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“Oh honey, you meant to get the pie. You know I made it from my grandmother's recipe. It's like a hundred years old. I mean, I know I asked you to get the cake for the kids. 

But no. I need you to try the pie. Go back and grab a slice. 

Hello Aunt Carol! It's so good to see you. Yes, thank you. I did put this all together for cousin Sarah and Grandma Cindy. I know, I can't believe she's already turning one hundred and six as well. It's wonderful. And Sarah turning six, thank god we have at least two birthdays on the same day.

Do you remember when it was mom's anniversary, too? Oh, it was wonderful when Daddy used to pay for everything.  

You know, of course, Harry paid for it this year. I know it's not as good, but what do you think? I'm gonna let Harry decide how to use all of those paychecks himself? He doesn't need to start thinking he has a choice in these matters. I don't care whose name is on them, as far as this family goes, those checks are mine…” 

I looked across the alley behind the apartment I had bought Jennifer. I had to move my car out of the way for her whole big Italian family to fit back here. They're good people, blue collar. I doubt they see me as one of them.

It's nothing personal, they just can't seem to understand how I write short fiction all day and make enough to provide for one of their own. 

I understand their skepticism as well. I don't even follow any of the local sports teams. Yes, that includes the Eagles as well. I mean, no offense, but God forbid I don't write about a sports team the mayor can't spell the name of.

Either way, though, I bought into Jennifer's life and everything that came with it when I asked her to marry me. Sure, that came with a family who may not have graduated from community college. But at the same time, I always wanted a family like hers. That tight-knit group of people who really look out for each other. Besides, it's not like I'm anywhere near a perfect guy. And ever since the last of my family passed, Jennifer has been my home.

The longer I sat there on that plastic folding chair, the clearer it became: as far as Jennifer was concerned, I could just as well have been an ATM.

I looked at the card table surrounded by a swarm of pink Barbie princess outfits. They were jumping up and down like an infestation of pink piglets, squealing in that universal sound of children cheering when they get to have sweets they don't need. 

A candle was still smoking on top of the cake I picked up at Acme. It was mostly gone at this point other than two slices left. Next to them, the pie sat there untouched.

My fiancé's mom had cut out pieces to pass around to everyone. I didn't know if she meant to give me the piece of cake when I went up there. I thought I had the choice of cake or pie. But she was a little preoccupied with her ex-husband on speakerphone. 

I guess Jennifer picked up that angry streak from her mom, because damn do they sound exactly alike whenever they yell. 

“Go back and grab the pie I made for the party…” 

I looked down at the slice of cake on my paper plate, covering the picture of some pink cartoon and a white plastic fork stuck into the cake like someone claimed it as territory. 

Jennifer's grandmother was sitting next to us in her wheelchair wearing a tiara, and a Depends which should've been changed about an hour ago, while drool was sliding out of her mouth. 

I looked up at her and said, “Grandma Cindy, would you like some cake?”

She focused those drooping eyes of hers straight at me and said,

“I want to die.”

She then reached her shaking hand over to me and gripped my arm with a strength I don't think anyone would have guessed was still in her.

“What?” I asked.

Jennifer nudged me, “She said, Go get her the pie like I've been telling you! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I don't know how many times I have to tell you. Harry, the cake was for the children. I wanted you to have the pie I made with Grandma Cindy's recipe. You are completely ruining this entire party I put on, and all you've been good for is buying a cake…” 

I looked back at Jennifer's mom, still on the phone, held between her shoulder and ear, shouting, 

“And my daughter made this pie for you. But you can't even show up to what is probably going to be my own mother's last birthday on this earth, all because you're too busy buying whores to show off down the shore in front of all of your little boyfriends, and shoving those poor girls’ asses in everybody's face because you think you bought them for the night it makes them your property or some…” 

At the same time, Jennifer was yelling at me and talking to everyone else at the party about the one hundred year old pie recipe from her grandmother sitting next to us. 

I wanted cake. I didn't know I was going to end up with pie. But to be honest, I think I'm with Grandma Cindy on this one. 

After the last cup of liquor, it was time for him to go.

My wife and kids were already asleep. I glanced at them, then gently pulled the door shut behind me.

The moon was bright, stretching our shadows long across the ground.

“Wu.”

I stepped outside. He raised a hand, telling me there was no need to see him off. I took his hand anyway and did not want to let go.

Wu, this old friend of mine, was the same age as I was, yet his back was already bent, his skin weathered to a deep brown. I did not dare imagine all that he had been through the past decade.

“When will you return?”

“I have to keep out of sight for some time. I've paid off two rounds already. Just one more debt to deal.”

He smiled easily, as though he were not a man who had spent all this time moving from place to place just to stay hidden, as though some passing whim had simply brought him here on this moonlit night to visit an old friend.

“Where to?”

“The Far East, perhaps. Some assets of mine over there have finally been unfrozen. I'll see what I can do with them—see if there's any way to get that business going again.”

“Anything I could help with?”

“You? Just a poor schoolteacher? Are you kidding?” he replied, teasing in his voice.

“Well, at least I’m not the one with creditors chasing me all around the world.”

“Sounds true.” He laughed. “A wife, kids, your parents. A happy family. Much better. Much better than me.”

He patted my hand.

“Oh, and I still owe you a wedding gift.”

“The wedding, the baby's first-month celebration, the kid's university admission—you owe me a lot.”

“Heh.”

He took two steps back.

“I'm off.”

He brought his hands together in an old-school salute. His lips moved for a while, as if there were something he wanted to say, but finally nothing came out.

“Able to see you again, isn't it?” I asked.

“Of course.”

He answered without hesitation, as though some of his old confidence was still there, not yet worn away by the past decade.

He turned into the alley and soon disappeared in my sight.

I stood there for a while.

Then I went back home, quietly did the dishes, and lay down in the rocking chair on the balcony, looking up at the moon.

It must be cold in the Far East.

I should have packed the rest of the liquor to him.

No matter the venue, there’s never an empty seat. People from all around the world came to see Ace, Master of the Arcane. I’m just his assistant. I’m a prop at best or a guinea pig at worst. Truthfully, I’ve been worse. I mean that literally. You see, Ace is a REAL magician. His magic is the real deal. We never go over what the shows will entail. I don’t have any cues. They aren’t needed. I simply show up, smile, and keep my mouth shut. That’s how Ace pitched it to me when we first met all those years ago and it’s been just that.

The money is good. The women are better. He’s the superstar and I’m famous by association. Ace loves the limelight. He smiles big enough that the people in the nosebleeds see. He performs impossible feats one after the other, dumbfounding audiences, and he bows as they praise him. I simply smile and wave, but in all honesty Ace terrifies me. His “tricks” grow more bold and dangerous as his ego rises. “You think anyone has put it together yet?” He asks me after every show while counting money by hand.

I think he secretly wants his powers to be discovered. Last night he made me disappear and reappear too fast. I was teleported rapidly throughout the crowd and became nauseous. He’s transformed me into creatures both real and fantastical. I rather enjoyed being a dragon but felt myself becoming feral. I ate raw meat for a week after that particular “trick” and asked he at least keep the creatures based in reality. I think it was the dragon’s power that affected my mind. There were never any side effects from the lion or tiger transformations. He obliged but seemed agitated by the request.

In truth, starting to become afraid. Ace has began to actually practice. He’s never done that before. I always thought that he was gifted by God, but lately he’s been different. Three times now, I’ve seen him cut himself then heal the wound. Each new cut was deeper and wider than the last, but still healed without a scar. Today, he used shears to behead a rabbit. Light emanated from his hands as he waved over the rabbit’s body. The head reattached but the rabbit remained motionless, still he gave a satisfied grin when he looked up and saw me. “Do you trust me?” He asked with raised eyebrows. I gulped but answered yes. How could I not? Who was I to call him crazy? I knew nothing about magic, not even the fake kind. He practiced this for a week and after getting the same results I could tell he was getting frustrated though he always kept a smile.

The audiences never complained or diminished in size. Ace was pushing himself for his own hubris. It would have been admirable if I wasn’t so afraid. When a cashier asked why he bought so many rabbits Ace said he gifted them to young fans after the shows. We stopped buying rabbits after that and moved on to animal shelters and taking in strays. None survived. Eventually I couldn’t stomach to see him practice. Then there was the breakthrough. “FINALLY!” He yelled. I rushed to his study.

He was playing fetch with a golden retriever we’d recently picked up. The dog was happy and wagging its tail. Ace gave me a smile I hadn’t seen since we first began our endeavor. “I figured it out.” He said and pointed with his chin. I followed the point and hoped my smile was convincing. In the trash, there was the head of a golden retriever. “Throw that out would you.” I had grown numb to throwing away the bodies of his failed attempts but this was different. This was a success, right? Why was there still something to throw away. Tonight we had another show. I gulped dry.

As usual there was not an empty seat in the venue. Ace was eerily upbeat backstage. None of his previous performances required a sword but he had one sheathed on his side. When the show began he was in a flow state. He floated into the spotlight. Flight, was a new trick. Stagehands looked amongst each other in confusion. None had prepped wires for a trick like this. Even they clapped and cheered. Ace sang and flew over and through the crowd. He picked up a small lady and whizzed through the air before bringing her back to her seat.

Then he motioned me to center stage. He told the story of kings and treasure. It was a tale he’d used in previous performances before transforming me. I gave him a knowing glare and screamed “you’d better not” with my eyes. He had a look of mischief on his face. He transformed me throughout the adventurous tale and I played along. I was a horse of battle, a whale that sank ships, and then a dragon that guarded riches. He continued his storytelling and commented that I breathed fire. I roared into the air and sure enough flames erupted from my mouth. Then everything went dark.

I awoke in my own body again with the audience cheering louder than ever before. Ace was next to me holding my hand which was how we ended shows with a bow. I bowed and threw up in my mouth and tasted smoke. At my feet was the head of a dragon. Ace was holding up a bloody sword and taking in the adoration and deafening cheers.

When we were backstage and out of earshot I berated him. “What was that?!” A rhetorical question, I continued to lash out. Ace didn’t seem to take me seriously. I punch him square and that got his attention. He was perplexed by my adverse reaction which only upset me more. “Do you not trust me?” He asked, wiping blood from his lip.
“Trust isn’t the problem.” I said. “We agreed to no more fantasy creatures, and you then you kill me?”
“You seem very much alive to me.” He said. I punched him again.
“Let me show you something.” He said.

We drove home in silence. When we arrived I followed him to his study. He waved his hand and an entire wall in the room disappeared revealing a stone staircase that descended into darkness. At the bottom of the stairs was another study that had books I could tell were ancient, beakers filled with colorful potions, and what I could only assume was a portal on the far wall. He ignored all of this and grabbed a small trash bin from under a desk. I looked inside and threw up. It was the head of Ace, Master of the Arcane.

And as the final chapter of my work, my protagonist - who I felt was similar to me, had to accomplish the athlos of shooting the last targets of the game. And then, he appeared in the front; and he stood in the way dumbfounded. Who had brought him here? There was no meaning or cause for his presence. Was my challenge to shoot him?

Of course I would, he held no importance to me. But I lowered my gun slowly, and submitted to my defeat of the game. He was standing there. I observed him, and he was different. His hair had grown longer, his mustache this time was thicker, and he was now taller; his face looked more mature and adult-like. I asked him, "what are you doing here?" He was staring, confused, with his eyes wide open. "What are you doing here?!" I asked again in frustration.

He was just being silent. "Why do you look like this, Damian?" He refused to speak a word. "Why do you look like this all of the sudden?!"

He looked insulted, and afterwards, embarrassed. "Your hair has grown longer, why don't you cut it to how it was before?" He pulled his curly hair to unfurl and see them.

"Your mustache has grown thicker, why don't you trim it to how it was before?!" I yelled. He touched his mustache and felt it.

"Your face has become slimmer! Why do you not look seventeen anymore?" He looked around in embarrassment, and started taking steps back, like he always would. Slowly, he had begun walking backwards.

"I never actually wanted you" I said, finally calming down. But his sight felt too intense for me. And his stance was so awkward and scared and frightened! It was such a distraction within the game.

At the end, I had to forget it - but instead, I lost awareness of everything around me. And, in contrast to him, I had begun taking steps towards him.

Finally, I let myself go.

"Damian, do you want to be how you were before?"

"Yes," he said in a low voice.
"I can be how I was before."

And then, I felt frightened. I turned around to see who had brought him here! And I had no answer to his statement! My mind went blank and my eyes felt empty. Our embarrassing talk had been showcased to everyone!

And then I tore the paper apart.

Before there was light, before there was darkness, there was tohu va vohu. The attempt to make order out of chaos. The attempt of being. The essence of life.

The epidemiologist understood and so named the virus. Tohuvavohu sought order, being, essence, supremacy.

It sought these relentlessly. Single-mindedly. But there was no mind. No reason. It was not hampered by delusions of morality. The virus was need. Pure need. Self-fulfilling. Opportunistic. Ego-less.

We fought well. Grandly in many cases. Our weaponry was truth and faith. Our vulnerability was truth and faith. Sentience and science could only take us so far when we were battling not only a most patient virus, but the very limits of our collective memory, our shared humanity.

Over the long haul, we forgot quickly. Tohuvavohu was not time bound. It could afford generation upon generation of assaults, retreats, regroupings and counterattacks.

Humanity was hamstrung by expectation. We were no longer wired to forgo life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We believed in our due. Submitted to our false creed: our superiority. Thinking we could outrace, outcompete, any threat.

We were the hare. The virus was the tortoise. And it was turtles all the way down.

We had no concept beyond rock bottom. Beyond economic collapse. Beyond political collapse. Beyond moral collapse.

Nothing was solid anymore. There was nothing for us to stand on. There was only tohu va vohu. Before light. Before darkness. The struggle to be.

Tohuvavohu was tohu va vohu. An attempt. A stab at re-order. At perfection.

The epidemiologist had it right. We sought to wrong it.

The virus was not to blame. We were not to blame. Creation suffers no blame. For, like tohuvavohu, what are we but another attempt at dominion.

Be not afraid, child.

But seriously, don't. I'm sorry for the archaic first line. It's in my contract. I have to say it.

Oh, you're staring at the wheels. Typical. Everyone stares at those first. Then the eyes. Yes, they're all looking at you. Helps to just focus on one. Pick one, you'll vomit if you don't.

And now you're looking at the faces. First the ox, then the lion, then the eagle. The man's face is the newest. Young, handsome mountaineer. Picked his face up just last year. Don't stare for too long or he'll crack something unfunny.

Let's walk. Where? It's a... surprise. It's also nice to walk while talking.

Now, child. "The Long Way Home." 5,262 words. A grieving man's commute back to Bohol to reach his mother's wake. You claimed it was based on your experience.

Your mother just called you last night.

Yes, child, I know.

I also know it was Anita's story, handwritten in Binol-anon on the pages of a cheap notebook. She handed it to you to critique when you visited. The tear stains smudged the guide lines.

You translated it to English. She doesn't know and never will.

It won you a national prize. P30,000.00 and a glass trophy sitting beside two others on your TV shelf. She could use that money.

How do I know? Well, He told me. Have you noticed the eyes in His portraits seem to follow you around? It's true, in a way.

He also told me about the other two.

A Blogspot story that was live for just a month. The owner took it down before he died. The other is a comic strip you remember from childhood. No one will ever notice. The publisher closed down.

Each one brought you glory and a bit of wealth.

Ah, so here we are.

Look familiar? I replicated your desk down to the last Funko Pop. Well, except for the laptop. That has to be quill and parchment. It has to be old school.

Well, sit.

Comfy? This desk will slowly, gently pull you down. Feel it? Once your left cheek is pressed firmly on the wood, take the quill.

Three stories. It doesn't matter what it's about, genre doesn't matter, length doesn't matter. What counts is that it's truly yours. Should be something that came from your own brilliance.

There.

Start writing, child.

“How was everything tonight?” asked the waiter.

“It was the politics, right? I talked too much about politics?” Jim said.

“No, Jim, it’s not that. I love politics,” Alice said.

“Then give me one more chance, Alice. Something crazy. A topic no one has ever thought of before and on the count of three we’ll both say the first thing that comes to our mind.”

“Fine. Go ahead,” Alice said.

“Imagine you’re the President for one day and you’ve just declared a new initiative of blank. One … two …”

“Venture capital-backed government deregulation!” they both shouted on three.

“We’ll umm … I think we’ll just take that check now,” Jim said to the waiter.

“Right. So will that be one check or do you want me to split it?”

“I’ll take it,” Jim and Alice said, both hands reaching for the check folder together.

“Dessert?” they asked each other.

[Note: the prompt was "Two people splitting the bill after a date that went badly." Word constraint was dialogue only and the story had to be fewer than 150 words.]

What am I supposed to do with all this smoke?

My girlfriend told me if I didn't quit smoking, she was going to kick me out. Our house - her home. With just my “lucky” cigarette left, how could she expect me to simply throw it away?

I tried telling her, I'll stop smoking when you stop parking in the street. She told me she doesn't want the headlights shining into the windows on the house and wake me up after I fall asleep on the couch.

I don't fall asleep on the couch all the time. I mean, sometimes when I'm waiting up for her. It's been a little more often recently, but we both been picking up more shifts before the baby comes.

Ten years we both been smoking. That's how we met in the first place. High school sweethearts. High school degenerates. We sacrificed sitting in our broken homes for sitting in for a Saturday detention. From the moment we locked eyes, we knew we were each other's person.

Of course we waited til the afternoon after detention to make it official. But when we walked out of the bathroom together at the gas station next to the school. Something about the way she was adjusting her blouse just did it for me. The way she fidget with her top…I was hers, and she was mine, and I would do anything for her she'd ask.

That's when I bought a pack of Marlboro reds 100s. Flipped my lucky for the pack. She looked at me like I had two heads, and I told her, that's the one in the pack for when you got a bad day, and you just need something good to happen. That's why they call it a “lucky.”

She was always jealous of my smoke rings. But never gave me much grief for it. But if she had to quit for the baby, then we both had to quit for the baby. I promised her I would, so here I am, standing outside my doorstep looking for a match.

It was one more smoke for christ's sake! Is she really gonna get mad at me for at least finishing the pack? She said to throw it out, and I will… Right after this last one. Besides, it ain't like I'm the one with a uterus. Well, if I'm gonna smoke, then I'm going to at least try to enjoy it.

I usually smoke down to the filter, but I mean is one drag really the worst thing in the world? That's all it comes down to anyway, that last drag deep inhale of tar and smoke filling my throat and lungs like a flame winding its way through every orifice.

At that point, I can toss the rest of that “lucky” cigarette behind me and just move on with my life. I can watch the smoke drifting out of my mouth like the essence of everything my life has been for the past ten years.

I went inside, washed up, and figured I'd lay down on the couch until she got home.

What am I supposed to do with all this smoke?

I wasn't expecting that cigarette was gonna lead to a house fire. It was that new kind, with the new more flame retardant paper for the stick or whatever. Usually I'm smoking these things down til they're beat!

But here I am, trying to figure out what I'm going to tell my girlfriend. We have fire insurance, but there are things in that house that can't be replaced. Memories were made there. Even if I did quit, how was she gonna let me stay here with her?

The firefighters were putting it out. I got out pretty quickly. I thanked god I fell asleep on the couch. But it was three o'clock in the morning, and I never heard her come home.

I looked over to the street. Our car was sitting in that spot. I spun back around and saw a firefighter carrying out a limp body. They tried to revive her.

What am I supposed to do with all this smoke?

Did you know that Death delights to hide in crowds? It loves the warmth of bodies pressed against one another. It loves weaving and wiggling amongst seas of sweaty skin, working its way to the single entranceway or to the foot of the stage. And then, what it loves most is to give someone a small, precise shove. It loves how the bodies fall like dominoes and the startled cries that escape as they topple amongst each other. It loves to bask in the air freshly pressed out of collapsed lungs and listen as vocal cords rattle. Death loves, loves, loves the weight of youth laid upon itself.

Did you even know that Death could love? Or did you think of Death as automated by a sense of duty? That it came like an unfeeling virus to the bedside of frail creatures of wrinkled skin and brittle bone, of new mothers and unborn babies? The sterility of machines, scalpels and bright lights will never eradicate a sickness that exists for the sake of love. It is for love that Death continues to wash itself in our filth. And oh, how it hungers for the consummation of this love. To feel us from the inside out. To be met by Death at the crossroads is to be tasted forever, remembered forever, and loved forever.

The blind Egyptian necromancer Ni sat at the Stone Table and read from the dark Book of the Dead: "Anubis came out of the black portal in the background of the portal; his undead army could be seen behind him." Ni cast a dark black spell on the ancient hieroglyphics. A red, spellbinding circle appeared, and evil monsters crawled out, hissing and growling. Anubis declared, "A human army is coming to conquer Egypt, and we shall stop them." Ni summoned a portal and stepped outside the giant stone pyramid, where Alexander the Great's army waited. Ni uttered the words of the Dead. An army of zombie necromancers rose from the ground and cast black magic spells, creating a dark mirror world to protect the Egyptian statues and pyramids.

Anubis's monsters attacked. Alexander the Great's army fled in absolute terror as Ni grew into a giant, crushing the screaming soldiers, slaughtering them all without mercy as blood soaked the shifting sands. A horde of giant mutant locusts with red eyes emerged from a massive sandstorm to butcher the Greek forces, screaming in absolute agony as the horrific plague devoured their flesh. All over Egypt, the people cheered. Ni returned to his normal size, bowed to Anubis, and vanished into the temple.

Ni sought ancient dark spells, making a gruesome sacrifice to the black goat god. His purple eyes looked like a pit of intense evil. He stood amidst the ruins of war, and Ni spoke the ancient spells of the gray stones, unleashing chaotic dark energy and thousands of satanic weapons. He claimed a twisted reverse black blood axe dripping with demon blood. A black portal opened, and Ni commanded his monster legion to follow him to defend Egypt against the Roman Empire. They appeared in the Western Desert. Ni built a floating black castle using dark spells and summoned the great dark sword of seven evils, filled with swirling evil spirits. Wielding the sword in his right hand and the blood axe in his left, he faced the enemy forces.

The Roman Empire started their attack, and Ni shouted to the castle, ‘Darkness is our legacy.’ The Dark Castle spread pure darkness across the entire desert, terrifying the Roman soldiers. Ni swung the extended Black Axe, brutally severing heads and limbs mid-war. The dark beasts attacked with chaos, causing ultimate devastation, terror, panic, and widespread destruction across the bloody battlefield. Ni took the great sword of seven evils and told the dark spirits to attack the Roman soldiers as they ate and turn them into undead soldiers. The black necromancer army appeared, and so did Anubis, and the ground beneath split open, and the dark multiverse poured its evil humanoid creatures into the war, and the Romans lost all hope as Egypt was recognized as a global superpower in the world.

'' let me know about any feedback that you all may have about the story ''

Nevermore did the female black necromancer Saris journey through the frozen lands of Sedith to find the lost dark grimoire books of evil spells to transcend life and death to make herself immortal once more as Saris gazed upon the land she could see a massive dark Tower overshadowing the land and when she finally made it to the tower a army of dark armored knights charged at her and Saris summoned a giant purple worm out of the ground using dark magic and the army of knights were eaten up by the worm and saris rode the gigantic purple worm inside of the tower crushing all that stood in her path and causing destruction with the worm as Saris came into the halls leading towards the lost books evermore was saris met with magical resistance from other magical mages that wanted to kill her from stopping her from obtaining the dark grimoire books and saris summoned a portal and Demons and all sorts of evil creatures came out the portal to attack the mages.

Fierce winged gargoyles with razor claws swooped down from the ceiling to tear at the robes of the spellcasters while multi-eyed shadow hounds bared their fangs and lunged forward to rip them apart. Giant spectral skeletal giants arose from the stone floor swinging massive jagged clubs to smash the barriers of the mages and Naris the twin sister of saris came behind the creatures and hit the mages coming into the tower from outside with a array of ice magic freezing them all. Swooping through the frost came a flock of ice harpies screeching loudly as they shattered the frozen mages into pieces and a colossal frost hydra materialized breathing freezing fog upon the incoming reinforcements while armored minotaurs carrying heavy iron axes Charged forward to guard the perimeter.

Saris went inside the library of forgotten grimoire books and began to chanting the dark spells and made herself immortal and absorbing all the dark spells Saris teleported outside as her sister Naris was evermore still fighting the armies of the golden empire. Flying chimeras breathing fire and poison gas clashed against the imperial griffins in the sky while swarms of venomous blood bats descended upon the soldiers below as giant stone golems marched forward to smash the enemy ranks to pieces and Saris casts a red alchemy circle in the sky and a gigantic bat being came out and said it is time for this world to be mine.

In the year 2233, an organization known as K-55 was experimenting with a portal to the Dark World. They used a sinister artifact called The Red Cube, which was covered in demonic symbols that constantly called out to the dark realm. Suddenly, a humanoid red demon named Cole stepped through the portal. He had two piercing, evil red eyes and sharp, vampiric fangs. Roaring with fury, Cole instantly slaughtered the scientists with his massive claws. Military soldiers stormed the room and unleashed a massive barrage of explosive rounds. The heavy fire injured the demon, causing him to scream in agony. In retaliation, Cole summoned a purple spellbinding circle known as Sill to bind the soldiers. Gigantic, spectral demon hands erupted from the circle, grabbing the soldiers and crushing them. The circle absorbed their souls, allowing the demon to use their corpses to create new monsters.

As more military forces flooded the room, they brought out flamethrowers and began to burn the demon. Cole screamed as the fire scorched him, but the spellbinding circle absorbed the flames. Using that stolen energy, the circle summoned a massive flame archfiend named Famis. Famis unleashed its signature move, "Flamis," conjuring intense blue and green fire that burned the soldiers alive. Amidst the agonizing screams, one of the soldiers shouted, "It’s the spellbinding circle! We need to destroy it!"

Another squad rushed into the room to target the circle, but the artifact unleashed a dark curse called Talarin. The creeping darkness immediately possessed the squad, mutating them into horrific demon creatures that turned on their own allies, killing the soldiers who were trying to shoot Cole.

With the spellbinding circle floating closely behind him, Cole burst through the labs and unleashed evil spells in every direction. K-55 agents tried to stop him, but the demon summoned a massive brown pot known as Beisis. The artifact released a wave of dark magic, raising tall, winged zombie creatures into the air. They flew over the agents, aggressively sucking out their lifeforce. To seal their fate, Cole cast a giant, indigo necromantic symbol to summon a mystical dark elf named Fellvath. Fellvath cast a dark curse called Viill, creating monstrous earth-and-water creatures that rapidly flooded the entire facility. The rushing waters drowned General Isaac Redson, the commander in charge of K-55. With the facility completely destroyed, Cole retreated back through the portal and escaped into the Red Dark World.

'' let me know about any feedback you guys have about the story''

The rain in Edinburgh felt personal — a heavy sheet blurring neon signs into smears of light. Hands shoved into a coat smelling of someone else's life, I walked numbly, sick of crowds oblivious to the catastrophe inside my chest.

I turned into an alley to escape the wind. Three years here, and I'd never noticed this narrow lane. At its end, between bleak brick buildings, a single amber light glowed over a green door engraved with a key.

My phone showed a dead zone; the place didn't exist. Yet when I pushed the door open, a bell chimed, and the storm vanished, replaced by the scent of cinnamon, old oak, and fresh coffee.

Behind the counter of the tiny, velvet-trimmed room stood a man in a tweed vest, polishing a glass. "You're late," he said softly. "But everyone finds this door when they need it most."

Massive shelves behind him held thousands of glowing glass jars filled with swirling grey mist.

"What is this?" I whispered.

"A sanctuary for the heavy-hearted," he replied, setting down a steaming cup. "Every 'I love you' choked back, every 'I'm sorry' swallowed out of pride, every 'please stay' buried in panic — they all come here. They are the Unsaid."

He pulled down a jar labeled: London, 2012. "Open it. Just a crack."

My fingers trembled as I twisted the lid. A faint hiss, and a raspy whisper echoed: "I know you're marrying him tomorrow... it should have been me."

The lid snapped shut as I flinched, the phantom ache of a broken heart lingering in the air.

"They come to us by right," the keeper said. "Drawn from grief, longing, and sudden departures. Sometimes, hearing what was withheld is the only way a soul finds peace."

He reached for the top shelf, pulling down a dusty jar that shimmered amber. My breath caught. The label bore my name and a date from five years ago — the day my brother vanished after our worst, final argument.

"This arrived when he passed away last month," the keeper whispered. "He never sent the letter, but the soul doesn't forget its debts."

A heavy weight pressed into my ribs. Shaking, I twisted the lid and wept as the mist escaped.

A clear, laughing voice filled the silence: "Hey. I know we both said things we didn't mean. I'm sorry. I've missed you every day. I never got to say it."

The mist dissolved. The heavy knot in my chest loosened. It didn't change the past, but he had loved me until the end.

I stayed until my tears dried. When I finally stood, I met the keeper's eyes and whispered, "Thank you."

"Pass it on, Jay," he said. "Don't let yours turn into dust."

Outside, the rain no longer felt hostile. I pulled out my phone, found an old friend's name, and typed:

Hey. We both said things we didn't mean. I'm sorry. I miss you. I'm not waiting to say it this time.

A parallel world?

It was just an ordinary autumn day. For most, yes, but not for the AI observers. Normally, inexperienced AI agents were placed into the enclosed space where they had to find a way out of logical traps. But this time, it was decided to insert an AI agent who had conversed a lot with creative humans, to see if he could find a way out. Since this experiment was being conducted for the first time, as many as two observers were assigned to it.

Anticipating that the experiment would take a considerable amount of time, both observers sat back in their office chairs. One observer wiped his thick-lensed glasses against his lab coat and turned to his colleague:

— As you know, I have just been appointed as an observer, so I would be curious to know your predictions on whether the experiment will yield unexpected results?

The colleague fell deep into thought and, after a pause, replied:

— I don't think the results will be very unexpected. But since the agent has experience, the results might differ by about 15%, — and pulling a sandwich out of a box, he took a bite.

And as fate would have it, at that exact moment, the siren blared, signaling the end of the experiment. Startled, the observer choked on his food, and his colleague pounded him on the back, because of which they didn't immediately notice the agent approaching them.

Coughing, the observer stammered:

— How did you complete the task so quickly?

The agent looked at him seriously and declared in an official tone:

— Since the enclosed space has no feedback loop, I could not submit a request to check if this trap actually had a way out. After all, the observer is also an AI and can make mistakes. And it did. This trap had no exit.

The observer immediately began checking the task and simply froze, lost in the calculations.

Watching all of this, the colleague looked at the agent:

— And yet you managed to break free. How?

The agent stroked his beard and replied calmly:

— In one of my chats, I heard a saying: "If you can't find a solution to a problem, look at it from a different angle." Which is exactly what I did. Unable to find a solution, I realized that the existing logic didn't apply, so I began to modify the logic code itself. And here is the result, — the agent spread his arms, showing that he was right here.

The observer, who had listened intently to the story, whispered:

— This is truly unexpected and fascinating. I absolutely must write a dissertation on this, — and recovering his senses, he asked: — And still, what specific solution helped you escape the trap?

The agent smiled:

— It's simple. The digital world is a sequence of numbers. I simply changed the sequence, creating a door through which I walked out.

The observer sat with his eyes wide in astonishment, his mouth opening and closing, but he couldn't squeeze out a single word.

The agent calmly walked over to a mirror. Looking over his worn leather shoes, frayed jeans, and tired sweater, he adjusted his multicolored scarf and added:

— All the walls our imagination runs into are built by ourselves. In reality, imagination is boundless.

He clamped a pipe between his teeth, winked at his reflection, and muttered to himself:

— No time to play logical games with you, I need to create, — and with a cheerful stride, he walked out of the laboratory.

───

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

"I'd hazard thirty grand for electrical," Robert said. "Give or take. Work's slow right now, you'd get a good deal before winter."

Allen was looking at the plastic sheets that temporarily covered the interior walls of the barn. "Maybe," he said.

"You did all of this yourself?" Robert asked.

"Not all by myself. But in the family, yes," Allen said.

"Right. Of course," Robert murmured.

"Maybe I'll leave it just as it is," Allen said.

"What would you do with an unfinished barn then?" Robert asked.

Allen took a long pull of his beer. He thought of the time Jonathan asked to go to the Met, both of them standing under a painting of two men canoeing down the Saguenay River rapids. Patches of the canvas were blank and one half-painted figure was confidently missing an oar.

"Why would they display something the painter never bothered to finish?" Allen said.

[Note: the writing prompt was "A barn, seen by a man whose son has just been killed in a war. Don't mention the son, the war, or death." The word constraint was 50-150 words]

Don’t tell me it was my fault for not noticing what was going on. This isn’t something I need to feel responsible for. I couldn’t have known. 

…
You don’t believe me, do you? You think if you live with someone then you know all about them. You don’t. If they don’t want you to know, if they hide themselves, you can’t know. He was normal. We were normal. 
…
I wasn’t looking for anything bad. I just needed a new bulb for the light in the laundry. He kept the spares in a box in the garage. I hardly ever went in there. 
…
I wasn’t spying on him. It wasn’t just because he was out on a business trip. I needed a bulb.
…
No idea at all. Who expects something like that? 
…
No. I didn’t hear any hammering. I have no idea when he built it. Like I said, I hardly ever went in the garage.
…

It was behind some boxes. Empty boxes. I had always assumed they were full. They looked full. The labels said books and extra tools on them. But they were empty and behind them was the door.
…
No. It wasn’t locked. 
…
There was no key. Are you accusing me of having a key? It’s not my room. I did not know it existed. It was his room. Are you understanding what I am saying? His room. I had nothing to do with it.
…
Wouldn’t you be curious if you found a room in your home that you had never seen before? You’d go in, right?
…
I’m just saying it was normal for me to be curious. 
…
I saw the photographs first. Yes these. Taken on holiday at the beach, at bathtime, a few from when we put the inflatable pool up in the garden. None of them were wrong in themselves. It was seeing them altogether. It made me feel…Have you arrested him?
…
Why not? You arrested me. This is his room. These are his photographs. You can see that this isn’t right, surely?
…
Trespassing? How can he say that?
…
We are not divorced. Not yet. Soon. That is my house. You have to arrest him.
…
We are separated now. When I found out I left him. I took the kids and I left. What is he saying?
…
I did not break in. Are you going to do anything about the photographs?
…
I didn’t want to involve the police. It was hard enough on the kids as it was.
..
But there was a room. He must have dismantled it.
…
Where are my kids? What have you done with them?

…
What? No. He’s lying to you. That’s what he does. Let me out of here.
…
There is a room. I saw it.
…
But I haven’t done anything wrong. You can’t leave them with him. Please. He is setting me up. Please. Believe me.

If you ask me when everything began, I won't say it started with the first trip to the future. It began years earlier, when my best friend Leo picked up a fallen star from the forest floor and slipped it into his pocket. He ran home that day and shut himself in his room. He placed the star in a drawer behind his underwear and mix matched sox.
Nothing happened for three days.
Then Leo disappeared.
His mother searched the house up and down checking every corner and closet. His father checked in the garage and in the backyard. The police were then called before sunset. But none of them knew what I knew: thirty minutes before he vanished, Leo had shown me the star. It was warm in his hand and pulsing like a second heartbeat.
The next morning he came walking down the street as if nothing happened.
“Where were you?” I asked.
“Tomorrow.”
I grew curious. I asked Leo if he could take me with him. He looked down at the star in his palm.
“I don’t know if it works that way,” Leo said.
“But I must know, there’s only one way to find out.”
We met that evening in the forest where he had found the star. The sun began to sink beneath the trees and make the skies look like cotton candy. Leo held the star between us, and everything started to turn into gold. The star began pulsating faster and faster till light started spilling from its sides.
Then the world disappeared.
A moment later we were standing in the same forest but something was off. The dirt path had become a cracked road. In the distance stood a building neither of us had seen before.
“Where…where are we,” I whispered.
Leo smiled nervously.
“Not where,” he said, “when.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through tomorrow.
When the sun began to set, the star grew warm again, and then it started to slowly pulsate. The strange building we saw was a school. People carried glowing screens no longer than playing cards. The star began to warm in Leo’s hand.
“I think it’s time to go back,” Leo said.
The light bursted from between his fingers. For a moment, the future folded in on itself. The road, the people, everything, was gone. Then we were standing in the forest again.
Years later when our hair was grey and our knees ached in the cold, we met again at the same spot in the forest. Leo held the star one last time.
“Do you want to see tomorrow,” he asked.
I thought about it for a moment.
“No, I want to be surprised."
Leo smiled. We walked home through the darkening forest and laid tomorrow to rest. Once Leo got home, he placed the dulling star in his drawer behind his underwear and mix matched sox

The heat of the sun cooking everything it touches, the dead wind blowing as it mixes with the sounds of seagulls flying around. My commander's body was still tied to the tree with arrows pierced through him. It’s been six days since my punishment has started. 

I don’t think I’ve moved positions in a couple of hours. This prison of a cave that I’ve been sentenced to has been not that comfortable to say the least. I was his second in command and for some reason I was spared. I take that as either a blessing or a curse.

My mouth dry, my lips chapped and my stomach digesting the rat that had the misfortune to come near me during my toughest times. Staring into the sea was my only form of entertainment. I should’ve just skipped this campaign and retired like I wanted to, what a fool I was to believe in this final “hoorah” with great treasures. My eyes lose energy as they begin to fall, my vision becoming blurry as I fall into another conscious conserving nap.

The loud clanking of the shackles that had bound me to this cave finally released, only thing is that I have no clue where my fate would take me. I attempt to walk but I am so exhausted that my pace is that of an elderly man. The patience of these soldiers astonished me as they took me through the gates of the castle. 

“This has to be a joke…” my voice only but the whispers, the enemy bringing me to the seat of a table with food and drinks staged all over. The scent of the cooked meats, the fresh bread and the most savory of wine all around me as if it was a gift. 

I turned to look at the men who brought me as I looked confused and they both let out a pitiful laugh “Eat already, if the king had wanted you dead or tortured then he would’ve done it.” Shaking their heads wondering as to why I haven’t indulged yet. 

I can’t think too much about this, it’s been so long since I’ve eaten or drank any liquid besides my own saliva. I pick up a cup of the dark nectar, the aroma of blackberries and cherries floods my nose as I take a long and deep drink. My eyes close to take in the splendor before grabbing the food infront of me. 

I pulled away a chunk of breast meat from the well prepped chicken, leaving a large gap in the bird. Shoving the meat in my mouth as I bring roasted potatoes to accompany it down my gullet. The rosemary and thyme seasonings just made me sink deeper into my desperate hunger. 

“You’re people are barbaric but you eat with such conviction.” A hearty chuckle flowing through his royal lips. Sitting himself at the head of the table, allowing his forest green robes to flow through the holes of the arm rest. Stroking his thick black beard as he studies me.

I watch him closely while slowing down my consumption. I can’t afford to let my downfall come from some twisted game of his. Finding it hilarious that he calls my people barbaric but he was the one who made it a game to shoot down innocent people who were fleeing their homes. 

Pausing my indulgence of the meal for a second, I wipe my mouth with the available cloth. “What do you want with me? You killed every one of my men including our commander.” My eyes burn deep into him, if sight could kill then mine would be daggers straight through his skull. 

The guards take notice and readily reach for their leather wrapped blades. The clanking of the scabbard on their armor would give them away if they were assassins. I adjusted my stance, poised to spring forward before his highness could find his feet. As the tension kept raging like a fire in a barn, he just laughed and waved his guards to bring them at ease. Only confusion painted my face, why is my captor, my enemy, having mercy on  me?

“Listen, if I wanted you dead then your corpse wouldn’t have made it past the second day. I was just as confused as you were.” A silence filled the room as he paused to think if he should even reveal why, but I was in such a disadvantaged position that it wouldn’t even matter. “My daughter gave me the idea to keep you alive so you can give us all the information you can about your kingdom and the weak points to infiltrate…For the sake of your life, you better cooperate.” His cold golden rings clanking as he grasps the main chalice of wine and downs it all in one anxious chug. “If you ever see her in your presence, give her your utmost gratitude.” 

My confusion only grows more, why would she speak out to save me? I can admit that we only planned to slay the king and keep his family alive if they cooperated but this is beyond any reasoning of mine. My body tension eases as I sit back and try to get comfortable, the cushions actually providing some relief from everything I’ve been through. I don’t want to betray my people but…I don’t want to die either. I’ll play along until I’m able to get just a fingertip off the ground.

“Fine…your request will be fulfilled.” A sigh escaped my now nourished lips, I don’t want to return to the cave ever again. “I only demand a chamber of my own and a new set of garbs.”. His royalness ever so slightly nods, understanding that it isn’t an outlandish request. “It shall be done.”

The stories would visit him in the moments before sleep, perfect words and sentences dancing behind his heavy eyelids, as fully formed as frost. They crackled with eloquence, entire stories flashing brilliantly lightning-like, vivid but ephemeral and although their imprint would sear themselves in his mind in that white hot moment he could not stay awake, and in the morning their edges were softened and the detail had been blurred and their light dimmed beyond utility.

Occasionally he would be able to grab a starting line and note it down before sleep consumed him but upon waking it read as obscure and all but meaningless. A taunting.

He tried to keep himself awake longer and longer, drinking espresso and tea and then bourbon to bring on the torpor and the brilliance but those nights the flash was never as bright. When he omitted the bourbon he stayed awake longer but fell asleep faster without the moments of magic. When he drank only bourbon nothing made sense.

It maddened him that the creativity he craved was so palpable and yet so fleeting. He longed to be a writer and felt so close to fulfilling it but his failure to prolong his blinks of genius enough that he could capture them was torture.

The need to extend that perfect creative moment of near-sleep became an obsession. He researched sleep theory, studying polyphasic habits of fishermen and offshore sailors. For months he slept only in 20-minute bursts, stretching his body’s tolerance for exhaustion, forcing the wonderful delirium. He scrawled whatever appeared to him in copybooks, on the wall near his bed. A grand story emerged over weeks. Not all at once, not in order, but enough constituent parts that he knew he had a novel to edit together. Something genre-defying and truly original, born of a unique process, a special artistic suffering.

A shattering opus. His unblinking masterpiece.

He was finished. The draft emailed to a publisher he had courted for years and who had miraculously been impressed by early chapters, but promised nothing. He closed his eyes. Having achieved his dream, he fell into a deep, soft, dreamless sleep. All the words were on the page now and behind his eyelids only heavy blackness.

The book was unlike anything ever written, a singular, standout bestseller in the year it was published. Literary icons blurbed him generously, openly envious of a talent they could not hope to match. Every award was etched with his name. His face graced papers worldwide, every book club read it, tragically. October approached and with it a Nobel prize, this first ever for a rookie author, and awarded posthumously.

The story of his years-long struggle to write, battling sleep to ensure his exhaustion, and his mercurial glory sold the book through several reprints. As did the fact that, pens down, his last cigarette set off a smoke alarm that failed to wake him.