She not only races against time itself but also against her waning strength and the inconsistency of her thoughts. The guards were coming for her. Although she knew them as her “Menacing demons seeking mental annihilation”. The thundering noises of their footsteps and the clanking of the chains they dragged with them to restrain her boomed through the distance. She kneeled at the end of a long corridor shaking at the touch of the cold metal on her feet as tears that felt like acid slipped from within her core. “ I have to do it.”, she unsteadily whispered. They were getting closer and closer. The escape plan she had been working on for what felt like forever was soon becoming worthless as she pondered if choosing death would truly be easier than the hell she endures. Her theory was that death was the key. The way back home. If she even had one.

The prison she was in was not like any humanly imaginable. The guards, demons of emotions. The rooms, personal torture cells. The warden? The most pernicious aspect of the prison. It was the mind. The mind’s power rested in the fact they didn’t know of their power, not due to their incompetence or lack of strength but rather to the constant berating from their inner demons which had outwardly manifested themselves in this prison. Basically, all the pain and torment they faced was dependent on what they thought they deserved. Freeing yourself needed a power she or any of the prisoners did not yet know they had. “Put it down”, said a sinister voice from behind her. She knew what guard they had sent for her. A single tear burned down her face as she released the makeshift dagger along with any other piece of hope she held. “ Stand up my child”, It ordered. She hated being referred to as its child.” I’m not your child”, she angrily murmured. Slowly rising to her feet, she felt the familiar feeling of her throat tightening. It was punishing her. She turned to face it. “Why have you not learned Destinee?” It questioned as a deviant smirk spread across its face.

Its face was a source of fuel for her constant nightmares. No aspect of its appearance was humanlike. It is often said that the eyes are the windows to one’s soul. If that’s true it is even more terrifying because nothing can be seen beyond its windows. Whenever Destinee looks into its eyes her body feels heavy and every piece of happiness and confidence slips from within her. Even a slight glance could somehow push her into the deepest pits of depression. Hence the creature’s name.

“ I am always with you, within you. You escaping me would be like love choosing hate. Light choosing dark. There is no escape for you. Even in death, I will-” its demeaning monologue was interrupted. “Depres, master did not tell you to torment her. He wants to see

the girl,”, shouted Sympa. “Another time then. My child.”, Depres dragged her limp body down the long corridor in silence.

Time wouldn’t be the correct identification of how moments passed here. It was more of a freefall of perceived minutes and hours. Therefore a minute could be a year and a year could be a second. “ We’ve arrived”, said Depres. Destinee observed her surroundings. None of her other attempts or rebels had ever landed her in the “the warden’s office”. Of course, Sympa the guard of pity was nowhere to be found. Especially for Destinee. Sympa spent his time advocating for those who were deemed more worthy. The doors opened and the most beautiful contradiction stood before her. One wall of pure gold. Another of a color that appeared to be darker than black, the longer she looked at it, the more she felt a piece of herself slip into it. Her soul seemed to be in distress merely by her presence in the room. “Exquisite. Isn’t it?”, asked a smooth yet unidentifiable voice. It wasn't a male or female. Nor was it anything like any of the guards. “ You don’t have to answer. It was rather rhetorical”, the voice added condescendingly. “ Why am I here”, Destinee cried. The voice laughed. “You were trying to kill yourself, so we saved you” - “saved me?”, she interrupted. “I was trying to save myself. Trying to free myself of this hell that you’ve put me in”, she shouted. There was a distinct silence. “I have put you nowhere.”, the voice calmly boomed before she blacked out.

She jerked awake in a cell different from her old one. This one had two people she had yet to meet. “You should’ve tried to escape”, said a voice in the distance. “Who are you?”, destinee asked. There was a pause in the dark, and she could see at least two sets of eyes. “Ronnie” “Max”, the eyes responded. “Well Ronnie and Max, I tried. I’ve been trying for as long as I can remember. Every time I was either returned by a guard or tricked by a fiction of my imagination. I unknowingly stopped myself more times than I can count. It’s like I am my own worst enemy”, she said as tears fell from her eyes. The two new roommates stepped into the light to reveal themselves to her. The one who had identified herself as Ronnie had fair skin and a slim build, resembling that of a model. Destinee stared at her, feeling as insecure as ever. She had always assumed that all the prisoners were as undesirable as she felt she was. Max followed slightly behind her. Another appearance that challenged her view of the place. Max was a child. “How old is she”, Destinee questioned. “She’s 14 years old”, Ronnie replied. Extremely young to endure an experience like this. In all fairness, Destinee didn’t know how old she was. Or how long she had been there. She used to have memories of a former life, the good and the bad. Now there are only fleeting recollections of the bad. “Why are you here?”, she blurted. Max and Ronnie looked at each other as if she has just asked an unreasonable and

unbelievable question. “You seem to have been here long, and you don’t get what this is?”, Max questioned. Destinee confusingly shook her head. “ We’re in the -”, Max stopped. Tears came from her eyes and a look of horror spread across her face. Max was staring off into the distance as if she was seeing something that the others in the room were unable to see. Ronnie screamed her name over and over again to no avail. Max was in some sort of trance. Destinee felt an eerie presence that she had never felt before. She turned around to a terrifying discovery. A figure she had not previously noticed or was familiar with. She got Ronnie’s attention away from attempting to wake max to show her the figure that was looming before them. Ronnie’s face soon matched the terror expressed on all the faces in the room. “Who is that”, Ronnie asked through tears produced by pure fear.

She did not know how she knew, but Destinee knew exactly who or what that was. She had heard whispers and accidentally conjured nightmares of the creature but had never imagined how truly terrifying it would be. Its appearance was far different than that of the other guards. It was taller and had two large horns protruding out the sides of its head. Its skin appeared to be made of leather or another rough material. Its body was defined and chiseled as if the creature was sculpted through fire. Having her question left unanswered, Ronnie turned to the creature for the answers. “Who are you”, She cried at the creature. A deep and deceiving laugh was produced out of the figure. It opened its mouth and revealed something similar to a black hole. At that moment, Max released screams of genuine fear at the acknowledgment of the beast. What happened next couldn’t be properly explained with all the words in existence. In a moment Max was gone. Devoured by the creature right before their eyes. Ronnie’s screams and cries filled the room. Destinee froze. Ronnie screamed at the creature “who are you” over and over again. The unnamed beast stood tall and proud. “ what do you feel”? it whispered in a mystifying tone. The room fell silent. “Agony is all I feel.”, Ronnie whimpered in response. The creation licked the remains of the child off its mouth and released an eerie chuckle. “ Well now you know my name”, it whispered. In the blink of an eye, it was gone. Destinee had never witnessed such horrors or such diabolic behavior. Yet she had not made a single whimper or moan. She felt fear, but it was fear born from curiosity rather than terror or fright. She moved to comfort Ronnie in her distressed state, but in the dark, a puzzled expression built on Destinee's face.

The title of this piece that I am working on turning into a novel is State of Mind. I would categorize it as horror fiction and would place the age range at 18+. The current word count is 1566. My name is Cynthia Amoako and I am an 18-year-old African American female who enjoys reading, writing, and watching movies. I believe that my project is a good fit because I am a new and young author with many ideas and a desire to work hard. State of Mind follows an 18-year-old girl named Destinee who is trapped in a mental prison and being tortured by different mental illnesses presented as guards. My target audience is young adults who enjoy horror, science fiction, and suspenseful novels. I recently graduated high school, and am set to attend university starting in the fall.

An Interesting Turn of Events

It was a gloomy, chilly, windy, gray and all around bleak day. The gray clouds swallowed the normally blue skies of the university. On days like these, most people would stay inside to avoid the mood of the world around them. On the rooftop of one of the buildings, though, sat a boy. He was around 6 feet tall wearing a bright, rainbow-colored shirt. He sat near the edge of the rooftop with a picture in his hands. The picture was simply of the same boy but with an awkward smile. Most people would have seen it and felt embarrassed, embarrassed enough to throw it away but the boy just stared at it blankly. He folded the picture up, put it into his pocket, and began to stand up. He walked to the very edge of the roof and stood there expressionless, the very same face he had made looking at the picture. He stood there for a few seconds before he heard a door open up from behind and what came out was a girl. She ran quickly out of the doorway and caught up to the boy. She was around 5 feet 9 inches wearing a plain gray hoodie and was very sweaty.

“There you are,” she said panting, “I looked all over the University to find you: I looked in the main university building, the dining halls, and even near the city. I even looked in the frickin alleyways and near some of the dumpsters when I found you just sitting up there doing absolutely nothing.”

“I’m sorry but you must have the wrong person,” he said bluntly.

“You are Terry Weaver, right?”

“I am,” he remarked, “but it doesn’t seem that I know you.”

“You don’t know me? I’m literally in your physics class. We don’t even have that many people and I literally sit right near you, heck the professor takes attendance every day and you don’t even recognize me… Well, whatever, my name is Sabrina Parem, sorry for getting a bit fired up there.”

“It’s fine, I really don’t care either way,” he said impassively, “Why do you want to see me?”

“It’s just…… Physics is difficult and I am having a bit of a hard time. I’ve heard that you are pretty smart and I thought that I could ask for your help. Would you be willing to help me out?” She said with puppy dog eyes.

Terry thought about this for a while………hmmmmmmmmmmmm…. “Sure… I’ll help you out,” he said in a tone that was neither positive nor negative.

“Are you sure, you don’t seem very enthusiastic about it?” she said confusedly.

“I’m sure. Are we going to do it here though, it’s kinda windy?” he asked.

“No! Of course we will go somewhere else. How about we meet later at the Springborne Park at 6:00 tonight?”

“Sure,” and the two of them exchanged phone numbers and parted ways for the time being. For the next little while he pondered on what possessed him to care enough to decide to help the girl. There must be something special about her

I am walking. Walking, walking, walking. Just keep walking. I say to myself over and over again.

The sun is going to set soon; occasionally the clouds let up enough for me to see a glimpse of the sunset; pretty and pink, but then they soon recede back into their original form.

Cars speed past me on the overpass. My head swivels back and forth at the sight of every white car I see, hoping that it's not her car. Quickening my pace, I head off the ramp towards a sidewalk that winds down into a fork. One goes to the left, into woods and the backs of houses, and the other goes under the overpass into more woods. I try to remember everything I can about my favorite childhood park; it had been years since I'd been, and both sides looked like they could lead there.

A gust of freezing wind leads me under the overpass in hopes of some sort of shelter. I walk to the far right and look up at the sloping walls leading up to the road.

When I was a child, I thought that homeless people must have lived under here; I had seen them under other bridges near my house and all over, so why would this bridge be any different? But looking up at the small groves, there are no tarps, there are no blankets, and there are no signs of life. Maybe I would camp out here, the same way so many others do. I climb up the 45° angle, and when almost at the top, I realize that the slits on the only flat area of the bridge were too narrow for even me to fit in, let alone sleep in.

I sat down in defeat and began to cry. The tears keep flowing out of me, and they won't stop. Why, why, why? Why does it have to be me? Why do things like this always happen to me? Curled up in a ball, a raggedy and thin green blanket wrapped around me, I begin to sing. I don't know what urged me to do this, or if I simply had lost my mind, but I began to sing. Quietly, and without tune the lyrics come out and they don’t stop.

With tears streaming down my face, I push myself off the ground, and make my way down, back to the sidewalk. From across the river, I can see a man, probably on his evening run, making his way left. Opposite to where I am going. I watch him, wondering if I'm making the right decision, but quickly push the thought out of my mind and move on.

Trees hang over the sidewalk, their leaves scattered across the path. The leaves should be crunching under my feet, but they are soft. They probably have been lying here for months, waiting to decompose, but the fluctuating rain and cold have dampened and preserved them. I look up to the sky, darker now than it was before, and watch as the clouds swirl past. I try to remember the weather forecast for the evening, but I must not have looked.

Please don’t rain, please don’t rain.

Still singing, I walk into an unfamiliar neighborhood. Rich: fancy cars, big houses, lots of land, and a nicely kept playground. There are two ponds, one on each side of the sidewalk, almost as if I am close to the park, but I’ve never seen this place before. I assume it's just a stop on the way, that I never noticed. I keep walking along the path, the curves preventing me from seeing the rest of it, but there is a pond, so I must be close. As I march on, regaining hope that I am just one step closer to victory, I see an end. A small irrigation system, an outflow from the pond, into the creek with no way across. As I get closer, I think that maybe I can just walk over, and the park will be right over the bend, but all hope dies as I see that the water is too high for me to walk, and the trail doesn’t pick back up.

As I turned to walk back the way I came, I see a small treehouse in the woods next to the sidewalk. Stepping off the sidewalk into the dirt, I make my way over to it. From below, I can see what looks like blankets, or a tarp of some kind. Getting closer to the tree, I can see how old the things up there are. The treehouse has probably been there for 30 years, its wood is rotted, and splintering, and upon closer inspection of the ladder, I realize many rungs are missing. I can see the potential cover through cracks in the wood, and I begin to cry. I turn around and make my way over to the playground and sit down on a bench. I run my fingers over the cool metal, and I am taken back in time. The diamond pattern on the bench is the same as the tables from my elementary school. I remember sitting with my friends and talking, sticking my fingers through the holes on warm days, and being happy. I sigh, the cold feel of the metal seeps through the blanket, through my sweatpants, and brings me back to reality.

I feel the salty, sticky tears drying on my face, but I stand up and turn to go back the way I came. As I do, I realize it's getting dark, very dark. No, no, no, no, no! If I try to go back now, it will be dark before I even get back to the bridge. I stand there, dumbfounded, blanket wrapped around me, and realize that this is where I will be spending the night. Around me, I see three large pine trees, huge, the biggest ones I’ve ever seen. Their heavy branches hang low to the ground, and as I walk closer to the biggest of them, I realize that they are thick too. I look up into the tree as a gust of wind tears through my clothes and make a decision.

I had seen it in a movie once. The main character needs a safe place to sleep, so she climbs a tree, ties herself to a branch, and sleeps there. So, I begin to climb. I reach my hand up and grasp the first branch, immediately, flaking splinters penetrate the tender flesh of my palm. I push through the pain, and continue my climb up, each grasp of a branch numbing my hands more and more. Finally, I reach a decent height to rest at. The branches are just thick enough to hold my weight, and the foliage just thick enough to shield me from most of the wind's fierce blows. I sit down, with my back up against the trunk, and my feet pointing out towards the sidewalk. Using the green blanket, I wrap it around the tree and tie it at my waist and wait.

As I wait, the branch is becoming more and more uncomfortable. The branch under me digging into my thighs and butt, and the trunk digging into my spine, the pain radiates through me. I attempt to move, pulling my legs in, shifting my back, but no matter what I do I can’t seem to get comfortable. The branches just dig deeper into the fascia of my muscles. It’s even darker now, and any remnants of the sun have long gone. Only the streetlights shine against the black sky, and a warm glow radiates out of the houses. Through the laced leaves of the tree, I see a car pull into a driveway, and a man walks into his home. I imagine him sitting with his family, eating dinner in a warm house, and enjoying the company of his loving family. I started to wonder when the last time I ate was. I’m not even that hungry, in all honesty, I feel like I’m going to throw up. I push it all aside, close my eyes, and hope that daylight comes soon.

From the gaps in the pines, I can see a white light, traveling across the distant road. Blinded for a moment, unsure of its carrier, I realize it's a searchlight. Attached to a cop car going faster than normal in a neighborhood like this. As it gets closer to the park, it slows down, and the light begins to move. I can see it hitting the swings, then the slide, then the bench, and then the tree next to me. I close my eyes and cross my fingers, hoping that the foliage conceals me, as the light passes over me. I open my eyes again and watch as the light continues to scan. The tree line, the sidewalk, and then it turns off. Thank God.

I had suspected my mother would go to the police and report me missing. Probably playing the victim like she always does, “Please, help me, a mourning mother, find her waste of a daughter, whom I still love even though she is a disgrace.” I wonder if she has even told daddy yet. She probably told my grandma; she still lives around here.

As my breathing slows down, and the adrenaline wears off I start to feel the effects of the cold on my body. Teeth chattering, hands shaking, breath heavy and uneven, it feels like I’ve just run a marathon, but I’ve barely moved. Time feels slow, but I know realistically that I couldn’t have been out here for more than two hours. Without any method of timekeeping and nothing but my thoughts, the internal pain is greater than the physical. Through my shoes, I can feel my toes tingling, and the wind is getting worse. Piercing through my thin tee-shirt and sweatpants, I try to stay warm by putting my arms in my shirt and pulling the blanket over me. However, every time I adjust it, a new area is exposed leaving me just as cold as I was before.

The tree isn’t protecting me like it was before, and the pain associated with sitting on the branches incites me to get down. With every movement of my legs, the static burns and itches its way up my body. When my feet hit the ground, I feel my knees buckle, and I topple to the ground, and all I can do is moan in agony. Weak and fatigued, I try to get myself up, but it’s no use. I’m out of breath, and it hurts to move, but the icy winds persuade me to try. Using the tree trunk and some of the low hanging branches, I pull myself up and start to walk toward the playground.

There is a small tube with little holes in it, but it looks like it could give me shelter. Making my way up the little stairs, I get to the mouth of the tunnel. Before I can even think, I crawl into the tunnel, only to be met with a cold icy pool of water at the bottom. It hits my arms, my knees, and as I retreat it gets all over my blanket. “No!” I cry, kneeling at the mouth of the tunnel, I am mortified. Each layer, as thin as they are, are necessary to my not freezing to death out here.

The blanket is soaked in the middle, so I pick it up and ring it out the best I can and then place it around me, so the wet patch isn’t touching my skin. I then ring out the knees of my pants the best I can and sit down. With my feet on the step below me, I pull my shirt over my head, pull my arms in the sleeves, and rest my body against my thighs. I close my eyes, and I try to sleep through all the winds, and all the pain and worry, and I almost do. As I am finally beginning to drift, the sound of a car pulling up wakes me.

I immediately come out of my shell and look around. On the street behind me, I see my grandmother's car, she is driving, and I see my mother in the passenger's seat. The internal light is on, and I expect them to hop out, and come search the park. This is it; this is when she gets me. This is when she gets her way. I can’t help but be a little hopeful that she will make me come with her, but I also know I never will. I wait, and wait, and wait for her to get out of the car. To look out of the window or to do anything. But she doesn’t. She looks through the rearview mirror once, but I never even see her look in the direction of the park. Instead, they just sit there for what seemed like a lifetime, and then they drive off.

Astonished, and hurt I recede back into my shirt, but I don't put my head back in. Instead, I watch the houses, looking for any hint of what time it could be. As I sit and stare, a harsh sense of loneliness falls over me. All I want to do is go home, see my brother, my sister, my dad.

My dad used to tell me stories about when he was homeless, and I always knew it was bad. The elements are harsh, that’s a given; he had gotten pneumonia one year from spending weeks outside in the woods while it was raining and snowing. Finally, he admitted himself to the hospital, and the doctors told him he was days away from death. Even now he gets a case of mild walking pneumonia every winter, some things never leave you. However, I never truly understood the agony associated with being cold: the fact that there is almost nothing you can do no matter how hard you try. How every time you move it feels like your bones are going to shatter, and your skin is going to flake off with every bend of a joint. It’s easy to say you understand when you really don’t.

I put my head back into my shirt and start to breathe in and out of my mouth. I hope that any internal body heat will circulate through my shirt, and not seep out through the tiny holes in the threading. The sound of my breathing and the sound of the night gently lull me to sleep.

An excruciating pain jolts me awake. Oh no, please, no. A fiery sensation makes its way around my toes and across my feet. With the movement of my ankle, I realize that I can’t move my toes. I realize that they are numb, frozen in place, and there is nothing I can do. Oh my God, I thought this wasn’t supposed to hurt! But it does. I start trying to evoke any movement at all from them, I wiggle, I twist, and finally, I get up and start walking around. When my skin is exposed to the bitter cold, I jolt back, but deal with it to save my toes. I walk down the stairs, over the woodchips, and onto the sidewalk. There I begin bouncing up and down on my tiptoes.

An almost unendurable tingling presents itself upon every application of pressure, and upon release, a throbbing pain settles deep within my muscle fibers. I push through it until I start to feel even an inkling of function in the appendages, but I don’t stop. Finally the feeling returns, but now I know that I can’t fall asleep. All I can do for the remainder of the night is try to keep warm, all over.

Looking around, there aren’t very many places that could offer shelter, but then I see the low hanging branches of the pine tree again. I walk over, reach my hand up, and then try to pull myself up into the tree again, but I’m too weak. Instead, I fall to the ground to cry, but the tears won't flow. Instead, I try to conserve my body heat in any way I can. I sit up on my knees and tuck the edge of the blanket under my toes. Then, I pull my hands and the edges of the blanket into my shirt, with my hands barely sticking out, and then I pull my head in too.

The ground is dirty, and from the inside of my shirt, I can feel its residue on my hands. And I wait. Breathing in and out, hoping that maybe I can try to sleep again, but it’s no use. You can do it, just stay warm. But it’s so cold, it’s SO cold. I don’t know how I can do it. No, it isn’t even cold. I’m fine there is nothing wrong, I’m fine. This goes on for hours, back and forth, falling into sleep then being woken up. And when I think that it's finally over...

“HONK, HONK!” The sound of geese wakes me. Oh no, please just go away. I am still in my turtle position, and it's not warm, but I know it will be much colder out there. I wait, but the sounds get louder and louder until I think there must be a goose right behind me ready to pounce. I have always had a little fear of birds. They are mean, and they can and will attack you if they feel threatened, so quickly I make my way out of my bundle. I jump back and scan my surroundings. There are no geese. I get out from under the hanging branch and look up in the sky, and there they are. I push past the terror and realize that the sky doesn’t seem as dark anymore.

I recede back under the awning of the branch and wait. From the corner of my eye, I see a man walking with his dog. They come from the woods, back where the bridge is, and then slowly make their way past the park, and then into the neighborhood. Finally! I assume it must be the early morning, 5:00 or 5:30, and I get up. My bones ache, and my appendages don’t want to bend, but before I head back to the bridge, I decide to check out the neighborhood, just to make sure I’m not going to go the wrong way after all this time.

I get up, and with the blanket wrapped around me, I make my way through the tapestry of roads, looking for an exit. As I go, people pull out of their driveways in their fancy cars, and I just hope they don’t notice me. I reach the end of the neighborhood and find a single exit leading to a highway. I know that there is no way that the park could be out this way, this is the exact opposite of town. Now, a sense of direction, now I know where to go. As I head back to the little park, I see pinecones laying on the ground. Two small ones catch my eye, so I pick them up and put them in my pocket to give to my brother and sister when I see them.

“Soon, soon,” I say to myself as I make my way back.

This is the first of two parts of my short story “Going Home”, a non-fiction narrative based heavily on true events. The total story has roughly 8,000 words and is aimed for young women/girls 14-25. My name is Juliette and my work is a good fit for your publication because of its strong message of hope and perseverance, incredible writing, and the potential for continuation.

Synopsis: Juliette is alone. She didn’t intend to be outside on a cold winter night with nowhere to go, but here she is. Alone. The sun is about to set and she needs to find shelter before it's too late. A glimmer of hope comes when she realizes the park she frequented as a child is nearby, all she needs to do is follow the path. When she encounters a fork in the road with no clue of which way to go, making the wrong choice could mean her life. With nothing but the clothes on her back and an old green blanket, she goes right.

Between dreams of her past, and the looming doom of her present situation, she knows her only option is to survive. Ghosts of what brought her here haunt her thoughts and drive her actions, but without a phone she is cut off from her only lifeline: her father. Juliette never had a good relationship with her mother, but she never thought it would bring her here. Now that she’s here, she can’t let herself stray from the path.

But when that path leads her to a dead end, she is left stranded in an unfamiliar neighborhood. With the only shelter being a small playground and some trees, she knows it will be a long night. Venturing back the way she came  could prove dangerous as the sun falls quickly beyond the horizon, there is nothing left to do but wait for morning.

I

“So, I talked to the Va-Ra today.” Lab said as he closed the door behind his old friend. The little apartment, wafting heavy scents of seafood, was warm and busy, yet unmistakably some hint of great melancholy lingered between the walls.

“Is this really what you want to bring up?” Asked Couchant, taking off his jacket and then bending down to take off his shoes. “As soon as I’ve walked in?”

“She wasn’t stoked,” said Lab. “She’s right. You know she’s right,” replied Couchant. “Well,” murmured Lab, suddenly intrigued by the window. “You’re making a mistake. I don’t know why you need me to tell you that.” Out the window, the city hustled and whizzed, Couchant silently took off his

shoes as he and Lab gazed. In the far distance, from the launch boats in the harbor, rockets ascended symmetrically with shooting stars. A particularly large one, a Colonizer, crept its way upward, dwarfing the impotent tail-fires of nearby rockets. 450 years until it reached its destination. Couch thought of Lab strapped into a cryo-bed aboard that monolith. He shuddered and stood up. “It’s far.”

“Leaving’s gonna make us happy, man.” Lab glanced over at Fee-Bi, girlfriend of the year, busying herself with the food.

“It’s running away,” said Couchant. “You shouldn’t quit your job.” Lab turned, “Anyone need a beer? Perf, Couch?” While Lab fished through the refrigerator for beers, Couchant gave a friendly hug

to the silent Perf, “Too far?” he whispered. Perfunctory shook her head. “No, but it won’t work, Couch.” She was from a

long line of polite breeding where speaking her opinion was frowned upon, unless it came after four to five nights of careful dancing around the subject. Already, she knew that her coworker’s attempts would be futile.

“I know. But I have to try.”

Nestled together in a styrofoam box on the floor, twelve aracrabs slept in a cold- induced nightmare. Couchant picked one up by the corner of its triangular body. All twelve of its legs were curled, including the massive stingers at the back, “Stinger’s the best meat on the ’ole thing” a grizzled Tritonian fisherman would be glad to tell you.

“Express missile all the way from Triton,” mused Couchant. “How you cookin’ ’em?”

“I’m going to put them in the pot then bring it to a boil.” Replied Fee-Bi, “It’s easy. I thought it would be a nice going away gift. Lab’s always talking about how your families used to eat ’em together.”

“I usually boil the water then puttem in. They suffer less that way,” said Couchant coolly. Fee-Bi turned away from her pan, measuring Couchant’s intentions. Lab handed Couchant a beer, and Fee-Bi turned back to the pan of mushrooms she was preparing.

Lab was chipper as they returned to the dinner table. “I was talking to my brother, back on Triton, we’ve been jumping through hoops trying to clear up our sis’ estate. Collie left a lot behind, an apartment, the business, the lease on the office building; it’s just a lot, man. Of course, I don’t mind that my brother gets it all. What could I possibly do with it anyways,” He attempted a chuckle and looked at Couchant hopefully, saw only a concerned frown, kept going, “Anyways, Pug can have it all for what I care. I mean, whatever right? I can’t bring myself to fight over what Collie left behind. And this way, I’ll be far far away.” He trailed off in a soma grin, before hastily adding, “It’s just too difficult to be here. I’m not happy.”

Couchant took a long sip from his Jupiter Pale Ale. “Pretty good JPA, right? Brewed right here in the city,” said Lab. He was trying to get Couchant to respond positively to absolutely anything. Couchant nodded and said something complimentary about hops.

“So tell me a bit about the colony,” Perf finally spoke after an uninspired conversation about nearby breweries.

“Uhh, yeah. So it’s in the Gravita’s quadrant of Sheffield galaxy. Apparently it’s highly, what do they say? Suitable- or something?”

“Habitable,” interrupted Couchant.

“Right, habitable. So we just get there and it’s like a new world. We get to create it ourselves, I think. Her family left to go there, like what?” He called over to Fee-Bi, “Hey Bi, how long ago did your mom and dad take off?”

“3 years.”

“So they’ll get there in, like, 300 more years,” Lab laughed with just a hint of discomfort. “The company said something about us building our own house. We get land.”

“How much?” Asked Couchant. “I don’t remember,” again Lab laughed. “You don’t know how much land you’re getting?” “Well, y’know? I came to Callisto not knowing anything, either. Remember?

You just told me it was good here, and you set that job up for me, so I came. Didn’t even look it up first.”

“That’s insane,” said Couchant. “You should have atleast looked it up.”

“We’re going to miss you at the office,” Perf added. “Crab almost ready, Bi?” Fee-be nodded back. She was listening closely to the conversation at the table.

Couchant wondered just how much of the plan was hers. “Remember the aracrab boils we’d have back home? Fresh caught. Those were the days, huh?” mused Lab.

“Really? I’ve never tried it before,” said Perfunctory. “Growing up, I heard that if they sting you it’s really bad and I always avoided them.”

Lab and Couchant both looked at each other, suddenly they became very serious. “Yeah, almost lost my dog to one when I was young. Caught them on the ice, three of ’em surrounding her,” said Couchant.

“You damn near got yourself killed, too. Kids can’t handle the venom as well,” supplied Lab. They both looked over at the trembling Perfunctory, staring at the now- empty styrofoam box with horror. The two scoundrels burst out laughing. “We’re kidding, we’re kidding,” said Lab in-between peals of laughter.

“They don’t have any venom, they use the stingers to spear little shrimpsters and fish, then bring them into their mouths,” explained Couchant after calming down a little.

Fee-be brought over a platter of the cooked creatures and Lab began busily eating. Couchant, the familiar and long-lost smell overwhelming him, almost missed Perf’s look of polite fear. Still a little afraid of what, until a few moments ago, she assumed were deadly beasts. He handed her an aracrab and began demonstrating the process of opening, breaking, picking, and eating the complicated little thing. “It gets easier,” he winked. “Everytime it gets easier and quicker. Back on Triton, we spent

hours picking and eating and talking all together at the table. It’s really the ceremony of it all.”

Fee-Bi held the aracrab awkwardly, inspecting without making any moves. Next to her, Lab was busy with his own. She clearly wanted his help. She looked across the table to where Couchant was showing Perf how to break open the stingers. He punched out the stinger with a little fork, used the furthest-most tooth of the tool to get inside the claw, and then split the top portion of it with a lever-like movement, all while slowly explaining what he was doing.

“Baby, could you show me how to eat it?” Fee-Bi asked Lab very quietly.

“Yeah, you just uhh,” his mouth was full of meat, his hands moving quickly on the shell, cracking and picking, “You just, you know, you just eat it.” He broke a leg in half, revealing a long sliver of teal meat, “Like this, you see?”

“I don’t see.” She said calmly.

Lab put down the remains of his aracrab and let out an overlong sigh. “Well, hand it over here. I’ll do it.”

“I can do it myself, just show me how.”

Perfunctory, now fairly comfortably picking at the center shell, and Couchant, picking inattentively at leg meat, lazily watched the two.

“Fuck, well uh, so what you do,” Lab sounded exhausted and exasperated as he explained the process of breaking and eating the aracabs. To Couchant it seemed silly to be so fed up, so tired by such a simple request from his fiancée. He watched curiously as Lab made the process of eating the wonderful little creatures sound like a death sentence.

“And then you, uh, you eat the little bit of meat and keep going. Keep going and going. It’s always a small amount of meat. Never even a mouthful. But you gotta keep going. It takes hours sometimes to get full eating these,” said Lab.

Fee-Bi began to pick it up and the four them sat silently, crunching through the armored spiders. Couchant tried to remember the last time he had eaten aracrab. But really he just thought about Lab, tried to remember the last time he had seen him happy. Truly happy. It couldn’t have been all that long ago. They had been on Jupiter together for three years now. He couldn’t recall anything from the past year he would call a “happy Lab memory”. There were short bursts, like that little joke about the stingers, but never anything more than that. Never a night or evening worth of smiles and jokes. He thought back, tried to dig up what exactly “a happy Lab memory” was anyways.

A distant memory of some juvenile night; an adventure where they stole without stakes. The time they drank their first beers walking through an abandoned house; lusted over classmates: “I just want to see her naked. That’s all. I swear.” Gawked at a 40ounce. Belted out the words to a distant pop song. “Bruh, this is what I’m gonna grind to at the dance.” Drunkenly tumbling across time and space to wrangle pizza. Sun on their backs as they skated across long abandoned roads, carcrafts whizzing by far overhead; waiting patiently for licenses to fly their own. Lab got his first, chauffeured for half a year; the whole crew lustily stared out of the windows while hunting for something; riding for youth. Late at night, the rest of the party asleep, a final beer on the roof of an abandoned building, longing for the stars, “How far will we go?” One of them asked. Lab and Couchant, clanging their bottles together before throwing them with a

laugh. Back to aracrabs, bits of shell slicing little cuts in his hand as he hungrily picked. Where had that friend gone?

Fee-Bi was picking her aracrab apart with some skill now. Lab had finished his own, cracking and slurping without a word. Crushed claws falling into a repurposed tissue bin provided the only sound in the apartment.

“This is fucking stupid,” Couchant nearly shouted across the table. “You could do anything Lab, anything.”

“Why can’t you let him do what he wants?” said Fee-be, putting down the leg she had been working on. “We love each other. Can’t you accept that?”

“This has nothing to do with how much you love each other. Getting on that rocket is a mistake. No one knows what those worlds are like, you can’t come back once you’ve gone.”

Lab continued to pick at aracrab, looking down and away from either arguer. “And my parents,” yelled Fee-Bi. “Am I supposed to never see them again?” “If you wait, and use the money your sister left behind for you, you can get a

posttraining from some school on Venus or something. I thought that was your plan? How can you just suddenly decide to throw everything away?”

Finally Lab spoke, “Well, Fee-Bi wants to go now. And I don’t want her to go alone. So now’s the time.”

Wading, treading through this nasty patch of excuses and logic. No two comments had sequence. What Fee-Bi brought up was different than what Couchant had argued against. Lab deflected to things that weren’t even adjacent to the others’ points. Their words neatly avoided each other; they did loops, made circles and figure-eights in

the air, but never met. Their voices grew louder but more distant from each other’s loops.

“I left my job three months ago! There’s no reason for me to stay here!” Yelled Fee-Bi.

“Get posttraining first! They need skilled workers on those colonies! Give it some time, and then make the decision!” Couchant shouted.

“I don’t want to be here anymore!” Lab. “This isn’t what your sister would have wanted!” “And what about my parents?” “I don’t want to be anywhere anymore.” “You’re driving him into a deeper hole! If you two are in love then you can be

apart for a few years. It’s not his fault you quit your job and miss your family.” “Why do you hate us? You’ve always hated us!” “I don’t want to be anymore.” After some time, back and forth with no ground given, an uneasy silence fell over

the desiccated shells. Fee-Bi and Couchant stared at each other, hate, some distant memories, and shared sadness stuffed up the air in the cramped room.

“You know, Lab and I have been through so much together,” said Fee-Bi, a clever crinkle alit from her brow and Couchant became furious. “We just-” and immediately her face formed into a snivel, eyes down as she inhaled upwards, the beginnings of tears, “We just. We mean so much to each-”

“No!” Couchant interjected aggressively, “If you’re going to cry we aren’t talking about this. Don’t use that fucking trick on me,” Couchant was at his logical worst, all patience and empathy sapped. “You stop the fake tears now.”

Fee-Bi sniveled again, doubling down. “We just.” “I refuse.” Growled Couchant, leaning forward over the table. They held the moment, ensconced in their shared stubbornness. An arrogant

curve replaced the wrinkled frown. “Fine,” breathed Fee-Bi. “But we will be leaving on a Colonizer.”

If there had been a hope, a sliver wandering free against all odds, that what Couchant would say this night would succeed, he knew now that it was gone. She would play any card to win. She had complete control over her emotions and she had complete control over Labrador. Long after Couch left, she would remain, wash the dishes, rehash the argument, present biases. Couch knew this was an act of self-immolation. He looked hopelessly at his friend. His pride wouldn’t allow him to get up and leave, even if he knew he should. There’s no cure for grief. No shot to the arm or advice from a friend. There was a gap that Couchant, despite his intentions, his anger, his power, and arrogance, could not cross. He sighed, and settled back into his chair.

After some quiet time of scavenging the remaining aracrabs, Couchant patiently showing Perf the best parts and methods whilst avoiding any eye contact with the couple across from him. Eventually Perf stood up and offered to help with the dishes. Lab and Perf cleared the table while Couchant produced a bottle of whiskey from the jacket he had hung by the door. Fee-Bi grabbed two cups. They clinked the cups together as Lab and Perf ran the water. “Some music, Couch?” Lab called over from the sink.

“Something heady, alright?” said Couchant, pulling up a projected image above the table, typing exactly what he had in mind. The song started, just percussion, a video of a young band on a cloudy stage. One kept rhythm on a pair of bongos while another tapped at a drum kit. The sweet sound of a Spanish guitar cut through, the percussion continued. “This is like, what? 200 years old or something?” laughed Lab. Back to percussion, just percussion, image-triplicated the drummer moved at an unfathomable speed, banging out a cacophonous solo, the band let him go; Fee-Bi and Couchant downed their drinks just as he stopped. Immediately, the guitar roared in, the drums started again; the chords of the wordless chorus flowed through the room as whiskey flowed into Couch and Bi’s glasses.

“This was Collie’s favorite band,” Lab said to the air.

Couchant sighed, this wasn’t going to get better. He glanced toward Lab then back to Fee-Bi, sitting in a motionless boil, he took a sip, knowing full well what was coming. Perf and Lab returned to the table. Perf avoided eye contact. She was determined to be outwardly neutral.

“Anywhere I go, I’m afraid something will remind me of her,” continued Lab.

Couchant had never been there. Grief and mourning were only casual acquaintances to him. The luck and grace of his life, one easy ride after another. The seas had never arisen and pulled him under, had never destroyed someone so close to him. He wanted to be closer to Lab, to know how to comfort someone so thoroughly broken. Couchant only knew how to march on. For him it had always worked, whatever crucible presented itself he marched over. But he hadn’t faced this. He had never lost like this. He had no advice, he tried but he knew he couldn’t muster the correct empathy.

He could only place himself in his friend’s shoes; and himself, cold and untested, could only imagine marching forward.

Again, their circles filled the air, silently this time, and smelling faintly of whiskey, but again, these circles did not overlap. All circles floated, nearly touching. Forming invisible halos around the holograms overhead.

Maybe patience, he mused, filling the glasses around the table. His little whiskey flagon had exhausted itself. Fee-be mentioned something to Lab about “those bottles in the closet”. Patience. And he had already lost that this night. This culmination of a night, the nuclear option. It had been almost a full year of mourning. Even before Collie had passed, the light had left Lab’s eyes. Couchant had tried to convince him to march. Invited Lab, again and again, to come out of his grief. Invintations to parties. Invitations to quiet drinks. To play video games. To meet with the other guys. A loud nightclub where they didn’t have to talk. Sports, a spot of exercise. Spurned invitations. Sympathy turned to frustration. Patience had left Couchant, now there was only his naive empathy. His empathy had turned into a simple command: march. And he knew Lab’s thoughts were just as simple: run.

“She left me all these music files,” Lab waved his hand and a new window appeared above the table. In it, a jumble of unorganized folders, labeled only by band or album name. Lab commented on a few, highlighting them, Couchant opined and agreed. Much of Collie’s taste was near to his own. Back on Triton, the few times Couchant and her had met they had gotten along well. He asked if Lab could send him the files later, to which Lab enthusiastically agreed. Perf picked a few as well. Fee-Bi remained on a low boil.

The last clangorous riffs of the song merged into a harmonious ending. Couchant stood up to wash his hands. “Thank you, Fee-Bi. The food was wonderful.” He tried to summon the little twinkle of casual affection that had gotten him out of so much trouble in the past. Fee-be managed a smile that was suspiciously close to a glare. Lab got up to fetch something from the closet.

He brought back a very proper looking bottle of wine. “How about this? Collie left a few bottles to me. She was a huge wine fan, even though she couldn’t drink any during those last few months,” Lab looked at the floor. Couchant had returned to the table, everyone stared sadly at the bottle of wine. “Anyways, she would have wanted us to drink it. Babe, where’s the corkscrew?”

“I thought it was in the cupboard over there.” Lab rummaged through it. “It’s not here,” he called back to the table. “Try the closet where you were keeping it.” “Not in here either,” his voice a little higher. Stress creaked through. “Under the speaker stand?” Lab, frantic: “Where is it? We had it just the other day.” “Maybe-” “Babe,” Lab cut her off. “Where the fuck is it? How could we lose it? I swear,

just the other day. I can’t fucking handle this shit, where is it?” “I don’t know,” replied Fee-Bi. “Maybe there’s another way we can open it.” “Like how? Fuck,” said Lab. “Fuck.” He was livid. “I saw a video where they opened one with a shoe, once,” offered Perf.

“Yeah, that’s something, right?” Added Couch with his hand over his brow so that he wouldn’t have to see Lab like this.

“I don’t know how to do that,” said Lab. “Can y’all do that?” “I don’t think so.” “Babe, let me help,” cooed Fee-Bi, moving to take the wine bottle from his hands.

He jerked it away violently. “I swear I had one just the other day,” Lab was speaking directly to Couchant, as

if pleading. “Just the other day, I opened some wine with it.” “Well, uhhh, yeah,” Couchant stammered. “I believe you.” “Babe, give me the bottle,” Fee-Bi was at wits end, standing at his shoulder trying

to reach the bottle as he held it as high as he could. “I had one. Really. It was right over there,” he pointed near the door at a junk jar

on the windowsill. He hastily walked over, and frantically poured the contents onto the floor. No corkscrew. A bit of a mess in the entryway. He looked at Couchant with a desperate and exasperated look in his eyes.

“Babe, please, please sit down,” Fee-Bi had calmly walked to his side, she gently guided him to the table. “I’ll figure something out.”

Couchant watched as she used a knife to dig out the cork. “It’s going to get bits of cork in it,” cried Lab. “You’ll ruin it!”

“It’s fine, really,” Couch tried reassuring him, “It will be fine.” He said it in what he hoped was a soothing tone. Perf tried calming him as well, Fee-Bi worked at the cork diligently.

“Shit, the cork went through,” said Fee-Bi.

“It’s fine,” said Perf. “I’ll drink it.” “Yeah no problem here,” Couchant. Lab sulked, said nothing at all as they filled his glass. Little bits of cork floated to

the top but went unremarked upon. They held their breath as they took a sip. “Fee-Bi,” Couchant quietly said. “He’s in no shape to get on that rocket.” He

knew that to be true; those planets were unoccupied; he needed a support system; all alone with just Fee-Bi, she was taking on too much.

“I’ll like it there,” said Lab from some great distance. “I’ll be with Fee-Bi. And her family. I’ll be happy.”

“It’s our only choice,” said Fee-Bi.

“It’s too soon,” Couchant pleaded. He imagined Lab, alone, a few light-years away with that same far-off look on his face, surrounded by alien terrain.

“I want to be with my family,” Fee-Bi spoke directly and quietly. “He’ll be happy there.”

“Putting him to sleep for 400 years won’t make him happy.” “We,” she measured each word carefully. “Need to go now.” “You need to be more patient, uprooting him won’t make this easier.” “We’re going.” “I want to be happy,” muttered Lab. “We’re going to be happy,” Fee-Bi said to both of them. “Why are you so intent on rushing this?” asked Couchant through gritted teeth. “Why are you so intent on stopping it?” accused Fee-Bi. “I care about him, too.”

“Then let him go. He’s going to be happy.” “I want to be happy.” Couchant inhaled deeply. He finished his drink. Pulled little red pieces of cork

out of his mouth and placed them onto the napkin in front of him. There was no noise. He stood up.

“I’m leaving. It’s clear you’ve made up your minds.” “Where are you going?” demanded Fee-Bi. “Sit down! Don’t leave us here! We just want to be happy!” It exploded. “He’s not going to be happy, Fee-Bi!” He turned from her to Lab, he looked him directly in the eyes. “You’re not going to be happy for a while.” A pause. “And that’s ok.” Couchant made for the door. Lab stood up and rushed after him, put his hand on

Couchant’s shoulder. Couchant turned around, Lab said nothing and looked down into the distance. Couchant brushed his arm off and leaned down to empty his shoe of little bits from the junk jar. In the bay, a rocket launched with a great cacophony of sound that no one in the room could hear.

“You’re pathetic! I hate you!” Fee-Bi, began yelling from her chair, breaking the two men at the door apart. “We cooked you dinner and you speak to us that way! Get out of my home!” She stayed glued to the chair, willing to keep going until the ghastly man was driven out. She kept yelling, but Couchant had gotten his shoes on and stopped listening.

Lab stood with his eyes down. Couchant was willing to listen to him, to hear any sign that he wasn’t lost forever.

“You know, dude,” started Lab. “You gotta go. I can’t. You gotta go.” One final sigh from Couchant. A long, sad exhale. He retreated down the corridor, then the elevator, then into the taxi-carcraft, through the short choppy flight, all

in one long, sad exhale. From his bedroom window he looked into the winking stars. “Those were memories,” He muttered. “We mustn’t hold memories.” He never saw Lab again.

From Why Would We Need Brakes? (unpublished)

Literary Sci-Fi (genre)

25-35 (age range)

61k (word count)

Alexander Prestia (author)

An analogy for loneliness in an ever growing world (fit)

Gatsby in space (synopsis and hook)

Sci-fi readers looking for something more grounded, literary fiction readers looking for something more far-out (audience)

An American expat working as a writing teacher, currently living under lockdown in Shanghai, China. (bio)

none (platform)

Masters of International Business from Dongbei University of Finance and Economics (education)

Poetry has been previously published in ASPZ Literary Magazine. (experience)

Wish I was Woolf, more like Herbert. (writing style)

Dreaming of the open road, but that's just Covid-22 talking. (likes/hobbies)

Richmond, Virginia (hometown)

29

I told myself that I am enough

when I got out of my bed today-

I told myself I am enough!

Time To wash my tears away

The Time it takes for me to tell myself this my depression settles in-

I chant this message to myself

“I am enough” and I can’t let my Deamons win

I have people here who need me

And I am enough for them

I am good worker

I am a good mom

I am feeling good again

I am enough and I don’t need to reach an end

Every day is a struggle and I whisper to myself

“I am enough” and I make it through

24 hours

365 days a year

I have been enough and that’s nothing new-

My family and friends need me here

I am always enough they say

They bring me joy and tons of good cheer

I Don’t want that to go away

I am enough

I am enough they say

genre: poetry, free verse/ Abab format

platform: everybody, no specific writing style (every day relatability), likes: martial arts, dance, teaching, time with friends, family outings, writing/poetry, reading books, college.

education: currently re-entering college to finish after a 4 year break, I’m also a mom of a four year old.

experience: college english, no publications, invited to an advanced writing poetry course my junior year.

home town: Hay’s, Kansas

age: 31

To begin, understand that things are always looking up when you’re flat on your back.

So it was with Paul Sewell. Born Rufus Paul Sewell to Rufus Gene and Margaret Browning Sewell, Paul was an oddball from the beginning. His was a veiled birth, en caul. This occurs when the baby is born still inside the amniotic sac. New England grandmothers called it a mermaid birth. The old tribes of the Pacific Northwest referred to it as Two Births, one from the mother and then the subsequent exit from the gestational casing. Rufus Gene, Paul’s father, called it Paul’s Egg and was fascinated by the phenomenon. Margaret was shocked and, though she would never say it, a bit scared of what to her looked like an alien being that had just emerged from her birth canal. She was quick to overcome those feelings once her 7lb 7oz. boy was fully hatched.

‘He looks like my father,’ she lied. He didn’t look like Rufus Gene, Margaret, her father, or any of the other fathers in the family. Rufus Paul Sewell looked like his grandmother, Stella Rowe Browning. It was maternal instinct in Margaret to say her freshly birthed son looked anything or anyone else than her mother. If the boy looked like her, it meant he could very well be like her, and though the heavens fall, Margaret was determined to have none of that.

As often happens when parental expectation is met with reality’s exceptional irony, Paul was exactly like his grandmother - a woman he’d never met and knew little about. Of course the question is: How does one not know about their grandmother? Wouldn’t any child ask about their conspicuously absent grandparent? The answer of course is of course. Rufus Gene and Margaret circumvented the truth via one fantastical tale they regaled young Rufus Paul with wherein his grandmother, Sarah Rowe Browning, died under the most tragic albeit heroic circumstances.

‘She had a heart of gold. 14 karats!,’ Rufus Gene would say, usually with hands clasped behind his back with all manner of piety. As it was told to Rufus Paul, his great, some would say mythically pure of soul grandmother had fallen onto the Amtrak rails at the New Orleans station years ago. Adding a bittersweet note to the family fiction, Rufus Gene and Margaret would always add that Sarah had simply lost her balance while in the process of standing up from a moment of prayer for the passengers - an every-Wednesday routine she adhered to with monasterial devotion.

In an effort to weave the fantasy as tightly as possible, the Sewells had the presence of mind to pay a local theater actress a handsome sum of $100 to pose for a black and white photo, dressed historically appropriate and a finishing touch of the most righteous, upward gazing pose that would rival that of St. Francis. Rufus Gene, ever the detail-obsessed individual that was his father and his father’s father and so on, went so far as to antique the photo, browning its edges and giving it an aged look that would be indiscernible to anyone less than an expert in antique photography.

The truth was that Stella Rowe was hardly different than you or me. As a young woman she’d been the kind of beautiful that terrible poetry is usually reserved for. As an older woman, she’d become the kind of beautiful that’s almost impossible to describe without diminishing its perfection. What caused her daughter, and only child, our Margaret Sewell to recoil at any mention of her own mother was the nature of her mother’s unnatural beauty. As opposed to some skin care regimen ripped from the ads of a magazine, Stella Rowe was simply a product of what she was. A grim reaper.

For those skeptical or otherwise put off by that last sentence, I’d ask only that you grant me the smallest grace to explain. Since time immemorial, human beings have confronted death by assigning it the confines of what can be comprehended. The cloaked skeleton holding a scythe and looking as inhospitable as possible has long served as the de facto representation of our collective mutual friend: death. Perhaps the reason for this is because to imagine death as anything other than repulsive - frightening - is to attribute to it a kind of familiarity that hits much too close to home. It’s the same reason we rarely see depictions of the Devil himself as an everyday man, frumpy and with crooked glasses. Instead, it’s the flaming eyes, pitchfork, and all the other things that keep him at a safe distance.

It’s the assumption of your narrator that you’ll be pleased or at the very least surprised that Death is in fact not given to macabre fashion, nor do they accessorize with archaic farm tools or any tools for that matter. I say they not to convey mystique but rather to illustrate my next point. There are many Deaths. When I say many I mean hundreds of thousands. Much like a plumber, airline pilot, schoolteacher, or any other occupation, Death is a job to be performed by only the most competent and diligent kind of employee. Before we move on, it’s important to relay a few items regarding terminology.

We’ve already established that the tired notion of Grim Reaper is as inaccurate as it is insulting. Having been about the terminal business for hundreds of thousands of years, those who work in the employ of the Almighty for the purpose of transporting the living to the Other Side are known as Sparkles. I kid, although such a nom de guerre might go a long way in allaying the unreasonable terror in even thinking about Death. No, Death Dealers refer to each other as Porters. See? Nothing ominous. Of course that’s not their technical name as that particular term is impossible to type or write or even say in any kind of human language. Add to that the fact that it would take well over a hundred years to even manifest the word, and you’ll see that Porters will suffice.

Next up in the makeshift glossary here concerns the actual individuals themselves who eventually succumb to the inevitable. No, they are not victims or husks or whatever other nonsense you may have heard. The customers, if you will, are referred to as Keys. If it seems uninspired or unoriginal, bear in mind that doling out the terminal is a serious business and while you might be brewing up dozens of much more clever, literary designations for these roles, the fact remains that there are two beings involved here: Porters and Keys

It probably would’ve been much more beneficial to start off with a FAQ since, as you and everyone you know will discover, the journey from here to there is, without exception, filled with questions. Regardless of who or what time in history or what cultural origins, everyone asks at least the same dozen or so questions. To wit:

How do you get this job?

There are two types of Porters. There are the Made Porters and the Told Porters. Made Porters are the oldest variety. These are made as in the original angels of death. They are often ill-tempered and given to fits of impudence especially concerning their Told counterparts. Made Porters have no knowledge of human experience in that they’ve never been human. Theirs is a divine assignment. The youngest of them is thousands of years old, and the oldest predates the Earth itself. More on her later, though. So, Made Porters are born with the job. Think of it in terms of ancient royalty or a culture where marriages are arranged. Once brought into existence, the Made Porters know their task and accept it as you would an appendage. It is what it is.

Alright. What about Told Porters?

Many years ago when the world was one land mass, Pangea, the business of Death was fairly straightforward and the number of Porters necessary to meet the demand was sufficient. As the land and, subsequently, people began migrating and procreating in tandem at exponential rates, the situation became untenable. At this point, those in upper management, if you will, saw fit to solve what they saw as two problems. For them, the solution was to assign the Made Porters to various regions of the ever expanding population and, in the process, carefully select individuals from the people themselves to undertake (forgive the pun) the demanding day-to-day tasks. In short, Told Porters are born human to human parents. They exist with hopes, dreams, fears, and grief like any of us.

So how are Told Porters chosen?

A hotly debated topic in the Porter world, the rationale behind how Told Porters are chosen is not easily discernible. For all that is nebulous in the process, however, the one common factor among all of them is none are chosen past the age of 13. That is, Told Porters are recruited very early in life and, with very few exceptions, have no living parents to speak of. Again, there have been a handful of exceptions to this unwritten rule. More on them later.

What about Heaven and Hell?

Ah yes. Perhaps this should have been the first question in this makeshift FAQ section. As much as it pains me to disappoint and offer no definitive answer regarding what happens when you die, let’s say the Porter knows precisely what happens between your death and the next step, but after that is off limits. The Porter considers themselves as somewhat of a cabbie or an airline pilot. They don’t help you off the plane, carry your luggage, and accompany you to the destination. They fly the plane, and you get off. From there, well, that’s the business of you and your respective associates.

Why is death necessary?

Why is anything necessary? Because nature demands it. Because death, perhaps more than anything else, is the binding element of human existence over which we have no control save but for what we choose to do in the meantime.

What do the Porters do when they’re not…porting?

Everyday things like anyone else. They buy groceries. They vacation (though not often and the destinations are limited).

Where do they live or stay?

Now this is one tidbit that’s rather exclusive to the Porters in terms of their occupation. Due to the nature of their tasks, Porters are required to live together in their respective, assigned areas. These areas are called districts. Yes, I know. Not terribly unique but, again, originality is not the prime directive when you’re in the oldest business in the history of the world. Some of the Porters who are more inclined to embrace the more macabre nature of their roles will often refer to their areas as dens. It’s an unfortunate kind of nomenclature but it’s stuck regardless.

How many dens are there?

At last count there were 1,114,286 districts. One for every 7000 people (including themselves). And, on a related note, each district is assigned no more than 10 and no less than 5 Porters. If you’re keeping score, that’s 5-10 Porters per every 7000 living persons. It is a thankless job to be sure, and it is difficult to overstate the time and effort it demands.

What do the Rufuses and the grandmother, etc. have to do with all this?

Back to that, actually...

TITLE: The Porter

GENRE: Literary Fantasy

AGE RANGE: 15-95

WORD COUNT: 93k

AUTHOR: Jonathan Dick

WHY IT'S A GOOD FIT: Because no one is writing about death from Death's perspective, and it's high time the Grim Reaper got a chance to tell their story.

THE HOOK: The family that slays together, stays together.

SYNOPSIS: After the sudden death of both his parents, Paul Sewell is adopted by his long lost (and thought dead) grandmother, Stella. A regular grandparent in every other way, Stella is a Death Dealer, Grim Reaper, Child of Charon, etc. She takes it upon herself to raise her grandson in a way you'd expect anyone in that line of work to do.

TARGET AUDIENCE: Anyone familiar with death.

BIO: Winner of the Thomas H. Brown Nonfiction Award, Jonathan Dick has written for Rolling Stone, NPR, Salon, and several other publications in addition to his work as a communications strategist and content creator in the private sector. He lives in the foothills of the Appalachians in Alabama.

EDUCATION: BA in English | MA in English/Creative Writing | MS in Education

EXPERIENCE/PERSONALITY: I was adopted as an infant and raised in a Fundamentalist Christian cult. When I was 15, my biological mother told me that my biological father was a Jewish man from New York City who'd committed suicide. When I was 25, she said my biological father was actually an African-American man who lived in Atlanta. When I was 35, the DNA results told me that my biological father was a regular guy who lived in North Georgia and who also happened to be 14 at the time of my conception. My biological mother at that time was 23, married, and had a 3-month-old. My first memory was attending the funeral of my grandmother and having my picture taken while sitting on the edge of her casket. I was assigned my first pallbearing gig at 10 and have been asked to perform that duty over 20 times since then. As a direct result of these and many other experiences, my personality leans toward dark humor, and by "leans" I mean "nosedives into with reckless abandon."

WRITING STYLE: If Faulkner had a secret illegitimate child with a Harlequin novelist who then raised that child on a steady diet of trauma coupled with mandatory weekly library visits and a daily double helping of the King James Bible in a backwoods Alabama setting, I'd probably be that child's friend and would do my level best to mimic their writing style.

HOBBIES/LIKES: I restore antique clocks, and I like to wrestle with Zeus, my German Shepherd/Wildebeest mix.

HOMETOWN: Birmingham, Alabama (originally)

AGE: 41

Chapter One

"Tis no lady like I know."

The words were said aloud, though muffled;for fear of someone from the castle overhearing.

"I' of all people having ta search the woods for the "lady's fire!"

The hot rage she felt helped somewhat to soothe the bitter cold that blasted her frail, poorly clothed body.

She fumed as she walked; going ever deeper into the forest. Unaware that she walked ever-closer to an

unimaginable fate.

The sequence of events that lead her to be out at this time of night was so cruel; even the Gods themselves wouldn't have been so temperamental.

The lantern she carried cast eerie lights on the trees, making the area appear sinister.

It was then that she realized just how far away from the castle she'd traveled; as well as how dark it had gotten.

Gulping audibly she opened her apron's pouch so as to gather the slender uniformed branches the lady had requested.

"How am I ta find the same size o' branches, 'tis impossible at this time o' night!"....

She heard some rustling in the trees, wondered briefly if it was a cute wee deer.

The sound that followed assured her of two things:

It wasna a deer; she should run.

Chapter Two

The sound was far off, but distinct. It belonged to none other than the beast...

The beast of her village in Vanderleen.

She had heard horrible stories of the terrible

creature and it's murderous rampage.

Even as she told herself she should hurry, her body refused to move. She felt tethered to the forest floor as she listened for the abominable sound again.

The thumping of her heart drowned out every other sound.

Mouth opened- she breathed heavily and as silently as she could.

Starting to believe she had imagined it; she finally turned to peer through the trees around her.

Hearing nothing she returned to her task.

Vowing to hurry and get back...

Mid-stand she heard it again; a bit closer this time.

She clutched the small branch as if it were a sword.

Holding it out before her, scanning the immediate area for the beast's snarling visage.

She heard the rustling again, this time from the side of her; far too close for comfort.

Finally finding her feet she darted out, going further into the woods.

She ran until her lungs hurt, forcing her to stop.

She squeezed into a cluster of saplings

trying desperately to hide.

She could hear the heavy pads of it's feet slapping indolently against the ground.

As if it had all the time in the world to catch her and eat her...

Chapter Three

She cried silently. Used to being quiet in her misery. Used to feeling hopeless and defeated.

"Probably the reason she'd been "recruited" for the job. Ta be rid o' me once and all" she thought angrily.

This anger fueled something inside of her.

Some once-dormant feeling she never realized she possessed.

She also realized she wanted to live.

She was far from ready to shuffle off this mortal coil.

She made a decision to run again, choosing to use the lantern as a diversion.

She waited.. hoping to get a better sense of where the beast was.

It was a low whining howl, more like a query of sorts than a snarl. It seemed to be taunting her.

The snap of a branch told her exactly how close it was; too close! Still, she vowed that she would fight for her life before the beast just took it from her.

It sniffed and snorted; pawing the ground with it's head dipped low.

It was sniffing her out!

Fear bit deep into her belly, forcing bile up her throat and a droplet of urine from her clenched body.

She held her breath as the droplet made a trail down her legs. It's winding path caused a burning need to scratch.

The beast snarled lowly, menacingly.

As if angered at the new smell.

This was it, she would have to do it now, or nevermore..

Chapter Four

She darted out from her hiding spot, thrusting the light In front of her and in the direction of the beast.

She didn't bother to look back as she took off running in the direction of the castle's safety.

Her feet suddenly flew out from under her.

She was puzzled for but a second before she felt the crushing weight of the beast push her belly into the cold ground.

She was roughly twisted over so that she was lying on her back; the shock of the animals power forced a low moan of pain from between her clenched lips.

The sound was abruptly cut off as she felt a tentative paw press gingerly against her ribcage.

The pressure surprisingly light, despite the tremendous size of the animal.

She hitched her breath as she prepared for the killing blow to come...

But the beast just stood there, partly straddling her body.

She waited... Silently praying that the Gods would protect her and keep her safe.

She watched... As the trees swayed in the cold moonlight. The moon itself appeared to grow larger,

Casting once darkened areas awash with it's eerie light.

She wondered... As the beast slowly lowered it's head in her direction...

Her breath caught once again in her throat as it came into view.

Morbid curiosity struck her; causing her to not look away.

She noticed it's eyes first; the golden orbs appeared to glow as it came into the moon's light.

Slowly, she was made aware of the huge size of it's head; shagged-out fur framing an angular chiseled snout.

It was sniffing her, huffing it's hot, fetid breath over her; making her shiver despite the heat it's body and breath radiated.

She once again looked into it's eyes, sensing a keen intelligence. She was surprised to find it's eyes had turned to a clear light grey color. The expressive orbs seeming to be asking something of her.

She was startled as it's head whipped up, listening to the night. Several seconds ticked by before it; satisfied with what it heard, once again dipped it's head in her direction.

She closed her eyes, confusion and trepidation wreaking havock on her flayed nerves.

She felt it's snout brush softly against her cheek, almost a caress. Her eyes shot open as she felt it's body shift.

It's snout once again coming in contact with her.

This time it seemed to sniff at her lower region causing alarm. She knew her menses were coming soon, and wondered briefly if it could tell.

Realizing that wild animals were sometimes attracted to the smell.

Flashes of the beast sinking it's gruesome teeth into her caused a frightened moan to mew from her lips

The low growl that followed made her clamp her lips tightly together.

Wearing not much but a long chemise under a hastily made gown, she'd never felt more naked.

It's massive paw came into contact with her thighs as it swatted at the clothing. It's snout helping to pull the fabric further up her body.

Revealing her pale slim shape.

It looked into her eyes as it's head dipped lower to sniff yet again. Her vision about to be a reality;

she inwardly quaked. Too afraid to actually move a muscle.

She thought about the drop of urine she'd frightenedly let trickle out, wondering if that was what it smelled. Hoping it made her less appetizing.

Lost in her terror she was thunderstruck to feel the softest caress at her core.

The beast's hot breath was doing strange things to her mind and body.

She risked a look down to see it almost studying her.

It's snout making contact with her neither region again and again.

This brought an undulation of sensations from her core. She was shocked at the sexual feeling it evoked from her.

Her body unconsciously relaxed. The pleasantness of the sensation catching her off guard.

Her body sank further into the ground trying to squirm under the sensual- like onslaught.

The beast's paw whipped up; stopping her movements with it's extended claws aimed at her milky thighs.

It's head came up searching her eyes as it made soft huffs or grunts before once again returning to her heat.

She was wholely out of her element as to what was happening. She reluctantly acknowleged that it wasn't painful, yet it made her terribly uncomfortable.

She had never felt these sensations before and was at a loss for what it meant.

It's giant body pressed down into the space between her thighs, opening her up to it's perusal of her body.

It's head was once again in shadows making her anxious about it's intentions.

Suddenly she felt a hot, heavy and wet object make contact with her neither region.

Eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips.

The feeling was intense yet pleasant. Making her head feel befuddled and heavy.

Her body instinctively flexed upward as it's tongue once again washed over her.

Shivers of anticipation coursed through her making her gnash her teeth to keep the moan she felt rising from bursting forth. For fear that...

He would stop...?

Before she could ponder the situation more she felt his tongue slide heavily along the folds of her womanhood making her buck at the feeling.

It didn't stop there. The constant undulations of his tongue caused her to go catatonic momentarily.

Allowing him further access to her body.

She tried to understand what was happening but the sensations were becoming so intense it felt as if something was churning inside of her...

Chapter Five

Awash in the calming yet simultaneously maddening feelings she fought the natural urge her body had to grab it's head and relish further the erotic feelings it evoked.

She was losing her mind...

This was too much... too... Good.

She realized she was panting; breath coming in short little bursts as something continued to build inside of her.

She closed her mouth, least the animal would hear.

Attempting to mask the arousal that was unbeknownst to her currently taking over her body.

She soon became lost in the sensation

Moans of pure pleasure forced themselves from her tightly clamped lips. Tingles of pleasure made her silently toss her head from side to side.

She felt as if she was on a train of pure pulsing sensation, rushing towards something she'd never experienced before.

As if sensing the changes in her, it seemed to move with more purpose; filling her with enormous,frantic energy.

Causing her to cry out freely as it's movements erupted a hidden inferno inside.

She was beyond caring at this point as she was quickly approaching a precipice; about to be thrust over a cliff of emotions she couldn't even name.

Her body Shook and shuddered as she was being driven to a fever pitch of unknown proportions.

Her body involuntarily bucking and spasming.

If he didn't stop now... she would die!...

But it didn't stop.

On the contrary it's movements increased, adding the perfect amount of pressure that caused her to buck up to meet the thrusts of it's tongue.

Abruptly she was thrown into oblivion; her body exploding into a billion orgasmic shards.

Reduced to mere atoms, blown apart and scattered into the wind.

She absently felt him move as she slowly returned to earth.

He was shifting again.

This time she didn't see it but felt as the earth- shatteringly intense feelings gave way to a scorchingly hot,searing pain as it's teeth bit down into the fleshy part of her inner thigh.

The sensation so different from the previous one

that she didn't even have time to scream.

The beast quickly withdrew it's teeth and licked the spot.

Afraid once again she tried to crawl away from it's huge body. Turning; hips thrust in the air, she dragged herself forward on her arms and knees.

Once again the beast was upon her, straddling her from behind.

She felt herself falling forward from the force of his weight. Before the beast could make the killing blow she fainted.

Fading away from the world of consciousness and life...

Title is: The beast of Vanderleen

Genre: historical fiction/revenge/romance

Age range: 18+

Word count:18,888

Author name: Cathleen Mallory

Why it's a fit/synopsis: My novel is great for people of an adult age range, mature subject matter. Though told from a more conservative stance. The book tries to capture the feelings of desperation that consumes us across all times and pasts. It evokes memories of frustrating circumstances and deals with loss. It conveys the resilience of the determined spirit as well as the triumph of overcoming adversity/adversaries. Many people should be able to relate to the trauma as well as the determined souls, drawn together to create a new life for themselves. It deals with revenge implemented from a supernatural standpoint.

Target audience: Mainly women, though anyone who enjoys revenge/romance with some historical accuracy as well as creative license should resonate with it.

My name is Candace McNair.

I have loved the spoken word since I was a child. Writing books as early as 11 years old. My goal is to become an accredited author.

And also provide exceptionally for my family. This story was published on Amazon. With a decent reception, though without the ability to properly advertise and promote; has lowered on the rating scale. As well as having no reviews written about it. I hope to reach a larger audience.

Hobbies: writing, reading, drawing/painting, cooking, baking, dancing, beauty astetics, community activities, church activities, and many more. (All things creative!)

My hometown: Detroit Michigan

My current location: Milwaukee Wisconsin

My age: 43

I throw away all of my severed bonds that lay by my feet

I learned that no matter how many tears I cry, 

Nobody gives a damn apparently

Making me want to say goodbye

Cracks run through my heart 

The person who always stood by me disappear

What do I do now?

Without meaning to, I drag down whoever is near

I’ll always be like this

Even if I hold my knees and scream

I already know

In the end, it won’t change a thing

Even if I try to lament

Saying, “Something's not quite right”

In the end I do what I always do

I walk away with no answer in sight

Everything ends up being nothing

To all the things I turned away

I always did the same thing, without learning from my mistakes,

I say, ‘’What a pain’’

Again my heart gets attacked by the thing called ‘’loneliness’’

It hurts so bad deep down inside

The powerlessness of “loneliness” begins to sink in

The punishment for curling up all those times when I cried

Even if the moon shines upon it

Even if the night swallows it

It won’t disappear, it won’t disappear

With my inexperienced hands I tried to protect it

With my clumsy hands, I tried to fix what I shouldn’t have done

Before I notice it, Loneliness began to turn on me

My heart just won’t heal the scars

I cry a tiny plea

My heart shatters after hearing a kind voice

Please don’t treat me so kindly or I will cry inside

I hide myself away in the shadows, 

I hope for someone to find me, the tears don’t subside

This loneliness is deadly

Making it impossible to speak out my true feelings

I hide away my emotions

But yet it ends up revealing

I hate myself, I hate myself

These words end up repeating in my mind 

I don’t want to either die nor live

Ah, a penalty game called “Life” begins to rewind

Forced into loneliness

I’m already done

Please don’t treat me so nicely

I’m not someone you should waste your kindness on

Title: Deathly Loneliness Attacks

Genre: Poetry

Age Range: 10+

Word Count: 353

Author Name (Profile Name): Iroha

Explanation:

I think that my piece is fit, because it contains all the emotions that I felt, and pain. I know that some people can relate to the pain I suffered, so this poem is written to reach out to others. I'm very young for my age, and I think that, it's really amazing how far my experiences in life brought me to come this far. Some people say that young people have to enjoy their youth as best as they can, and that it's impossible that youngsters suffered pain like they have. Well, they're wrong. I suffered a lot, been traumatized so many times, and I can hardly trust others because of the betryal, gossip, and backstabbing things I've saw and went through. I just want the people who thinks, "It's alright to die, no one cares about me," let me tell you, that's not true. I overcame that phase because I heard there are good cotton candy in Japan, and if I can find a goal in life to live for, so can you.

I'm a introvert when I'm alone, but when I'm with the people I love, I'm somewhat between a extrovert and a introvert. Life is not always fun, and it never will be; it's up to you to create the fun in life is what I think.

CHAPTER 1: Not in Kansas Anymore

"Ow." Dylan Engstrom opened his eyes and found himself on a hard metal surface. "What … the hell?"

The last thing he remembered was sitting at his desk, sipping a cup of coffee, and preparing to join his buddies for a few hours of mayhem in Grand Theft Auto Online. At some point after that, everything had simply … faded out.

I'm dreaming. That's gotta be it.

He rolled over, stood, and fought off a wave of dizziness. He staggered, rubbed his hands over his face, took a few breaths, and waited for his vision to clear. When it did, he took a slow look around and realized he was in a chamber the size of a gymnasium, with metal walls, ceiling, and floor. No windows. Several doors at the far end. And filled with … aliens? Or something.

Sure, why the hell not? Since this is a dream, I might as well just roll with it.

One a few feet to his left looked like a bipedal, wingless dragon, easily ten feet tall, with muscular arms and powerful thighs and small but noticeable breasts under a tunic that appeared to be made from the skin of an animal. She glanced around quickly, confusion and fear in her reptilian eyes, and he guessed she had also awakened moments ago.

Huh. Doesn't make sense for reptiles to have boobs. But then, I guess an alien wouldn't have an exact correlation to life forms on Earth. He chuckled. More likely it's teenage hormones causing me to dream about tits. I can barely stop thinking about 'em when I'm awake.

Past the dragon was what appeared to be an orc, of all things. Also female, dressed in leather and furs, like a barbarian, sporting huge muscles but somehow managing to still look feminine. Her burgundy hair was tied into a long ponytail with a few locks hanging past either side of her face. Her dark green skin looked kind of leathery, and her face … well, she certainly wouldn't have won any beauty contests even without the two big, parallel scars running from her forehead down and across her right cheek.

Still, there was something about her -- the angles of her cheeks and her wide jaw and chin -- that exuded an air of great strength. But then, he gazed into her yellow eyes as she glanced around. She appeared to be in her forties, but there was far more mileage in those eyes than on her face. They were the eyes of someone who had all but given up on life.

He looked away reluctantly. She may have been as ugly as hell, but goddamn, what a body. He ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair and decided to check out some of the other life forms. His eyes passed over a large number of creatures he couldn't quite get his brain around -- translucent things walking on tentacles, something that resembled a millipede the size of a horse, an eight-foot-tall cross between a pig and an ogre -- and locked on to another female.

He almost laughed at that. Mind always in the gutter, even now.

This one was around six feet tall and might be described as somewhere between chubby and burly. Her eyes glowed white in contrast to her obsidian skin, but aside from that, her face was mostly human. And quite lovely, in fact. A pair of horns curved up from under her wild mane of silver hair, like a ram. She wore a dark blue cloak with a hood hanging over her back, and from what he was able to glimpse, she didn't appear to be wearing anything under it. Each hand had two big fingers and a thumb, just like the orc and the dragon-woman, and her digitigrade legs ended in large hooves.

Not bad at all. He guessed her age to be close to his, or maybe a few years older, and the extra weight was perfectly proportioned.

Huh. Usually, my dreams aren't this detailed. But there's no way this can be real. I'm probably slumped over my desk and drooling on my keyboard. He shrugged to himself again. I just hope I remember all this when I wake up.

His eyes opened a little wider as a realization hit him and he drew in a quick breath.

Shit, I hope I wasn't looking at porn when I fell asleep. If Mom or Dad barges into my room like they always do, I'm hosed.

The alien girl caught him staring at her and smiled, but it was shaky and faded fast.

Well, I can't do anything about it until I wake up. Might as well just see where this goes.

He smiled back before she turned away, and continued examining the people around him. Over to the right was a trio of bipedal creatures that looked like a cross between horses and cows wearing some sort of tribal attire.

Huh. More aliens that kinda-sorta resemble terrestrial animals. How would that even happen?

Past them was a quartet of thirty-foot-long snake people with four arms, wearing only skirts made of glowing multicolored beads roughly where the naughty bits on a human would be.

Dylan's eyes, once again, automatically locked onto the lone female in the group. Her skin was dark brown with a red and black diamond pattern running down her back. Her hands, like the orc and the chunky hooved girl and the rest, had three digits, only hers ended in claws. The top of her head swept back into a curving, three-pointed crest. Her bare chest sported two pairs of breasts. Her face was close enough to human, though covered with scales, and she was actually kind of cute.

Hah. I can't dream about a human with four tits, of course. It's got to be some weird creature. And why would an alien based on a snake have any at all? He realized he was staring and turned away. Again, though, she's an alien, so I guess there's no reason she can't be a mix of mammal and snake. What the hell, you can't go wrong with four of 'em.

He grinned and glanced around again, trying to find other humans. If any were in this chamber, they weren't close enough for him to pick out of the crowd. But his gaze did pass across something that was close enough, at least in size and shape.

The robot stood with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the wall behind him, about ten feet away. She had apparently been designed to look like an athletic woman, with a face of flexible metal carrying a friendly -- albeit bewildered -- expression and softly glowing red optics. Her gunmetal body was covered by a pair of cargo pants, boots, a T-shirt, and a long black coat.

Interesting. He wondered if she was anatomically correct.

Before he could check out anyone else, something nudged his shoulder. He turned and found a nine-foot humanoid wearing copper armor and a helmet with an opaque visor. It grasped his shoulder, pointed at one of the doors at the far end of the chamber, and pushed him toward it. He stumbled, regained his balance, and hurried ahead of the whatever-it-was.

In the corner of his eye, another hulking armored figure shoved the orc woman in the same direction. She snarled half-heartedly but headed for the door. She ended up walking alongside Dylan.

"I don't suppose you have any idea how we ended up here or what's going on?" He doubted she would even understand him.

"Nope. I was hoping someone around here could tell me that." Her accent was an odd mixture of Russian and Scottish.

"You speak English. You've met humans before?"

"A fair number of them, yes." She smiled at him, but it was tinged with sadness. "You remind me of one of them, a little. Someone I knew long ago."

"Ah. Decent guy, I hope."

"The best." Her smile grew ever so slightly, and so did the sorrow. "I miss him a great deal."

Dylan wondered what had happened but assumed it was a sensitive matter and didn't pry.

When they reached the door, she sighed and motioned at her clothes. "The one time I put on this old outfit instead of what I usually wear, which includes several guns, and look where I end up. Though I suppose any weapons would've been taken away before I woke up."

The nine-foot goons shoved both of them through the door and onto a large platform. He stumbled and the orc reached out to catch him before he fell. He regained his balance and found himself inches away from her face for a moment, gazing into her eyes, until she looked away and steadied herself. Her face turned a slightly darker green.

Huh. The goon's hand had felt solid enough. And the woman's breath briefly on his lips had been just as real as the three times in his life that he'd gotten this close to a girl. Dylan caught himself blushing and looked away.

He glanced around and noted the others who'd been separated from the main group -- the snake-girl, the three horse-cow people, the burly obsidian girl, the giant bipedal dragon, the robot chick, and about a dozen others. Two of them were human.

Finally! He grinned, but before he could greet them, something else caught his attention.

The goons who'd herded them onto the platform remained behind as the door closed, separating them from Dylan and the others. A bright light washed over everything and his whole body tingled.

Oh, this can't be good.

The light faded and he blinked a few times. His vision cleared and he looked around.

His mouth fell open.

He no longer stood in a room. He and the others were still on a platform, but now it was surrounded by an enormous metal structure made up of sets of stairs, ramps, platforms, and partial walls seemingly placed at random. If he had to give the architecture style a name, it would be … scaffold-chic.

"What the hell is this?" One of the other humans whimpered. "What's going on?"

"Sorcery," a woman's voice came from behind Dylan, barely above a whisper. He turned to find the obsidian-skinned girl glancing around with wide, terrified eyes and trembling.

"No." The orc shook her head. "I've seen enough to know there's no such thing. This is technology, but nothing I'm familiar with."

In the corner of his eye, the snake girl slithered past, put her upper hands on a nearby wall, pulled herself up and leaned over the edge.

"Look at this." Her voice was slightly raspy.

Uh-oh. Dylan walked slowly to the wall, jumped to grasp the top, and pulled himself up.

One of the other humans found a lower wall, leaned over, and drew in a slow breath. "Oh, hell." Her face turned pale.

Dylan glanced at her, frowned, and peered over the edge.

We're in the sky. He couldn't see the ground from here. Below the structure, there was nothing but a sea of red and orange clouds. And off to the right, he could make out two distinct suns, one larger -- closer -- than the other.

Then he realized the metal under his palms felt quite real for something in a dream. In fact, everything around him was as vivid and detailed as everyday life. His dreams were never even remotely like this, at least not the bits he could remember.

What if this is real?

"Oh, fuck me," he muttered.

"Now?" the snake girl said. "Or can it wait?"

"What?" He turned and caught a glimpse of her smirking at him before lowering herself back to the ground. He shook his head and dropped back to the floor.

"This is not a good tactical position," the orc said, flicking her eyes over the structure. "We're out in the open. We should move to an area that's less exposed to …"

Movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. Hers, too. She snapped her head around to scowl in the same direction before he finished turning. More of the armored, helmeted, blank-visored guys appeared from behind several walls on the far side of the structure. She swept her steely gaze over them and backed up a step. "Find cover."

Dylan squinted, trying to get a clear look at the things the copper-armored goons were carrying.

"They have rifles," the orc said. "Get behind something."

A thin, yellow bolt of energy lanced out from the business end of one of the weapons and crossed the distance between the two groups in an instant.

Behind Dylan, a woman screamed. His pulse jumped and he cried out as he spun around. The human woman staggered backward, bumped into the wall, and collapsed. Her eyes stared straight ahead without seeing anything. Smoke rose from a hole that had been burned through her chest.

"Sarah!" The man rushed to her and fell to his knees. He stared disbelievingly at her, grasped her shoulders, and shook her. "Get up! Come on, baby, please get up!"

A hand grabbed Dylan's arm and he spun around to find the orc woman dragging him away.

"Get to cover!" She shoved him ahead of her just as another beam appeared for a split-second and drilled through the back of the other human's head.

A silvery thing about the size and shape of a hockey puck landed behind Dylan and bounced past him before coming to a stop.

"Grenade!" The orc pushed him again, drew in a deep breath, and yelled, "Run!"

#

The explosion flung bodies into the air and sent others tumbling across the ground -- more than Grishnag had time to count. She shoved the young human ahead of her and ran until both of them reached a wall. She ducked behind it, grasped his shoulder, and held him down. She turned to see if anyone else had survived the blast and found four bodies bleeding all over the metal surface and another -- one of the equine-bovine people -- teetering over the edge of the platform.

"Jesus Christ," the human moaned, hunching over and tucking his head under his arms. "This can't be happening!"

The snake-woman zipped over to the horse-man just as he rolled over the edge. She dived at him and missed his left ankle by a centimeter. She stared in shock as he plummeted out of sight.

One of the armored attackers appeared, crept up behind her, and aimed its rifle at the back of her head.

Grishnag glanced at the human and said, "Stay here." Remaining in a crouch, she moved one step forward -- and suddenly the robot blurred out from behind one of the other walls and tackled the larger humanoid from behind. Her momentum carried both of them into the wall and slammed the enemy into it with bone-crushing force. She drove her foot into its left knee, folding its leg the wrong way, and clamped her arms around its head as it fell. One quick twist snapped its neck, and she snatched the huge rifle out of the air before the body hit the ground.

The robot opened fire on the armored figures. Grishnag risked a quick peek around the corner just in time to see one of them catch a shot clean through the visor and out the back of the helmet. The others ran for whatever cover they could find.

Nice! Grishnag waited until all of them had ducked behind something, and then she glanced at the robot and said, "Cover me!" She sprinted over to the fallen humanoid while the robot continued firing.

In the corner of her eye, one of them swung its rifle around toward her as she picked up the dead one's weapon. She leaped and rolled, and the shot drilled through the space she'd already vacated. She came up in a crouch and put five shots through her opponent's chest. It slumped over and she lunged forward to grab its rifle, and then she ran back to the human.

He was where she'd left him, curled into a fetal position and rocking back and forth.

Okay, giving him the gun wouldn't be a good idea. She glanced around, found the snake girl, and tossed the gun to her. "Do you know how to use that?"

"I can figure it out." She pointed the rifle away from everyone and pulled the trigger, firing a blast into the floor. She squeaked and twitched, pulled herself together, and rose above the wall to fire at their attackers.

Grishnag took a quick look around for more survivors and found only a horse-woman, the burly woman, and the giant humanoid dragon.

"What is happening to us?" The obsidian-skinned female whimpered, huddled against the wall behind the human. "Why is this happening?"

Grishnag noticed the girl's mouth movements didn't match the words she spoke. Something is translating her speech. What the hell is going on?

"We can worry about that later if we survive the next few minutes." Grishnag popped out from behind cover long enough to shoot another of their attackers.

An enemy shot punched through the wall and searing heat on her right cheek made her lunge to her left.

"I want to wake up," the human moaned. "Why can't I wake up?"

"This isn't a dream." Grishnag gunned down another one. Before she could duck back under cover, a movement caught her eye. She turned and found another grenade spinning through the air toward her. She sucked in a breath to shout a warning to everyone else, but suddenly a beam struck the disc-shaped device in midair. It vanished in a flash and an expanding cloud of shrapnel. Grishnag glanced to the left and found the robot shifting her aim from the blown grenade to another pair of attackers.

Grishnag sighed and looked up at the platforms above them. "We'll be better off if we can get to higher ground. We need to …"

Behind the dragon, another of the armored men stepped into the open and lobbed a grenade. It arched over everyone's head and came down straight toward her. The human looked up, spotted it, and his face turned white.

Grishnag rose to her feet as the grenade reached her, caught it in her right hand, and hurled it straight back to the enemy humanoid. It threw itself to the right but wasn't fast enough. Grishnag turned away from the sudden flash and winced at the sharp bang, but laughed when she saw the body flopping off the edge of the platform.

She only had a moment to celebrate, though. Another humanoid hopped over the top of the wall they'd been using as cover and dropped down in front of the dragon. It raised its rifle, but the dragon swatted it aside, braced her hand on the side of his head, and shoved it into the wall with enough force to leave a dent. The gun fell from its suddenly limp hand.

"Hold on." Grishnag hurried over and searched the pouches and compartments on the body's belt. She found three stubby cylinders she guessed were spare power cells for the guns and a rectangular box that might be a communication device or a control system. After finding nothing else on him, she nodded at the edge of the platform.

The dragon flashed a predatory grin and gave the body a casual toss, sending it plunging through the fiery clouds under the structure. She looked the gun over, glanced at Grishnag, and mimicked her pose, holding the rifle in one hand and propping it on her shoulder.

Grishnag found the rest of the survivors gathering behind her. The robot pointed ahead before popping off a few more shots.

"Clear the road. I'll cover our rear."

Grishnag took the lead and made her way to the nearest ramp. She rounded a corner -- and caught a split-second glimpse at the stock of a rifle before it rammed into the side of her head. When she regained her senses, she found the business end of the rifle inches from her face. She tried to ignore the pain lancing through her head and shifted her eyes from the rifle to the humanoid pointing it at her.

A brown blur came in from the right and plowed into the figure, knocking it off its feet and sending the rifle clattering across the floor. Grishnag pushed herself upright and found the snake-girl coiling her body around the enemy. The serpentoid rolled, twisted, and wrenched her body to the right, flinging the humanoid across the floor to the edge of the platform.

As it tumbled over the edge, it lashed out and clamped onto the end of her tail, dragging her along with it as it fell. All four arms flailed, her claws scraping across the metal, trying to find a handhold.

The human leaped after her and managed to grab her upper-left hand, but the combined weight of her and the goon dragged both of them closer to the edge.

The dragon clamped her talons around the human's right ankle, and that was enough to hold them in place.

The snake grunted and contorted her face, and from her movements, Grishnag guessed she was swinging her tail around, trying to dislodge the enemy.

"Pull her back up." Grishnag picked up her rifle and glancing around for more of their attackers. "One of us will be able to pick it off as soon as it reappears."

"Wait," the snake grunted. She took the human's other hand to hold herself steady, gave her tail another swing, then another, and Grishnag saw the enemy appear momentarily before gravity pulled it back down.

One more swing hurled it into full view -- and a rapid series of bolts from the robot's gun drilled through its head. It loosened its grip on the snake girl's tail. Grishnag and the dragon blasted it several more times before it dropped out of sight for the last time.

The human pulled her away from the edge. When she was no longer dangling above the clouds, she threw all four arms around him and just held him for a moment. He looked startled, but recovered after a few seconds and put his arms around her.

"Thank you," she finally whispered.

"Uh … sure, any time."

"Let's keep moving." Grishnag rubbed the side of her head, winced at the pain, and made sure to keep checking in every direction as she resumed the lead. Everyone followed her up the ramp to the next platform, and then on past two more. The next ramp led to a long, narrow level with waist-high walls. She lowered herself to her left hand and her knees, holding the gun in her right hand, and crawled forward, keeping her body below the top of the wall.

The others followed, crawling along close behind her.

Once she reached the end, she found herself in a larger chamber. Fortunately, this one had a solid wall between them and the attackers' last known position. Everyone stood and rushed across to the door and the huge window at the far end. They paused to look out the window before moving on to the door.

"What is that?" the girl with the glowing eyes whispered.

"Looks like a city," the human muttered.

Grishnag nodded. In front of her sat several kilometers of metal buildings, domes, and spires colored in varying shades of gray with streaks and splotches of brown all over. She cocked her head. Is that rust?

"A … city?" The horse-cow woman shook her head in disbelief.

"Like a village, but larger." Grishnag pointed at the nearest structures. "Those buildings are basically … tents? Huts? I've never met any of your people before, so I don't know what you're familiar with." She shrugged. "People live in some of those, work in others. Theoretically, at least."

"Ah. I think I understand."

"Maybe there's someone here who will help us out." The human glanced around at the others.

"I doubt it," the dragon said. "Would they have brought us within reach of someone willing to help us?"

"I … I guess not." He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "So what do we do, now?"

"Most cities have vehicles in them. There's probably something there we can use." Grishnag patted his shoulder and smiled. "So, we keep going until we find a way out." She opened the door. "Let's move."

CHAPTER 2: Waking Up Dead

"So," the male said after they'd been traveling through the city streets for a while, "we've faced death together, but we don't even know each other's names."

The muscular green woman chuckled. "I'm Grishnag."

"Dylan Engstrom."

"Pleased to meet you, Dylan."

"And I'm Nishara." She slithered closer to him, smiled, put her upper hands on his shoulders, and touched her forehead briefly to his.

"Uh, hi." He smiled but clearly wasn't sure what else to say or do.

The tall reptile woman bowed, first to him, then to the rest. "Ayastal."

"I am Zilaka," the furry one with hooves, muzzle, and horns said.

"My name's Cora," the machine-woman said, turning to keep watch for more of the helmeted people.

"Syala," the thick one with glowing eyes and hooves murmured.

"Okay." Grishnag stopped at the next street corner and glanced around. "We haven't seen anyone else here. This part of the city appears empty." She sighed. "I hope the rest isn't empty as well."

"The buildings are rusting away." Cora stopped at a wall and looked it over, but was careful not to touch anything. "Looks like it hasn't been occupied in a long time."

"Probably just used for training exercises or something like that," Grishnag said. "Or whatever it is they're doing with us."

"I don't suppose any of you have seen a place like this before?" Dylan mumbled.

Everyone shook their heads.

"I've seen metal buildings before," Ayastal said, "but none like these. When I was a child, there was a settlement of 'sky-people' not far from where my tribe lived. Buildings made of metal, but the …" She took a moment to find the right word. "The shapes were different."

"You're familiar with other worlds, then?"

"No. My people are aware of those who came from the sky, but none of us have been there. Well, until now. When I was a child, I would often sneak away from home and spend most of the day simply watching their flying machines." Ayastal smiled. "I've always wanted to ride one of those machines into the sky."

"Well, you may get your chance yet," Grishnag said as they continued on their way. "If we can find our way out of here."

"Maybe if we investigate some of the buildings," Dylan said. "If there's a computer in one of 'em that's hooked up to the inter -- uh, a global network, if this planet has one, we might be able to find a map."

"I haven't detected any wireless networks." Cora shook her head. "I'm not picking up any power sources, either."

"Damn. We should keep moving, then." Grishnag sighed and walked on.

The rest followed her, glancing around every few seconds to be sure no one was pursuing them. Nishara wasn't sure how much time passed as they made their way across the empty city, everyone remaining silent as they took random turns every now and then, until she'd lost any sense of the direction from which they had come.

Not that there was anything back that way except death if the metal people were still pursuing them.

Finally, they emerged onto an enormous platform, easily bigger than her clan's largest encampment back home. And on it sat large metal structures of varying sizes and shapes. They looked different from the buildings they'd passed by earlier, resting on sets of large things that looked like feet, or in some cases, wheels.

"Flying machines?" Ayastal cocked her head and smiled slightly.

"Looks like it." Dylan turned to Grishnag and Cora. "Any of these look familiar?"

"Some are similar to technology I'm used to." Grishnag walked slowly past one, brushing her hand over the lettering on its side. "But not exactly. I don't recognize any of the insignia or the names."

"Huh," Dylan muttered, stopping to stare at the letters painted on one flying machine's side. "These are all in English. Hell of a coincidence."

"I'm seeing these in my native language." Grishnag moved on to the next ship. "I noticed during the battle that when some of you spoke, your mouth movements didn't match what you were saying, and the same is probably happening for all of you when I speak. Something has been translating us, and I assume the same thing is happening with the writing on these ships."

"Ah. I was wondering how we could understand each other." Nishara slid past Dylan and stopped to examine the ships beyond the one he stood beside. "I don't understand how it's done, though."

"Were you all unconscious when you were brought here?" Dylan glanced around at each of them. "Did you fall asleep back home and then wake up in that huge room where we met?"

Everyone else nodded or murmured an affirmative response. Dylan suddenly looked uneasy.

"I bet they implanted something in us. Hardware that interfaces with our brains and translates what we see and hear." He shivered. "And if that's what they did, then what else did they do to us while we were asleep?"

Syala shuddered and her lower lip quivered. Nishara slithered over to her and put her left arms around her.

Cora looked unsettled for a moment, and then she pulled herself together and marched across the platform. "We'll have to worry about that after we get out of here. We need to take one of these ships, assuming any of them are still functional. A shuttle wouldn't do us much good. Too short-range. We'll need a ship that has a hyperspace vortex generator in case there are no jumpgates nearby."

"But isn't the ability to understand other languages a benefit?" Syala patted Nishara's hand and walked alongside her. "Why would they give us an advantage if they simply want to kill us?"

"For the challenge," Grishnag said, her eyes opening wider at the realization. "They're hunting us for sport."

Dylan grimaced. "Why'd you have to put that idea in my head?"

"Sorry, but it just fits. They give us a way to communicate and work together when they could've just shot us dead. So, they're either hunting us, or this is a test. Evaluating specimens to decide which planet to invade, possibly."

"That's even worse."

"Yeah." Grishnag sighed and moved on to the next ship.

"Whatever the reason they brought us here," Ayastal said, "they paid a terrible price for it. I didn't take the time to make an exact count, but I believe we reduced them by at least half."

"Assuming they haven't brought in reinforcements." Cora walked over to a sleek, black ship that looked like a saucer that had been stretched out to twice its original length.

Zilaka crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "This is a nightmare. It has to be."

"That's what I thought at first." Dylan walked around the front of another ship, shook his head at the buckled strut that had once held it up, and moved on. "It's too detailed and too linear to be a dream. And it just feels too real."

"Even if it were a dream or hallucination," Cora said, "we can't afford to assume it's not real with those assholes trying to kill us."

"Yeah, guess we don't have much choice. We have to keep playing along, just in case." Dylan turned to look at another ship -- and one of those yellow beams came out of nowhere and pierced his chest. A startled look crossed his face, then was replaced by a grimace of pain as he collapsed.

Everyone stared in shock.

"Dylan?" Nishara whispered. Her hearts pounded.

Grishnag and Cora were the first to recover. They threw themselves behind the nearest ship and tried to find where the bolt had come from without exposing themselves to more.

Ayastal pulled Syala and Zilaka behind another ship. Syala stared at Dylan's body and burst into tears.

"Damn it," Grishnag snarled. "He was just a kid."

"What the hell?" Cora aimed her weapon in the distance, but couldn't find a target. "I should've been able to detect them. Why couldn't I detect them?"

Nishara sucked in a deep breath and screamed, "Dylan!" She slid over to him, hoping he was only wounded as she rolled him over.

His eyes stared blankly into the sky and smoke curled up from the hole in his chest.

Still, she put her upper hands on his shoulders and shook him gently. "Dylan! You can't …"

"I'm sorry, Nishara," Grishnag said. "He's gone. Get under cover."

Nishara wiped the tears from her eyes and lifted her head to glare at the place from which the shot had come. She could make out movement among the metal structures in the distance.

She snarled.

Ayastal turned suddenly to face something behind everyone. More of those damned beams drilled into her chest. Her legs buckled and she slumped over on top of Syala.

Nishara turned to find a dozen more metal men charging them. She drew in another breath and let it out in a shriek that caused everyone around her to stop in their tracks for a moment, even the murdering bastards who had taken poor Dylan from them. She raised her weapon, surged forward, and pulled the trigger. The nearest of their enemies stumbled backward and fell, smoke pouring from all the holes she'd blasted through his torso.

A series of flashes came from the others' weapons and sudden, searing pains lanced through her chest as if white-hot knives were being plunged into her. Before she even understood what had happened, she found herself sprawled face down on the metal ground, unable to move, barely able to breathe.

"M … monsters," she whimpered before blackness engulfed her.

#

"What the --" Dylan flailed, gasped, and clutched his chest. Before he realized he was on a raised platform, he lost his balance, fell off, dropped several feet, and landed face down. Groaning, he pushed himself up slowly and looked around. "What the hell?"

More platforms filled the room, almost like metal beds.

No. More like autopsy tables. A shiver rippled through him.

All the tables were occupied by the alien women who'd surrounded him just before …

Just before I died. He glanced down at the front of his shirt, but couldn't find the hole that had been burned through him. The shirt hadn't been repaired -- it was exactly as it had been before that fatal shot.

Just to be sure, he lifted his shirt and slid his hand over his chest. There was no sign of a wound.

How am I alive? He leaned on the platform and tried to take deep breaths and slow his pounding heart. He looked around again and a chill rushed through him.

They're not breathing. He held his breath for a moment, trying not to let a sudden burst of tears out. The only familiar faces in this goddamn place, and they were all dead.

But he wasn't. Why?

Suddenly, Ayastal inhaled. She twitched and lurched upright, glanced around, and her eyes locked on to him.

"What …? How …?"

"I don't know." He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Did you, uh … ?"

"Die? Yes." Ayastal shuddered. Even though her face wasn't human at all, Dylan could still read her confusion and fear in her wide eyes, twitchy movements, and rapid breathing. Maybe some things were universal. "I felt my heart stop! And yet …"

"Here we are. I know. I think …"

Nishara suddenly sucked in a deep breath and screamed. She convulsed and rolled off the platform.

Dylan let out a quick scream of his own and backed away from her, but pulled himself together and approached her slowly. "N … Nishara?"

She glanced around frantically, found him, and stared. "Dylan?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah, it's me."

"But …"

"I know."

"You died!"

"Yeah, I noticed that. So did Ayastal." He motioned at the dragon woman, and Nishara glanced over her shoulder. Ayastal nodded at her. Nishara stared, took a few breaths, looked as if she were about to say something, then she turned back to Dylan.

"As did I." Nishara stared down at herself and ran her hands slowly over her chest. "The wounds are gone."

"Mine, too." He lifted his shirt. "See?"

She slithered up to him, stared for a moment, then reached out hesitantly and touched his chest. Her skin was softer and warmer than he'd expected. She moved her hand slowly over his chest for several more seconds, looked up and met his gaze, and finally pulled him into a tight embrace.

"How?"

"I don't know. Maybe whoever brought us here is able to heal wounds like these." Or maybe we're clones and the originals really are dead. He didn't mention that one to either of them, not just because he would've had to explain what clones were.

"But why?" Tears trickled from Nishara's eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. "Why are they doing this to us?"

"I wish I knew." He pulled the bottom edge of his shirt out to wipe away her tears. "I wish I knew how to even begin to find out."

She put her upper-left hand over his, held it to her cheek, raised her lower-left hand to his cheek, and stroked it softly. She gazed into his eyes for a moment, and then she leaned forward slowly and kissed him.

What the hell? Though it caught him by surprise, it was also quite nice, so he let it continue as long as Nishara wanted. When she finally pulled back from him, her face turned slightly darker, and she couldn't look him in the eye again.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"I'm not." He smiled.

Ayastal managed a chuckle, though she was still visibly unsettled. She stood and ran a hand over her chest as if still looking for her wounds, and finally glanced around at the other bodies.

"Since the rest of us are here, I think we can assume they were killed, as well, and will wake up soon."

"Yeah. Well, I hope they will." Dylan turned slowly, looking around at the others, but kept his left arm around Nishara. "I wonder which one of them died next."

"I wouldn't know." Ayastal's muzzle quirked slightly into what might've been an attempt at a smile. "I was unable to observe anything, being dead at the time, myself."

"Right. Heh." Dylan managed a shaky smile and waited silently to see if anyone else woke up.

The others woke one by one. Dylan, Nishara, and Ayastal took turns explaining what had happened -- or what they thought happened. Cora and Grishnag understood instantly, but Syala and Zilaka took a bit longer.

"We died," Syala whimpered. She remained on her platform, pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and rocked slowly. "How can we be alive if we died?"

"Whoever's doing this to us," Grishnag said, "if they're able to abduct us and bring us who knows how many light-years to this place, then repairing fatal wounds might be child's play for them."

"So, this is what our lives will be from now on?" Tears trickled down Syala's cheeks again. "Dying, waking up here, and being killed again? Over and over, perhaps forever?"

"I don't know." Dylan walked over to her, and Nishara joined him. At the same time, they each put an arm around Syala. "But that means we might have a chance to get out of here. As long as we survive, there's hope. Right?"

Syala didn't answer. After staring at nothing in particular for more than a full minute, she put her arms around him and cried into his shirt. He glanced at Nishara, who smiled and nodded. He embraced Syala and rubbed her back slowly.

"And maybe not," Grishnag finally said. "Maybe they'll leave us alone for a while."

A door at the end of the room slid open and two of those damned nine-foot humanoids entered.

"Fuck," Grishnag snapped.

"Jinxed it," Cora muttered, and Grishnag sighed.

"Yeah."

Everyone stood and faced them except Syala. She gripped the front of Dylan's shirt, twisting the fabric in her clenched fists as if terrified he was about to move away from her. He and Nishara remained by her side.

A third humanoid followed the first two, pushing a large cart. They stopped in front of Dylan and the females, and the two in front stepped aside. The third pointed into the cart.

Grishnag peeked into the cart. "Guns. They're arming us, this time?"

"Oh, shit," Dylan moaned. "What the hell are we gonna be facing?"

"Doesn't matter." Grishnag shook her head and backed away from the cart. "I'm not fighting for someone else's entertainment."

The humanoid pointed into the cart again. Grishnag growled.

"Fuck you. I'm not playing your games."

The one on the right turned its blank faceplate toward her and raised its left hand, pointing its palm at her.

She hunched over suddenly, clutched her head, and screamed. Everyone else gasped, and Syala clamped a hand over her mouth and began crying again.

Grishnag stumbled to the right, toppled over, curled up on the floor, and continued screaming.

"Stop it!" Dylan pried himself away from Syala and rushed over to Grishnag. The goon on the left pointed its palm at him. He ignored it, reached out to touch Grishnag's shoulder, but hesitated. He glared at the humanoid on the right and shouted, "Stop it! We'll do whatever you want, just stop!"

Both figures lowered their hands back to their sides. Grishnag suddenly went limp, still holding her head and weeping, but no longer screaming. She rolled onto her back, sobbed, and tried to pull herself together.

"Fucking monsters," Nishara practically hissed before slithering over to help Grishnag sit up.

Dylan clasped Grishnag's right hand in both of his and just held it while she took deep breaths and regained control of herself. Finally, she gazed into Dylan's eyes, reached out and caressed his cheek. Then her eyes widened and she pulled her hand back as if shocked by her own actions.

Okay, what is it with me and alien women, anyway? Have I turned into Captain Kirk or something?

"You gonna be okay?" Cora leaned over to touch Grishnag's shoulder.

Grishnag shuddered before answering. "Eventually." She pushed herself back to her feet and staggered over to the cart. "Fine. I'll go along with whatever insanity you've got planned." Glaring at the helmeted humanoid in front of her, she picked up one of the huge, long-barreled rifles. Then she snarled, "How do you know I won't kill you with it?"

The armored alien stared blankly at her. She held its "gaze" for a long moment and finally sighed and turned away. Her shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

Dylan sighed and picked up one of the guns. He thought it over for a few seconds and then turned to the humanoid on the right. "This is for hurting my friend."

He aimed his gun square at the bastard's chest and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Trembling, he sagged and stared at the gun. "Fuckin' hell!"

Grishnag patted his shoulder, smiled shakily, propped the gun on her shoulder, and strode out the door.

"I can't do this," Syala mumbled.

"You saw what will happen if you don't." Nishara hugged her and rubbed her back, then took her hand and led her to the cart.

"We'll be right there with you," Dylan said. "We'll all get through this together."

Zilaka nodded, patted Syala's back, and picked up one of the guns. Holding it uncertainly, she sighed and clopped past the guards.

Dylan smiled one more time at Syala, took a step past the humanoid who'd tortured Grishnag -- then he spun around and slammed the stock of his rifle into the bastard's visor. The impact knocked the alien off its feet and sprawled it on the floor.

Holy shit, that actually worked?

The other guards stepped toward him and pointed their hands at him. He propped the rifle on his shoulder and glared at them.

"What?" he snapped. When he made no further moves against them, they stepped back but kept their palms aimed at him. He realized suddenly how close he'd just come to being subjected to the same punishment that had been inflicted on Grishnag, but tried to cover up his fear by pushing past the guards and grumbling, "Get the fuck out of my way."

As he turned the corner to follow Grishnag, he caught a glimpse of Syala staring at him with an awestruck grin -- then picking up one of the guns and marching after him.

He caught up with Grishnag at the end of the corridor, which widened out and ended with what looked like a hangar door. The sounds of boots and hooves approaching from behind told him the rest of the women had armed themselves and joined him and Grishnag.

"I just realized something," Zilaka said, obviously struggling to keep her voice steady. "There were many others sent with us onto the first battlefield, but we're the only ones who woke up in that room back there."

"The others were killed almost immediately." A troubled look crossed Cora's face. "Maybe they were rejected."

All the confidence Dylan had just built up drained away as her meaning sank in over the next few seconds.

"Wonderful." Grishnag turned back to the door. "Well, let's get this over with."

CHAPTER 3: Wheels of Fire

"Huh. That's not what I expected." Dylan turned around slowly and took in their surroundings. He and the alien females stood in the middle of a street with a set of vehicles in front of them. Wheeled vehicles, but none of them familiar to him. Each was about the size of a four-door sedan but ranged from sleek lozenge shapes to something that looked like a cross between a sports car and a SWAT tank.

The city itself was unlike anything Dylan had seen on Earth, but it reminded him of any number of futuristic cityscapes in movies, video games, and TV shows. Lots of gleaming metal, concrete, glass, bridges, overpasses, and skyscrapers. In the distance, vehicles zipped around and equally sci-fi aircraft traced paths across the sky here and there.

I wonder if we're still on the same planet as the place we were killed a while ago? The sky was tinted red instead of the familiar blue and the air felt different -- thinner, with a sharp odor of overheated wiring filling his nose with every breath. If the assholes who abducted us can teleport us to other planets, what fucking chance do we have of ever escaping?

"I know how this works," Syala clopped over to one of the cars, her mouth hanging open and her glowing eyes opening wide. "I've never seen any of these before, never even imagined such things, but I know how to drive them."

"So do I." Ayastal leaned over the nearest car, placed her hand on its roof, and peered in through the windshield. "The knowledge just appeared in my mind. But I can't fit into any of these."

"How is this happening?" Syala drew in several ragged breaths and glanced around until her terrified gaze locked onto Dylan. "How do I suddenly know things I could never have even dreamed of before?"

"I don't know." He hurried over to her and held her hands. "Maybe we'll find out sooner or later, or maybe we'll never know. Right now, all that matters is that we get through this."

She took a few more breaths, pulled herself together, and nodded.

Cora walked over to them and rested a hand on each of their shoulders. "Whoever is doing this, we can't let them break us. Don't give them the satisfaction."

Syala nodded again, smiled, closed her eyes for a moment, and sucked in another long, slow breath to help calm herself.

"I also know what we must do," Zilaka muttered, turning to stare in shock at the others. "Just like the cars -- I didn't know a moment ago, and now I do."

"Same here." Dylan nodded slowly. "There's a package we have to pick up and take somewhere."

"And there will be someone trying to stop us." Nishara turned to gaze out over the city and shivered. "Someone trying to kill us."

"Again." Grishnag sighed. "No matter why our captors are doing this -- to test us, or just for their entertainment -- I don't want to submit to it."

"You know what'll happen if we don't." Dylan tried to give her a reassuring smile, but couldn't hold it for more than a second. "The longer we survive, the more time we have to figure out what's going on and how to stop it."

"True enough." A smile tugged at the corner of Grishnag's mouth. "Well, I guess we should get on with it."

Nishara cupped Dylan's face in her upper hands and held his hands with her lower ones.

"For luck." She leaned in and kissed him.

Uh … wow. He let the kiss continue until she pulled back, gazed into his eyes, and smiled. He stroked her cheek and she gave his hands and shoulders a gentle squeeze before turning to slither over to one of the cars.

Another hand brushed his arm. He turned to the left and found Syala leaning toward him. He met her halfway, thinking she wanted to say something to him without the others overhearing.

Instead, she slid her right hand behind his neck, pulled him closer, and kissed him.

Huh? His heart began to pound, but he went along with it. When Syala finally pulled back, she smiled and glanced away.

"For luck," she mumbled.

"Thanks." His face turned hot and he glanced around and caught Grishnag grinning and chuckling in the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat and tugged on his shirt collar. "So. Uh. Anybody else want a good-luck kiss?"

After everyone flicked a few glances at each other, Cora shrugged and walked over to him.

"What the hell. I don't believe it'll tilt the odds in our favor, but I'm all for finding a moment of pleasure in this nightmare we're all in." She pressed her cool metal lips gently against his and the faint smell of mechanical lubricants and polish filled his nose. Neither the kiss nor the scent was at all unpleasant.

When they parted, the other females approached him. Before he could get his brain around what was happening, each of them kissed him. In the corner of his eye, he found several of them kissing each other.

Okay, this is getting weird. The only possibility he could think of was that maybe humans were the only species that had any sexual hangups, and it simply didn't occur to any of these females to think there was anything strange about this. Hah. Getting weird. Good one.

Finally, Grishnag was the only one who hadn't kissed him or any of the others. She shrugged and put her arms around him.

"I suppose I shouldn't buck the trend," she said softly, chuckling. Her breath brushed across his lips and his heartbeat revved up again. "It has been a while since I've done this, so maybe it's about time, anyway."

Their mouths met and he closed his eyes and lost himself in the moment. It was a little odd, with those big fangs sticking up from her lower teeth, but no more so than any of the others.

When they parted, they gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, smiled, and then Grishnag walked off to choose a vehicle. She picked one of the sporty-SWAT tank-looking things, opened the door, and settled into the seat. Her eyes flicked over its control panel and she pushed a button. The engine started -- not the familiar sound of the car engines Dylan had heard all his life, but more of a throbbing hum.

The others chose their cars, except Ayastal. Grishnag glanced over at her, smiled, and pointed a thumb at the roof of her vehicle.

"This one looks sturdy enough for you to ride on top. You won't have any protection, but at least you'll be able to participate. I mean, if you want."

"Thank you. After seeing what they did to you when you refused to play their games, I'm probably better off not appearing to be uncooperative." Ayastal crouched on top of the car, braced her feet on the rear end, and found handholds on the roof.

Dylan picked another hotrod-tank, got in, and glanced around. All the controls were on the dashboard, including the brakes and accelerator. At least that meant Nishara could drive one despite having no legs. He glanced over at her in time to watch her try to enter one of the lozenge-shaped cars. She ducked in through the driver's side door, pulled back out, entered again, extracted herself again. She grumbled something, opened the back door, slid in and between the front seats, took her position awkwardly at the controls, and pulled the rest of her body in.

Syala closed the back door for her.

"Thank you." Nishara spent the next few moments trying to coil her body around the interior and find a comfortable position.

Dylan started his engine as Syala and Zilaka picked out their cars.

Grishnag's voice came from a speaker in the dashboard. "Okay. Let's do this."

#

"Almost there." Grishnag glanced at the mini-map on her dashboard and noted the position of the waypoint. She returned her attention to the road ahead and slowed as they passed through a gate and entered an area filled with what appeared to be warehouses.

As they approached the waypoint, a dozen red blips appeared around it. Grishnag noted their positions on her mini-map and grumbled.

"Well, here we go." Dylan's voice quivered slightly.

Before Grishnag could offer any reassuring words, she eased around the corner of a large, rectangular building and found a dozen males and females of varying species spinning toward her and snapping their guns up.

"What the hell?" Dylan said. "I was expecting more of the goons we fought last time."

"So was I." Grishnag steered toward the nearest three and accelerated. "No matter. Just focus on getting through this."

"R-right." Dylan's vehicle surged forward, plowed into two of the "enemies," and sent them tumbling across the pavement.

"Nice." Grishnag flashed a feral grin. "Ayastal, you may want to …"

"Dismounting." The huge reptile woman leaped off the top of Grishnag's vehicle and slammed into a pair of humans who'd opened fire a split-second before. The impact flattened them and she made sure they stayed put with a solid punch to each of their faces. She rolled off them, crouched, and sprang over the head of a pig-ogre as he tried to target her. She hit the ground, rolled forward, and came to a halt with her legs braced under her, ready to launch at another enemy.

The pig-ogre whipped his rifle around and lined up a shot at her chest.

Dylan's tank-car shot into view. He turned sharply to the left and the car skidded. The rear end swung around and slammed into the pig-ogre like a bat knocking a baseball out of the park. He rocketed into the side of a parked cargo truck, crumpled to the ground, and came to a stop with his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Nice moves, kid," Grishnag said with an arched eyebrow.

"Thanks. I just now realized this reminds me of a game I played a lot back home. This was one of the moves I used on opposing players."

"This reminds you of a game?" Nishara steered her car around the back of a nearby warehouse and flinched as four enemies concentrated their fire on her.

"Yeah, a video game. It's a -- actually, never mind. I'll try to explain it later." Dylan whipped his car to the right and shoved his rifle through his open window. He pulled the trigger and perforated the human and three bovine males. They twitched and collapsed, fingers convulsing on their triggers and firing random shots until the life finished draining from them.

"Video games," Cora muttered. "I'm familiar with them. They're sort of like simulations."

"Yeah, kind of. You okay, Nishara?"

"For now." Nishara changed course again and accelerated. "I'm near the … whatever we're here to take. I'm going for it."

"I'll cover you," Dylan said.

"As will I," Syala added.

"Simulations. Hmm." Cora veered off to join the other three.

"What?" Grishnag caught up with them, glanced at the waypoint, and followed them toward a building that appeared to be an aircraft hangar.

"Just a suspicion I have. I don't want to distract everyone with it now."

"Sounds good." Dylan mowed down another opponent with his car and continued on to the hangar. "You can tell us after we finish this. Or the next time we wake up dead." He chuckled.

Hah. He has my kind of sense of humor. Grishnag grinned and parked in front of the hangar's massive open door. "Make a barricade with your vehicles while Nishara picks up the package."

Dylan backed his car up until his rear bumper nudged her front. The others followed suit, keeping their driver-side doors facing into the hangar. Everyone except Nishara jumped out and aimed their guns at the remaining enemies, using their vehicles as cover. Nishara extracted herself from her car and surged forward, slithering deeper into the building so fast she became a blur.

Dylan and Syala charged after her, flicking their wide eyes all around the interior, searching for more enemies.

Grishnag glanced at the mini-map on her dashboard. Only three enemies remained … until ten more red blips appeared at the edge of the map and approached her team's position with alarming speed. Grishnag snarled. "More enemies incoming."

"That's what I was afraid of," Dylan grumbled. "It works the same way in that game I mentioned. No matter how many bad guys we take out, more keep teleporting in."

"It's hopeless," Syala whimpered.

"No, it's not." Grishnag drilled a beam through the forehead of each of the three approaching them. "It'll end when we complete our task."

"Yeah." Dylan tried to smile at Syala. "Maybe then we'll get to sit out the next round of fighting. Y'know, as a reward."

Grishnag glanced at her mini-map again. The new red blips were almost on top of her and the others. She frowned, realizing a hissing sound had been growing louder over the last few moments.

That's inside the hangar. But … She gasped and raised her gun to aim at the ceiling.

"They're above us!"

Thumps of multiple feet hitting the roof echoed through the cavernous room.

Cora spun and snapped her gun up toward the ceiling. "I see their heat signatures." She opened fire, burning dozens of holes through the metal. Several voices cried out, and then a guttural roar overwhelmed them. More thumps echoed from the ceiling, the sound of bodies rolling down the angled roof.

"I've got the pilots," Ayastal snarled before opening fire.

The hissing sound revved, sputtered, and turned into a rattling whine. A stubby aircraft with two huge, ducted fans spun into view, a dozen holes melted through the canopy and a mixture of red and yellow blood splattered all over the cockpit. The aircraft continued its spin, tipped to the left, and crashed into the ground. It continued sliding and shedding parts, finally rolled over and ground to a stop upside-down.

"Good work, Ayastal," Grishnag said.

A deafening, sharp bang of a grenade slammed into the side of the building, almost drowning out a truncated scream. Grishnag staggered, shook her head, and a cold sensation rose up in her chest. "Ayastal?"

Nishara, Dylan, and Syala stopped in their tracks. Nishara fumbled and nearly dropped the brick-shaped, crystalline object in her hands.

"Ayastal!" Grishnag rushed to the rear of her car, peeked around the doorway, and found her sprawled on the ground with her chest blasted open.

Past her, two more large vehicles rumbled toward the hangar.

Grishnag winced and turned away. She met the others' gazes and shook her head.

Syala sobbed and covered her mouth with her hand.

"She'll be okay," Dylan whispered, reaching out to rub her back.

"How do we know?"

"She'll probably wake up in the same room we found ourselves in after the first time we were killed."

"He's right." Grishnag took a deep breath and waved a hand around the inside of the hangar. "Take a quick look around. Maybe we can find something useful. Bigger guns, or armor."

"On it." Cora rushed over to the wall to inspect the shelves and crates.

Nishara handed the golden crystal brick to Dylan. "Take this. You seem to know what you're doing."

Grishnag glanced over her shoulder at the mini-map on her dashboard. A new waypoint had appeared at the northern edge.

"We have a new destination."

"Good." Dylan carried the faintly glowing crystal back to his car. "Let's get the hell out of here."

#

"Oh, look what we have here." Cora had just opened one of the metal crates in a corner behind a shuttle and grinned at what she'd found. "Grenades, sticky bombs, and rocket launchers."

"I don't know what those are," Zilaka muttered, "but if they keep us alive, I'll be happy with them."

"They should definitely give us a chance." Cora passed the grenades and sticky bombs to the others, grabbed two rocket launchers, and handed one to Grishnag. "You seem to know how to use stuff like this more than the others. I think we'll have a better chance of holding the goons off while the others escape."

Dylan whipped his head around to stare at her and Grishnag.

"Don't worry." Cora strode toward the space between the door frame and Grishnag's car. "I'm planning on both of us catching up with you. Now, get moving."

Dylan sighed, nodded, and started his engine. Syala, Zilaka, and Nishara returned to their vehicles.

Cora peeked around the corner, found the two vehicles still fifty meters away but approaching rapidly, and nodded at Grishnag. Cora lined up a shot on the nearer van and fired. A fist-size rocket streaked toward her target. The second van veered off and accelerated, while three people bailed out of the first. Cora's rocket struck the front of the van, ripped it apart in a split-second, and the shrapnel shredded the three who'd tried to escape.

Grishnag stepped around Cora and took her own shot while Cora reloaded. The van swerved, but couldn't avoid the rocket. Shrapnel and body parts scattered in every direction. Grishnag smirked, turned toward her car, and stopped suddenly.

"Cora told you to take off."

Cora turned and found the others waiting with their engines running. "Yeah. What she said."

"We're not leaving you here." Syala aimed a stern stare at her, couldn't hold it, and faced forward again. "We finish this together."

Cora almost rolled her optics, canceled the action, and ran to her vehicle. "Fine. Let's all get the hell out of here before anyone else starts shooting at us."

"Dylan," Grishnag said as she climbed into her car, "we'll surround you and escort you to the next waypoint. Stay in the center."

"I'll do my best." He gripped the controls and waited.

"I'll take the lead. Cora, bring up the rear." Grishnag moved her car into position.

Four red, car-shaped icons appeared on Cora's mini-map, approaching rapidly from the rear. She leaned out the window, glanced around, and zoomed in on a distant motion.

"Guys, we've got more --"

"I see them on my map," Syala said, almost whimpering. "Let's go!"

Cora grabbed her rocket launcher, climbed through her window, and perched her ass on the lower edge. She lined up a shot and squeezed the trigger. The rocket streaked away and she zoomed in to watch the impact.

One of the four vans exploded and the shockwave knocked two others off course.

What the hell was that? Cora pulled the last few seconds from her optics' buffer and replayed it in slow motion. Parts of the van flickered and broke into tiny cube shapes for a split second as it exploded, as did the air around the shockwave. She scowled and lined up another shot. Voxels. Damn, I was right.

"Cora!"

"Dylan, what?" Her proximity sensors picked up a sudden movement to her left before he could respond. She snapped her head around in time to catch a glimpse of a rocket before it drilled into the side of her car.

The roar of the explosion overwhelmed her auditory sensors and the flash overloaded her optics for a few seconds. When her sight returned, the entire world was spinning around her -- until the pavement slammed into her back. She glanced around, found parts of her legs and other debris scattered all around her, and her internal sensors detected various lubricants and other fluids spraying out of what was left of her torso.

"Cora!" Dylan shrieked again.

"Keep going! I'll do what I can from here." She found her rifle several meters away and dragged herself toward it while running a diagnostic. Primary systems failing, main power cell breached and heading for a critical overload. Whatever I do, I have to do it soon.

"But …"

"Go!" She clamped onto the rifle and tried to line up a shot on the approaching vans, but her targeting system was offline. "I'll see you all on the next go-around."

"Shit," Dylan moaned before accelerating away.

The others hesitated another few seconds but finally followed him.

The remaining three vans reached Cora.

Fuck it. She rolled onto her back, jammed her rifle's barrel against her exposed power cell, and pulled the trigger. Fortunately, the detonation tore her body apart too quickly for her sensors to detect any damage.

#

The blast was enormous -- far bigger than anything Nishara had ever experienced. It deafened her and shook her vehicle. Both hearts pounded as she glanced over her shoulder and found parts of Cora's body and two of the vans raining down. The remaining van swerved around the debris and continued its pursuit.

"No," Dylan groaned.

"Take it easy," Grishnag said, clearly straining to remain calm, herself. "She'll be okay. She's probably in that same room we woke up in before, with Ayastal."

"I hope so." Dylan took a deep breath. "Alright. Let's get this over with." He accelerated.

Six more blips appeared on Nishara's mini-map, directly ahead. "No …"

"Where are they coming from?" Syala's voice quivered.

"Stay focused," Grishnag said.

A beam from one of the van's occupants drilled Nishara's rear window, the passenger-side headrest, and the windshield. She flinched and her hearts beat even faster.

Must try something. Must do something before we're all killed again. She took several deep breaths. "I … I have an idea."

She twisted her tail into position, gripped her weapon, and slid through her window. She kept her lower-left hand on the controls, kept the accelerator pressed down with the tip of her tail, and held on to the roof with her upper-left hand. With her two right hands, she raised the gun awkwardly and tried to aim it at the approaching van.

A male that appeared to be Zilaka's species leaned out one of the van's windows with his own rifle.

Nishara clamped her mouth shut to prevent a horrified whimper from escaping and fired her weapon. Half of her shots struck the ground or pierced empty air, but the rest punched into the front of the van.

The male fired and a familiar searing pain lanced through Nishara's upper-right shoulder. The gun almost slipped from her hands, but she managed to keep her grip on it and continue shooting.

Finally, one of her beams drilled through the van's windshield and vaporized part of the driver's head. He flopped over and the van swerved off to the right and crashed into a stack of red metal barrels. Nishara shifted her aim to the barrels without understanding how she knew what was about to happen, and continued firing. Whatever was in the barrels ignited violently, and engulfed the van in flames.

Nishara sighed, faced forward, and grimaced at the pain spreading out from her wounded shoulder.

Grishnag veered off to a curving ramp leading to an overpass that wove among dozens of gleaming metal skyscrapers. The rest followed her. Wincing and trying not to cry out, Nishara steered her vehicle in the same direction.

Three more enemy vans appeared directly ahead, swerving through the oncoming traffic.

"Damn it," Grishnag snarled. "Too many innocent people are in the way."

"There's nothing we can do about that," Dylan said with a sigh. "We'll just have to do the best we can to avoid hitting any of them."

A human leaned out of the lead van and began firing. Nishara groaned, shifted her grip on her weapon, and returned fire.

A beam pierced her upper-left arm and another hit her chest, just below her lower heart. She screamed and dropped her gun.

"Nishara!" Syala shrieked. "Oh, no!"

Another shot burned through Nishara's abdomen, and yet another drilled her upper heart. She flailed, screamed again, and her car began to turn sideways and skid.

"No!" Dylan bellowed.

Nishara caught a glimpse of a hail of enemy shots slamming through his windshield and multiple bursts of red blood filling the inside of his car, and suddenly she turned cold inside.

"No …" She coughed as everything around her began to fade away. "Dyl … Dylan …"

Her car struck the divider between lanes and rolled. The last thing Nishara saw was the road rushing up toward her, and the last things she felt were her body twisting and the car crushing her beneath it.

==========

Title: Game Over

Genre: Science Fiction

Age range: adult

Word count: 80,000 words

Author: Fred T. Kerns

Why the book is a good fit: I tend to write the kinds of stories I wish I could find on bookshelves. As TMG has an eye toward innovation, my work would bring them something new and fresh to pass along to the world. TMG also works with a range of genres and my novels and stories are primarily science fiction but also include elements of action, humor, and an often hopeful vision of the future despite the villainous characters standing in the heroes' way.

The Hook: On this planet, "fun and games" is a matter of life and death.

Synopsis: Dylan Engstrom wakes up in a strange place and is thrown into a series of combat scenarios with a handful of aliens. Together, they must figure out what's going on and how to escape before they're all killed. And killed again. And again. And again ...

Target audience: Readers who enjoy action, adventure, humor, spaceships, aliens, and fun characters in a story that leans toward the harder end of the SF scale.

Bio: Sci-fi writer, semi-competent gamer (on a good day), and a huge geek. Born in a small town in Oregon, lived on the Oregon coast until 2013, then moved to Tucson, Arizona, and has lived there ever since.

Platform: My blog has links to most of the stuff I'm up to: https://fredtkerns.blogspot.com/

Education: High school diploma, followed by life in general

Experience: Started writing and submitting short stories at 17 and have never stopped writing since then. I've finished five novels and have another in-progress, and have written a number of shorter works and ongoing serialized stories.

Personality/writing style: Usually pretty mellow. Able to roll with the punches thanks to life being a very long stretch of bad luck. Able to face each setback by immediately going to work on possible solutions almost like a reflex. Writing style tends to be to-the-point with characters who are often a little off-kilter. I've been told that I'm particularly good at writing action scenes. I also like to research specific scientific concepts to attempt to get them right (for instance, hull breaches in my writing won't result in an endless rush of venting air) without bogging the story down with details regarding physics and whatnot.

Likes/hobbies: Writing, video games, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Have been a lifelong fan of Star Trek, Doctor Who, Star Wars, and others. More recent like/influences include the Mass Effect series, Babylon 5, Star Trek Online, Red vs. Blue, gen:LOCK, among others.

Hometown: Tucson, AZ

Age: 46

Of course, we are similar, we share the same parents, both girls born into the 60's to two hippies. I just don't get how different we really are.

Strings

Drama

over 12

words- still counting

Jane Snow

No one can ever grow tired of a love story, ever.

Re-think the love you offer and keep to yourself

A pure love story within one family. This story will show you just how much we keep love in, share it, lie over it, protect it and inevitably, lose it.

20 years and older

I am a girl first and forever, woke to be a lover and mother of 3. Working to find the best waterfall and sunset package.

Computers are dominant but books still smell really good

Associates degree followed by decades of shipping industry work

Novice but not if you count all the notebooks of short stories & poems

Tree hugger with love for the color green, free space and free style- enjoying my NJ space