《Tyizor's Shorts (and Poems)》 Prison Break (IFP) In the corner of the grey room lit dimly by a single candle, a man in his mid-forties was using a bent link of a rusted chain to scratch an indentation in the wall. His unkempt hair had long since since become a solid mass of grime, and dark bags had formed under his eyes, making him to always appear more haggard than he actually was. All he was clothed in was a giant rag that had turned a murky black from the years it had remained unwashed. Despite all this, the man grinned from ear to ear, expressing his wild elation to the fullest. Three hundred sixty five scratches on the wall behind him. One hundred twenty two scratches on the wall before him. In total, four hundred eighty seven days had passed since he was unrighteously thrown in here. Four hundred eighty seven days that he couldn¡¯t even be sure of, for not a single speck of natural light shined within his room. His most reliable reference was the two meals a day the guards supposedly brought him, and his constantly grumbling stomach affirmed that this reference was, unfortunately, still unreliable. His gut told him it would be today. It was raining today, or had been. The leak from the ceiling told him as much. As long as Tim was the one to serve the food, he would have enough information to carry out the plan. All other pieces had been set in place. They were already convinced he was insane, and perhaps he really was. The first time, they had barged into his vocal training. He had been imitating the voice and posture of his mother. Oh how amusing it must have seemed. A man over the age of forty playing the mother in his own invisible play. It was training, but surely they didn¡¯t know. Hesitantly, the guard slipped the tray of food under the bars, and went to report the prisoner¡¯s changes to his commander. In that moment, the man realized that the plan had sprung into action. Each time after, the antics grew wilder. He swung an empty sock around like a warrior would swing a saber. He screeched and shook the handle bars until they beat him to a stop. He peed on the guard that beat him the next time he came to bring him food (he went hungry that night, but a smug satisfaction kept him full). Most recently, they had brought the chief jailer with them and stumbled upon him pacing the edges of the room and screaming numbers excitedly. They dubbed him insane. He dubbed himself genius. The lock to the door fumbled. He quickly hid the bent chain link and began growling like a rabid dog. Tim walked in dressed as the man expected: a chainmail vest, a short spear that all the guards seemed to carry and a pair of silken pajamas. As the guard, timidly walked in with the tray of food, the man¡¯s growl became a wide grin and a few happy pants. "Good boy, eat up now,¡± the guard said, playing along to the man¡¯s antics. ¡°Woof woof,¡± the man replied before diving head first into the disgusting excuse of a meal that he had consumed time and time again. He ate the stone-like barley bread, the molding potato skin, the few slivers of rotting meat, and he downed the vomit-inducing yellow pea soup. All the while, the guard watched over the man with an amused smile, unbeknown to the plot formulating within his mind. When the man had finished, the guard reached his hand into the cage to retrieve the plate and cup, only to quickly retract it when the man licked the guard¡¯s hand. With a disgusted expression, the guard quickly retrieved the dinnerware and walked out of the room. The man sat up and beamed. Tim was the only guard to wear pajamas at night. Tonight he would finally carry out the plan. Tonight he would be a free man. He shivered with excitement before calming himself. He had yet to escape. He could not and would not afford to be careless. As soon as his heart was settled, he took a sock off his left foot, and filled it with the fragments of limestone that he had spent four hundred eighty seven days scraping from the walls. After walking six paces from the inner left corner of the room, he found the spot in the room that would be the darkest when the door swung open. He huddled down with his limestone-weighted sock, and waited: waited long enough for Tim to return back to his quarters, if not a few half hours more. Then, turning to the ceiling, he howled. The effect was immediate. A single guard came, for surely they would only send one guard to deal with an obnoxious madman. As soon as the door swung open, the man stuck two fingers into the back of his throat and vomited. "What in the blazes? Did the madman just hurl?¡± the guard said gruffly. The man instantly recognized the voice as one he knew all too well, and his hand instinctively rubbed the bruises and scars running down his arms. Enacting a light revenge before he left was certainly an unexpected, but welcome surprise. He waited for the guard to unlock the cell door and take three steps towards him. On the fourth, the man quickly spun around and slammed the vomit-soaked sock into the guard¡¯s head. A solid ¡°thwack¡± rang through the air, and without uttering a single sound a trickle of blood leaked from the guard¡¯s temple, and he was down. A surge of adrenaline rushed through the man¡¯s system when he watched the body fall onto the damp cell floor. There was no turning back after this point. It was happening.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Max? I heard a thud. Is everything alright?¡± another guard called out. ¡°Yeah, the damned madman bit me, so I hit him hard across the head,¡± the man replied in Max¡¯s gruff voice. He had practiced it for months. The enunciation was impeccable, and he even gave the body a rough kick to get into character. ¡°Huh, ok. I¡¯m heading back to the quarters. You should get the nurse to check it out. It¡¯ll give you an excuse to meet up with her this late at night anyways,¡± the other guard said with a mischievous chuckle. ¡°Probably will. I guess I have something to thank this damned mutt for.¡± As soon as the man heard the footsteps leaving, he removed a rusted nail from his chains and let himself free. He now had two options: he could steal the Maximillian¡¯s uniform and nonchalantly walk through the gates hoping that no one asked him why he was leaving the gates at such an hour, or he could go upwards in a high risk high reward gamble. He took a moment to decide before realizing that worst case scenario, he would just rot in this jail for the rest of his life as he always had been. He¡¯d roll the dice. First, the man closed the cell door again. He needed to buy all the time that he could. Then, he worked quickly to strip the guard down and change out of his rags into the guard¡¯s shirt and pants. He left the chainmail. That would weigh him down. After ripping the grime-soaked rags into three pieces, he happily gagged Max¡¯s mouth with his other sock and bound the guard¡¯s hands and legs. With practiced motions, the man tied the bundle of bedsheets to his waist, and crouched down in the corner. Once again, he waited in silence. He needed the other guards to fall asleep again. Luckily enough, none of them would be suspicious if Max didn¡¯t come back. He listened quietly, to the wind that began howling outside, to the occasional crackle the candle made as it burned its way through an impurity in the wax, but most of all, he listened to his own heartbeat that rang louder than all else. He hadn¡¯t heard any footsteps or voices for awhile now, but could never be too sure of the time. Max was awake now, and he was eyeing the man with eyes of a livestock that feared its own slaughter. The man chuckled cruelly and stood up to kick the guard once. ¡°I still have uses for you,¡± he sneered as he pointed the tip of the spear to the guard¡¯s throat. ¡°Just in case all goes wrong.¡± He turned his attention to the wooden boards above him. Upwards he would go. To the sky: free like a bird. He grasped the spear tightly with both hands, and stabbed straight into where the ceiling leaked. Wood splintered and cracked. He worked quickly. Soon enough, guards would swarm his cell, drawn by the sound of a spear boring into the ceiling. He needed to get it just large enough for he and the blankets to fit through. One thud. Two thuds. Seven thuds. Twenty nine thuds. He heard footsteps moving. He worked frantically. ¡°Goddamn it, is it him again? Wait. Is that splintering wood I hear? Call the others.¡± he heard one guard bellow. The footsteps sounded closer. They were coming up the stairs. Three fourths of the hole was done. The man frantically slammed the spear into the ceiling in hopes that parts would crumble. His hair was already coated in water, gradually washing away over a year¡¯s worth of dirt. He wielded the spear in a wild frenzy, intoxicated by the first taste of rain and fresh air that he had had in over a year. The footsteps left his mind, and he focused on the opponent before him. The hole was done. The door swung open, and he was greeted with the sight of six guards staring at him in shock. No one moved, and no one breathed. Each side evaluated the other. Then, one guard reached for his crossbow. The man reacted instantly, pulling Max up to block the shot, and slamming him into the cell bars. A rattle rang through the room, and the guards backed off a bit. By the time they had gotten over their panic, the man was already halfway through the hole he had bored. An arrow whizzed past his leg, and pinned the bed sheet the man wore to the wall. The man crawled all the way through, and he cursed under his breath. There was no other choice but to allow the sheets to rip. He yanked them hard, and stared over the black tiles at the ground below. Three stories in the air, wind howled around him, and all he had was a makeshift parachute with a gaping hole. Fate smiled upon him though, for he felt an updraft pushing him forward. He tried not to look. He jumped, letting the gusts carry him over the gate and into the woods. The rain poured, soaking into the cloth and weighing it down. He knew the wind wouldn¡¯t carry him much further, but this was enough. Before he even hit the trees, he was unfastening the bed sheets. The branches broke his fall, and the wet mud beneath his feet greeted him. He ran. Euphoria filled his body as he felt the sensation of the stormy winds blowing him forward and the stick mud slipping between his toes. He didn¡¯t mind the sticks and stones scraping at his heels, nor did he mind the rain blowing into his eyes and mouth. All he felt was the sensation of freedom. He wasn¡¯t sure how much time had past when he stopped, all he remember realizing was that the short spear was no longer in his hand, and that the storm had ended. Hanging overhead, was a full moon smiling upon him, so he turned to the sky, and howled. A Pair of White Shadows (IFP) [eos] Inside a small cave, three figures lay huddled together, listening as the harrowing screams of winter wind grated against the rocks and ice outside. From the small hole they had left open to the air, they caught a glimpse of what went on around them. The trees, the sky and the ground were indistinguishable: all white, all devoid of warmth. Even so, each of them took turns peering through the small window, hoping to see some sign of life stir. It was just something to pass the time at this point. They knew they wouldn¡¯t find anything. Something crackled, and no one could be sure if it was the cave giving in or the small fire that they had somehow manage to start up. No one bothered to check. What fueled the fire was the last woolen hat and some embers that had refused to burn earlier. Considering that everything in the cave was either frozen or soaked by constant drip of the stalagmites, it was a miracle in itself that the fire had lit in the first place. Perhaps it was the sweat and grime coating the band of the hat that helped it ignite. Twenty six days worth of human oil should do it. Disgusting, yes, but as Clara often said: ¡°Whatever works.¡± After this, they would need to start burning their more essential clothing, starting with the scarfs. Eric, a young boy with a rugged expression unbefitting of his age and sharp brown eyes, silently twisted a large slab of meat onto a sharpened stick that was soaked in water. He held it over the fire and the putrid odor of burnt flesh began to fill the room causing each of their noses to twitch in refusal. A string of smoke rose to cover the ceiling in a coat of black, and aside from the occasional crackle and the wind, the cave had grown quite quiet. ¡°I read somewhere that you can make smellier meats taste normal if you mask the smell with the right spices. They do it with bear meat,¡± he said. It was another one of the unusual bits of trivia he knew. It helped them keep their mind off things. ¡°We don¡¯t have anything of that sort though, so we just have to work with what we have,¡± Clara responded. ¡°There¡¯s no way in hell I¡¯m eating that, though. That smoke is pitch black. Might be poisonous.¡± ¡°I¡¯m with Clara on this one. It stinks something awful,¡± the other boy sighed. He turned his eyes away from the meat to stare at them both. Clara and Theo were their names. They had been nothing more than faces he passed in the hallway before this. It was funny how well people started to get along when they were together 24/7 for 26 days straight. Rather, they had to get along. That¡¯s just how things worked. Now, he knew pretty much everything about them. He knew Clara had 3 brothers: 1 younger, 2 older (twins, but one was an inch taller than the other. Apparently they bickered about that quite often). She also had a deaf husky puppy named Loki. He knew that she loved insects (including cockroaches) and that she was vegan. Before this trip, at least. She didn¡¯t really have a choice now. The confident smile that she always wore caused his heart to race, but he knew she¡¯d never return his affection. There¡¯s no way she would and if she did, she¡¯d never say or show it. Her empty grey eyes said all he needed to know. Theo was the oldest one of the bunch. Tough, muscular (or he was muscular) and had no siblings. He had two doting parents and a small gerbil that he hoped they were still taking care of. He was one of the artsy folk, so he had already covered the walls of the cave with his charcoal murals. His hands were constantly covered in soot, so they never let him grab the snow they melted for their daily water supply. They had learned that the hard way. Theo was the first one to go after him when it had gotten bad, or at least Clara said so. Theo would never admit it himself. Never.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Eric stared silently into the flame, watching as it flickered and dwindled. He turned the meat over, hoping to cook the other side before it went out. ¡°There¡¯s no other choice but to eat this stuff. The walnuts ran out three weeks ago.¡± ¡°The walnuts ran out,¡± Clara echoed. ¡°There¡¯s no other food but this. We need to secure a source of food, but it might be poisonous. I won¡¯t eat it.¡± ¡°It stinks. Bad. My breath would smell,¡± Theo said while wrinkling his nose. ¡°We need to eat to live,¡± Eric replied. His voice cracked. His mouth salivated despite the sickening odor. He already knew he would eat: even if they couldn¡¯t. ¡°Might be poisonous,¡± repeated Clara. ¡°Stinks,¡± reaffirmed Theo. Eric glanced away from them and back to the meat. It was charcoaled on the surface, but he knew it was undercooked. The blackened liquid that trickled down the stick and onto his hands was proof enough of that. He glanced back at them. They were staring at him sharply. He couldn¡¯t tell if they were daring him to eat, or begging him not to. No one spoke. There was only howling outside and the crackle of fire. Slowly, he lifted the slab of charcoaled meat and bit in. There was no taste, no odor, only his stomach being filled. It should have ended after he had stumbled off course. It should have ended when white became black, and the storm engulfed his figure. Yet the two of them had clawed him from his grave, and he had awoken to the sensation of her cold lips and his own broken ribs. Each bite left him as empty as it filled him. He shouldn¡¯t be the only one gorging himself. He shouldn¡¯t be the one feeling the disgusting sensation of of blackening blood trickling down his hands and dying the hems of his coat. Soon enough, the stick was bare. ¡°Sorry.¡± He knew he shouldn¡¯t apologize. It only made the guilt worse. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she said. ¡°You need to survive.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± the other boy said. ¡°It stinks, but you need to eat.¡± He drew a lot, and it was decided that Clara¡¯s scarf would go first. The flame creeped across the edges slowly before consuming the entire cloth. He cooked another slab, and the wind stopped howling when he was done. Eric peered through the hole. The snow had stopped. There was nothing but silence. He stood up abruptly. ¡°We¡¯re getting out of here,¡± This was the first time these words didn¡¯t seem empty. He grabbed a scarf and a pair of gloves and he clawed his way out of the cave. They aimlessly walked some distance before staring upwards. There was a break in the sky that revealed the sun floating up slowly over the horizon, painting streaks of warmth across the barren canvas of white. Specks of red and yellow bounced off their coats, and covered the snow until it too glowed. He paused to stare at the myriad of color that sprang around them: the proof that some goodness remained in this bleak world of white. He looked back at the empty cave before moving forward again, ignoring the single pair of footsteps in the snow that trailed behind him. A New Family (IFP) Poem I restlessly look all around My eyes are open wide We¡¯ve driven quite some way from home Alas I may just cry Two approach the cell that holds meUnlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Tails perk and wave around ¡°Who are you all?¡± I say to them. Mother puts my cage down Some crumbled paper is exchanged Large wads of green and grey A shiny beetle opens up I¡¯m taken far away New siblings give me lots of love New parents dote on me They scratch my neck and comb my fur Now this is home to me Scenery Writing: Swaying Goodbye (IFP) I stood on the sidewalk and stared silently into the front lawn of the house the young boy had led me to. It was an simple house benefitting of a middle to low income family, and despite the waist-level white picket fence strung around it, it had an unusually welcoming aura. Perhaps it was the awkwardly trimmed evergreen bushes that pointedly stood guard next to the doorway. Perhaps it was the swaying tip of a pear tree peering over the rooftop like a child hiding for a surprise. Or yet perhaps it was the barely maintained lawn that even the weeds seemed to call home. Whatever it may be, the eggshell-white walls and browning black rooftop seemed to beckon even a stranger like me to take shelter under its protection. With a bright smile plastered across his face, the young boy ran over to the gate of the wooden fence and unhooked the lock that had been carelessly speckled with white paint. The gate creaked open with a tired groan, as if chastising the boy for letting yet another stranger past its defenses. ¡°Come on in,¡± he seemed to say while he tugged the hem of my shirt and led me to the front door. A seed of expectation seemed to bloom in me then (for what greatness stood behind this door to make the boy so eager to show it to me?), but I soon shriveled into disappointment when the hinges fully swung open. Perhaps confused by my poorly masked expression, the boy lifted one brow before yanking me forward once more. Past the dripping kitchen sink and creaking floorboards we went. Past the mahogany carpet (a color I found quite unusual for such a humble dwelling) riddled with black and brown stains and scattered Lego pieces we navigated. Nevertheless, as we continued through the hallway, I began to understand the reason for the boy¡¯s confusion at my disappointment. From the kitchen, I caught whiff of lunch containers packed carefully with homemade dishes. From the living room I saw a glimpse of a sewing machine and a pair of partially finished matching dresses that had been adorned with cloth flowers and glass beads. From the bathroom, I heard the drip of a shower faucet being caught in a bucket. Forward we walked until we reached the door of our destination. He beckoned me to open, so I reached out my hand and let it settle onto the doorknob that had been worn down by years of wear. Ignoring the ants scurrying across the curtains and window sill of the door, I twisted the knob and widened my eyes at what that greeted me. Immediately upon opening the door, I was greeted with a cool fall breeze that carried the sweet smell of overripe fruit that had been left to slowly bake under the warm autumn sun. Before me were two trees with branches intertwined and fruit drooping heavily over their ends. I watched in awe as squirrels scurried from tree to tree, causing the already-overstrained branches to sway in complaint. The boy stopped to laugh at their game of tag before pulling me along once again. ¡°This isn¡¯t what we came for,¡± his eyes seemed to say.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. On the right was a medium sized apple tree. Its branches were rugged and abundant with fruit: some late to mature and still as green as the leaves of the tree themselves; others left half-chewed by the creatures that had found an easy dinner. As the boy led me to the left, I admired the melody strung together by the birds and the crisp sensation of the fallen leaves as they ground against my feet. When we stopped at the roots of the next tree, I followed the boy¡¯s finger and stared past the trunk weathered with years of age and the blanket of leaves decorated by ripe pears. Atop the mighty tree stood a small moss-covered hut caressed two sturdy branches. The boy was the first to move. With practiced motions, he grabbed onto the rope ladder and began to ascend. When he had reached the top, he waved for me to come up as well. I stared hesitantly at the ladder. The wooden beams tied loosely to the ropes had long since begun to wear, leaving behind what resembled nothing more than two vines. After steeling myself, I grabbed on tightly and began the ascent. Occasionally, my foot would slip, catching bits and pieces of tree bark with it and exposing the nest of ants that lived beneath. At other times, I would question whether even the rope that had clearly began to fray from repeated use would grow tired of its job would snap, leaving only the rugged branches and overripe pears below to catch me. Despite these thoughts, however, I reached the small house and peered in with deep interest. Moss coated the walls of the structure: some spots still fresh and green and other spots baked to a golden perfection by the moving sun. Broken glass or clear plastic littered the treehouse floor, and a grime-coated barbie doll was stuffed head first into a pile of twigs and leaves in the corner of the house. I climbed in and cleaned off a small spot, leaving a speck of blackened floorboard bear. Slowly, I sat down next to the boy who now wore a sad and nostalgic gaze unbefitting of his age. As a thanks of sorts, I placed my hand atop his head. When I followed his line of sight, I was surprised to see the apple tree had been struck down, leaving nothing but an unfortunate stump behind in memory. As I felt the sensation of the young boy¡¯s hair leave my hand, I found myself outside the house peering in from outside where the picket fence once was. Gone were the weeds that had once called the lawn home. Gone was the grass that grew free and wildly, and gone with it as the welcoming aura that seemed to surround the house. Even though time had long passed, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder whether there was still a bucket to catch the dripping faucet, whether the dresses were now completed, and whether the treehouse had crumbled away and left the tree as the boy had left it. As I peered over the newly fitted rooftop, I found myself staring at all that remained standing in memory of the boy that once lived here: the the tip of a pear tree swaying one final goodbye. A Crumbling House Aflame (IFP) (Poem) A Crumbling House Aflame Flickering flames burn brightly overhead The scent of charcoal dominates the air Faces aglow with shades of dancing red Try as we might, some give into despair Despite our cries, valuables burst to flames:The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. A child¡¯s hand-carved cradle, A father¡¯s treasured suit Regardless of owner, consumed all the same. The walls of our home, darkened by the soot Mocking us all, the flame crackles out loud Embers flying, the foundation is falling Perhaps these are flames no water can douse Perhaps we should weep without even trying Or perhaps we could look past the ruckus, Roll up our sleeves and run for the buckets. How Hard is That? (IFP) How Hard is That? ¡°Come on Brandon, you just need to eating with someone else. How hard is that?¡± I glanced at the words that my older sister had texted me before contemplating my reply. To be honest, eating with someone wasn¡¯t that hard, but I¡¯m sure that¡¯s not what she meant. ¡°Come on Brandon, you just need to make friends and socialize. How hard is that?¡± My fingers tapped at the keys with a degree of expertise, and I began to furrow my brows. ¡°But Lisa, what¡¯s the point though? I¡¯m perfectly fine with eating alone. Humans as a whole are social creatures, but that doesn¡¯t necessarily mean all of them *need* to-¡± I took a brief moment to pause, scrolled back, and delete what I had typed. What was I doing? Even without hearing her directly, I could sense the frustration embedded in her texts. I was clearly doing nothing more than riling her up at this point. Besides, she was correct in a sense. How hard could her request be? I just need to sit next to someone, and we just need to mutually pretend that we¡¯re interested in each other¡¯s lives while we eat. Pointless, but not difficult. I stared blankly at my screen, waiting for the ¡°...¡± to disappear, indicating that she had finished typing out her message. Even before she did, I already had my default reply prepared. ¡°Come on Brandon. It¡¯s high school. You¡¯ll be with these people for the next 4 years. Just try to be social.¡± ¡°Come on Brandon. I¡¯m worried about you. You can¡¯t possibly stay alone for all 4 years of high school. That¡¯s not normal.¡± With a defeated sigh, I sent out the reply I knew she wanted. ¡°Fine.¡± Stuffing my phone back into my right jacket pocket, I walked into the cafeteria and plopped the usual soggy pasta and under-salted fries onto a white styrofoam tray. High school lunches weren¡¯t much different from middle school ones it seemed. After grabbing a fork and a napkin, I pushed past the cafeteria door and scanned the crowd for a spot to sit. Several people had already grouped together along the walls or around tables like oversized bacteria in a petri dish. Cliques, I believe, was the term people used for these groups. Quite an elegant word considering the definition itself is not much different from an animal herd. How hard could it be? I just needed to find a group and introduce myself. Soon enough, I happened to lock eyes with someone from my band class. His name started with an E. I think. Perhaps out of pity or courtesy, he waved me over. ¡°Hi,¡± I said with my best forced smile. ¡°I¡¯m Brandon.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°Yeah, I know.¡± He said with a chuckle. ¡°I remember meeting you in band class. Wanna join us?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± I said, still smiling. Damn. Of course he knew. There was a moment of silence as I placed my tray down to his right, sat, and set my overloaded backpack down next to me. Was it Edward? Eric? Earnhardt? No. Those didn¡¯t sound right. ¡°Oh, could you sit on the other side? Matthew is sitting there. He went to go get his food first.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± I replied amicably. I¡¯d have really appreciated it if he told me that before I settled myself in, but on the other hand, maybe I should have asked if the spot was open. After all, he did say ¡°us¡± despite the fact that he was alone. Regardless, it looked open. Leave a jacket or something behind to mark your rightful spot next time Marcus. Or was it Matt? I picked my tray and backpack up, swung around to the spot on the left, and sat down. Jabbing my fork into the grimey pasta, I slowly mulled over my mental list of ¡°names starting with E¡± while I chewed. After a few more seconds of silence, I worked up the will to ask the dreaded question. ¡°Sorry, what was your name again? Ethan?¡± ¡°Jacob,¡± he said. A momentary grimace flashed over his face before returning to a smile. ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± So it started with a ¡°J¡±. I was close. Was that disappointment derived from the fact that I couldn¡¯t remember his name after one meeting? No, I shouldn¡¯t think of myself that highly. Why would he care if someone like me remembered him. I mean, I barely even know him, and he barely even knows me. And despite the maximum half hour conversation were about to have, I sincerely doubt that will change. Isn¡¯t it more of a surprise that he remembered my name in the first place? I continued smiling. Maybe I should look a bit more apologetic or else he¡¯ll think I¡¯m being spiteful. He said it''s alright though, so maybe he doesn¡¯t want me to be apologetic? Wait, but maybe he showed me that expression on purpose. Not even 5 minutes in and this already seems difficult. Goddamn it Mary, you filthy liar. Nevermind my expression, I just need to start a proper conversation. How hard can that be? We exchanged pleasantries. What classes are you taking? How are you enjoying them? Are you doing any clubs? What middle school did you come from? Like a two way interview, we Q&A¡¯d back and forth in attempt to know each other superficially. The conversation had long since grown stale, but we talked to ward off the silence. After a few minutes, Matthew came back and Jacob¡¯s face brightened up. It didn¡¯t take long for the two to begin talking about a club that they shared. Soon enough more of their friends trickled in, and they begin to converse amongst themselves about last night¡¯s football game or the new TV show that they followed. It didn¡¯t take long before I stopped talking entirely and silently finished my lunch. Every now and then, I laughed along to a crude joke, or made eye-contact and pretended to smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that several other people in the group attempted to cut into the conversations several times before silently pulling out their phone. No one else seemed to have noticed. The bell for class rang, so I got up to throw my tray away. I said, ¡°Bye,¡± but no one replied. The ones staying behind were all engrossed in their own conversations. I headed off to class. Mary was right. Totally right. Today I ate lunch with another individual and pretend to connect until they were tired of pretending. Aren¡¯t you proud of me dear sister of mine? Isn¡¯t this what you wanted me to do? And in the midst of this neverending superficiality, I just faded into the distance and pretend that I was still part of the group, that I still belonged. That wasn¡¯t hard at all. Not hard at all. Crying Wolf (IFP) Narrative Poem Crying Wolf When a town is in peace When worries have since ceased When beasts are just from fables, Told over the dinner table. What happens then, when a child cries wolf? Do the townsfolk take up arms? Do they try to search it out? Some do, they might, but not enough to make things right The child will be brushed off, And subjected to their scoffs. ¡°The child¡¯s just a liar. The situation¡¯s hardly dire.¡± So when a sheep is found slaughtered And fences are clawed to tatters. They¡¯ll blame it on the strong winds,The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Or on the foolish child¡¯s prank. Again and again, they¡¯ll repeat their decree: ¡°There is no wolf in sight, Because there is no wolf to see.¡± We cover our ears to steal a bell* We cover our eyes to believe it¡¯s night We cover our hearts to believe we¡¯re right So when chaos ensues, And the pack comes for you All you can do, is stand there and watch: When throats are torn, and blood is spilt, the townsfolk shrill screaming, replace their mocking jeering, and the child continues to cry In a fit of desperation: ¡°There are wolves! There are wolves!¡± Can you say with utter confidence, that there really are no wolves? Cover your eyes so that there are no beasts. Cover your ears so that there are no screams. Cover your screams with the blade of a knife, And there will be no wolves to take your life. So when the howling subdues and you shiver in fear The wolves pull away, but danger remains near. Do you ignore the shivering child, who clutches a bloodied knife, and once again say: ¡°We¡¯re safe, we are safe. Cover the past, there were no wolves.¡± Chapter 1: Struggles of an Isekai Editor [Panty-on-Head Retarded] Ch. 1: Panty on Head Retarded 7:25 am. I recline in my chair and sip my morning coffee. It¡¯s one of the few pleasures I can still enjoy in this daily life of mine. Crowds are clamoring all around me, and multiple college-aged students are focused on the screens in front of them. Poor saps. Some of them already had their third cup of coffee next to them. I took comfort in knowing that others had it worse, and took another sip from my mug. I wrinkled a brow before adding another bag of sugar. 7:27. The new author I should be meeting should be here anytime now. Whoever they were, they weren¡¯t leaving the best of first impressions by coming in after me. That was fine though. What mattered most was that the story they brought in was something that was legitimately good. I pulled a bottle out my bag and poured some of the clear liquid into a small glass. Perfect timing. A tall fellow wrapped in a thick scarf and a heavy coat waved to me. With this I was ready to start my day. ¡°Mr. Editor?¡± His voice was higher than expected, catching me off guard. No matter. I stood up and offered a handshake. ¡°Please, just call me Ed. Mr. Author I presume?¡± (Editor) He shook my hand and took off his, or rather her, scarf with a wry smile. ¡°Ms. actually. It¡¯s a common misconception given my pen name.¡± (Author) ¡°Apologies nonetheless. Please, sit.¡± (Editor) I waved one of the waitresses over and Ms. Author ordered herself a large iced coffee with no ice. Why it was still an iced coffee despite not having ice anymore bothered me, but wasn¡¯t something of concern today. We were here to talk business. ¡°Mind if I ask what the shotglass is for?¡± (Author) She was looking at the glass of clear liquid I¡¯d poured before. The employees used to give me dirty looks, but they were used to it by now. ¡°If I¡¯m lucky, you won¡¯t have to figure out today. So, I hear your last work did pretty well. Adventures of the Eurofu ¡­ was it?¡± (Editor) ¡°You¡¯re judging me aren¡¯t you?¡± (Author) ¡°No no, definitely not.¡± (Editor) I was definitely judging, but I kept my thoughts to myself. ¡°So, what story did you bring in today?¡± (Editor) She pulled out a rather thick manuscript and handed it to me. Handwritten. That was pretty rare these days. Maybe she was one of the old fashioned authors? If so, that might not be a bad sign. ¡°Mind if you give me a quick synopsis off the bat?¡± (Editor) She nodded. ¡°So my main character is a sixteen year old highschool boy with a jaded onlook on his life.¡± (Author) That covered 90% of the recent works I¡¯ve read, but still not a bad start. ¡°Yes?¡± (Editor) ¡°His family runs a small sewing business and his mother died at an early age, leaving him under the care his grandparents who have the hobbies of blacksmithing and cooking which the main character picks up himself. The main character loves his grandparents, but craves his overbearing father¡¯s affection which he never gets.¡± (Author) ¡°Okay, not a bad settup.¡± (Editor) ¡°So one day while he¡¯s in class, the school gets attacked by terrorists.¡± (Author) ¡°Okay?¡± (Editor)Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. ¡°And the terrorists introduce themselves as Australian Nazis that want to liberate the earth of his kind.¡± (Author) ¡°O-okay?¡± (Editor) Points for originality, but ¡­ why Australian? No no, I should let her continue. ¡°So his entire class gets gunned down by the AuNazis.¡± (Author) ¡°AuNazis being short for Australian Nazis?¡± (Editor) ¡°Yes. AuNazis being Australian Nazis.¡± (Author) ¡°Wait. So does he die?¡± (Editor) No no¡­ it was too quick to judge. There was no way. ¡°Yep. He gets gunned down protecting the pretty class president, but she dies anyways. So his soul shows up in front of god who says he¡¯s going to be reincarnated into another world and asks him to choose a power.¡± (Author) I took the first shot of alcohol and refilled the glass. Damn it. It was going so well. ¡°Umm¡­¡± (Author) ¡°Don¡¯t mind me. Go on. I insist.¡± (Editor) ¡°So he wakes up in a castle with black walls naked. He doesn¡¯t recognize anyone¡± (Author) ¡°Let me guess. The demon lord is loli and she falls in love with him?¡± (Editor) ¡°I-I don¡¯t think I mentioned a demon lord yet, but yes, you guessed correctly.¡± (Author) I took another shot as she stared at me with concern. I ignored her and refilled my cup to the brim. ¡°Is it the size of his penis? Is that why he¡¯s naked?¡± (Editor) ¡°N-no it was because he had black hair and brown eyes which are worshiped by the demonkin¡­¡± (Author) ¡°...¡± (Editor) ¡°And ¡­ and the size of his... jewels¡± (Author) I massaged my temples and tried to convince myself that everything was ok. ¡°Nevermind that, what happens next.¡± (Editor) ¡°So they clothe him and convince him to infiltrate human society so that he can send them information for the demonkin country¡¯s safety.¡± (Author) ¡°... so he decides to become an adventurer and goes to the adventurer guild.¡± (Editor) ¡°T-that¡¯s right¡± (Author) ¡°And when he tried to sign up, Fodder #1 decides to pick a fight with the newbie MC.¡± (Editor) ¡°Yeah¡­¡± (Author) ¡°Lor and behold. Newbie wrecks the silver ranked adventurer and catches the eye of the guildmaster.¡± (Editor) ¡°Even the adventurer rank¡­¡± (Author) ¡°The female receptionist falls in love with his stren- its not his dick this time is it?¡± (Editor) ¡°N-not this time.¡± (Author) ¡°Well she falls in love with his strength and catching the eye of the guildmaster loops him into all kinds of problems, but the MC manages to curry the guildmaster¡¯s favor through food. Let me guess. Cake? No, not cliche enough. Pudding.¡± (Editor) Ms. Author looked like she was about to cry after that, but the two shots of vodka certainly helped me maintain my dignity as an unrepentant asshole. ¡°So if I made him a blacksmith¡­¡± (Author) I¡¯m not sure what kind of face I had on that caused her to flinch back, but I¡¯m sure it was some kind of mix between seeing someone shitting on the sidewalk and the face of a father disappointed in their NEET son. ¡°As if we don¡¯t have enough isekai blacksmiths. At least make it a tailor.¡± (Editor) ¡°Yes¡­¡± (Author) I let out a sigh and reached out to shake her hand. ¡°We¡¯ll talk again tomorrow. I¡¯ll glance over the manuscript and give some basic feedback over email. Have a basic outline ready by the next time we meet.¡± (Editor) She shook my hand, but her shoulders were still slumped as she walked out. No matter, an author without the ability to take valid criticism regardless of how harsh wasn¡¯t someone capable of succeeding in this industry. I took the third shot of the day and downed my coffee. I called out to the waitress to get me a bagel or two. I had exactly an hour thirty to sober up before the next author got here. * * * 7:26 am. I sat at the same table and had the marked up manuscript in front of me. My bag was still zipped up and I waved at the tall woman at the door. She caught my eye and walked over with a wide smile. Good. Looks like she had a thicker hide than I thought. She was carrying a stack of papers which caused me to raise a brow. A new manuscript of this length and this quick was frankly impressive. I glanced at the first page. 7:28. I unzipped my bag, pulled out a bottle, poured myself a shot, and downed it in one go. The title was burned in my retinas even as the alcohol stung at my throat. Transported to Another World: I became a Panty Tailor?
A Leap of Faith [Voice] [eos] [IFP2] Frank: I snort loudly despite knowing I really shouldn¡¯t. I mean, who could really blame me? ¡°Wait. Lemme get this straight. The one you like is the short one with the fancy hat.¡± Clearly she must have really liked the hat, because there was absolutely nothing attractive about the boy. He was scrawny, shoddily-shaven, and stood a towering four foot ten at best. Man, he even made Dave look tall, but Dave at least had the face to back it up. ¡°Yeah, well, he¡¯s a nice guy. Reliable and all, and- you know, it seems like he cares.¡± Oh god. Did she just- She did didn¡¯t she? She just pulled the personality card. ¡°So you like fun-sized for his personality, eh?¡± ¡°Do-Don¡¯t call him that, and he¡¯s not that short.¡± I stared at her hard for that one. It didn¡¯t take long for her to cave. ¡°Okay fine, he¡¯s a little short, but he¡¯s a really nice guy okay?¡± ¡°Uh huh,¡± I said, entirely convinced that the kid that couldn¡¯t keep his eyes off her chest for more than five seconds at a time had a good personality. Heck, she¡¯d said the same thing about the last five guys, and one of them was practically Satan¡¯s second cousin removed. ¡°Look,¡± I said, rolling my eyes. ¡°I know you¡¯re getting a little desperate here.¡± ¡°I¡¯m no-¡± I lifted a finger hush her. Really, life would just be so much more pleasant for her if she just stopped to listen to me more often. I pat her shoulder gently and sent her a reassuring smile. ¡°Value yourself a bit more alright?¡± Her eyes widened and her lips seemed to quiver for a split second before liquid started leaking from her eyes. Huh. Wait. What? Wordlessly, she turned tail and briskly walked away. No really, what did I do? *?? *?? * Rachel: God. Fucking. Damnit.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Was it so hard for him to just be a little considerate for once? Like, yeah, Frank was charismatic, intelligent, and cared when it really mattered, but why was he so, fucking, dense? Was it so hard for him to send me a straight message for once? He¡¯d said yes when I asked him out for dinner, and we even went to the aquarium afterwards and had (at least what I thought was) a wonderful time. I mean, I even pecked him on the cheek after that. How much clearer was a I supposed to be?! And then there was that time where I introduced him to Lucas. Lucas gave off a bit of that bad-guyish vibe and had a bit of a crude mouth, and was also really overprotective (which I admittedly found a bit scary). Here I thought I¡¯d finally got Frank jealous, so I broke up with the asshole, but no, he just started complaining about how Lucas was just a shit person overall and that I had shit taste in men. Yeah. Maybe I really did have shit taste if I fell for a guy like Frank. Maybe I did need to respect myself a bit more. I should just give up on him, call it a day, and just break off ties. Who needed that asshole anyways? Hell, I¡¯d find someone better. Someone who actually took time out of his day to listen to what I had to say instead of immediately assuming I didn¡¯t have two brain cells to rub together. My tears just wouldn¡¯t stop as I waved a taxi and got in. The driver stared at me weird, but I couldn¡¯t care less right now. Today had been a long day. * * * Blake: What had just unfolded pained my heart. The girl left in tears, and frankly, I pitied her. The two of them looked like they had some nice chemistry going on too. Imagine that. The boy probably didn¡¯t even realize, and unless I told him, I doubt he never would. It was my responsibility as both a man, and an upstanding individual to help this young couple out. ¡°Hello, I couldn¡¯t help but notice what transpired. Shouldn¡¯t you chase after her?¡± The boy looked over at me and smiled. There was a slight tenderness and lukewarmness in his expression. It was clear he cared greatly for the girl. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll talk to her about it later. But, nevermind that. What¡¯s your name?¡± The travesty. How dense could this boy be? My heart sent its condolences to the young girl who fell for this idiot, but now I was here to resolve this. At last her love would bear fruit. ¡°Blake, and what¡¯s your name? Are you sure? You two looked like a nice match.¡± The young boy blinked twice before awkwardly smiling. Ah, he must be afraid of commitment. I understood him well. It wasn¡¯t that he was dense, he was clearly faking it! ¡°I¡¯m, uh, Frank. With Rachel? Nah, man. She¡¯s really nice and all, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯d work out.¡± I shook my head. I understood. I too, used to be a man with little self esteem. ¡°No, I¡¯m sure it would. She¡¯s pretty, but you¡¯re quite handsome yourself. Nice face, firm muscles. I¡¯m sure you two would make a great pair. Come on, take a leap.¡± ¡°O-oh, you really think that?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I said with a firm conviction. Look at me doing such a good deed. You¡¯re welcome young lass. Now it was your turn to confess your feelings to hi- His fingers stroked my arm gently and a sultry smile spread across his face. This time, I blinked twice. Perhaps... ¡°You know, you have some nice muscles yourself. Are you doing anything tonight?¡± ¡°Perhaps you misunderstood, That girl- you- you know. Trying to get you two together and all, haha.¡± Alas, I¡¯d misunderstood. Surely if I cleared this up, he¡¯d understand. ¡°Oh come on now. Don¡¯t be like that,¡± he firmly gripped my wrist and raised his brows. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say to ¡­ take a leap?¡± A World Without Time [IFP2] 11:50 PM. Wednesday, February 26th. I rolled my eyes. She was at it again: hands clasped, eyes closed, and kneeling. Gods, she never tired of it. What was the damn point of a God you¡¯d never meet? Stubby fingers struggled to crack open another pistachio and struggle they did. This was the seventh one that¡¯d found itself on the carpet instead of in my mouth. She cracked her eyes open just long enough to glare. I kicked the seed aside and fumbled the bag for another one. If I knew better, I¡¯d have exercised a bit more. Stubby fingers were such a pain. I stared at her hands clasped together. Fingers so thin. So good for opening pistachios. 11:57 PM. I ignored my suit and briefcase in the corner of my eye and opened another beer. She gave me a dirty eye, as if daring me to drink another. I chugged the damn thing and found myself retching onto the purple carpet with her cursing in the background. This time it was a new one. I couldn''t help but appreciate her creativity.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. 11:59 PM. Just a minute left. I closed my eyes and let the final few seconds pass. It was easier this way: less of a disjunct in consciousness. Then again, being tipsy always helped. The seconds ticked by and I heard her sobbing cut off. I dreamed of our boy Randall in Switzerland again. He missed the flight to Denmark, and this time he was complaining about how long the wait until the next flight was going to take. He said he¡¯d stop by to meet us on his trip back. Drop off a few souvenirs and say hi to the turtle. I apologized for throwing the turtle out the window. He looked kind of confused, but said it was ok. He never liked that smug bastard¡¯s face anyways. I woke up exactly one minute and thirty two seconds before the alarm went off. I nudged her, but as usual she wouldn¡¯t wake until the alarm rang. Nevertheless, I nudged and I nudged. I dreaded and I sobbed. Yet again, the alarm turned on, and the briefing began. ¡°Wednesday, February 26th. High of 86. Low of 62. The DOW is down by 26. The S&P 500 is up by 5. Bixpy news: 600 missing after a plane towards Denmark...¡± Yes! Yes! Yes! [IFP2] [Absurdist] It was a cold autumn night, and the distinct scent of still-drying wall plaster left me a little on the edge when I walked into the room. There wasn¡¯t much in the store aside from the man tapping away at the blank silver screen behind the counter. He stared up at me and I saw the empty sockets filled with precisely seventy two needles in one eye, and a roll of clear thread in the other. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him. Gods bellow I hoped he was as credible as he looked. This was my last chance. ¡°A-are you the man with the pointed hat?¡± I asked with a light tremor. He inspected me slowly, turning his head up-down and all the way around before smiling. Twenty-four pristine black teeth revealed themselves, and I was quite convinced at the last 8 in the back were equally as beautiful to look at. ¡°Welcome,¡± he said while tipping his wig with a flair. ¡°You have come to the correct establishment.¡± ¡°Oh thank god,¡± I breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°I¡¯m here to change.¡± He pointed to the open white curtains and the mirror in the back. ¡°Oh,¡± I shook my head. ¡°No, I mean the other kind of change.¡± The rags on his face wrinkled at that, and he stroked the tufts of hair at his neck. ¡°Are you sure?¡± he asked gently. ¡°Most definitely,¡± I said firmly. He shrugged and pulled the needles and clear thread onto the table. Without a pound of hesitation, I placed my eyes onto the table, and took the needle and thread with a smile. * * * When I slithered into class the next day, whispers dart around the classroom so quickly they lodged themselves into the desks. ¡®Is that Phil?¡¯ ¡®Th-there¡¯s no way.¡¯ ¡®But aren¡¯t his arms still as fat as before?¡¯The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. I grinned from ear to ear at their words and my shoulders rolled with a newfound pivot. I winked at my childhood friend Rachel as I passed. She clicked her tongue and walked away, but I caught the glint in her eye before she left. ¡°Wow Phil, you look amazing. Your sockets are gorgeous. How did you get them like that? Those arms though, they could still use some work,¡± Clara said while leaning in and poking the fat on my elbows. They rolled like a gentle wave of sand. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°You¡¯re hilarious haha. What¡¯s that jar for anyways? Those are some ugly white balls there. Get rid of them already.¡± ¡°Yes. Yes.¡± ¡°Hahaha, you¡¯re the best. I can¡¯t believe Mark and Jake were kicking someone this cool around,¡± she beamed with the light of one thousand and one lampposts. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Class is starting now, but we should talk again soon.¡± ¡°Yes. Yes. Yes.¡± Everyone¡¯s eyes were trained on me the entire lesson and by dark luscious teeth and bright red sockets pooling with clear red liquid. Whispers went around, such luscious sockets! The finest of their kind! Holy! Holy was either depth! Even the teacher couldn¡¯t help but smile when he called on me. Perhaps I¡¯d finally done right. My sockets glistened as I looked into the brightness of my future. ¡°Phil! You look amazing today! Now what¡¯s the capital of Uganda?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Why yes!¡± The third bell rang, and Rachel finally approached me and pulled me to the rooftop, insisting she had something she had to say to me. Naturally, I followed her up the twenty nine flights of stairs and through the chimney. ¡°I¡¯m moving out of town next week, I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll see each other again,¡± she began. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I think you¡¯ll do fine without me, but¡­ I need to say it.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I really do think you look better with eyes. Everyone thinks your sockets are amazing.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve changed.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you say anything else?! Can¡¯t you take this seriously for once?!¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Then say it! Say something else then! Say it!¡± ¡°Yes.¡± She smacked his face and he dropped the jar down the ceiling panels and onto the sidewalk below. Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the old Phil, the one with eyes, and the one that got kicked around because of what he said. As she walked on the pavement back towards her house, she saw the jar scattered and shattered like the Phil she once knew. A pair of lavender eyes peered at her, and several white teeth littered the ground. She pressed her ear to the ground to hear what they had to say. ¡°Something else! It! Something else! It!¡± ¡°The worst!¡± she screamed as she kicked them aside and tumbled away into the sunset. First Impressions [IFP2] [EOS] When I first met her, I was taken aback by her appearance: jagged and shoddily-cut hair, rugged and scarred hands unsuited for a girl her age, and baggy clothes that barely showed her frame. She looked absolutely revolting. I knew better than to let my emotions show in front of our father though, so I smiled. ¡°Maire, this is your new sister Sophie, please look after her,¡± he told me. ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± was all I could really promise. Our short tour around the manor only reinforced my perception of her. She was easily distracted: stopping to smile at absolutely everything colored brightly and anything that moved or talked. The way she walked (and I could hardly call it walking) even had a bounce to it. Worst of all, though, was the way she conducted herself with the servants. Walks that should have taken no more than five minutes through simple hallways took double or triple that (as she felt it necessary to introduce herself to each and every last one of them and ask their names in kind). After making our way through the manor, she insisted that I take her to town where the streets were filthy, just so that she could gawk at the vendor¡¯s pitiful wares and buy a few of their clearly overpriced items. The merchant looked horrified when I stepped in, but I kept the price reasonable and promised not to let dad know. She thanked me profusely when I taught her to haggle properly, but whether or not she¡¯d be able to apply anything properly was another matter entirely. The last straw, though, was when she asked me to take her deeper into town. ¡°What about the things Dad sells? Could we go see those?¡± My nose scrunched, and any sort of facade I was still keeping up for her sake fell apart. ¡°You want to what?¡± Clearly she couldn¡¯t even tell when someone was annoyed, because that dumb smile of hers remained plastered on her face as she replied. ¡°I want to see the things Dad sells.¡± So I took her to the filth-ridden streets where the smell of excrement was only masked by the whiffs of white smoke. Some bowed as we passed, others cursed in tongues I wasn¡¯t taught to recognize, and each and every one of them watched our every action as we passed. ¡°Careful of the Ashwit¡¯s child, but who is the girl next to her?¡± the rabble whispered. Sophie followed along quietly, no longer bouncing as she once did. Perhaps even the least intelligent of animals recognized danger when they were in the center of it. One man was foolish enough to lunge at us, but was quickly detained by the guards. They got ready to make an example of him, but I quickly stopped them.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°We have a guest today,¡± I said sternly. ¡°I don¡¯t mind,¡± she said cheerily, catching me of guard for a moment. ¡°I do,¡± I replied bitterly. A few slumped figures with foaming mouths littered the floor along the way, but we reached our destination with no problems. My lips couldn¡¯t help but twitch in disdain when I saw the facility we¡¯d reached. It was a tall wooden building: three stories tall, and built with a firm metal frame. It stood out like a house built atop the rubble of a city that once was. Maybe because it was exactly that. Sophie ran around the facility, poking her head into every nook and cranny of where the white powder was made. ¡°So, what do you think of it?¡± I asked her, unsure of what kind of reply I wanted to hear. ¡°It¡¯s amazing,¡± she said without betraying any hint of remorse. I twitched. Idiot or not, perhaps I hoped I might have found an ally. ¡°It¡¯s terrible,¡± she admitted, ¡°but it¡¯s amazing.¡± The expression on her face stayed in my mind for years to come, and even now I can¡¯t be sure what it really was. Her eyes were wide with an innocent fascination, but for a fleeting moment I was convinced that she was aware of all the nuances of what this facility meant. We talked more after that: about what our favorite foods were, what it was like for her to suddenly be a daughter of an Ashwit, and many more things. ¡°So, your mother was an Efliss right?¡± I finally decided to ask. ¡°Yep, what of it?¡± she asked back. ¡°Is it true that you guys never stay in one place for long?¡± She shrugged while pouring out a clear brown liquid into a cup. ¡°Not usually. Though, it seems like I¡¯ll be staying here for awhile. Want some tea?¡± I gladly accepted a cup and smiled. Despite her lack of proper etiquette, she was well traveled. She spoke of distant lands with rolling hills where the air was fresh and lacked any white smoke or powder. I smiled at the thought. ¡°You didn¡¯t seem surprised today. I¡¯m guessing you¡¯ve seen similar things in your travels?¡± I asked while taking a sip of the tea. It didn¡¯t take me long to set the cup back down due to the taste: an unusual mixture of bitter and salty. ¡°Loads of times. It¡¯s things like this that hold some places together, as unfortunate as it may be,¡± she replied nonchalantly while swirling her teacup. ¡°That¡¯s just how things are.¡± Hold them together? You mean rip them apart, I nearly scoffed. I didn¡¯t though. Ally or not, it was nice to talk to someone for a change. ¡°This tea tastes¡­ interesting,¡± I commented instead. ¡°Really? I thought so too,¡± she said with a smile. Not a reassuring one at that. So we spoke of the rolling hills and plains of white flowers and clouds: where streets housed animals instead of people. I noted the scars on her hands were burns, and she noted that I had no etiquette for pointing out such a thing. We spoke until our voices tired. I enjoyed her presence. I really did. That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t comment when I saw her proudly show a flask of white powder to my father, or when she began to disappear to the facility on her own. Keeping things like that unspoken were what held this family together after all. That was just how things were. Crabby Gone Bad [IFP2] [Childs Voice] I ran through the door and looked for BaBa. He wasn¡¯t there, but I knew he wouldn¡¯t be. BaBa was always at work until I was asleep, and MaMa always went straight back to work after sending me home. PuoPuo was always there though, so I ran towards her. ¡°PuoPuo! PuoPuo! Look what I won today!¡± I lifted up the plastic box with a red lid like a fiery trophy. I think Ms. Gwoom called it a tup-something, but I forgot. It was a thick plastic box with a red lid, and what was inside was way better than the ribbons we got for doing well at field day. Ribbons didn¡¯t move on their own and have pinchers. Clink Clink! Grandma opened the lid and smiled. I knew she would like it too. Their hard claws scratched the bumpy plastic and made a really cool sound. Kkkkk. Nothing else sounded like that unless it was crabs in a box. Crabs in a box were awesome! They weren¡¯t like cheatdahs though. Cheatdahs were awesomer because they ran so fast. Faster than cars! Mom said that we couldn¡¯t have cats though. Stupid Mady was allergy to them. ¡°Ohh. Did you get it from school?¡± PuoPuo asked. I nodded hard until my forehead hurt. ¡°Uh, huh! We had a project for Science and after we finished Ms. Gwoom said that one of us could take them home. I won rock-paper-scissors, so I got to keep them!¡± I pointed to the small one, then the one with a darker blue back, then the one eyed one. ¡°This one is Bob. Billy. That one is Jeff. I finally have pets now!¡± I was really happy to have pet crabs, and PuoPuo was smiling too, so that made me happier. Today was the best! I put the tuppy box on the table and looked inside. Billy was scratching at a wall, and Jeff climbed on top of him and scratched him too. Kkkk. KKkk. ¡°Haha! Look at Jeff!¡± PuoPuo stared down at the bin and looked at where I was pointing. PuoPuo always pointed to cool things that I didn¡¯t see. Bob was lifting sand to his mouth. ¡°At school we learned that¡¯s filtering. It eats the small bits of food inside the sand and spits out the sand. Isn¡¯t that cool? The sand has food in it, so we didn¡¯t have to feed them.¡± ¡°You¡¯re such a smart boy,¡± she said with a smile. ¡°Thank you for teaching me.¡± ¡°Of course!¡± I beamed. ¡°I¡¯ll teach PuoPuo everything I know!¡± PuoPuo always told me how smart I was compared to her, but I always thought PuoPuo was really smart too, so I taught her what I learned at school. We talked about how cool the crabs were and how easy they were to take care of before we got hungry. PuoPuo decided to make my favorite egg soup and some rice. Even though we didn¡¯t need to, we put a scoop of rice and egg into the plastic box. The crabs didn¡¯t eat it, which sucked because I would have.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. FursDay, we tried spinach and celery. They still didn¡¯t touch any of that, and I understood why. MaMa always said that vegetables were healthy, but they tasted pretty bad. Especially celery. If celery wasn¡¯t healthy I would never eat it. Mangoes tasted better anyways and they were healthy too. We wanted to try meat, but MaMa stopped me. She said meat was expensive and she didn¡¯t want the box to smell bad if they didn¡¯t eat it. The crabs are still eating the sand though. I wonder if Mini Earls taste good. Then TwosDay came. ¡°PuoPuo! Do you have to go back?¡± Something hurt in my throat, and my eyes started getting blurry. There was so much more I wanted to teach PuoPuo. We finally had pets. ¡°Yes. I have to. I¡¯ll come back someday though,¡± Grandma said with a smile. China was so far away. She would be gone for days or weeks! That was so long. ¡°Be a good boy in the meantime okay? Be sure to listen to your parents.¡± ¡°B-but they¡¯re never home for me to listen to. I can¡¯t listen to no one.¡± Grandma looked a little sad and mad, but I was also sad and mad, and we both knew it was true. Mady and Jane never played with me, and MaMa and BaBa were almost never home. If PuoPuo was gone, I would just be alone. It would just be me and the crabs. ¡°I¡¯ll come back someday, don¡¯t be too sad.¡± BaBa sent her to the airplane and she didn¡¯t come back. I pointed to every plane that flew in the sky and screamed that PuoPuo was coming by, but soon I started to realize MaMa and BaBa started to look uncomfortable about that. I did it anyways. FryDay Billy stopped moving. BaBa was at work, MaMa went back to work, and Mady and Jane were with friends. I took a toothpick out of the drawer and poked Billy¡¯s claw. The claw closed, and I lifted him up. He swung a bit and his arm fell off. I yelled and threw the arm back in. It hit the wall and cracked. Kkkk Kkkk. Bob and Jeff scratched at the bumpy plastic. It didn¡¯t sound cool anymore. Just scary and angry. I didn¡¯t tell Mom and BaBa about Billy, and they didn¡¯t ask. I don¡¯t know what to do, so I ate my dinner. When I woke up, I looked into the tuppy box. Bob and Jeff were tearing apart Billy. Crabs have clear meat. I never knew that. There was a crack and Bob tore another leg off. That sounded cool. I felt weird though, and a little scared. Everything was back to normal the next day, and the next, and the next. Billy¡¯s empty shell was buried in the sand and Bob and Jeff just ate sand. I guess they were eating Mini Earls again. BaBa was talking about a business trip today. He said that he would be going to China for a week. I asked if he would see PuoPuo. He said he would, so I asked him to tell her to come back. BaBa said he would. Mady and Jane still wouldn¡¯t play with me today. They said I was annoying, so I got mad and cried. I wish Bob and Jeff would rip their arms off too. SunDay. BaBa came back today. PuoPuo couldn¡¯t come back, so I cried again. I¡¯m still mad at Mady and Jane. They won¡¯t talk to me, and MaMa and BaBa are at work again. I open the red lid and stare into the plastic square. Bob and Jeff aren¡¯t eating sand. They stand still and and circle around. Then, Bob quickly runs, but not as quick as a cheatdah would. A cheatdah would have run away from Jeff¡¯s claw. There¡¯s a rip. Then a tear. There¡¯s a snap. Then a crack. Jeff loses a leg, but Bob lost everything else. Jeff eats. Bob doesn¡¯t. I watch, and Jeff watches me. I stare into that one eye and feel happy. Jeff understands that I feel lonely, because Jeff is alone. Everyone is gone again today. It¡¯s just me and Jeff, and Jeff is weakly scraping the wall again and we stare at each other. Kkkk. Kkkk. Kkkk. Jeff is my friend, but I know Jeff will be like Billy if I don¡¯t do something. My eyes blur as I open the clear door and hold onto the plastic box with one hand. I have to let Jeff go. I can¡¯t take care of Jeff. I dump the plastic box into the stream, and Jeff stumbles a moment and stares at me. The one eye shinyed before he scurries into the murky pond water. I¡¯m alone again. Good luck Jeff.