《A plethora of short stories》 Silver Killer Chatter flies around the train we are confined in, distracting me from the beautiful, grassy landscape around us. I turn my head so I can see the other passengers of this tour. They are all taking photos of the outside landscape or texting friends they left at home. Amazing really, how people become so reliant on technology, so much so that that they can''t remember a place, or be sure that their friends are thinking of them. Another snowflake lands on my lap, I brush it off and my attention is instantly elsewhere, out on to the grassy field, now filling up with snow. The speaker comes on, a loud voice booming around the train. I ignore it, as usual, and keep my attention on the snowflake. They''re hard to see through, though it is night. The silver moonlight shines through the clouds, so bright you could reach out and grab it. And I do, try and grab it, that is, and it works, from my perspective at least. I pull my hand back and open it up, a snowflake falls on it, silver under the moonlight, like a curse, perhaps, or a promise. My body tumbles along with the train, but I don''t fall on anyone, as there is no-one near me. Falling only hurts as much as it always does, but I only flinch, I''m used to the pain, both mental and physical. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. I have to be, I''m an assassin, and my curse is that I can only kill under the moonlight. This time, I fall between the crates at my feet, and I get stuck, and wriggling my way out just traps me even more. The train picks up speed, but all I see is the silver promise of moonlight. I only kill under moonlight, and it kills me under moonlight. A promise... and a curse. My head spins around wildly, fruitlessly looking for a way out, but I was domed the moment I even thought of coming on this tour. Screams and shouts resound around me. Helpless and scared, combined emotions, pressing down on me, choking me. The train tumbles, falling, falling fast. Down below are trees, trees and no help. Bodies are flung about, but only serving to trap me further. The trees get closer, but all I see is a curse, a curse of silver moonlight, a silver killer. ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª I''ve always hated that curse, that promise. It doomed me, but it also freed me. It freed me in a way inexplainable with words. I can only hope to thank it in my heart, my heart of silver. And, while my heart may thank it, my mind will always curse it. It trapped me in a terrible destiny, one no 16-year-old should experience. Ever. It''s a contradicting promise, a contradicting curse. I love it. I hate it. I thank it. I curse it. But it will always be with me, no matter where I am, no matter what I do. I love it. I hate it. I thank it. I curse it. And it will always, always be with me. A Scorching Scar I looked up at the grey snow raining down on me, burning my face, wondering why it was me the universe chose to curse. Glancing at the sight in front of me, I suddenly feel like I¡¯ll vomit up everything I ate in the last few hours. My eyes start watering, eventually turning into an unending stream of tears. My eyes are locked on to the charred bodies of my parents, unable to look away. I hear a crash to my right, and I tear my eyes away from my beloved parent¡¯s bodies, and see a burning table collapse in front of my eyes. It then hits me that I should get out, get away from this burning house, but I can¡¯t move. I¡¯m stranded in my thoughts, the fire gobbling up everything in its sight, somehow still not anywhere near me. My eyes are drawn back to my parents, whose bodies are still burnt and charred from the fire, eternally the same position. My mother has a terrified, frantic look on her face, the fire perfectly capturing the moment pure terror crosses her mind. My father, on the other hand, is eternally trying to defend me from the fire with his body, eternally failing. My eyes then catch a glimpse of a shining metal in my mother¡¯s hand. I realise that she¡¯s holding the locket she loves more than her own family. My legs automatically move robotically, my movement out of my control. I walk up to my mother and crouch down, snatching the locket out of her hand. I hold it up to my eyes, looking at its design, happy that I took my mother¡¯s favourite possession off of her, forever relieving her of it. I¡¯m almost tempted to throw it in the fire, but I decide to keep it, if only to torment her. I then glance at my father, wondering what I can take of his that will remind me most of him. I glance around the dying house around me, searching for anything precious to my father, desperate to find a piece of him. My legs are no longer frozen, now actively searching the house for anything he treasured. As I walk around, the fire recoils away from me, allowing me to pass through unharmed. I head to his room, hoping to find something, anything of his. I frantically search through his room, trashing the place in the process. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. I suddenly feel the urge to cough my lungs out, and so I do. Painfully so. My hands go up to my eyes to wipe my tears dry, allowing for a clearer view of the ruined place around me. I then see an unharmed picture frame of our family on a hike. We went to Canal Rocks, and we all looked absolutely happy, ignorant to the imminent danger we would face a few weeks later. I pick up the picture frame, and head out of my father¡¯s room. I look to the left, to the burning fire devouring everything in its path. I feel surprisingly numb to my parent¡¯s death, with my only thoughts being on how to preserve their memory. I¡¯m not sure if this is bad, but I¡¯m supposing it is. I turn to my right, completely ignoring the fact that I could save the bodies of my parents, and head outside through the front door. When I get outside, I fish through my pockets for a key, place the key on the inside of the door, and break the key while it¡¯s still in the lock. I turn away from the house, saying goodbye to my family forever. I then take a deep breath, preparing myself for my upcoming performance. After I calmed down sufficiently, I look up at the sky and start thinking of everything that would make me cry; My mother¡¯s tears as she looks at the locket fondly, my father¡¯s laugh as he teases me for being slow when we¡¯re out on our weekly hikes, our Christmas tradition where my mother and I dress up as elves and my father dresses up as Santa, my school friends I left behind because my parents thought Canada was too cold, so they came to live here in Australia, and all the times I¡¯ve hugged them and been hugged by them, all the times they¡¯ve said they love me, and I¡¯ve said it back. Tears start forming and sliding down my face with no intention of stopping. I start wailing very loudly, crying for my mother and father, clinging to anyone that passes by to save them from the fire. I wonder if my act sufficiently fooled them. I wonder if anyone would believe my story, not taking it for the delusions of a young child. I wonder if they¡¯ll find out that I started the fire. But I know that I¡¯ve not left a single piece of evidence behind. If anything, the trail of clues will lead to my parents, as I¡¯ve carefully cultivated a picture of child-abusive parents in the eyes of others. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman phoning emergency services, asking for an ambulance and some firefighters. I smile slightly, my fa?ade breaking for only a second before returning to a 10-year-old girl devastated by her parent¡¯s death in a house fire. The Abyss She looked down at the ground in disappointment, wondering where her hours spent studying had gone. All that wasted time, and for what? She lamented in sorrow, wishing that something could take her back to the moments before she got this news. Oh, what she would give to do so! Sadly, reality wasn''t so merciful. She had to take the news without complaint, and suck it up. She hated how uncaring life could be, to knock some people down or lift some people up. It was totally random, almost like a lottery. She looked up at the starry night sky, searching for the star she called hers, realising that not all was lost, and that she still had family. Though what use was a family that ignored her existence and treated her worse than garbage? She looked around at her surroundings, completely aware that people were staring at her like she was crazy. And she didn''t blame them. I mean, she knew she was crazy for standing in the middle of the broken train tracks staring at the sky, lost in thought. She had often wondered who created such an uncaring, relentless world, but then realised that it wouldn''t matter, as they wouldn''t care about it in any significant, relevant way. They''d probably just acknowledge that this flawed world existed and move on like it didn''t matter one bit. She hated the reality of life, but could do nothing to stop time flowing by, creating more and more imbalances the longer it existed. Sure, there were some good people in the world, but what did that truly matter, since the other 99% were either lazy or didn''t care? It was useless to go against the world and she knew it. Yet she still tried. And look where that put her! In the middle of nowhere, staring up at the sky like an idiot, searching for made-up answers to riddles that don''t have any solutions. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. She was such an idiot for trusting her mum, her dad, her older sister, and her aunt. They were all delusional if they thought she could do it, since she obviously couldn''t. She failed. That''s all the facts she needed to accept defeat and fall into the welcoming arms of the abyss. She felt safe and protected there. She felt warm and comforted there. But she felt no happiness there. Her happiness was long gone, stolen by her ex. Her stupid, controlling, cheating ex that she had loved with everything she had in her. And her ex stole everything she was, her happiness, her hope, her love, and most importantly, her determination to challenge the world. It was all gone. Stolen. And she''ll never get it back. It was better this way. Less hurt. Less pain. More comfort. More relief. She felt satisfied knowing that her hard work was all for nothing. Which was a strange thing to feel satisfied with, but it made sense to her, and that was all that mattered. Maybe someday, somewhere, her work had meaning, but right now it had none, lost in the meaningless abyss of sorrow and despair, never to be found again. It was safer this way. It was better this way. No-one cared about her, and she liked it that way. That meant that no-one would be stupid enough to save her from this place, or idiotic enough to help her attain hope again. It was safer this way. It was better this way. This was the way she wanted it. This was the way she liked it. This was the way it would always be. Just... Like.. This. The Corridor I trail aimlessly down the endless corridor, knocking on all the doors I pass by. The doors are spread out evenly, 10 metres apart. I lift the lantern I¡¯m holding higher, trying to see the end of the corridor. I know it¡¯s a pointless effort, I¡¯ve tried it many times, but sometimes even the smallest sliver of hope can get you through the darkest of days. Or nights. Or whatever time you are currently constrained to. I knock on the next door, expecting the usual ¡°Yes ma¡¯am¡± followed by a ¡®Click¡¯ indicating the tenants have turned the lights off. What I don¡¯t expect is to hear nothing in response. It completely throws me off. I¡¯d gotten into a rhythm earlier, and this shatters it completely. Blinking rapidly in shock, I knock again, expecting some sort of answer from the tenant. Again, the response is nothing. I knock again, louder this time. And again, nothing. By this point I¡¯m actually debating whether or not to break my ¡®no talking¡¯ rule and ask the person inside if they¡¯re OK. A shiver runs down my spine, prompted by the cold hand placed on my shoulder. I look back at the person standing behind me, mildly surprised to see the Lord of Nalwin hovering there. I gesture to the door, and they nod in acknowledgement to the problem. I move to the next door, knocking and hearing the expected answer. Then I move to the next one. And the next. And the next. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I¡¯ve wandered about 100 metres before I allow myself to question what that oddity was about. I come up with many possibilities, each as absurd as the next. I certainly don¡¯t think that the tenant is late. That would spell doom for this entire block of houses! I imagine that they could¡¯ve been gravely injured, or even dead. That would be a more logical answer than them being late. I slowly trail aimlessly towards the ¡®end¡¯ of the corridor. This is all I do all day, every day. It pays well, I think. I¡¯m not too sure about what something costs anymore. I¡¯ve been here too long to remember details like that. I often wonder about things on my treks through the corridor. Things like why I need a lantern when there are perfectly good lit torches adorning the walls. They are more than bright enough to light the entire surrounding area, so I don¡¯t know why I have a lantern. Another thing I think about sometimes is the fact that the first time I remember receiving no reply was¡­ quite a while ago. I¡¯m not sure how long. Maybe a year? Maybe a century? A day? I don¡¯t know what time constructs there are, how to measure them and which one applies here. All I know is that it was a looooooooong time ago. So long ago, that now I know now not to question anything when someone doesn¡¯t reply. It happens often. Too often. Almost every thousand doors or so. Why am I so situated on the thought of the dead? It is not my problem, and it shall not weary my mind. I focus on my task again, all thoughts of the deceased thrown out of my mind as I wander down the endless corridor, knocking on doors and waiting for a response. Endlessly waiting for a response. The Apocalypse He stared at the ceiling in bemusement, wondering what was next. The alarm had just sounded, so apparently the apocalypse was coming. What a surprise. It¡¯s not like it was prophesised a hundred years ago or anything. Totally not. He continued to stare up at the glass ceiling, watching as the bright blue sky turned blood red, and the peaceful white clouds into ominous black sludges. He continued to stare up for a few more minutes, then turned to look at everybody else around him. They were all panicking, acting like this was either totally fake or worryingly real. The man wondered why they acted like that when they had ample time to prepare. There had been a few warnings in the past century, all saying that today at midday was when the apocalypse would come. And it did come. So why was everyone running around like headless chickens when they should be ready for this? If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. He shook his head in bewilderment, then turned to the nearest window, wanting to get a clearer view of the outside. He took a few steps forward, then looked down, out the window, at the corpse that lay there. The poor soul couldn¡¯t survive the first culling. He then looked back at the crowded room, wondering how many of these people would survive past the first week, let alone the first month. He knew that he, himself, was destined to die today, yet he didn¡¯t care one bit about that. He was just glad that he could see the beginning of this new era. He looked back up at the ceiling, towards the bright red sky. He smiled, then accepted his destiny. Acolyte of Celyn I step into the room, expecting bare brick walls, a single small desk, and two rickety chairs. What I saw was not too far off from my expectations. There are black walls, a single wooden desk, and two chairs, though they look sturdier than my imagination. I walk further into the room and stand behind the chair closest to me. The other chair is on the opposite side of the desk, and it is already occupied by a blank-faced Acolyte. They motion to the chair in front of me. I believe they mean for me to sit, and I gladly lower myself onto the chair. I sit with a rigid posture, waiting for whatever it is to come. I was told nothing about what was to happen here, so I am quite anxious. A few minutes pass in silence as we stare at each other. This gives me ample time to study them. From what I have seen, they have short black hair and a dark purple cloak on that masks their face and body. That is all I can find about them in those few short minutes before they suddenly stand. Their face as blank as always, but I detect a hint of worry. They stride across the room to another desk I had not seen when I walked. Two teacups and a kettle are sitting on a plate, and they pick up the plate and stride back to the table, gently placing the teacups and kettle on there. They return the plate to the other desk, and then sit back in their chair. They stare at me for a few seconds, then in the sweetest voice I have ever heard told me to drink some tea, not forgetting to add that it has been poisoned. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I stare blankly at the teacup in front of me, wondering if they¡¯re stating a fact or if they¡¯re messing with me. I watch as they pour the kettle into their own teacup then pour tea into mine. They place the kettle back down gently and pick up their teacup, drinking tea in an elegant way. I sit there patiently for a second, waiting for any effects to take place that might indicate them being truthful about the apparent poisoning. Either they have been acclimated to this particular poison and are not showing any reaction to it, or they lied, and the tea has not in fact been poisoned. I hesitantly reach for the cup in front of me, bringing it up to my lips. I tip it up at bit, letting the liquid touch my lips. Nothing happens for a bit, and I muster up the courage to open my lips and intake some liquid. I take a small sip, then place the cup back down immediately. I begin to feel nauseous, and the room begins spinning. A sharp pain shoots through me as I try to stand up, stumbling in the process. That was a bad mistake. Why would I trust an Acolyte of Celyn? They are known as the most devious group in the entire world! I stare at the cup of tea, for a few minutes as the world starts spinning slower and slower, and the pain gets duller and duller. After what seems like eternity, the world is still again, and I feel no more pain. Lifting my head to look at the Acolyte, I notice a small smile adorning their face. I have no time to wonder what that means before someone walks into the room. I turn to face them and notice that it¡¯s another Acolyte, this one with a pitch-black cloak. They turn to face me and, with a wide smile, say ¡°Welcome to hell.¡± Burnt Many stories start with action, suspense, something that pulls you in. My story isn''t like that. My story is mundane. I myself am mundane. There is nothing special about me, and yet this story is being made. My childhood was what I consider to be normal. I had a normal amount of school homework, a normal alcoholic father, a normal loving mother. I had a normal bedroom and grew up in a normal house. I had a normal pet dog named Holly, and a normal hyperactive brother named Caleb. Then I grew up. I realised how small my world was, how broken the land I walked on was. I began to see all the physical abuse I suffered from my father, all the mental abuse I suffered from my mother, and all the psychological abuse I suffered from my brother. I grew up. I moved into a college dorm and shared a room with one other. They were absent half the time, and I liked it that way. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. I graduated college with a degree and started job-hunting right away. I soon got a job as a firefighter. I saved a lot of people, I put out a lot of fires, but I never got burnt once, and that is my greatest achievement in life. I climbed the social ladder, reaching higher and higher job positions, using everything I had available, thinking that if I climbed high enough, I could escape. Escape from my father, my mother, my brother, my empty life¡­ I thought I''d escape far enough and fast enough to outrun the fire that was lapping at my heels, threatening to burn me the second I let my guard down. My life was normal, in the end; it was mundane. I don''t regret anything, nor do I feel happy about anything. I believe the best thing I have achieved in life has stayed the same. I have outrun the flames, outlasted the fire. And then I look down at myself, and realise how burnt I really am. The ocean The ocean has many facades. It''s beatiful and disastrous, it''s dangerous and serene. And I could not mirror it more perfectly. I''m the peace-maker, keeping the facade of niceties and friendship. I''m a side-character, off to the side, never seen or heard from. I''m a whisper, silent and far away, soft and easlily broken. I''m a shadow, a refection of everyone else, often forgotten and easily flickering between fully present and barely seen. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. But you do not want to anger me. Tsunamis are not a force you can take on, alone or as a group. And I''m even more dangerous. I''m as dangerous as the deep sea, brave me without preparation and perish. Even if you are prepared, if you dive with an oxygen tank, eventually you will run out of oxygen. But I will not waver. I will not perish. I will be steadfast and I will come out on top. But if you look deeper, you will find serenity within my waters. And you will see all that I am. I just hope you''re not scarred. A normal day in the life of [Redacted] I woke up that morning feeling like today was going to be an awful day. And boy was I right. My mum dragged me all over, stating that we needed to get together more often for ''bonding time''¡­ what a load of BS. I was perfectly fine living by myself somewhere far away from her. I knew I should''ve relocated somewhere without telling her! Anyway, here we were, minding our own business, doing a shopping spree just for the heck of it, when we heard gunshots in the vicinity. I froze in fright, while my mum just clicked her tongue, saying "Do you believe these guys? It should be illegal to play sounds of a gun going off in a mall. Like, seriously! Scaring all of us for no good reason other than a laugh. How immature." What she didn''t know (because she had her back turned while looking at some makeup) was that it wasn''t fake, and the people who shot the gun did not take kindly to my mum mocking them. They sent one person towards us and I feared for my life. My body still didn''t respond to me. I couldn''t move to warn my mum, I couldn''t even make a single sound. I was useless. And I was going to get my mum killed. This was not how my day was meant to go. The person they sent toward us (let''s call him George so he at least has a pseudonym to go by) was now close enough to grab me by the collar of my shirt, and gruffly capture my mum''s arm. George started pulling us towards his group, but my mum apparently hadn''t had enough. She stared mouthing off, convinced that it was me holding her arm captive, and not a terrorist. She hadn''t turned around yet, for some reason, and I could only mutely follow George as he dragged me away. As George pulled harder to get my mum to go, she finally had enough smarts in her to turn around mid-sentence and freeze in fright, her actions finally catching up to her. Now, George wasn''t a particularly scary guy, in fact he was pretty normal-looking for a terrorist, but he had a gun pointed at my mum''s head, which is probably how she got the hint to shut up. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. George finally had two willing puppets to drag over to his leader (who we shall now call Henry, ''cause why not?). Henry had sent out a few other people to round up all the idiots who talked back to the terrorists. So we were herded towards a group of people who were all sitting in one corner, fear evident in their eyes. Henry then used the megaphone he was holding, and turned the volume up to the limit. "To all of you who are hiding, come out within 10 minutes, or else we will be forced to kill these poor souls who had the audacity to talk back to us. If you do not show yourself within the set time, we will kill one person every minute you do not give yourself up as an example of what happens when someone defies us. The countdown starts now." The ten minutes count down excruciatingly quickly, and they are soon forced to line us up in a row. There are around 30 of us in this row, and I''m second in line. The first minute passes in heavy silence, then a loud Bang! resounds around the entire shopping mall. The body next to me slumps to the ground in a weird way. I look at them for a quick peek. I''ve kind of always wanted to know what a dead body looks like, in that sort of morbid way that basically everyone feels. Or most people. I''m sure there are people who have no interest in dead bodies, but I''ve always had a weird interest in them. I''ve just never had the chance to see one (and with good reason). As soon as I register what I am seeing with my own eyes, a minute has passed and a gun is pointed at my head. My mother cannot protest, as her hands and feet have all been tied together in an attempt to make sure she doesn''t move. They also placed duct-tape on her mouth to make sure she can''t talk back. She looks so helpless there, all tied up. A direct contrast to how she was a few hours ago. Her constant need to assert her dominance in all situations had caused me to consider suicide on more than one occasion. Luckily, I didn''t go through with it, because now I can see this amazing sight. I then remember the gun, and look toward my imminent death, pleading, almost begging for it to end me. Now that I''ve seen my mum in that state, there is nothing left for me to do in this world. The barrel of the gun is so close, and the trigger is pressed down lightly, almost enough to shoot the bullet. Just a few more seconds and I''ll have my long-awaited dream. George is the one holding my fate in his hands, and although he had just killed a random stranger a minute ago, he still looks so hesitant. Almost regretful. Huh weird. Anyway, shouldn''t I be dea- Bang! The gun recoils in a telling way. The bullet is shot out of the chamber and flies at me at an incredible speed. It enters my brain and blood showers everywhere. All I can remember before I black out is the sweet relief of freedom. A fractured couple "So, let me get this straight. You went out yesterday at 10pm with the intention of drinking only a few drinks, chatting with some friends, and having a few light snacks." "Yes, That is correct so far." "Ok, so then tell me how, when I woke up today, I see you on the doorstep, dead drunk and with a note from a stranger saying that you had to pay $79 for their ''services''. The note described in detail what those ''services'' were! You literally bought a prostitute for a night! Explain to me how that happened!" "Umm¡­ well-" "No! I don''t want to hear excuses! Damnit, I should''ve questioned you last night when you were more likely to give me better answers." "Well, I''ll willingly tell you if you''d just let me explain!" "AND I''M TELLING YOU I DON''T WANT ANY EXCUSES!" "AND IM TELLING YOU THAT YOU WON''T HEAR A SINGLE EXCUSE FROM ME IF YOU''D JUST LISTEN!" "Well then, your answers, please." "Get rid of that sarcasm and I might be inclined to tell you." This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. "Haaaah, fine¡­ I promise I won''t be sarcastic for the duration of this conversation." "Ok, then please don''t interrupt me when I''m explaining, since it can get quite annoying." "Are you saying that I''m annoying?" "WHAT? No way! I''m not saying you''re annoying! I''d never say that! I''m saying that interruptions are annoying. And we''re getting off track anyway. So yes, I did go out yesterday to get a few drinks with my friends. That part is true. What happened after is what you want to know, right?" "Yes, get on with it." "Getting snappy at me won''t hurry me along, you know. Anyway, at around 11:30 we finished up the drinks and food, and decided to take a walk. A few friends had already left at that point, so it was just me and two others. So, we were walking aimlessly on the streets when one of my buddies pointed to somewhere they wanted to go, and we had no reason to refuse. The only thing he forgot to mention was that it was a place for prostitutes to hang out." "Hah! So I WAS right! It WAS a prostitute! And you CHEATED on me! With a freaking PROSTITUTE!" "No, I didn''t. Just hear me out, without interrupting me, PLEASE!" "Fine¡­ No more interruptions from me." "SO, when I found out that there were prostitutes there, I immediately turned heel and left. YOU''RE WELCOME. But my friends didn''t follow me, and so I just left them there after trying for 10 minutes to persuade them to leave. I went to grab a taxi, but noticed that I didn''t bring enough money with me, so I was left walking the streets. Henry showed up out of nowhere suddenly, and invited me to go drink, and who was I to refuse?" "HENRY showed up? Yeah, ok, I can see where this is going. So he got you drunk, got an ''escort'' to take you home, and they left a suspicious note because Henry seems to like trying to break us up." "Umm¡­ you got most of that correct." "Well, what did I get INCORRECT? Hmm?" "Well, umm, I actually did sleep with them¡­" "YOU DID WHAT?" A news report "Hello and welcome to Early Rise News, where we give you all up-to-date news the second it happens. "Now, I''m sure all of you have heard of the terrorist group currently in Cerryt mall. But, have you heard of the latest news on it yet? I assume you haven''t, so I''ll bring you up to speed. "Cerryt mall has seen unprecedented levels of bloodshed today, as more than one hundred people were lined up and shot every minute. The police are on the scene currently and have already taken the terrorists down. Yay! Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. "They are transferring the shot victims to the hospital to see if any can be saved right now, and the other survivors are being escorted elsewhere currently. The number of casualties is currently unknown, but is expected to be close to a hundred. "In other news, there seems to be a flood heading straight to the medical center right now, so traffic might be congested there for the foreseeable future. "That''s all from me, but I''ll see you soon for more up-to-date news in a few hours. Bye!" An odd prison Where¡­ am I? Am I in space? No, that''s not quite right. Space wouldn''t feel this warm. Or this¡­ hard? No, that''s not quite the right word. There''s like this hard wall surrounding me. But I feel squishy¡­ And slimy¡­ Which is odd. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Is this a prison? What a weird prison! Wait, surely there''s an exit, right? I KNOW that there''s an entrance. I came through it! So there must be an exit, right? Where is it? Wait¡­ first of all, what am I? I kinda feel like a cylinder with a round top. And made of metal. What a weird body to have. Anyway, where''s this elusive exit? Oh! It''s over there! Near the light! Two metal sticks are coming closer, through the light! Yes! Freedom! Into the light! And¡­ placed on a tray? ¡­ Anyway, what a weird prison I was in! Turns out the prison was surrounded by a jungle of short¡­ I''m not sure what to call it. But it''s black and short and there''s many of them. And it''s thin and covers almost everything on the weird monster. Wait, should I call it a monster? It looks kinda disfigured, not sleek and awesome like my metal body! It''s covered in flesh with a center where everything protrudes from. There are four long protrusions and one short, round one where my prison was. What a weird prison indeed. a mysterious all-knowing object that hates grammar it floats through space calmly not really fast but not really slow it catches glimpses of different times from different perspectives it looks at the first one it is shown a lot of people kneeling in a row one of the people falls to the ground while a loud sound is played the person has red water coming out of their head that does not look good oh well it looks at the scene after that where it is shown lots of people being placed in moving tin cans with flashing lights and loud noises and moving towards a building marked hospital it seems like the people were killed by a metal tool used by cowards it is very loud and very painful it knows since it has experienced it itself once not a pleasant evening to say the least The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. it looks at the next one it is shown a scene of a couple angrily yelling at each other before getting tired and hugging maybe they put aside their differences and solved the disagreement or something well it was not its problem it just likes to see scenes like this it doesnt have any reaction only slight amusement the scene after that it is shown is a whole lot of water heading towards the building it just saw it redirects the huge mass to head elsewhere saving the people who were just nearly killed the next scene it is shown at this moment is inside the building it just saved is sees a bullet being pulled out of someones brain it also observes the bullets thoughts as well and finds them very funny the last scene it is shown for now is the same person the bullet was pulled out of the person was on a bed of sorts before they sat up abruptly and said something terribly amusing "Shoot, it failed!" An angel He sat in a chair, staring blankly at the wall. He was procrastinating, and he knew it. He should start soon, but he wasn¡¯t all that pressed to do so. The project he was meant to do had a deadline of next week on Friday. Quite far away, making the pressure he feels to complete it almost non-existent. So he sat, and procrastinated. And waited and waited. And soon, he could wait no more. He had to start. But he was so, so far behind. He panicked and fretted. And fretted some more. He started to outsource, asking friends and classmates. But all rejected helping him. All except one. An angel, or at least a look-alike. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. It was a blessing, having someone to help him. And he was ever thankful. He did eventually hand in his finished project, but it was all thanks to the help he recieved. He started repaying his helper immediately. He started by doing miscelaneous tasks that his helper would feel annoyed to do. Then, he started making meals for them. By then, years had passed, but he was still ever thankful. He took every chance he could get to repay the kind person. He strove to help him in ways that might not be percieved. But eventually he recieved a shock. His benefactor didn¡¯t want his help any more. He wallowed for days on end, but his sorrow didn¡¯t shrink. He tried to acertain what he did wrong, but was only met with deaf ears. He asked friends and co-workers, but they all shook their heads in pity at him. He fretted and panicked, but no answer made itself known. It was a disaster. His reason for living, gone. Disapeared in one moment, distroyed beyond repair. And so he wallowed for days on end. But then, as if in a change of mind, an angel made itself know, or at least a look-alike. The angel showed him what he had done wrong, and he took its advice to heart. He strove to fix this misunderstanding, and to become once more the helper to his benefactor, his first benefactor. And in just a few stress-inducing months of apologies, all that was misunderstood is now clear. And so he once more became able to help the one who helped him, all those years ago. And he is ever thankful. A lifeless world A lone woman stood in a desolate field. Charred ruins sat on the horizon, and thick smoke filled the air, choking all life. The woman was still. Too still. Around her sat bionic animals, staring up at her with teary eyes. The animals were desperately trying to wake her up. The animals started to close in on the woman, pawing at her and eerily calling to her. The movement of the animals was odd. They were twitching every 2.18 seconds, and their movements were methodical, as if they didn''t instinctively know how to move, as if they had to learn manually, methodically. Their eyes glowed brightly in the thick smoke, shining with a sheen of artificial tears. Their fur was matted and dull, with an indescribable, unconvincing look to it. It practically radiated ''fake''. The animals, still trying to get a reaction out of the comatose woman, started glitching in an ominous way, foretelling what was to come. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. The woman, as if reacting to the glitching animals, moved for the first time in centuries. She gradually became aware of her surroundings, and looked around in despair at the dull scenery around her, though she couldn''t see much anyway. Her eyes wandered, glancing around periodically; she fell further in to depression. All her hard work, all her sacrifices. For nothing! She had not yet noticed the bionic animals at her feet, who were celebrating her reanimation. Each was crudely modelled after an extinct animal. Abruptly, the animal modelled after a dog let out a noise akin to a bark, attracting the woman''s attention. She looked down at the animals, and, for the first time, realised they were there. One thing -- One remnant -- One piece of her work survived. Her eyes teared up, and, overcome with emotion, she crouched down and embraced the closest animal to her, feeling its synthetic fur and petting its artificial hide. The woman knew these were the last animals alive. The woman, however, did not care. She was too busy celebrating the fact that they exist in the first place, completely ignorant to their periodically twitching and glitching bodies, and their pleading eyes, begging for death. Eventually, though, even the most ignorant must face the truth, and the woman noticed the unnatural movement of the animals, and the sparks flying off them every 2.18 seconds. She cried again, this time mourning the lives of these fake animals; mourning their short lives and lost meaning. For what is the meaning of life when everything is dead? A choice Every year, on the first day, at the first minute of the first hour, 1 thousand people are chosen at random to make the ultimate choice. These thousand people all come from the slums, and all have backward morals. But this story is not about those people who lie and steal to live; no, this story is about a na?ve young boy who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. His name was Alex. He grew up in the worst part of the slums, yet still sees the light in the suffocating darkness. He was too pure for the world. ©­©¬???©¬©­©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¨T©¥©¬©¥¨T©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©­©¬???©¬©­ Alex woke up with a start, blinking blearily and looking around dazedly. He had no idea where he was, or even how he got there. Around him slept many other people. Too many to count. Not that he could count anyway, but he liked to think that there were too many to count. He sat up and tried to look around, trying to find out where he was. There were no walls he could see, and it was pitch black. The only light illuminating the area were the floating torches, lit and too high to touch. It slowly dawned on him that he couldn''t see his mother anywhere, and his sister was nowhere to be seen. He was all alone. He had to hold hope. Maybe they were just really far away? Maybe¡­ maybe they were as lost as he was? Maybe they were at home, wondering where he was? Or maybe, just maybe, they were dea-- NO. No sad thoughts. He had to stay happy. Upbeat. Someone in their family had to, and he had taken on the role after the others didn''t want to. So¡­ what now? Should he start wandering in a random direction? But he''d get lost that way! So he should stay put. Yes! Stay put! Don''t wander! Just like his mum told him to! So he waits patiently. And even more patiently. And even more patiently. Until- A light! A light that isn''t a torch! It''s coming closer! What should he do? Should he run? This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. But it doesn''t look scary. In fact, it looks¡­ almost lonely. Aww. Someone needs some hugs and cheerful compliments! Alex decided to wait patiently for the light to come closer, because he was told to stay where he was when he was lost and to not move a muscle. He trusted his mum to not lead him astray. So he waited patiently for the light to come closer. He did not wait long, and as the light drew closer, it began to take the shape of a person. This person had smooth, silky white wings on his back. They look heavy. His back must be in a lot of pain. As the person drew even closer, Alex saw that they were floating. How odd. He didn¡¯t think that people have learnt how to float yet. Alex wants to float as well! It looks so fun! The person stopped around a meter away from Alex, not that he knew how far a meter was, but he liked to think it was that far. It made for interesting stories. The person started talking in a calming tone, making Alex drowsy. But Alex wasn''t about to be rude to the person and fall asleep! He would never live down the same of that! So he pushed through, and listened to the person as they talked. The person held two chalices, both filled with liquid. The left one was filled with a clear, bright white liquid, while the other was filled with a murky, dark black liquid. The person offered him both chalices and said to only drink one. "Are you going to drink the one I don''t take?" The person nodded at Alex''s innocent question, and gestured to the chalices again, inviting him to take one. Alex took the chalice with the murky black liquid, leaving the white liquid for the person. He smiled and drank all of the liquid in his cup, and waited patiently as the person drank from their chalice. Beaming with happiness as the person finished drinking, he suddenly felt nauseous. He slapped a hand over his mouth and tried to seem normal to the person. He didn''t want to look like he didn¡¯t enjoy the gift he was given. The person, on the other hand, shined brighter, almost bright enough to blind someone, but not quite. Soon, Alex''s world was spinning and he felt even more tired and exhausted and lethargic. He didn''t like that he was feeling that way, but still tried to seem normal and happy, intent on making it look like he was happy and bright. It did not last long. He soon dropped to the ground, asleep. The person looked calmly down at him, smiling slightly and asked a single question to the unresponsive Alex. "Do you regret it?" Though the person received no reply, they were satisfied at the answer they got. The person turned and left, leaving the unconscious Alex lying with the other thousand people. Soon, the loop repeated itself, with some people waking up and running away instantly, only to find a looming wall, an inescapable prison and a creepy person with grey wings, and others who started trying to loot the other unconscious people, aiming to get as much money as they could. They met a very angry person with black wings. In the end, the result of the choices these people made were predictable. They all chose to drink from the white cup, leaving the black cup for the person. ©­©¬???©¬©­©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤¨T©¥©¬©¥¨T©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©¤©­©¬???©¬©­ Alex woke up with a start, blinking blearily and looking around dazedly. He was in his bed at home, and he was ever grateful. He stood up instantly, experiencing a short wave of vertigo before running to find his family and hug them for a long time. He never wanted to get lost again. Ever again. A week after he drank from the black chalice, a knock came on the door of his house. He scrambled to the door, hoping to keep the person at the door waiting for the shortest time possible. He opened to door to find a whole entourage of people, all wearing the distinctive white robes that belong to those who reside in the Heavenly Realm. They offered him a place in Heaven, but he refused apologetically, saying that he wanted to stay with his family, if that was alright with them. They accepted, and said that they always had a place for him in Heaven, should he want it. Alex was perplexed. Why would they offer him a place in heaven? He had done nothing of note in his short life of 14 years. He explained to them that surely there were other people more deserving of this gift than him. He¡­ he was nobody of worth. He had done nothing to warrant this kind of offer. But they obstinately refused, saying that out of everyone, he was the one most deserving of this gift. And Alex¡­ well, Alex still wanted to stay with his family. And they were alright with that. They always had a place for him in Heaven, should he want it. They left without warning, there one second and gone the next. Leaving only a small chalice on the ground as proof of their visit. Within the tears of love It was a sunny morning when Evelyn went outside to hang up the family¡¯s laundry on the clothesline. She took her basket full of clothes out to her backyard and started pegging them on to the clothesline. The air had a fresh crisp smell to it that reinvigorated her old and cranky 46-year-old body. The atmosphere was so calming that she was afraid that it could be disturbed by even a rustling leaf. Pegging up the clothes didn¡¯t take that long, as she only had a few sets to hang up, and she was pretty quick at it because she had decades of experience. She went inside to return the basket and remembered that the post office was getting a load of letters today. She was planning on going as she was hoping that she would receive a letter from her sons. It had been a long time since she had seen them, and she was missing them dearly. Two of her precious sons had been sent off to war, leaving only her husband, her daughter, and her home alone. Her husband would¡¯ve gone to war, if not for him being too old to serve. She was glad for that fact, as she didn¡¯t want to lose another person. ¡°Henry, dear, I¡¯m going to the post office to see if our sons sent us some letters. Do you need anything while I¡¯m out?¡± Evelyn asked her husband. Henry just shook his head and replied in the negative. Evelyn had just arrived outside the post office when she spotted a long-time friend of hers. She called out to her, shouting ¡°Marjorie! Hello!¡± and got her attention. Marjorie just gave her a glance and hurried over the second she recognised who it was. ¡°Evelyn! Fancy seeing you here! Here to get some letters from your boys?¡± Evelyn nodded and replied with enthusiasm. ¡°Yes! I also hope they got the care package I sent. It should remind them of home a little bit. I sent a few clothes I made myself, and some delicious cookies! I hope my boys enjoyed them, as I made them with all my love!¡± ¡°Oh my! All your love you say! That¡¯s horrifying! Does that mean you have no more love to give them? Wouldn¡¯t that make you heartless!¡± Marjorie joked in response. Evelyn only laughed and waved her off, saying that if she only had such a small amount of love, then she¡¯d have run out long ago! She shook her head, smiling, and then gave a ¡°Goodbye!¡± to Marjorie, and went inside the post office. She looked around for a second, before heading to the ¡®package receival¡¯ line, and waiting. It would take a while, as letters from the war would only come once a month, and that was only if someone sent a letter! She had waited for nearly half an hour before being the first person in line. ¡°Hello! Do you have any letters addressed to the Cooper or Caporn family?¡± Evelyn asked the person behind the counter. The clerk nodded and headed to check the letters piled up on the desk. Evelyn marvelled at the fact that such a large number of letters could pile up like a mountain on such a small desk, and yet not fall down no matter what. She thought it was simply amazing! The clerk eventually came back with a letter in their hand, saying it was addressed to one ¡°Mr. Henry Charles Cooper of Hector Street, Osborne Park,¡±. Evelyn nodded and confirmed that that was her husband, and their current place of residence and paid the small fee. She took the letter and walked out of the post office, heading home with a smile on her lips, and a spring in her walk. She didn¡¯t want to open the letter with no-one else in her family present, as she thought that would be unfair. When she reached her home, she barged inside and sang ¡°I¡¯m home! And with a letter from the post office! Everyone, come! We must open it together!¡± Her husband and daughter each came from different rooms and sat at the dining table to hear her read the letter out loud. Evelyn sat at the head of the table, opened the letter, and started reading. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Mr. H.C. Cooper, Hector Street, Osborne Park, W.A Dear Sir, we regret to inform you that, in December, No. 3382 Private J. W. B. Cooper of the 48th Battalion has been reported as¡­ Missing in Action¡­ in the Battle of Pozieres¡­ on August 7th¡­ What? What does that mean!? Is my son dead!? Why? NO! This can¡¯t happen! Not to me!¡± Evelyn¡¯s outburst shocked everyone at the table. She started choking up and pausing in between words, almost to the point of hysteria, as she read the letter, but persisted, nonetheless. ¡°We have recently found his body¡­ and shall find a suitable place to mark¡­ as his grave shortly. ¡­ We are terribly sorry for any inconvenience¡­ or problems¡­ this¡­ death¡­ may¡­ c- carry, b- but¡­ w- w- we a- a- a- are unfortu- un- unfortunate- unfortunately¡ª I can¡¯t do it! I can¡¯t read this letter! I hate it!¡± By this point, Evelyn was sobbing uncontrollably, her tears falling fast. She had already flung the letter away in anger and sorrow. Her husband and daughter got up from their chairs, both crying, and comforted Evelyn. Her tears eventually slowed down so that she could read the rest of the letter, but at this point she was afraid to read more. She took a large breath in, and let it our slowly, forcing herself to pick up the letter and continue. ¡°We are unfortunately unable¡­ t- to bring any h- help a- at this time. W- We apologise for¡­ any troubles¡­ this m- may c- cause¡­ you. It is the practice of the Commission¡­ to notify r- relatives direct¡­ when the headstones are f- finally¡­ in position, and at a later date¡­ the opportunity will be afforded you¡­ of obtaining¡­ a copy of the printed Register containing¡­ full particulars¡­ of all British and Dominion War Graves¡­ in the Cemetery¡­ of his residence. Yours Faithfully, Captain, Officer i/c Base Records¡± When Evelyn finished reading the letter, she sat there on her chair quietly, not making a sound. Her husband tried to get her attention after a minute of unresponsiveness. His attempts didn¡¯t work a single bit. After he tried for a few minutes, his daughter tried to help him, but her attempts were as fruitful as her father¡¯s. They both looked at each other, shaking their heads. Henry suggested that maybe the death of her son was affecting her this way, making her unresponsive. It was the best answer they had, and it was the only one they would get. At the start, Evelyn only responding to a few words, if only a little bit. She would eat and drink when force-fed and would go to the toilet and sleep on command, but other than that she was a lifeless husk. After a few months, she started attempting housework, and the family was enormously grateful that she was a bit more lifelike. Her friends and people who cared for her sometimes popped in to check on her but didn¡¯t stay long as they had other things to do. Slowly, a year passed. It was now the September of 1917. It was a normal day in the Cooper household, when suddenly, Evelyn started sobbing uncontrollably. She started having a breakdown, crying loudly. She was on the ground in the foetal position and showed no signs of stopping any time soon. It took a few hours to calm her down, by which point she was already apologising profusely to her husband and daughter. She explained that losing her son felt like losing half of herself, half of her identity, and she couldn¡¯t take the fact that an important person in her life just died suddenly. Without warning. It shocked had her to her core. And so, she went in a downward spiral trying to convince herself that he was still alive. It took her a year to finally face the brutal reality of the truth. Her son was gone. And she could do nothing about it. After that, she went back to doing the chores with a renewed light about her. She would hum as she did so, but once in a while, her husband or daughter would catch her looking into the distance with a blank look in her eyes. When they called her out on it, she would snap out of it and deny that it was actually happening. But they knew that the death of her son left a permanent scar on her, just one they couldn¡¯t see. They tried helping her in any way they could, to no avail. Every once in a while, she would smile at them for no apparent reason, and they would realise that their support did help, if on an unseen level. They were satisfied with that for now, but they wanted to help her more. One morning, Evelyn was pegging up the laundry, when she looked up to the sky and smiled. She saw a shooting star cut across the sky. She knew that it was her son, saying to her that he was happy and safe and healthy. She was immensely happy and wept on the spot. After that day, she came outside more often to watch the sky. She didn¡¯t find anything. But she was satisfied with knowing her son was happy, wherever he was now. And so the war marches on. Into the light I stood in awe, staring up at the mansion, the glittering, glowing mansion. I had just turned 16 yesterday, and was given one day''s grace before I had to take this test. A test that some don''t complete alive. The test I am about to take was one of many, one designed for me; for only me. As I gaped in awe at the mansion''s grandeur, at it''s intricately woven design that seemed to flow and breathe, a woman came up to me and ushered me inside, saying only one riddle-like sentence before departing and locking me inside the house; :See you on the other side." The lock clicked shut loudly, leaving only the eerily quiet house to comfort me. I was standing in the most grandiose foyer I had ever seen! It had a chandelier and beautifully placed light shining in and illuminating the inside and leaving nowhere for shadows to lurk and hide. It was hell. Were was the mystery? The intrigue? The horror? Only shadows could manifest that, but they''ve all gone; departed - never to be seen again. I couldn''t see any furniture, the only thing adorning the mansion was light. To my left and right (a little further down the foyer as well) were stairs. Winding, twisting, turning stairs. Each set of stairs had a sign hanging from the ceiling in front of it. I walked towards the stairs and look up, trying to see where they lead, and found nothing. Well, not nothing, but something akin to that. The sign that read ''Into the light'' had a blinding light at the top of the stairs, and the sign that had ''Embrace the darkness'' lead to a pitch black room. Which set of stairs I was going to choose should be obvious. I chose the left set of stairs - the stairs that lead to darkness. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. When I reached the top, something odd happened to the previously blank walls. Lines began to appear. They wove in and out of each other, creating spiral patterns and intricate pictures. But they looked incomplete. I looked around at the room I stood in, and found two more identical sets of stairs. Winding, twisting, turning stairs. I strode up the left set immediately, wanting to get this test done quickly. As I reached the top, the markings on the wall moved again, creating an even more intricately woven pattern of swirls and vines. It was breathtaking. But then I noticed something. Something ominous. I found a small picture of me running into the darkness, becoming more monstrous as I drew closer until suddenly- Red Red was all that adorned the walls. I knew what the walls were alluding to. The walls were telling me to pick the other path. The right path. The paths filled with light. They were telling me to give up all that made me, me! The darkness was all I had. It was all I was. It was all I was ever going to be. So I chose to believe in myself when I feel more comfort in the dark than in the light. I choose to believe that darkness is truth. Up multiple flights of winding, twisting, turning stairs I went, all of them leading to darkness, to calmness. Each flight I went up, the walls reacted to, creating more grotesque and inhuman monstrosities as I went, painting the walls in red. I chose to stay true to me. So, when that final flight of stairs came, I didn''t waver. I know who I am and I am proud of my choices. And so I stepped. In. To. The. Light! Immediately blinded, I shielded my eyes, trying to block the light. But it shone too brightly. It was a glittering, glowing, blinding light. One that would destroy the shadows that shield me. One by one, my shadows were peeled back, exposing me and all that I was hiding. A radiant core shone from inside me, completely dwarfing the light that blinded me. And it showed what I really am. A hideous, horrendous monster that fed on darkness to shine. I was part of the problem! I was what this test was trying to get rid of! I¡­ was obsolete¡­ I have no purpose other than to consume. I knew nothing else but hunger. Deep, primal hunger. So I gorged myself, and eventually I made it out. Out of this accursed place. Out of this blinding prison. Out of the mansion. A woman was waiting for me, with a smile on her lips. "So, you have decided to embrace darkness. Can''t say I blame you, but that wasn''t that choice I would have made. I wasn''t the choice I did make." She stood there, smiling almost pitifully, carrying a flashlight. She shined it my way, and I began to writhe in agony. How was this pitifully small flashlight doing more damage than the blinding light? How was-- Was my choice wring? Am I truly meant to walk in the light? Is darkness truly evil? Am I going to die? No! No! I refuse to die! Darkness will prevail! DARKNESS WILL TRIUMPH! And then everything went black. Uprising "Hey, do you think this will work?" This innocent question my friend asked me was only answered with silence. Deafening silence. I wasn''t sure how to answer him. I wasn''t entirely sure it would work either. But I''d grown tired of having my life dictated by someone who doesn''t know me. Someone who probably doesn''t even know I exist. So, to answer his question; "It has to," It truly, truly has to. "Well that''s not much of an answer!" I smile weakly at his complaint, looking down quickly. "It''s the only answer I can give you, Ezra," His outraged cry weighed heavily on my heart. His life, his future, his family, it all rested on this half-baked plan I concocted, so it had to work. "Rowan," he whimpered, "Please, please give me a straight answer! Don¡¯t do this to me again! You always do this. You shut me out. Please, please, please let me in. Please tell me the truth!" I inhale sharply, slowly looking up at him. What a mistake that was. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. His bright blue, innocent eyes stare down at me, pleading for the truth. "It¡­ It might not work. It probably won''t. I''m sorry" I whisper. I hate how I can never resist those eyes. And I hate how he hugs me every time. It''s so warm and forgiving. It''s too kind. He''s too kind. I let out a shuddering breath, then stand up and out of his arms. I turn around to face him and hold out a hand. He knows what I want. He hesitantly hands over one of his earrings, but hesitates before dropping it in to my palm. The second it hits my skin, I quickly place it in my ear and then disappear from his view. "Rowan," he murmurs, "We don¡¯t have to do this. We can turn back. We can forget about this. We can--" "No." I interrupt, "We started this, so we have to see it through. I''m sorry" Pain flashes through his blue eyes, "You have nothing to be sorry for," I look away and then say coldly, "Let''s go,". I know that if I look back then I''ll never go through with it. And I need to go through with it. For him. For us. For me. So I start walking, and I keep walking. I walk until my legs hurt and can walk no longer. I''ve walked to the Illuminated Palace. I waltz inside, bypassing all security and leaving none the wiser. I''ve always been great at going unnoticed. To any and all but him. Focus! Stay on target. I make my way to the throne room, where I know the emperor will be. The grand doors to the throne room swing open easily and quietly. Before me is a grand view, with gold and purple highlights and a white undertone. A red carpet leads up to the throne in which the emperor sits. I stroll up to him, unnoticed by all of his vassals and lords. I reach the throne, stopping a few feet before it, staring in to the emperor''s unforgiving eyes. I slip my hand in to the largest hidden pocket of my pants, and bring out a dagger. Then I plunge it in to the emperor''s heart. This is for all the people you''ve hurt and killed during your reign. This is for all of them and more. Sunshine ''Keep your face to the Sunshine and you cannot see a Shadow'' I repeated that motto over and over, trying to avert my eyes to the sight before me. Instead, I turned to my mum and asked, for the nth time; "Why are we not helping those Shadows over there?" Instantly, hundreds of eyes turned my way, like always, their stares piercing and murderous. Mum turned to look at me, and I squeezed her hand in impatience. She let out a big sigh and said "You do remember the motto, right?" "Yep!" I saide proudly, "Keep your face to the Sunshine and you cannot see a Shadow! But what does that have to do with the people over there, sitting on the side of the streets? They look hungry. And sad. We should go cheer them up! They look like they need a hug. And I''m a great hugger!" I beamed with exuberance at my answer, sure that it was correct one. Only, mum''s face didn''t switch to a proud look, it only got more gloomy. Gloomy people are bad. Gloomy people needed hugs. And I''m a great hugger! I hugged mum tightly, then lookd up at her and tilted my head in a way that expected an answer. She got paler by the second, probably because of all those people staring at us. Why are they staring at us? Had we done something wrong? This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it I thought it was perfectly normal to take a stroll down the street, mother-and-daughter-bonding style. I looked at them back then said, in perfect acuity, "It''s rude to stare. Don''t stare at us!" Some people looked away guiltily, most of them just stared harder. I stared at them back, keen to give them a taste of their own medicine. Their stares turned deathly chilly. Yeesh. What had I done to warrant such treatment? I racked my brain for answers, then something caught me eye. Oh yeah! The starving people! "Hey muuuuum! Hey mum! Mum! MUM!" All I got back was a silence-inducing stare. "What." That sentence alone got me really, really, really scared. I don''t like mum when she''s like this. She''s scary. "I- I was j- just wondering why we ig- ignore the.. The umm.. The poor people. The people on the side of the streets. They look like they need lots of hugs. And I''m a great hugger! We should go hug them." More stares. Angry stares. Stares that made me uncomfortable. "They¡¯re the Shadows, Katie. And you know how we deal with Shadows, don''t you?" Mum''s question got me racking my brain. Then I remembered the motto. "Oh, right! Keep your face to the Sunshine and you cannot see a Shadow! Are they the Shadows? Does that mean we ignore them? Why? They look lonely! And in great need of a hug!" "Do you want to end up like them?" Hmm¡­ I thought about that for a moment. "Nope!" "Then ignore them." "But whyyyyyyyy?" I whined. "Because that''s the way the world works." I pouted in anger, then, in a burst of defiance, let go of mum''s hand and raced towards the people, ignoring mum''s desperate cries to come back. I scrambled over to the Divide. The line that marked us different. Us sunshine. Them Shadow. I hesitated a second, contemplating seriously. Was I really about to do this? Yes. Yes I was. They looked like they needed hugs really badly. I stepped over the Divide, and walked through the filthy ground. Onward to the Shadows! Stars The stars twinkle above, dancing with fiery poise. They seem to mock me, belittling my efforts, ignoring all I''ve done in favour of looking at the results. The pitiful results. I''m not proud of where I am, but I''m proud of how I got here. The only downside to my predicament is that they don''t seem to care at all of the journey, only the destination. It takes all my being not to yell at them, not to scream at them. At the unfairness. The unbalanced scales. All of my work, all of my effort; gone. Gone with the simple fact that life is unfair. Stolen novel; please report. I hate how this world makes me want to hurl, how it makes me want to scream and cry and throw a tantrum. I hate how I want it to burn, how I want it to feel my pain. But the simple truth of life is that it is unfair. So, here I am. Standing outside a wooden shack in the middle of nowhere. With nothing but the clothes I''m wearing and a backpack full of notes. Full of my dreams. Full of my hopes. Full of my wishes and desires and ambitions. Full of nothing but the aspirations of someone society discarded easily and without remorse. I worked hard my whole life, but the second I step out of line, I get kicked out. Thrown out and forgotten. Now I''m forging my own path. One they can''t follow. One they can''t learn. One they can''t have. One that is entirely mine. All mine. The Eternal Dream In a city in the centre of the world, an odd illness is spreading. They call it the Eternal Dream. People are going to bed at night and never waking up. They aren''t dead, and they''re not in a coma; they''re just dreaming. Escaping reality. Living in fantasy. Eternally. It''s been a few weeks since the first patient popped up. Gave everyone a fright! I bet their parents and family were worried sick! Except¡­ apparently they had none. No friends, no family, no grandparents, they didn''t even have a partner to confide in. I guess they were just too lonely. So lonely that they decided to go to sleep and never wake up. Doctors expected them to wake up within the first 24 hours, confident that no-one could sleep that long without being a coma patient. Except they didn''t wake up. They just kept lying in their beds, comfortable enough to sleep forever, determined to ignore all responsibilities placed upon them. I wish I could do that. Ignore all my responsibilities, I mean. That would be great! No more deadlines to meet, friends to see, clients to appease. Nothing. Only me and my dreams, floating freely through space, ignoring everything and everyone. Content to dream forever. That would be my version of heaven. Except I''m awake, drowning in responsibility, barely able to stay afloat. I wish I could be like the first patient, or even one of the many that came after them, but I can''t. I know why I can''t I have too many people surrounding me to be truly lonely. And that''s what all the other patients had in common, a loneliness so deep that nothing could fill it. I''m not like them, I will probably never be like them. But I want to be. I want to be so lonely that I could give up on this world without a second thought or worrying about the people I left behind. But I''m not lonely, I''m surrounded by people every single day, flocking to me like their lives depend on it. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. So I''m not lonely. Not truly. How could I be? How could my loneliness compare to that of the patients? How could my loneliness be deep enough to fall into an Eternal Dream? How could it? It can''t. That''s a fact. It could never be deep and desperate enough for me to give up on this world, no matter how much I wish it could. But that''s nothing new. Even before the Eternal Dream came along, I knew I was lonely. But I wasn''t lonely enough to give up on the world. Not just yet. I still have many things to do, projects to complete friends to meet. So I can''t give up, not yet, not truly. How could I ever give up when I have so many people depending on me? So many people demanding my help. I''m tired of them. Tired of their whining and complaining. Is this how the first patient felt? Unsatisfied with their life? Wishing for more, dreaming for more? I wish I could Dream Eternally. Join their ranks. Sleep alongside them, dreaming of everything and nothing. Feeling fulfilled. But I''m not lonely enough to succumb to the Eternal Dream. Not until I finish everything and am left feeling tired and lonely. More than I currently am. And I''m not lonely, not truly. How could I be? I''m surrounded by people. I could never be lonely. Not truly. Not ever. They still need me, and I still need them. If I give up, they''ll need to fend for themselves, and I can''t subject them to that! What if something happens to them? What happens to me? Will I ever be guilt-free? Able to sleep without worrying about others? Able to forget my worries and sleep forever? Will I ever be able to do that? I hope so, but I doubt it. I''m surrounded by too many people vying for my attention to be able to go to sleep and dream forever. I wish I could have the Eternal Dream. Then I could escape everything. But I know that will never happen. I''m not lonely enough. Maybe when I''m old and grey will they allow me to succumb. Assuming I''ve lived that long. Assuming I''ve helped a lot of people. Assuming nothing went wring along the way. Maybe, just maybe, I might be able to get a good nights'' sleep then. And maybe I''ll Dream Eternally. Maybe I''ll be lonely then. Lonelier than I am now. Maybe I''ll find peace. But that''s all just a dream. And dreams will stay just that; dreams. Never interfering in life and staying just out of reach. Teasing me and taunting me with their existence. Goading me into thinking that I might achieve them. But I know they''re just dreams. I know they''re unattainable. But it doesn''t stop me from dreaming, from wishing, from hoping. They stop me from feeling lonely. Because I can never be lonely. Not truly. I''m surrounded by too many people. The Green Tree The green tree seemed different today; something was off. It wasn''t something obvious, but a subtle difference that would not be noticed if you hadn''t walked through here every day on repeat. I noticed it, but others did not. That was a fatal mistake. For them, I mean. Not for me. Never for me. I always notice things. Sometimes I believe it to be my blessing, other times it''s my curse. The green tree seemed different today; it seemed too green. It must be a happy day for it, but it shouldn''t be this green. It''s a vibrant green; too vibrant. Too bright, too upbeat. It must be faking it. I wish there was something I could do, but my job is to just notice things, not to fix them. That''s my friend''s job. The friend I hate. The green tree seemed different today; I guess I was too late. Just like last time. Too late. Always too late. Always lagging behind. Always the last one. Always too late to warn the others; too late to alert them of the dangers ahead. The green tree seemed different today; it seemed like it had been stabbed one too many times. It had always looked like that, but today it had one too many marks. I wonder why. Maybe it was that gentleman over there. Maybe I should go ask him. Maybe I should have asked him politely. Maybe I should run away. Asking did him did not have a positive result. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Maybe I''m too forward with my words. Maybe I''m too insensitive. Maybe I notice too many things. The green tree seemed different today; it was disfigured and deformed beyond repair. It seems like the man from yesterday damaged it even more. I wonder why. Why would he harm a tree like this? And why this specific one? What''s so special about this one? Does this have any relation to me? Is it mangled because I love this tree? The green tree seemed different today; now it had burn marks on it. I wonder why no-one else notices this. It seems pretty obvious to me. But maybe it''s because of my blessing. Maybe it''s because of my curse. Maybe it''s just because of who I am. The green tree seemed different a while ago; it was healthier, fitter, mightier¡­ and now it''s not. I wonder why it changed. I wonder what happened. I wonder if that man said something to it. I hope he didn''t. This tree has a very fragile ego. Or was it because of something else? Was it all the people walking to and fro, not taking notice, ignoring everything save for themselves? Or was it me, and my cursed sight? Was it me, with my blessed sight? Or was it the tree itself, inwardly cursing itself because it can only sit there and watch as everything goes on without it. Leaving it there to sit and stare. To watch forever more. Maybe it was everything. Maybe it was nothing at all. The green tree seemed different today; it wasn''t alone. It seems my best friend dropped by today. The one I used to hate. The one I now like. The one I can never love. My best friend. My only friend. They seem like they''re able to cheer up the tree a bit. It no longer looks as damaged. I wish I could help. But I''m useless. Delegated to a measly observer, cursed to see everything but never help. Always on the side-lines. Always too late to alert people to what''s actually happening. The green tree seemed different today; it seemed lonely again. My friend has gone, and with their disappearance they took the tree''s happiness. The tree''s solace. The tree''s one bright spark in this dark world. At least the man hasn''t come by again. I wouldn''t be able to do anything even if he did. I''d be powerless. Helpless. Incapable of aiding. Unable to do anything but watch as the man ruins the tree even more. Maybe it''s better if I stay away. I''m no help anyway. So maybe I should disappear. The green tree seemed different today; it was no longer green. It seemed a little blue. Or maybe orange. Perhaps it had a little purple to it. Maybe my disappearance was the cause of this. I haven''t seen the tree in over a week. I knew I shouldn''t have left. The tree seemed different today; it seem scared. The man and my best friend are fighting below. They''re in a heated argument. Maybe a bit too heated. I wish I could break them up. Tell them that their fight is scaring the tree. But I know I can''t. I''m simply not able to. So I''m delegated to a spectator. An observer. Unable to coax the tree. Unable to break up the fight. Unable to do anything but watch. I truly am cursed. The tree seemed different today; it seemed stronger. It seems like my best friend and that man have finally stopped fighting. It seems like they''ve come to an agreement. I think my best friend won. I''m thankful for that. It means that that man will no longer bother the tree. He''ll never come back. The green tree seems different today; it''s in perfect condition. I like it like this. I hope it stays this way.