a calm look on his face. He changed topics of their conversation. “Maybe that doesn’t help you understand how you’re dead, but I believe it is important to know the dangers of the afterlife.”

The boy slowly nodded. His head was on a full-time swivel after hearing that information. He shouldn’t have gone to that Best Western. Who knew how many demons would pop up at the wrong time and do something horrible to his ghostly self. So, he decided that it was probably time to leave.

“Thank you, for informing me on that,” the young specter said, a waver in his voice. “I think I should continue on my way and explore more of the outside world.”

The guy said nothing and just stayed leaning up against the wall as he backed away. Quickly spinning to face the sliding doors, he sped up his pace, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He really did not want to be there any longer. When he first entered, everything was nice and cozy. But, as he tried to leave he felt as if eyes were watching him from all sides. 

He TRIED to leave. 

As he rushed towards the sliding doors, he suddenly bounced back and nearly tumbled to the ground. He pushed up against the doors and used all the strength he could to move forward, but it wasn’t working. Turning back to face the older ghost the two of them shared wide-eyed stares. 

He was stuck…

In the haunted hotel.

Author's Note: "Hurricane of Hues" is actually a chapter from a work-in-progress novel/story/book 1 of a possible series, kind of thing... It mainly follows the dynamic of a pair of twins (I wonder where I got my inspiration) and how they face the appearance of a supernatural sort of power. This little book possibility is greatly inspired by the four seasons and so I wanted to bring them into some fantasy fiction. If you like this small excerpt, who knows, maybe you'll see it in an actual book in the future. :)

After getting dressed up according to the predicted weather, Lonny tugged on the two drawstrings that poked out of her jacket. She was nervous, to say the least. Usually going to a flower garden with her family wouldn’t make her nervous. But that day, her hands shaking and her thoughts racing was all that there was. She kept throwing glances in her brother’s direction and when he returned one with a confused and frustrated looking glare, Lonny decided that she would spend the whole time hanging around her parents. 

As they all piled out of the car, facing a small building that made up the entrance, a cool breeze sifted through the tall maple and redwood trees. The hushing of the leaves added to the very calm atmosphere the flower garden entrance was giving off. Lonny was amazed at how bewildered she had become just by looking up at the several rays of light that filtered through the tall trees’ leaves. 

“Well, here we are!” Her mom had a big grin on her face and had proudly put her hands on her hips. “That was a stressful drive, but I think that it was worth it. Look at this place!” She jumped in front of the group and spread her arms out to the side so that she could show off the different variants of the color green that were bombarding their eyes. “Isn’t this already amazing?!”

Lonny made a quick nod and peeked over at her brother. He seemed to be completely entranced by the shifting leaves and the twinkling flowers at their bases. His eyes were open wider than she had seen them for the past couple of weeks and there was a soft roundness to his face that made him look a little more lively.

When they continued to walk through the entrance of the gardens, Lonny heard her parents muttering to themselves. They probably weren’t planning for her to hear, but since she was so close to them, she had managed to indirectly eavesdrop on what it was they were saying.

“I told you this would be better for him than that stupid waterlodge up state,” her mother paused. “I don’t understand what you like about that place.”

So we were going to go to some sort of amusement park! Lonny instantly felt betrayed. She would have much rather preferred to go to this waterlodge they were talking about. But, looking over at West, she realized that the worry she had been feeling was slowly starting to ebb away. He looked so much better. The guy was brushing his hands through bushes and lifting them up to touch the swaying branches of drooping willow trees. They stopped on one of the bridges and he leaned against the railing in order to comfortably look at the reflective water. 

Their journey around the gardens was quiet and peaceful, the tension in the air had all but fizzled out. Lonny was starting to feel more comfortable standing around her brother and saying quick remarks about some of the plants to him. They came to a stop to rest on a bench near the beautiful colored pink flowers. Lonny reached up and gently touched one, surprised by its fragility. As she turned to look out at the many other green shrubbery and different colored flowers, she started to think that going to the gardens wasn’t a bad family outing. 

“That’s a rhododendron.” The sound of her brother’s voice was quiet, his tone a lot softer and smoother than it had been before. It was the first thing he said to her since their argument the day before. “It can be hard to tell them apart from azaleas, but if you notice how the flowers are balled up in certain spots, practically held up by leathery big leaves, you can tell that it is a rhododendron.”

Lonny turned to look at her brother who was sitting hunched over so that he could also see the plant. He had a small smirk on his face. Something much more welcoming than his angry glares that had been sent in her direction that morning. She could feel a sort of happiness fill her. At that moment, she felt as if their argument was resolved. She no longer felt that she was in the wrong, in fact, there seemed to be an apologetic look in her brother’s eyes. 

“Since when did you know about flowers?” She asked, accompanied by a snort.

“I… don’t know.” Her brother’s look had gotten a little distant. 

She knew he was an avid learner and enjoyed understanding the world and its history. He was very into history, but never really the history of botany. West never remembered any facts about the plants they learned in science class and he would do worse on those tests because of it. So, it was clear to both of them that he didn’t have much knowledge in plants, much less flowers that they had barely found out existed. 

“Anyways,” West interjected her thoughts, forcefully pushing them aside for another time. “Since it is so calm here, I thought that- maybe- I could apologize about how I’ve been acting towards you.”

Lonny was taken aback. Usually their arguments never ended in one side apologizing, they just disappeared. But now, something was clearly different. She thought they had resolved that the moment they both were able to walk in comfortable silence through the gardens. 

“I honestly didn’t realize at the time, but you didn’t deserve that,” West continued. “I shouldn’t have been so mean and yelled at you, at school of all places. I’m sorry.”

Letting herself take in his apology for a moment, she realized that it wasn’t just him who should’ve been apologizing. So, she shook her head and smiled at West.

“It’s okay, really,” she continued. “I should also be apologizing. I probably should have waited to ask you about it until we were back at home. Sorry for butting in, making it seem like I was overbearing. I was just… worried y’know?”

Her brother nodded slowly, understanding and guilt gushing over his face. Lonny couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. In that moment, their closeness seemed to return, showing her that it was still there. They still cared about each other.

She tested the waters with a quiet question, hoping that it wouldn’t ruin the stillness of the air around them. “I do want to know what it was that was bothering you. So, whenever you’re ready, please tell me.”

West playfully rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, a small smirk plastered on his face. “Not this again!” But, then he reassured her with a quiet “I will.”

After a couple seconds of silence and looking around where they sat, Lonny noticed that their parents were nowhere to be seen. That was weird, maybe they wanted to give them some time to make up the argument that made the air so thick. Picking one of the pink petals of the rhododendron flower, she turned to her brother. 

“Come on, we should go find our parents,” she said, blowing the petal into his face. 

All of a sudden, a burst of color flared out and knocked Lonny off of the bench. A twinkling sound filled her ears as she stared up—from where she was on the ground—at her brother. The pink petal she had plucked had multiplied and was swirling around West in a random array. There was a strange pink glow shining off of each and every one of the petals. An unnatural billowing wind was starting to kick up and whip Lonny’s hair into her face. Her brother seemed to be in a small pocket or vacuum of air, where the wind couldn’t touch him. 

“What the actual heck!” Lonny scrambled back and found herself getting tangled in the same bush she had gotten the petal from. “West!”

Her brother’s head turned toward her and she could see the fear in his eyes. The fear that was most definitely reflected in her own. Both of them were confused about what was going on. Lonny could see that her brother’s hands had started shaking and he was stuck sitting there, whipping his head every which way, most likely trying to find an escape from the rapidly swirling petals. 

More colors slowly added to the mix with petals from yellow, purple, and white flowers in the surrounding area. Leaves also started to drift into the hurricane of hues and similarly started to glow. 

Pushing herself to her feet, Lonny attempted to dash towards her brother and get him out of the swirling madness, but something held her back. As she continued to struggle forward, she felt a digging pain in her legs and arms. Looking down, she saw that the branches and stems of the rhododendron bush were curling around her, keeping her in place. She was yanked back in one great tug and was shoved into the depths of the bush. Kicking out at the gripping stems, she tried to pry herself free. She ripped the plant and tore off its flowers, throwing them and continuously struggling against the increased amount of stems and roots wrapping around her.

“Stop!” She tried shouting, but realized that the plants wouldn’t understand her language, so she opted for getting an actual person’s attention. “West!”

Shouting out her brother’s name was the only thing she could really do. There was no one else around, her parents had gone somewhere else in the gardens and were probably way out of earshot. So, she really hoped that he could manage to get out of that whirlwind of petals to maybe help untangle her from the bush she was trapped in.

“Lonny!” She heard his voice call back to her. 

For a second there was a panting breath. It was as if her brother was huffing and puffing in order to make his way over to her. Or maybe he was also fighting against his own cage. 

Then, just as the stems and branches around Lonny’s arms, legs, neck, and torso tightened, she heard a strange and angry, but soothing, voice echo around the area. “Enough.”

The attacking bush around her immediately fell limp against her body, allowing her to scramble out of it. As she escaped her captor, she stumbled into a mythical sight. The petals that had been aggressively spinning and glowing a moment before, were now frozen in the air and shimmering an assortment of colors. Her brother was standing in the middle of the scene with his hands spread out wide, away from his sides. As he lowered them next to his body, the petals fluttered to the ground. Once they all rested peacefully at the twins’ feet, the respective petals’ flowers started to grow from the ground and bloom right before their eyes.

After having stared at the flowers for an incredibly long time, Lonny lifted her head to look up at her brother. He was staring down at the plants just as surprised as she was. “What the actual heck.” He agreed.

Author's Note: This is a short horror story. The original inspiration came from a short-film idea my cousin and I came up with. I thought about it, and decided that even if I couldn't record the short-film in the moment due to him living far from me, I could still bring the story to life. 

Emie arrived at her AirBnB ready to explore this new country she was in. Which country? She wouldn't disclose, as she was on a trip alone and wanted solitude. She saw the deep forests of redwoods that circled the area and was eager for adventure. As she made her way through the wilderness, she found a book covered in mud. The brown book’s cover had a silver lining with metal corners which illuminated it. It was worn out, the spine detached and some pages folded, but it called to her. She could hear the eerie voice of a girl urging her to pick it up. She knelt over it, dusting off the cover. Opening it ever so slightly, she cut her finger on a metal corner, causing her to bleed rapidly. She dropped it for fear of getting an infection, and headed back to her AirBnB. 

Emie searched for a first aid kit to clean her wound, pulling her suitcase out from under her bed. As she did that, she felt another object. It was a book similar to the one she found earlier. Confused about where it came from, she opened it with hesitation. The title was “Where All Begins to Go Wrong”. Intrigued, she opened the book, cutting her finger on a metal corner once more, but she ignored it and opened the book to a random page. Emie began to read aloud, “Page 307, The Strike That Killed Two Fairies”. She heard a snap and crackle from outside. She closed the book, threw it down, and ran outside. The electric wire had snapped. Lights were out, the house was dark. Disappointed, she gathered her things and decided to go to the pool. 

After swimming, reading magazines, doing puzzles, Emie saw the sky begin to blacken. Within minutes, there was an electric storm. Alarmed, she swiftly collected her things and headed inside. The power was still out, so she decided to wait to shower later. Looking out the windows she saw lightning strike and heard thunder rumble. She spotted a bird in the distance, approaching her rapidly. She opened the window so it wouldn’t smash into it. Before it could reach her, a bolt of lightning hit the bird, killing it instantly. Horrified, Emie went outside into the storm, and picked it up. She could do nothing for the bird, so she left it there and ran back inside. As she entered her room, she once again saw the book lying on the floor, wide open. 

Picking it up, Emie sat on her bed; she started to read “Page 13, The Little Girl Who Screamed.” “There was once a girl who was alone at night, waiting for her mother to come back from the storm of lightni-'' the book aggressively fell out of her hands. As she picked it up, it opened to a page that read “The blood at her feet'' and an antique envelope slipped gracefully out of the book. 

She opened it carefully, only to find a letter covered in dry blood, stamped by a fingerprint of the same substance. She opened the letter, unfolding the paper crease by crease. “It’s not yet too late to turn back,” it said in bold letters written in blood red. Emie placed it back into the book and shut it. Trying to forget what she had just seen, she quickly fell asleep. She had a dream: a little girl of 5 years stood outside a window, watching her, yelling unclear words, blood as tears. She woke up to another strike of lightning, another bird gone. 

As she got up, she decided to take a shower, but was met with the book once more on the floor. It was still open to that same page, but she wasn’t interested in reading anymore. She took it outside and left it in the rain, hoping it would disintegrate. She went back inside to take her bath and carefully stepped into the tub. A couple of rose petals and candles accompanied her. As she finished her bath, she drained the tub and rinsed the bath salts out of her hair. The petals, sitting at the bottom of the tub were wet, as she stood on them. Suddenly, the candles went out, leaving her in the dark. The moment Emie grabbed the lighter, she dropped it, the head still hot enough to scold the palm of her hand. 

Suddenly, a gust of wind hit her face harshly, as if a hand forcefully came against it. The candles’ flames returned, flickering wildly. She felt the petals become more wet and dense, as they melded together dissolving into a thick liquid. The lights quivered, and dreadingly, Emie found herself in a pool of blood. “The Blood at Her Feet” she heard whispering around her.  She looked towards the mirror and as the lights began to flicker she saw faintly “Don’t let her find you, that little girl who screams.” The voice spoke again saying “Too bad the fairies died in the storm.” She tried to run out but her feet were feeling heavy from the dense liquid around her. She began to cry and yell, but nothing she did set her free. She opened the window seal next to her, hoping someone would hear her. She pulled herself towards it and saw a small sweet girl who cried and yelled, “Mom? Where are you?” Blood dripped from Emie’s eyes and the girl turned and looked at her. It was as if they shared the same ruby tears. 

Before she could do anything else she found the book; once more in her hands. Blood dripped from her two previous cuts. The envelope was open on the page, this time reading “Guess it’s too late now.” No one knows what happened to Emie. She disappeared, leaving no trace other than her blood that now radiates through the words she had read; adding another chapter into the book of horrors. A new chapter titled “Roses of Blood.” 

Author's Note: This is just an edited version of a short story that I wrote a couple years ago. It was a rather foggy day when I wrote this… 

My pencil slowly tapped against the sheet of paper I had laid out in front of me. I was bored and I wanted to draw something. Sketch a small person or doodle different foods on the corners like I usually did in school. But, no ideas came to mind, so I settled with admiring the fog that flowed past my window. The light of the sun, that shone above the cloud, became muted as it filtered through the scattered poofs and curves. It was a mystical scene. The maple trees that stood just outside my window were only partially visible, but their autumn colored leaves were vibrantly swaying back and forth as the fog drifted by.

As my vision started to blur, due to having continuously stared out at the fuzzy grey for what felt like the past twenty minutes, I suddenly heard a muffled shout. My vision instantly sharpened and I sat up in my seat, peering out of the window and searching for the source of the noise. At first I assumed that I was just hearing things, and that my mind was making up entertainment for my bored self, but then I heard the shout again. After another pause of silence, a different muffled noise met my ears: a high pitched scream. The hair on my arms stood up on end. It went on for a long time and seemed to be never-ending. But once the noise dwindled out, it was only a few seconds before it started back up again. 

Carefully climbing up onto my desk, resting on one leg while the other dangled off so that I wouldn’t fall, I pressed my face up against the cold glass. Looking from side to side I couldn’t find anything. Perhaps the fog was hiding them, but there wasn’t a single person in sight. 

I peeled my face off of the window, with the intention of getting down from my desk and searching for my phone—so that I could report what it was I was hearing. But, with my face only centimeters away from the glass pane, the screaming noise lost its muffledness and was clear. It was as if someone was screaming in my ear. My body gave a big jolt and I nearly fell off my desk. I turned to look back out the window… and was instantly repulsed by what I saw. 

Scrambling off of my desk and away from the window, I held back my own scream as I looked into the soulless eyes of a human shaped puff of fog. Watching as the human shape floated away, I felt my heart rate slowly returning to normal. What was that? Was that what was making the screaming and shouting noises? 

As I moved to sit back in my chair, I froze when I heard a clear whimpering sound coming from in front of me. After that, there was a groaning noise. And then following that, came a low rumble that sounded like a deep growl. I lifted my eyes, from where they were glued to the blank sheet of paper that had become crinkled after my quick movement off of the desk, and looked out the window to find three more human shapes gaping at me from the glass. When I locked eyes with the human shape in the middle, the screams and echoes of voices increased. It was almost as if the window was vibrating from the soundwaves that were roaring throughout my head.

I watched as the figures moved away from the window, followed by more and more forms blowing past in a quiet parade. It was as if there was a procession of hundreds of ghosts, making their walk to the afterlife. Slowly making the connection between those human-like figures and ghosts that were still gaping at me and drifting past, I realized that there was so much about the world that I did not know yet. At first, I was a little fearful of the beings that came up to my window with completely unhinged cloudy jaws, but as they continued to flow through the air, I came to feel that there was no intended malice with their presence. They were just there, moving through time and space, trying to find the path to their version of final paradise.

Getting out of my chair once again, I climbed up onto my desk and reached out to place my hand against my window. It was just as cold as before. As I watched several cloud forms ripple, the ghostly figures’ gazes landed on me. I was a little skeptical, but knew that there was no chance that these beings could do me harm, so I left my hand up on the window and watched as the fog moved up to match my five stretched out fingers. 

A flock of fog specters swarmed where one had its hand pressed up against the window, directly opposite of mine.  I tried to remove my hand from the cold glass, but it wouldn’t move. My hand was stuck! It was as if it had been glued to the window. I tugged and tugged to get it free, but all that did was give me a burning sensation in my palm and the feeling that I was going to rip my skin off.. 

The foggy souls outside had their mouths agape, watching me try to tear my hand away from the window. I felt a pulling on my body, as if I was getting closer and closer to the window. My body, suddenly, became as light as a leaf. My legs straightened themselves and I started to kick my feet around. I could feel my eyes go wide when I realized I wasn’t touching the group. Not to mention how I was supposed to be crouched on top of my desk, instead I was phasing through it. My body floated forward, no longer resisting the pull that I had felt before. I started to float through the window. So, with much desperation, I started clawing at the edge of my desk and the window frame, but I couldn’t seem to get a grip. I drifted out into the fog with the ghostly figures 

As I blinked, trying to clear my vision, I noticed that they looked different now. Pulling from the incredibly large crowd, I saw that one of the specters was a middle aged woman, dressed in a flowery dress with her hair gelled to her forehead like cinnamon rolls, who had a sad smile on her face. She ushered me into the fog of ghosts. There were men, women, children, all from different time periods—which was easy to tell the difference based on the way they were dressed. There were animals too. Dogs and cats running around their feet and darting in between legs. Sometimes they even tumbled into some of the people. I realized that in this ghostly form, the deceased could actually touch each other and things as if they were tangible. 

I was too busy looking around at the different faces that I failed to notice when a boy, around my age, walked up to me and bowed. He was standing there in that position for a couple seconds before the middle aged woman directed my attention towards his lowered figure. Trying to step back, I bumped into a tall, angry looking man, with scars covering his face, and his body completely covered with glittering silver armor.  

Raising my hands in surrender, I quietly apologized and started to move away from that man as well. His intense glare followed me as I side stepped him. Just as I felt relief that I had escaped his gaze, I saw that there was a wall of ghosts in between me and my bedroom window.

“You mustn't fret, my fair maiden, for everything will be alright.” A soft voice wafted from behind me and drifted into my ear, just as smoothly and peacefully as fog floats in the breeze.

“Fair maiden?” I was surprised. Not by the fact that this ghost boy was using a more medieval form of speech, but by the fact that he was talking at all. Of course, his figure had become more sharpened and it was clear he was a ghost and not just a puff of fog, but I had thought that these specters couldn’t speak.

I started to grab and massage the hem of my shirt with nervousness, I could feel my shoulders lift as I curled in on myself. This situation was too weird. I needed to get out of there, or at least, back to my room. 

“I’m just going to go back now,” I said while turning back to face my house. 

But, just as I was about to make the full rotation, the boy stepped up and grabbed my hand, pulling me away from where I was headed. With his other hand, he gently grabbed my waist and pulled me along, into a waltz through the air. 

“You wouldn’t deprive me of a dance with your beauty, would you?” He raised an eyebrow and let his lips stretch into a small smirk. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, looking away from the guy. He didn’t look half as bad himself. 

The ghosts all had skin and clothing that were a muted grey, but as we continued to dance across the little opening that the other ghosts had created, I could see the different colors shining across his being. His hair was a sparkling gold, the roots a natural dirt brown. His face was freckled and pale. He watched me, with his rose brown eyes, as my own trailed over his features and apparel. The cloth that he was wearing was silky and smooth to the touch—definitely a resource that would be considered expensive back in the olden days (that I figured he was from, based off of his speech).

“Who are you?” I wondered aloud.

He chuckled at my curiosity and looked away. “That is of no importance at this moment, let us just enjoy each other’s company, it is not everyday that I get to dance with someone as beautiful as you.”

I stopped our dance, it was so sudden that the boy looked a little disheveled and a wild stare filled his face. 

“Why did you make us stop?” He asked, his voice a little small, as if he was a young child who was intimidated by her glare.

“I don’t belong here,” I told him. “I need to get back to my room, and you need to move on, find somewhere to be at rest!” 

The boy shook his head. “Can you not see? I am at rest.” He let go of my hands, and the simple color of grey returned to his figure. “Look at everyone here, we are all at rest.”

I looked around, the people who had seemed to be screaming in agony—and had sounded as though they were—had calm expressions on their faces. Some even smiled and nodded their heads. I sighed.

“Just let me go back,” I looked the boy in the eyes. “Even if you have found peace, I still don’t belong here.”

The kid seemed a little sad after hearing what I had said. But, then he resolved that look with a smile. He spoke with a strange sort of enthusiasm when he said: “If I am to let you go now, before we have finished our dance… you are to promise to waltz with me every time our fog rolls by.” He looked at me with a sincere twinkle in his eye. “For when I dance with you, I truly feel alive.”

Right as I nodded, I was blasted back into my room.

I felt my arms, only to find that I was completely solid again. I laughed with relief. Sitting up from where I was on the floor, having been blasted back into my body I had fallen from my desk, I looked up to the window and saw a gaping ripple of cloud that reached out and placed a hand on the window. 

I knew that the next time the fog came around, I would reach up and touch the glass just as I had done before. After I nodded a second time, the cloud started to drift away and reveal a bright world where the vibrant green of the maple tree leaves shimmered in the sunlight.

Looking down at the crinkled paper and pencil on my desk, I knew that I would draw the face of the boy that I will never be allowed to forget.