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Selection of 2019 Works

Beaten to the Metronome December 23, 2019
“I told you once before: “it isn’t easy to live without sacrifice.” He struck my stomach for the third time.  
He kept pushing me to a corner, beating me to the tick of a metronome until I lay half-conscious.  
He’s my father’s boyfriend who recently moved in after the sudden annoucement.
I’m a child of divorcees.
Sardines Forgotten, Series Discussed December 21, 2019
I see the rain. I feel the wind. I see the clouds.  
I don’t expect any less from the natural weather. It calms my senses.  
I enter a restaurant, a casual dining classic, and sit down.   
The staff nod, sending a waitress to me.  
She jotts down my requests, taking a few glances at my mouth as I spoke.  
Once the waitress left, I stand up, properly walking along the way of the bathroom .   
The mirror, anchored to the wall and beside the bathroom, is all I need to shape this off-putting hair.  
Leaving a few strands untouched, I happily return to my seat unbothered by the delay.  
“Where shall I go from here?” I mutter on finishing my third series of the week.   
I stop for a while and think.  
“This series definitely has its credentiality. ”  
A brisk customer arrives, carrying a bunch of bags from the store a few steps from here. She totters down the aisle toward my side of the place.  
She recognizes me in an instant.  
“Hey,” she whispers, lifting and waving a bunch of bags to greet me. “Did you see the crazy update on RPG’s Third Straw?”  
“Yeah. It did a good job in setting up the battle scene with proper distribution … of power and struggle.”  
“How about the characters?” she asks, taking her phone out to check for any updates on the article she just made.  
“I believe they’re realistic and purposeful. The point you don’t know everything, yet, makes it a story after all.” The sides of my mouth thrust up.  
Wrinkling her nose because of her nose itch, she replies, “Oh, yeah, that’s great. I wish they’d pin down several foreshadowings to hint their true character story here and there.”  
“That’s nice. Oh, since the food’s here… let’s eat,” I say, bowing slightly. “Itadakimasu!”  
I pick up a spoon and dabble in my ceasar salad.  
“Wait a minute,”—she cleared her throat—“where are the sardines I ord—I asked you to order?”  
“Oh… oh. Oh! That. I forgot, sorry,” I murmur, coughing in reaction to the spice. “S-spicy. Huh.”  
“Yeah.”—she put a hand on the table and another on her mouth—“Lol.”   
We finished dinner by 7 p.m. Not having time to think about anything else, we pushed ourselves toward our homes.  
As we were walkng, she read something out loud: “This ain’t it, chief.”   
I looked at her. “What’s up?”  
“This guy got guts… he’s planning to stop the big bad guy with conveniently learned skill alone.” She mimicked a shocked face.  
I laughed awkwardly. “Sure, sure. I don’t think creators are gonna pull those off well all the time though.”  
A few minutes after we got down, she nudged me on the shoulder. “Did you tell them?”  
I stopped, then pressed on. “Liars go to hell.”  
She turned her head to her front. “Okay then. I hope you guys finished it up okay.”  
I uplugged the earphones from my phone, grabbed the speaker plug, and connected it to my phone.  
In the living room where I relax with laptop on desk, I entered the glass-transparent shower room. Inside, with ice-cold water, I pleasured myself.  
I made sure to lock my house door before entering the house. The house’s windows are always closed. I don’t need extra nuances.  
I took a towel from the stack of other towels she bought for me the second day we met.  
I miss the precient nightlight. Only the foul weather with it kept me warm against the melancholous textbook.  
I quietly finished up the orange drink, swallowing the remaining pulp and throwing the carton into the trashcan.  
I took the empty glass, sinking it in the water put in an unwashed bowl.  
Astaroth’s Burnt City and the Ghoul’s Plea December 03, 2019
She came to the tower where he lay. “Prince Astaroth? Are you there?”  
Her whispered voice carried on through the night while he struggled, covering his ears with anything he could find.  
Soon enough, a bell rang throughout the courtyard, signaling midnight. He thought, “If someone finds out she’s doing this, she’ll be goners.”  
The girl, however, kept calling from down below.‌‌ “Prince? Please listen to my call!”  
“Uh, what… what’s up?” the prince groaned, giving in to her continuous bawling.  
“Do you see?” she huffed, brushing her hair against the wind.  
“See what?”  
“The city’s burned down.”  
“Burning… burning? What do you mean burning?” He lifted his eyes in search of smoke. “There’s no smoke! What do you mean ‘there’s burning’?”   
“It burned down weeks ago. The smoke already left the air by now.” She sniffled, wiping her tears with her gentle hands.  
“I don’t… I don’t get it?” he roared. “But the bell’s been ringing ever since?”  
“No one needs to ring that bell.”  
“Uh. Where’s Mother? And Father? And Brother and Sister? They’re all…”  
“Check for yourself.”  
“But they locked me here for… oh god. So that’s why they didn’t let me out!”   
He ran toward the door, attempting to open it. He kicked it. Slammed it. Rammed it. And nothing. It held on. Locked.
He turned around, running back to the window. “Hey, can you help me find a rope of some sort?”   
“Here.” She threw up the rope she stored in her knapsack. She attempted a few tries but finally got it up to him.
He tied it to the bed he slept in for these past three months, hoping it wouldn’t go snap.  
“I knew you could do it.”  
“What … ?” He got down safely but horribly executed the descent. She patted him in the back to congratulate.  
They groveled down the steep blasted road.  
As they stumbled upon stiff ground, he stood up and walked alongside her, taking in the aftermath: the flattened structures, the dilapitated diablerie catalysts, and the signature carnage.  
The prince drooped, falling to the ground. “It appears to be more an onslaught of revelry than a fearsome tug-of-war as it is.”  
The prince huffed: “What are we going to do next?”  
She pierced him with her eyes. “Get food, water, and head off to find others.”  
“Sure then. Let’s do that.  
Once they got themselves in new apparel, health, and preparedness; they rode the few horses they could find and departed.  
“Aren’t those beautiful little beings on their way?” a shadow cooed.  
“They’re yet to face the messenger, ” his servant tut-tutted. “Remote—but they’re on their way, yes, my lord.”  
The shadowy figure ceased his opposition, beaming. “Teehee!”  
“Where are the outcasts?” the prince related, stumped.  
“E-even the outcasts disappeared?” the prince’s lady cohort admitted; she was just as shocked.  
A whisper: “Oh, angel, O divine, I am your child, seeker of Thine. Please kill my enemies, for they detest you. Kill them all, without your delicate dulcet tune!  
“Filth Est / Nos Dos Lazarus!” The skies filled, carrying a morgue of corpses that began heaving down toward the endangered prince and felon.  
“Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh.  
“You’re joking right?” He searched the skies, the surrounding mountains, and around him. He found the perpetrator: a svelte ghoul, benevolently bound by an crushing oath choker; laugh-gurgling from intense enticement; and wriggling from self-abasing grogginess to the bone.   
A dervant   
“I am asthmatic. See, since you have the Holy One’s protection, you must be Royalty. Will you please holify my ragged body?”  
Inversely smiling, the prince catered to his own clothes and moved on, ignoring askance the ghoul’s earnest fleeting waver, tonelessly blubbing his dreary way.  
“What… ?” His female companion hiccuped. She didn’t know what happened until she got back up, brushing off the dust from her face and battle skirt.  
She put a hand above her eyes for shade. “Prince. Where are you going?”  
“To find sensible people!” He dragged his legs forward and backward, moving himself across the landscape.  
“Prince, we have a candidate over here.” She pointed with her thumb, grinning in apparent panel.  
He stopped in his tracks: his face coping against himself.   
“Uh. Fine.”   
He created sparks by crossing his fingers. Moving towards the ghoul, he began gesticulating for his healing power to manifest. Ending his incantation, he thrust his hand on the girl’s forehead, deracinating the eminent black particles of curses and removing then immediate jargon the curses’ curator spouted..  
She began glowing incandescently. Her eyes cleared up, and her hair shone.   
Detective Feef’s Novelty Crime Scene November 27, 2019
The pavement vividly revealed the disarray of cat parts smudged together.  
A newbie in the department asked Feef, his superior what he thinks could have happened. “Could he be poke poke one of those serial killers?”  
He grinned under the shadow of his hand. “This is some good shit right here. No. This… this is NOVELTY!”  
Confused, the newbie repeated his question. 
Stopping his theatrical display, he answered him, “Yes… but she wasn’t the killer.”  
The newbie nodded, gradually slowing down as he realized. “Wait. ‘She’? She’s a ‘she’? What—why’s she a ‘she’?”  
The detective looked at him analytically. “I could tell from the style of stitching.”  
“Wait? There was stitching?”  
He viewed the virtual carriages trod along by, smirking. “There was stitching. And there were bits of human organs in there.”  
“Wha! You. You…   
“I thought the crime scene investigators implicitly noted that it was all cat parts?”  
“He was right, but I ordered my robot get the sample   
“Since you were busy taking care of that son of yours, you didn’t know I was a   
Grandfather’s Blade and the Closet November 24, 2019
He bit a piece of meat straight from the cougar’s neck. He chewed on it for a couple measly seconds and found out the shock of tasting flesh icky and smeared. He vomited the pellets, drawing back the curious tongue.   
He followed the two rangers from close behind, acquinting them with the crack slavetraders of Montgomery.  
“What a beginner’s feat this is!” Huffed the bright-red-haired deviant with a hint of drunken stupor.  
With a viper slithering past him and daring to attack, he ravenously burst its diamond-shaped head. He held its body up and followed up, lifting an arm and snapping through its center.  
As they left the area, the one following behind them quickly grabbed its cheekbones and stored [a few].  
I gravely acknowledged the death of my dear and cheery mother. She was a miraculous acquintance to all she forgave and forgot.   
I had no words for the ladykiller, my rugged and steeled grandfather. (He played around with knives since day zero. He was a breathtaking masterpiece of God to himself.) Belittled by his peers, he didn’t stop to think twice about cutting off with us through my mother’s neck.  
Presently, I lay crippled on this sandy floor, darting my eyes around the rayless, dim front of me.  
Triple knocks alerted my intuition to take care from being noticed. I plumped toward the closet at my rear. The door opened, revealing the swift succession of cutting throats by a run-up of sound.  
I closed my eyes, breathing heavily into my left shoulder plate padding to taper the noise.  
I succeeded miserably, trapping myself in a 4 by 4 closet.  
Cordella Slips Away at Dawn November 12, 2019
Behind my eyelids, I sensed my mother and father’s shadows disappear as I feigned sleep. This was quite the practice I’ve acclaimed for myself over these past months since winter solstice.  
I slowly skidded down the mattress I’ve grown to hate, but this was all indeed once my resting place when all I could see was drudging landscape.
I’ve decided.   
The outer world is too much of a wonder to leave be. Albeit practicality is needed.  
This is it. My magic knowledge’s been greatly practiced as taught by my elders. I hope I get a hang of actual combat.  
I coughed a few times, steadily half-running away from the village. When I stepped out of the town’s border, I silently waved goodbye to my little brother, leaving behind the only thing I had left—emptiness.  
I arrived at a safe spot to rest after a couple of hours. I remember being told beasts tend to wander about whenever they’re hungry, so I kept safe and away from animal sight.  
A night’s rest was all I needed to get back up on my feet after reluctantly sleeping beside a bulky behemoth.  
The journey was befitting for an adventurer, since I did not find such peace so overwhelming.   
Tiresomely, I fell flat on my bed topped up with a stone to rest my head. I could honestly feel the difference between sleeping unfulfilled on cotton and resting unbothered on coarse dirt.  
I stopped to pant beside a few large stones here and there. Many tree creatures stepped in to shadow me from sunlight, since I could not acknowledge the incessant burn on my skin before they came.  
“Leaving the village was my choice,” was what I told them.   
I had known for a while that their nonverbal communication allows them to speak as far as their roots touch even from one end of land to another.  
But I also understand why they listened to my words.   
They are known to be empathetic beings incapable of favoritism, but they too purpose to help individuals whenever graced so.  
That’s it. I remember now. My parents told me there was a large city in the west. Wait, where am I headed? …  
I reached the city gate unharmed but tired nonetheless. It was a huge city from the outskirts, with walls more towering than I first imagined.  
The gate was a symbolic one, exhibiting carvings of ancient beasts and mythical gods. Its walls were intimidating enough, but to have such an unshakable side fortress as a gate.  
The city sentry spotted me and commanded “Halt!”  
My first contact with the outer world began with a stern-faced guard huffing: “W-what you doin’ ‘round there, eh?  
“Um, I’m Cordella. I was thinking, um, if you could let me in, um. I came from a town, um, a few giant steps from here.”  
His sentry guard friend tapped him on the back and began to whisper: “What should we do with the girl? Don’t you think she could be, you know … loose in the head?”  
The girl Cordella wasn’t sure if they were going to bring her to a sorcerer to test her validity or just let her in like that.  
“D-do you mean miles, Miss? I’ve no idea what giant steps you speak of?” The guard looked at her squint-eyed.  
“Have you no decency to at least clean up yourself?” asked the other guard. “Your clothes are stained with blood, you know?”   
I haven’t looked at myself in the water for some time.  
“Do you know someone who could tell me where I could get a good place to stay at?” I asked them wide-eyed.  
“Sure do Mam,” the plump guard acknowledgely exclaimed, stepping up further, “but it would be nice to have you pay the entry fee, Mam Cordella.”  
Oh, no, I don’t have a single coin with me.  
I pulled out from my pocket 5 gold coins, 10 silver coins, and 15 copper coins.  
Oh, looks like I do have coins with me.  
“Huh. Yes, you’re—”  
“Good to go?”  
“—pretty wealthy …” Yes, good to go… . right.  
I was gonna tell her to stay at my cousin’s inn.  
She walked right into the city, noticing the similar styles in carpentry and masonry to her old town.  
I was checking the market and the money they used. They incorporated gold coins, silver coins, and copper coins, ranging from most valuable to least valuable.  
I was planning to find out more about the market until some alerting footsteps of several groups of people came barging into the busy street.  
I was viewing a certain item within a quiet shop and I didn’t like the sound of war.  
Reluctantly, I turned to a window. I thought, It doesn’t look as chaotic as I imagined it.  
While still hearing the racket raging about, I turned back to the item my mind was so set on a while ago.  
If it hadn’t been for the man who shouted, “Death to King Denarius the Liar and his corrupt Senate!”, maybe I wouldn’t have to see them on their feet scurrying like hunchback thieves, clambering over stands and carriages in their way.  
With me thinking that they couldn’t possibly go so far without any weapons, numerous people among the bystanders instantly jumped in and passed on sacks of rugged tools and weapons for combat.  
Aargh! That’s the second time I yawned inside this storehouse. It’s a good thing this place is sound-proofed to perfection.  
Oh, why was I here? Well, I was pulled over by the owner of the store I was in. I should ask him for info on the magical object he put up for sale.  
He already left, though, exclaiming he’ll bring in more others. I guessing he does this whenever the riots happen? Oh, and here they are!  
A vulgar-looking   
The Elder’s Adopted Legacy October 21, 2019
I mistook my days for useless. There was a purpose for my contiuous being on this planet.  
I held onto the word, grabbing the hand of my maid Aya. I told her to adopt two children. I said they would be the ones to carry the wisdom and strength I’ve learned throughout the years.
After a couple more years, my newborn babies came. I left them mainly to Aya for breastfeeding after realizing her dedication to raise them.  
I also got word of a revolutionary knowledge. It spoke of aged powerful people having theirselves transformed to tools or weapons of great strength to aid entrusted ones in life.  
“Why won’t you become the Elder? They’re missing one up there! I’m in desperation for someone, someone with the same honor as your ancestor ever was.  
“The last Elder’s actions were disreputable, but praiseworthy things can be achieved for our nation!”   
The visitor lad was uneasy. I could tell he feared the remaining six elders would form a chaos that’ll endanger the nation.  
“I’m sorry, but I’ve decided to live for my adopted children. I love them and want to help them much. I cannot do anything else than to teach them to readiness, and when it is time, I will give myself fully.” I closed the door and my butlers dragged the weeping official outside the gate.  
“B-but you have two children; you would need someone els—” His voice was cut once a storm brewed.  
I huffed. I did acknowledge the facts he spouted, but I needed a honorable person to help me complete me, or my purpose.  
My children are 17 and 18 years old. Their given names are Aya and Mordecai.   
They had grown up to be talented individuals, excelling both in studies and physical education.  
I also made sure to spread my love to them, giving them all the time they needed whether to   
I promised I’d never leave them one night. And fortunately, there’s a solution for that.  
I didn’t notice, but my maid Aya has been caring so motherly all this time. I had been too invested in my children to notice.   
I thanked her, thinking whether I should set up a celebration since her birthday’s coming up as Aya and Mordecai broadcasted. I got my two shoes, put on my robes, rushed to the field, and stopped.   
I imagine my options as balloons around me. I grabbed a couple floating in the air, giving myself time to choose.   
I scratched my chin when I remembered my own birthdays.  
I ended going for the picnic celebration suggested by my daughter, Aya.  
It was a fantastic day. The entire family was here with my maids and butlers; the motherly maid, Aya; my daughter and son, Aya and Mordexai; and myself.
I doubted whether I should use magic or not, but I realized my mana, or the amount of magic power I can cast at one time, doesn’t naturally regenerate due to my inevitable aging .  
Whether the teenagers being compelled to study magic to deploy to battle is righteous or unsufferable is not for me to decide. For, after adolescence, their growing physique replaces their weakening mana regeneration, which is good, but mages have always been known to be stronger on average.  
I picked up my old staff. Its orb was dusty, beaming out the cracks it got from batters. A few several Molusks thought the raging, blazing, and specialized magic they’d witnessed derived from the staff’s crafting. It was a staff I got from my father.  
I thought it was a normal, common staff…  
I still think it’s a normal, common staff.  
I tapped on it to check how it was doing. It was pretty rusty and about to break, reminding me of how fragile these tools are.  
And how fragile human life is.   
I stared curiously at my bed. I felt in my chest that it held something for me. It must have stayed put waiting for the day to conclude quietly, giving me enough time to do whatever.  
Oh yes! I cannot forget to meditate. I gave myself a few moments to bask in pitch-black darkness. The room itself was sound-proofed for this very purpose.  
Breaking even in activity and rest is important.   
I closed my eyes slowly to the sound of drums accompanying a mental image. I visioned a world of various animals, earthly and bizarre; crowds of numerous various races from different time periods and different worlds; and buildings indicating individuality and community. For people like me, mental images turn to life. It progressed as if I was vireing it from afar, looking into a telescope.  
After studying the living vision intently, I lowered my head, focusing my attention on the sound behind me. It was a piercing static, eerily sweeping around and past my head.  
I rested for several minutes, humming a few tunes before I got up and sat before my stilted desk.  
I made a curve around with my index finger guiding my thumb. I drew a dazzling little girl by her 20s.  
The Knight’s Barn and the Generous Farmer October 18, 2019
“What should I do now? What will happen to me?”  
I woke up with a slight chill in my upper body.   
There was something unpleasant underneath me. It was the bed, the rugged bed that I slept on the whole night.  
Consider it stupid, but I slept in a farmer’s barn that I rented for 6 gold coins. It wasn’t right for such expense to be bestowed upon anyone, but how will I complain with the injures I’ve acclaimed myself with.  
The farmer had left the site to buy milk. I, however, was left to idle. I couldn’t be still for quite a long while without honoring my oaths to “place myself before the country”.   
It was an oath I pledged during the day I was gladly received by the king’s side. The Knight’s Oath couldn’t get anymore deadlier, seeing the possible plotholes in the statements symbolic of The Knight’s Order, but how else will I serve but through the onvly way I know how?  
I lied about being injured that much, for I have experienced even more paralyzing ruins such as these. I had a healer for all that though, so it was only temporary.  
I stood up, quietly shoving the dust that caught up on my sandals from last night’s 10-hour walk.  
It was a long walk, all right! Even longer due to the blistered knees that Melados clubs banged vehemently. I dislike such works especially made by the famously bashful Melados, crude in craft and crude in nature.   
I grabbed the farmer’s hoe, plunged it onto the dirt, and turned up the dirt. I didn’t want to leave him hanging with the amount of tasks holding onto him.  
I lessened the trouble until he arrived.   
He was surprised, half-expecting the knight to give up grit and steal his way to perfect health.  
He handed him a bag of coins, double the amount demanded of him to sleep the night before.  
I raised my head after staring unendlessly at his generosity’s fruit. I formally thanked him inconspicuously. “What a blessing!” I exclaimed after he went back to his daily grind.   
“Thank goodness!” I sighed as relief swept into my lungs. I drank my cup of coffee delightfully, giving me a sense of unwavering fortitude.  
I was hoping to find a guard who’d give me pointers on how to get my way back to the capital. I don’t like sleeping with my armor somehow stuck to my chest by an Melados arrow, seeing how crude it is.  
I jumped at the first mention of the kingdom’s plans. Or the rumors, at least.   
I missed the protective aura the king’s men give.  
Grudgingly, there was a king’s guard, called a Guardian, that I competed against through national tournaments. The national tournaments, or His Honor’s League was orchestrated by the Seven Elders.  
Unsarcastically, the Seven Elders are know-alls who’ve been here for years, being immortal to age through yearly casting of Anti-Aging spells, a rare form of magic. The only reason for their unexpected death is through the expected loss of insight due to accidental magic overuse.  
Loss of humanity is another consequence. This causes Elders to go psycho, silently even, until another Elder finds out through their unquenched rationally inhumane suggestions.  
One of my ancestors is an Elder who died from magic overuse. The other magically overused Elders were left to die from old age due to them not receiving Anti-Aging spells, and the psycho Ones soon forced the sane Elders to kill them. My ancestor, though, died directly from the rare form of magic. It was told that someone killed him intentionally through massive amounts of input.  
God forbid I live my life believing I should take revenge for something that no one’s sure about.
I ordered a couple meals during my stay at the town, but I had to leave once they got word of where I was.  
It was pleasant riding home again.  
The ones who rescued me were people I did not know myself, but they proved to be good travel buddies in conversation. If it wasn’t for the stories they shared with me, I might not have returned when my comrades left the army years ago.  
We all went through a great trauma of varying intensity, but still felt the pains of war.  
My old comrades either got themselves wives and started a family, got into business and revolutionized the market, or got themselves into who-knows-what and ended up in prison.  
Well, about me you ask? As I said earlier, I returned to the army. It wasn’t pleasant living alone, and even more not serving your dear country.  
After a couple more years of striving, I ended up in a good place miraculously. I lived in a great mansion of a commander I served under. He said he owed me for saving him back there in the north during a breakout. They added him on their hit list, but he’s long gone now—died from old age. And yes, I came to be the one he found most responsible for his saving. I didn’t see what he saw in me. Nevertheless, I took the honor of living in here.  
And fortunately, it’s empty to a certain degree, seeing how the numerous maids and butlers are very uptight in giving me their all: “Yes, yes, please leave it to us. Don’t worry about these. We’re glad to serve you.”  
I climbed up the ladder to get a couple things off the shelf. God forbid I fall off and break my leg.   
My maids were not watching. I have five seconds to climb up and down before they see me.  
Remember when I prayed not to fall? I… did fall. I broke my leg. And I couldn’t walk after that, easing the load off their surveillance time.  
I couldn’t let myself be idle as I thought. I was inclined for physical activity, but my body wasn’t in top condition. So I decided to love the things I hated most during my childhood until my military days.  
I picked out a small book from the utmost corner of the grand array of books and shelves. The book’s cover was simple and nicely layed out. It contained good, hearty text you won’t notice when you’re intensely taking out other human beings confidently.  
I thought for a second it was an adult-specific book with all the thinking involved.  
There was also a very important detail I missed along the cover of this strangely hope-lifting document.
The book read: “What will you be when you grow up?”  
I realized something.  
I couldn’t let my thoughts escape at that moment. I needed to let out the overflowing knowledge I had inside out into the universe. 
Spider Mall October 17, 2019
We were running, looking for an exit. Timothy and I were in a mall on what seems to be the second floor of the place. There were three pathways: each blocked by spiders of varying size.   
We needed to get out because there was a huge spider humongous compared to the rest blocking our pathways. It crawled along the huge web that led to this floor.  
We were running out of time. We dashed around and attempted to pass through each of the spider-infested pathways, but it was difficult. The spiders were on webs, but now, they were leaving their nests to chase after us.   
We got through one of the pathways. There were people. There was a supermarket like the one you see in malls.  
I left Timothy behind because I somehow knew it was dangerous. There were people looking for us. They were either the staff or the police.  
I ended up running off as soon as they saw me. But before they found me, I saw Lauren, my old classmate and crush looking at products.  
It was too late. They caught us.   
I fought back, but I couldn’t lift my arms to attack or even defend myself.  
I was punched in the gut. Thus, I woke up.
Misfits at the Morning Inn October 16, 2019
The cold morning brewed wandering town folk to gather at the town’s main inn. It was a rushed morning, and for some of the coffee-slurping townspeople was a group of friends reminiscing of their days in the war.  
Qiyana, a lady of great stature, poked her nose into the conversation after a short call with her boss: “Have you heard of the supposed ‘shortage of sugar’?”  
A brawny African-American college student who had been up all night studying for exams sat up on hearing about an issue related to economics. Lit up, he blabbered and asked questions unwaveringly. He fell flat onto the table after the commotion he set.  
“That’s Moses. He’s been on an expedition to get his lover back. A tough feat I’ll say myself,” quoted the only ginger at the place and all over town. He rephrased a movie line thrown around in comedy shows throughout their childhood. It was the quote of the movie’s protagonist’s father talking to a robot about his son.  
“Another bottle of whiskey for the king of heaven,” hollered the redhead, Alice Mineski as she filled another cup to give to their Christian friend.  
“Too much, too much; I’ll get drunk if you don’t stop,” he asserted slightly peeved..  
“I don’t want you to think I’m crazy Father, but can we just finish it off like this?” He held an axe up high, lowering it a little bit to get a perfect angle for the chop. He counted to 3 then pushed his tool down as hard as he could, still holding onto the steel axe.  
He got a good view of the cut log and its inner layers as he bended down to feel its even surface. It wasn’t perfect as he suspected. “Not good enough!” he huffed to himself, getting the unfinished log from which he cut and wrapping his axe with some cloth to make ease the pain from grasping the rugged axe.  
His plan was to continue the day with more simple tasks through a difficult way of thinking, but he felt the aching in his chest continue to shake him. “Not again… agh!”  
His kink for perfection didn’t match his impertubable father, Elven Folster, a squad leader of the Special Forces.   
His father and mother called him Sven— Sven Reputatus, a breed of ingenious parents whereas Sven is but a unknowledgable, slow child.  
He became a Christian shortly after his father’s death when he was invited by some relatives to attend a meeting.  
He met the five dunderheads (well, friendly dunderheads to lighten the offence) on his way from Atlanta where he sold his father’s house.  
He didn’t think Qiyana the tall female, Moses the college student, Dervmond the ginger, Alice Vita the red head, and himself, Sven Reputatus would end up waiting by the road side altogether.  
They didn’t think another day would be so crushingly off-putting than to have to explain who each of them were.   
They didn’t even know who they were when it happened. Each of them noted they were dragged by a lady in a red dress through a mystical portal in the ground.  
“Could be wormholes probably; Or just some magical portal that leads to this ‘nowhere’,” retorted Dervmond, caressing his ginger hair unquenchably.  
“Tvis iz not fum! (This is not fun!)” blurted out Qiyana Est, munching on the frozen ice cream she plunged into her mouth before she was dragged away into the portal. She couldn’t bear the food wasted before or away from her eyes’ sight.  
“Yes, it is not fun.” Alice Vita could not bear the heat no longer, but the struggle was not visible on her untouched, delicate face. She was a marvelous, beautiful, and bright angel unseen by man but loved by everything else.  
Mosed lay there on the ground, insanely whispering: “I love chicken. Chicken loves me.   
“I’m gay when you’re gay.   
“I love gays.”  
It was but a lovely time for Sven though, seeing the canyons across the horizon peaking out without a hint of self-doubt. Their unity, however, helped most to reach that height of unbounded confidence.  
Th
Happyland and the Kick of Pain October 15, 2019
The world is a mysterious place. I find myself wondering what more is there to the world.   
Pain sounds boring and depressing.   
I’ll never want to feel it, ever.  
But if I do feel it, at least make it good somehow, like a kick-starter.  
I’m worn out. Please take me back to “happyland”; please! Take me ba—  
“I’ll be the teacher today.” Our Chinese teacher entered, laughing at his sister’s joke as he demanded: “Follow the instructions and do not fail putting into practice what I will teach you.”  
It was September afternoon, stoic.  
I missed my chance to kiss my small, cute, and sweaty girlfriend goodnight as she headed straight to the shower after me.  
I’m tired. I want to sleep.  
The Torn Fiber and Otum’s Lost October 08, 2019
We were on carrivans not too far out from the village when it happened. The glass-like fiber of space and time bended and fell over. I saw myself between Earth and another world. The slip of said fiber lay before me as I jumped onto it, getting a better look of the gateway, portal, or whatever you want to call it. It was a tragedy.
The men I was taking care off all disappeared. There was nothing left, only the road that led back to the village.  
The village of Otum was a growing village, my hometown. It was filled with genuinely tired people ever since the Inquisition forcibly took away their statues, priests, and charms even after their hardened protests for religious freedom.
The Interviewer’s Dropped Cup October 05, 2019
“He would go out at night to meet his father. Oh yes, my old husband. I remember we divorced last year. What a tragedy,” the frail woman held her coffee with a shaking hand.  
“Oh… are you having trouble holding that?” a bright, young girl in her twenties, wearing a bow tie to fit her business attire. “I’m worried it might fall and burn your legs.”  
“Oh yes, yes. Let me just place this down quietly.” She brought her cup of coffee over to the table, but before she could put it down, she dropped it and spilled a little.  
The young, now pale girl’s eyebrows shot up, hesitatingly putting out her next question: “Yes, if possible, I would like to know what happened to you and your son, if that’s, if that’s fine with you?”  
“Oh, I’m sorry about that; I forgot what I was saying completely. Please excuse me.”  
“Uh, sure. Sure!” she insisted, getting up from her seat. She strolled to the exit, sighing and drooling for dinner.  
She had ready a taxi through some booking service online, grabbing the ride back home.  
“Honey! How’s your day?” she called once she stepped in through the gate, jumping up the steps to her brisky apartment.  
“Oh, hey Alice, care to join me and my yoga session?” Her husband, Danny bellowed amusedly, staring at her with a sparkling smile. “Only a couple dollars, no, ten dollars, to stretch and relax your muscles with a top-class model such as myself.”   
She grinned back.  
“Mother, I won’t be staying for dinner.” said a voice. Just as the two conducting a “yoga” session were about to lock lips,   
My gym teacher said he’ll be preparing a feast for each of us there.” He went straight to his room and returned with bag around his shoulder, red uniform on, and corrective sunglasses blocking his misty, blue eyes.  
“Thank you for considering us today. Please go on.” His mother watched him walk through the gate, respecting his usual, but sincere farewell.  
“Oh, how’s this?!” her husband exclaimed but was ignored by his wife who had gotten herself absorbed in thought. He smiled pleasantly, closing his eyes as he calmed himself generously.  
Daisy and the Millisecond Dodge September 23, 2019
Daisy was running around the room, searching every shelf, drawer, and corner for her vast array of coloring pencils to use on it. She found it, but she didn’t have the specific tools to build the magnificent bizarrerie. After getting permission, she let her mother and father order the painting equipment needed to render her spectacle alive.  
Countless minutes felt like limbo to her, heeding no other sound but the clicking of her pen as she raised and tapped it down ‘til her dance of art took its final swing.  
Later, lain in bed, Daisy Frosthill hummed happily, gazing at her work.  
She dreamt momentarily of her old grandfather whose passion was music. Her grandfather’s way of composing was mysterious to everyone except her granddaughter who he firsthand described it to.  
She remembered her kinky grandmather who told her secrets she promised to never mess with. She wanted to try it out for once, so she walked out of her room, opened her house’s door, and dashed to the road’s side. She glanced left and right before crossing speedily. But she paused halfway.   
One unsuspecting driver was zooming down the road at high speed, unprepared to have a random pedestrian decide to stop after such a hurry.   
Time was short. The accident was evident. A life was at stake. But the girl cut it all short, dodging only a few miliseconds before collision.  
The thrill hit her; it really did. It boosted her process. Now, she has to do two more things to sum up the call of spontaneity.  
Hans, Half-Pound Burger, and Blank Paper September 21, 2019
“Where am I?”  
“You’re at school Miss Daisy.”  
“I want you to state your name and at least one hobby,” the principal said softly, sitting comfortably on his chair. “It’s okay. Everyone wants to hear you.”  
Daisy could not speak: Her hands were trembling. her eyes were tearing up. her chest hurt, her head was fogged, and her face was clouded.  
“Okay everyone, stare at the board and not at Daisy to give her room to speak.”
“Um,” she said, “I’m Daisy and I like drawing.”  
The principal chuckled and asserted, “Bravo, bravo! Let’s all give Daisy a hand everyone!”   
Everyone clapped, nodding in approval to her bravery to speak up despite being pressured.  
“Hi, I’m Hans! It’s nice to meet you!” A boy said, putting out her hand. “I think you’re a good person!”  
“Um. Thanks.” Daisy whispered nervously.  
“Will you be my friend?” he asked firmly, diligently keeping his hand up for a shake.  
“Okay,” she said quietly, shaking his hand and smiling at him coherently.  
A number of other classmates also came to her, delighted by the high standing she got from being respected by an adult and the school’s principal at that.  
It was half past noon when Daisy’s class finished, hopping onto their cars going back home.  
Later that night, Daisy sat down, distressed by the thoughts she’s been having since that time in class that day.  
“Daisy, did you have a bad dream?” Her mother, Aurelia asked. She heard her cries and headed straight to her room before taking a nap.  
She looked down and sniffled: “I-I saw m-myself. I was a-a-a mom. M-my daughter died. She killed he-herself, a-a-and I ki-killed my-my-myself beca-cause of tha-hat.” She cried onto her mother’s chest, falling asleep after that.  
“Breathe, breathe, my little Daisy. It’s okay. I’m right here.”  
Aurelia went back upstairs to see her husband sleeping gently. “Greg… Greg! How did you sleep so fast? I said I was just going to drink water.” She sighed, and fell asleep too.  
Daisy went back to class the next day, feeling refreshed and confident. “Hi Hans!” she called to Hans across the hall.  
“Oh, hello Daisy! May I invite you to eat lunch with me?” Hans asked softly.  
“O-kay, I mean. Sure!” she replied.  
They ate lunch around the corner of the canteen since Daisy liked it better there.  
“What are you eating, Daisy?” Hans asked, attempting to make out Daisy’s food for lunch.  
“It’s a salad,” she responded. “Me and my mom like salads.”  
“Oh, I see. Cool.” He opened his compact lunch box to bring out a half pound burger.   
“What’s that?” Daisy asked, curious about the tough-looking meal he was about to eat.  
“Oh, this? It’s what you call a half pound burger—my favorite.” He happily chewed the bite he took, grinning ridiculously.  
Some of the pieces of the burger fell, so he finished his burger, bent down to his lunchbox, and picked up the pieces with his mouth.  
Daisy giggled, mesmerized by Hans’ playfulness. She didn’t think there was someone who was both sincere and funny at times.  
Before class resumed, Daisy was going back to class when one of the older students was running her way. Thinking he was going to ask her something, she asked, “Hi. I’m Daisy, and I like drawing.”  
He ignored her, pushing her aside. Daisy’s head hit the lockers. She trembled. It didn’t take long before she dropped to the floor and cried.  
The principal ended up suspending the student after attempting to get him to apologize several times. “You are not to go to class for a week. Understand the pain of being hurt.”  
Hans rushed to her and told her to tell him the story. She declined firmly. He asked again and again only to be declined which aggravated Hans.  
The principal interfered and told Hans to give her space. He brought her to his office to rest, calling her mother and father in the process.  
Later, Hans shouted in front of the principal’s office door: “If you don’t tell me who did it and how he did it, I’ll just tell everybody you made it up to skip class!”  
She went home under the frisky rain, tearing at every word that popped up in her mind.  
Slowly, she dragged her heavy soul to sleep. Whispers from the abyss kept her asleep, telling her there was more to this world.  
She woke up inspired by the dream. Sooner or later, she felt like she needed to bring out something. As a result of her itching passion, she swung her excited, fidgeting hands to her desk, waiting for the trigger to take over her completely… There! she thought. This is it!  
She landed her fingers smoothly, appraising the paper that she ripped apart from her school notebook. She thought she could stay empty forever until a thought alarmed her: Don’t use this “trash” notebook page! No offense, but the lines and lack of space are a bother to me!  
She quickly called up her mother to bring home a couple pieces of blank, white paper. Her mother responded: “Remember what we told you about art? It’s a lost cause, unless you won’t need money for your entire life.”  
Drawing was the only think she had right now, and it was taken from her. She slept a few that night.  
“Daisy, Daisy…. Daisy!” Hans shook her continuously to get her to stop sleeping in class.  
Lunch time came. “Daisy, why did you sleep late? What’s wrong?”  
“I don’t have blank, white paper,” she finally replied. “My mom wouldn’t give me paper. She said she hates art.”  
“Oh. I have paper! My dad goes to a printing shop and he gets lots of paper for printing!” he says in a rush. “Don’t worry! Wait, I’ll call him now!” He grabs his phone and dials his hardworking father, “Hey Dad, don’t you have paper over there?”  
His father, drenched in sweat, holds out his flimsy flip phone, answering in his deep, husky voice: “Yes, we do Son. Why? You wanna be a part of my crew and work in my shoes?”  
“Thanks Dad, please send the papers ASAP.” Hans immediately ends the phone call and huffs, “I don’t have the same dreams as you have for me.”  
Daisy wasn’t listening. “Thanks so much!” Daisy cheers. “Is this how you cheer!?” She hops around like a rabbit getting chased by a dog, mimicking jumping sounds.  
The papers arrived the next day.   
Hannah and Anya’s Last Trip September 19, 2019
Her mentor talked to her and advised, “There’s still more to know…” She opened her eyes not to see the woman at all, thinking, She really likes doing that, huh.  
“I don’t think he likes it when I see him like that,” she asked her male co-worker, raising her hands to stretch out the cramps she got from traveling around.  
Her co-worker, Evan could only laugh at the comment. He thought, That person is pretty “dashy” like that.  
“Ready, set… go!” blared the referee as the racers ran across the track on a TV screen of a store they passed through. They have TV’s here too, huh, she mused.  
They passed by a couple people, not noticing their friendly gestures to them.  
“Hey, weren’t they waving to us?” Evan asked, bummed by the guilt he felt.  
“Opps! I was too focused.” She apologized quickly and finished jogging.  
She returned home. Evan followed suit, driving behind her car as the sun rose.  
They arrived home to see her dog practically dancing around her. “You’ve got quite a fancy dog, don’t you?”  
“He’s a cute one.”   
Her co-worker had already waved goodbye when she replied, driving off in a rush.  
“Where have you been?” her daughter asked at the dining room as they feasted on steak. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”  
She used a toothpick, gulped a cup of water, and stopped eating to explain, “Oh, I’ve just been going around for work. You know, since I write. I need to be at events, so I go.”  
They struggled to eat the thick, sturdy beef steak. “Mom, I thin—“  
“Yes! It is,” she interjected, giving off a faint smile. She grabbed her phone to call up for cheeseburgers and a cup of coffee.  
“Wait! Mom! We need to eat healthy, remember?” her daughter quickly stood up after attempting to swallow the ‘monster steak’ several times. “Dad said… right?”  
“Oh… yeah. Let’s do that… Grocery store?” She put on some light makeup, walking toward the car outside. 
Her freckled daughter, Anya entered the passenger’s side, mumbling a few things before they left: “We’re finally gonna eat healthy! Yey!”  
Anya’s mother, Hannah thought: How long have I needed to eat healthy? Need to balance things out.  
Meanwhile, her daughter sang in the car, reminiscing her father’s lullabies as they drove along. “You will always be in my heart. For as long as forever lasts, you will always be in my heart.”  
They arrived on Winston’s Home, going off to the fruits section. Hannah didn’t follow Anya immediately, focusing on the ‘on sale’ products the store had. “Wait for me Anya.”  
“Look, look!” her daughter called out, dashing back to her. “Can we get these bananas? I don’t even remember the last time we ate this.” Everyone around snapped their head at them when her daughter mentioned this. Hannah gave a quick gesture to hush them from interfering, and all at once, they stepped back to continue whatever they were doing.  
Meanwhile, Anya arrived at the counter, proud of herself for carrying a bunch of bananas. “Mom, I’m here!”  
They were at the car when they came. The thunder clouds suddenly replaced the calm, blue sky they saw earlier, raining down a barrage of raindrops. “Looks wet…. Very wet.” Anya mused.  
“Mom?” Anya asked her mother when they were more relaxed and cozy and at home. “Shouldn’t we be spending our vacation on a trip?”  
“Oh sure, why don’t we go tonight?” Hannah slurped a cup of coffee, typing down some meticulous paragraphs on her compact laptop.  
Later that night…  
I hope we didn’t forget anything important, she thought, driving through the winter rain. I miraculously remembered the raincoats. All good…  
“I forgot Dad’s picture!” Anya coughed, waking herself up to let Hannah know. Turning to her left, she stopped and cooed “Amazing.”  
Hannah stopped browsing her laptop, took a glance around, and gave Anya a quick survey: “What do you have in mind for dinner?”  
“How about… something that heats up the body?”  
“Hot chocolate? Okay!” She immediately dialed her phone and called for some breakfast food and hot choco. “Oh, they’re already here.”  
The towering man carefully placed the breakfast meal on Anya’s hands.  
“Thank you dear Sir!” Anya gave an hearty smile.   
The delivery man replied, “Oh, don’t worry. We’re here to help.”—he glanced at Hannah—”Anytime.” He ran off to a black delivery van, chuckling to his co-worker as they took off.  
Hannah sighed, closing her eyes to rest.
“Oh, Mom,” she pleaded, “not here! Let’s take a nap at an inn!”  
“I hate inns. But let’s go,” she huffed, looking at an inn she soon decided they’ll stay in.  
She glanced around again, opening the car doors.   
Anya wasn’t with her. She had already dashed around, checking out the nearby food bazaar. Anya was soon dragged away to accompany her mother to the Inn.  
“We’re here,” she said, tapping Anya’s shoulder. “It’s called Anna’s Inn. How coincidential.”  
“Food here looks tasty. What do you think Mom?” She didn’t notice her Mom was already renting a room at the counter when she said that.  
They opened the door of Room 12 slowly, dropping their things on the bed, and used the shower after a 3-hour long drive.   
Anya was excited. Hannah was sleepy.  
Anya and Hannah brought their individual bag and purse for this trip, hoping to enjoy their vacation to the fullest.  
That is… until Anya killed herself.  
“Mom… I’m sorry. I’m really sorr—”  
“…Why?… why? Why? WHY!? WHY!?” Hannah cried. She jumped off a balcony.  
“Good bye Anya’s mother,” said a certain god up above.  
She woke up.   
“Where am I?”  
Professor Jim’s Secret Appointment September 17, 2019
“Who’s its next target? How will it achieve the kill?” the professor asks the class quite abruptly, taking out the videotape. “Each of you will report on or before Thursday. Thank you class, and farewell.”  
“What should we do next Wednesday?” A female student tapped her seatmate, reading her texts on a group chat.  
“Professor, professor, you’ll love this! Come and see!” One of the professor’s friends, Alice Cameron dashed through the door, holding to her breasts a pen and paper. She cheerily dragged him out the door, through the hallway, and into her office. Students were kept out of the school by this time.  
The door closed shut. The lights were dimly lit. The chairs were squeeking intensely. The principal’s office was in no way available for reception.  
The only uninvited, celebrated color in the room was the light pink of a fabric that held tight despite all odds.  
“What’re you gonna do, Professor?” She calmly stretched her legs.  
“I have… an appointment.” He couldn’t answer without inhaling first.  
“What kind of appointment, Professor?” She slowly breathed out.  
“You should really cut it with the ‘professor’ thing. Just call me ‘Jim’…   
“I’ll meet a victim. A self-help person like me helps people like them.” He got down and arranged his things back on his desk  
“O-kay, do you know them?… Or is this your first time meeting them?” She picked up her clothes.  
“Well, it’s up to him and me if this’ll be the first and last.” He opened the door, looking around in case the security guard listened in on them.  
“These kind of things are scary, are they not, Professor Jim?”  
“Aaargh! No more calling me ‘Professor’! I feel like works catching up to me that way,” he mused.  
“Fine! It felt good, didn’t it?” she whispered slyly.  
“Yes, yes. Where’re you going?” he questioned.  
“I’m having dinner with my family.” Her cheeks turned red.  
“People do that these days?” He stopped to laugh. It turned awkward as realization crept in.  
“…Of course they do! Well, not everyone I guess.”  
Awkward silence followed after that…  
“Hey, you got something good in there?” The tall adolescent cackled, shoving the small man down onto the floor.  
”  
Fury, Limbs, and Hard Rock September 17, 2019
I stabbed her repeatedly to death.  
I lavished my immense anger onto him, slicing his neck for an exciting blood gush. I tore his limbs apart slowly, keeping them with me for biological experimentation.  
“Shut me up, Lady Like!” He danced with bolstered spirits as passionate as the hard rock blasting his ears.  
The Creator’s Naked ‘Beta Tester’ in Enos September 15, 2019
He gave me a piece of a world. I was mesmerized by the sparkle it shone. The world floated above my hand as glowing holographic text read “Enos”.  
“The Creator” is what he said his name was. He chuckled when I realized I was naked the whole minute I was asking him questions.  
Honestly, I don’t know exactly who I am. Supposedly, I came from nothing. I’m also called an “angel” but the Creator preferred “beta tester”.  
Bear’s Thorn and the Island That Feeds September 15, 2019
Islands clouded the sea as birds flock the pier. They rose up from the ground when the Creator of the universe finished planning it all out. The islands were the building blocks of civilization, with given names such as “life”, “green”, “birth”, “stream”, and most widespread, “spiritus”.  
As earth’s development among many came to a finish, the first human was placed in Tekajowa, a spiritus personally named by God.  
As the first human, Bear was exploring about, he got caught in a bush. The bush was filled with thorns that scraped the flesh off his lean leg.  
He couldn’t help but pull away instinctively, causing his leg to hurt more. Without giving a glance at his wounded leg, he quickly dashed to the left, darting to the right side of the spiritus Tekajowa. He stroked the back side of his ear, mesmerized by a sharp hill overrun by bizarre creatures.  
Landing quite smoothly, he climbed down a hole located at the summit of the hill.   
As he followed the voice commanding him, he reached a wide cave. The cave, soon discovered as the island’s mental center, was deemed special for its tremendous pulsing beat similar to a man’s heartbeat.  
He saw to it that his leg had healed magnificently after letting the island’s mental center be within a certain diameter to himself. This, in turn, developed the island’s mental state to that of a teenager.  
It couldn’t bear its own weight. It saved humans who were on the brink of death, but these were all warranted to give him a piece of their broken bodies for him to feed on.
Ranson’s Last Stand September 10, 2019
He hurled himself to sleep, sliding toward his favorite spot on the master bed. He froze, realizing his mistake when he hit Bianca, his house buddy or more specifically, “the friend living in my house” as he would put it.  
It was on the 3rd day following “April Fool’s” that they’ve gotten close. They decided that they needed a partner who had like passions to make work easier.  
Just a while ago, Bianca was happily, oh, did I say happily? I mean, she was all down to hitting him. She even had the guts to grin while bashing him with a wooden sword’s handle. This all happened in a video game.  
“What’s the food taste like? For me, it’s waffles and pancakes,” Bianca noted.  
” ‘ROFL’! For me, it’s crepes and galletes! Muahahahaha! Eat this, you villain!” Ranson blurted out.  
“Sir, we’re gonna have problems if you eat it like that.”  
“Oh sorry, Miss ‘My Lady’. Didn’t see you there.  
“Don’t be gay. Unless you’re gay. That’s my piece of advice for people unsure about their sexual orientation. Easy peasy lemon squeezy!… am I right Sir Malark?”  
“I’ll be gay for you!… wait a minute. That doesn’t work. Opps, my bad. Sorry ‘bout that.”  
Conversations like these have kept them motivated and hopeful with the constant changes in life. For some reason though, they’ve never imagined the fun feelings to be romantic in whatever way despite the numerous times they’ve lovingly complimented each other.  
Yesterday. It feels just like yesterday. I broke my knife with the constant scraping of my lungs. An hour ago before that, I lost my wallet in the drain, so I flipped my eyes, hurled myself straight into my soul, and fumbled. I despised life. Yeah, I couldn’t do life. I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t; I told you I wouldn’t. I chose this. I blew it all up, and now, I’m getting what I deserve. I really… wish I was better…  
Alert! Alert! Oh no! I can’t do this! I can’t take it! The panic room! The panic room! They’re throwing me in! I’m leaving my own self. My own “me”. I’m all alone. Please don’t leave me! I have to go. I’m sorry. I read it all…. I know what you’re thinking…. Give you a chance you say?… You broke yourself…. Don’t look at me like I give a shit….  
One day, Ranson and some others decided to visit an old friend’s place. “Hi, I’m Alice Rayner, please follow me!” hollered the Chinese woman in casual greeting. “Miss Veronica is a bit surprised by your unexpected appointment, but please go ahead!”  
Greeted by trophies held up around them, Ranson and others with him steadily moved along.  
The marble surface of the building’s interior could not help but return back the loud footsteps that seemed to come in symphonious echoes. It did this so nonchalantly that even the pulsing pressure that vibrated around the coming room stopped and remembered its place.  
The two adjacent doors felt heavy to the tips. They could only inhale so much after pushing away the weight this double door proved to be. It soon led to the confrontation between Ranson and her.  
Once he stumbled in, he stopped when he heard a familiar quote. 
“Defaming the lawyers, revisiting the renaissance, and killing off the religionists.” The dreadlocked pacifist waved her hand to brush her hair off to the side as she stood up to accompany them to relax and sit down.  
She grinned in a rush, standing up well to her guests: “Do you want to join me in my dream to save the country?”  
Silence bewitched everybody to deep speculation and great suspicion… which caused some to feel tense.  
“No… no, Of course not! Haven’t we talked this around three years ago?” Ranson’s agitated voice slightly increased the suspicion within the heavily-guarded meeting room.  
“I haven’t a clue as to what you are talking about, Ranson,” Veronica whispered, slumping onto her chair. “If you’re talking about the ‘dead’ papers issue, I had priotized patching up the ‘leftovers’ as you requested a few weeks ago.  
Ranson clenched his fists and elaborated aggresively: “No, no! I mean, your ‘men’ here are clearly trying to get me to come back and apologize! I… want”—he looked away for a second—” no, I need… to leave all this behind me.”  
Veronica pained with tingling sensations following his last words, keeping her eyes shut, and blocking out the raging thoughts from reaching her heart. “Finally,” she thought, “his true feelings I have witnessed expressed through articulate words. Crafting what I believe to be a masterpiece of lo—”   
She stopped herself from finishing that last bit and continued: “My men have only been questioning your past motives for possibly displacing your resentment on us after the recent successes of Wormwood Damon, and a few others within the leading researchers here.  
She paused to wink at one of her guards before leaving with them her final words.  
“Correspondingly, we’ve gotten help from above to interrogate you and your ‘friends’ so don’t even think of doing shit before that happe—”  
Very much speedily was the gunshot that circulated around the room aimed at Veronica Dandelion from William “Ranson” Jayce Jensen who reacted in violence at “her immeasurable guilt” as he thought it. He could no longer see the leader he had raised her to be, only the justice he had set up for his own soul.  
A bullet-proof barrier blocked the deciding factor that played such a main role in Ranson’s mind that he fell to the ground, giving in to his fervent arrest.   
He was no longer in his right mind.  
He arrived back at his and Alice’ house, hoping to feel relieved by her smile, but she left him, running far enough to never have to see him again. “Two years,” he thought, “two years was the amount of seconds, minutes, hours, months, and years… together.  
Seeing the house occupied by different individuals, he ran far enough to reach the streets. He tried to find a comfortable place to sleep, but nevertheless, he was beaten up severely by some individuals he’s seen before.  
They were the “friends” that came with him to “the party” as he would call the place he was arrested in. “I guess they were mad for getting locked in prison because of me, even though it wasn’t as long as the 10 years I had gone through… Or somethin’ like that.”  
He ended up in a non-profit hospital near the coast. “I’m losing my self.”
The Bruised Sunflower’s Farewell September 02, 2019
A sunbeam juvenile drifting through the air will hit a certain shadow, dispersing the shallow darkness that covered the grained sunflower.  
The frivolous sunflower would have only lowered its head for the rest of its depressing life.  
Graft had trended toward it creepily.  
But soon, weathered hope will flip its disposition toward lightening.  
Luster does lust over its hidden, silent beauty.  
The sunflower awaited the time on which passersby would barge into its view. The sunflower never felt complacent with it. 
2 weeks later, the angels of light were seen looking upon a trampled flower, grieving over its anticipated eternal passing as it relieved, through hope, its memory nuggets of passersby. “So long, bruised and enlightened sunflower,” said an angel thoughtfully.
The Anti-Relapse Formation Strikes Back September 17, 2019
I raised my eyebrows as the baneful threats revealed itself to give my adrenaline a big kicking. I wasn’t ready yet. Of course I expected some change to come about after our abilities were given. But this was too much for me. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how to fight; I did, but I wasn’t expecting to fight anything more dangerous than mountain bandits and those ferocious beasts we fought here and there. I was kicked in the stomach, blasted with spontaneous combustion, sliced with huge, circular blades not like anything I’ve ever seen before. But right now, those were just prophesies waiting to happen.  
Malkov looked at us, giving us time to process what danger had just transpired. “So think about it.”  
“I have a new dish you guys can try out,” Jun suggested. “Want some?” He stood up and tiptoed to the opposite room, still looking at us.  
Meanwhile, Revy, a rebel, reconnected with his comrades back at his hometown. He gathered his fellow rebels and arranged a meeting to prepare for the next attack. “The last one ended a partial success, but many have fallen to keep me alive. We are now forcing plan Red Splatter. We have not a idea where some were taken, but we can not let them be left fallen. We will avenge them.”  
The crowd finished it off with a “hurrah” before enacting their newfound duty—to live freely, viciously, and justly. They are the Anti-Relapse Formation.  
“Shut the hell your mouth!” answered General Ursal ferociously. The military leader of Kingston City missed his spouse who died during a revolt led by the A.R.F. “Bloody hell! They be taking our lands and sayin’ they workin’ for ‘justice’! I don’t give a snip for their slits!”   
Later that evening, sharp knocks and a wobbling door sent echoes throughout the house.   
The sleeping owner woke up and didn’t hesitate to open the redwood door leading to the front, thinking his farmer friend came to bring his share of vegetables.  
Silas Falls, Granola Laughs August 30, 2019
“What… did you do?” Silas’ gruffy voice could only say that much after being struck with a dozen darts. Coughing out blood, he didn’t bother speaking his mind after simutaneously getting zapped twice. He was a “bulge of sharp pains”.  
Without refrain, the corners of Granola’s mouth shot up, his huge gait laughed, and his eyebrows roared truculence toward the weak.  
He tightly his dead mother with his roughed-up arms.  
He evaded the life he longed for. His unruly fear laid him down frail on the cold, hard ground. He vowed never to hold back. He was a coward.
The Viola and the Hawaii Mix-Up August 30, 2019
Text 1:
I was sitting cross legged, looking toward the horizon of vermilion. It wasn’t much to look at, honestly. For me, it was what lies beyond it that intrigues me.  
My frisky sister’s here too. Her name’s Dandelion, or Dandy for short—a name as beautiful as she is pretty. She likes to pick flowers with me every sunrise.  
“Oh look! A violet for Miss Dandelion!” I exclaimed as I brought out a majestic flower that I’ve been hiding between my legs.
“Is this a viola?” she asked quietly.  
“Yes Mam! That is 100  
Text 2
A week later, Alex and Dandy visited one of the village elders and asked   
I rode a cruise ship going to Hawaii. I’ve not a thing to complain about except the uneasiness and dizziness that seafaring gives me. I could only smile awkwardly at the crew when the storms came and the ship shook its hardest this last week.  
I lost balance once and banged my head to the wall. It was my mistake honestly. No need to be so panicked about it except for my struggle sleeping. It really dawned on me how rough life is for seafaring men.  
I forbade myself from ever riding on sea trips once I arrived here on September 11th, 1997.  
I felt in the atmosphere that something was off once I stepped on one of its ports. The people showed me smiles and some awkward ones for others who’ve never seen or dealt with foreigners before.  
I rented at an inn. It looked more like a motel honestly.   
And soon enough, I was already lying in bed. Closing my eyes to muse quietly about future days to pass was the only thing I could do at that moment.  
He tucked himself in and slept calmly that night.  
9 hours pass and he woke up to see a woman back-turned looking at the mirror.   
He struggled to regain my senses and slowly started to call her, “Miss. Miss. Miss… Miss!”   
She was finishing up her dress that time and quickly turned around to see the rugged man out of his covers and sitting up wide-eyed. “Ahm, are you here to steal me away?”   
He struggled to hold back his chuckle and composed himself. “Oh, yes—I mean no, I’m here because I… rented this room the night before.”  
She shrinked away and covered her head. Just one glance of his alien face jolted her to panic. She couldn’t contain the ghastly figure that revealed in her eyes. It consumed her to shaking, sweating, and fidgeting. She seemed to have recovered but something turned within her as she locked her eyes him with blazing eyes that signed brilliance and a grin that gripped comradery. “Hi! I’m Elizabeth. What’s yours?”  
“Mood swings?” He raised his eyebrows and gave a half smile to accomodate the surprise.  
“Huh, ‘Mood Swings’… I can tell your parents rooted you to become some sort of heartache genius.”  
Having been dazed by the puissant dazzle that stood before him, he acknowledged her statement. But then he realized she misunderstood his recent question. “Oh, no! My name’s actually Alex Trevor. I studied layman’s terms.
Sriracha Meeting, Newbie’s Blunder August 25, 2019
Hopefully with sriracha by cups delicately fringed with fricasees, an aide called in the chefs as tasked by the main butler to help coordinate a meeting held by the staff, joined in by the officers, and with the degreed king accustomed to pulsing beneficence.  
“I’m up for some beating!” a newbie announced.
“Shut your lit—”  
“Excuse me, but you also did that when you first started,” 
Lyncher’s Prison Break and the Body Shop August 28, 2019
Bridged by the pangs of prison, a gray adolescent who had been accompanied by portentous misadventures took her wavering chance to escape her sentential damnation. 
She left quickly, taking the warden’s detestable baton as her way through within and without.  
A couple friends came by her new fort to celebrate her escape. It didn’t take long before her “friends” started hesitating on whether she was less than her old self or even greater than who she used to be.  
The increasing tension that tore the placid night reached peak level when ravings were being heard one by one.  
It also didn’t take long for them to have been massecred through a series of continuous concussive blows to the head.
Blood dripping from the workplace was a essential piece to the scene she had orchestrated.  
Her steps to human meaning annulment sums up to two actions: First, she thrusts her leg into his anarchic will, disabling him of any resistance. Second, she writhes him raggedly once she grabs him, crippling the body part that she had held so heartily.  
Having weaved in certain trophies to her scene’s element, she sat down to find her picturesquely perfect heaven lying still. The hum of the night gloating over their dead bodies sounded funky.  
Drenched in sweat, she had mercilessly dragged a half-broken body to a department store nearby. “He’s lacking in the chunkiness and floppiness department,” she mentioned to the cashier. “Here you go, Edwin.”  
“You’re late again, Anna. And,” said the clunky serial worker, “yes, he really is lacking in the oh-my-gosh-I-didn’t-realize-that-I-can’t-get-all-its-bones-broken-so-the-people-who-check-on-it-won’t-have-a-hard-time-I’m-sorry department.  
“I told you not to call me by that name. Just call me ‘Lyncher.’ ”  
“Yeah yeah, Lyncher. So get going and fix up the hassled report.”  
“Adam! Your share’s been cut low this morning,” shouted revulsed fashionista pres. Alice Wington at the office a few days after revoking a revanche. “I need you to summarize my papers again! Thank you!”  
“But Mam! I—” the pushed, stressed secretary held his peace when his boss quipped back with a “No excuses!” cliche.  
He dozed off soon enough once he finished his 16-hour “crusade” to summarize and proofread the hundred papers he was given.  
It was not too long before the president also dozed off having actively articulated the embellished work into a marvelous engaging speech before the church council. “Take them down,” was what he ended his speech with.  
A few days into September brought more news; there were more papers to edit, lives to cover, and another list of targets to take out one by one, individually.  
“Ren, that cold-bloodedly joyous murderer said once, ‘Don’t be too hard to find; Don’t be too hard to impress. But don’t ever let them get to ya.’ ”  
“Killers these days go by these standards, don’t they? What’s it called again? ‘The Slayer’s Code’? ,” remarked Anna, “is that it?”  
A rush of footsteps came barging through the tent curtain. “I’m sorry, Sir, but we can’t go on like this,” huffed the grey brigadier. “Too many have tried: The ‘Iron Curtain’ could only chuckle at the war bands’, great forces’, and entire countries’ attempts to breach through their outer boundary.”  
The follower of Ren’s teaching ignored him and browsed through a rujevenated book. “The Iron Curtain… was known as the giant that wouldn’t go down after Ren’s brother, Alias had his ambitious feat. But we will”—he picked up his knife to softly poke at the century-old book to show passion—”not let our ancestors’ inabilities beset us, but use their failures as stepping stones to finally dethrone the tyrant giant who’s been sitting up there too long!”  
Mike’s Family Miracle and the Half-Eaten Nuggets September 28, 2019
“You sure you wanna be doing this, Mike?” asked a shadowed gentleman who had attached to his face a sinister mask marked by orange, tinted plastic to cover his eyeholes.
The painter, Mike, who had been walking by his side, stopped at the surreal question.  
He remembered his childhood days, sipping at his black tea indulgently. One time, he played a guessing game with his playmate. “Which of these sentences is the lie?” he asked intently. ” ‘I eat insects’, ‘I beat rats to death’, or ‘I killed your mom’? ”  
His introverted classmate kept his keen eyes on his friend, studying from experience what could possibly be going inside of him. His detective skills attemped to sleuth out his possible target of friendship. 
He also wanted to explain why killing his entire family is empirically correct. And so he did: “My family abused me verbally.   
“Most people would say that verbal abuse isn’t even a problem to consider, since physical abuse hurts so much more. I really don’t see how physical pain tears people apart while verbal abuse does no effect. From what I’ve learned, shame, guilt, emptiness, numbness, and confusion that sprouts from both abuses are the very reasons why broken people like me exist.”  
His masked friend had been biting on a cigarette and sitting with his leg over his tired knee.   
He had just begun to adjust his posture when his painter friend stopped. He lit another cigar, expecting his friend to continue, but the mentally disturbed artist stared at him blankly.  
He slowly sighed in response. “Come on, tell me the story!” he blurted out, “Don’t just wait there! Tell me how you killed them!”  
“Okay, okay. So during of December 11th, with a child’s cold feet scurrying down the ornate stairs, a sound was heard. The door opened quietly. A man in a white shirt covered the windows. He yelled out, “Lavish to me all your belongings!” I was the scurrying child who had let out a piercing cry. I cried for several minutes, hoping either help would come or the man blocking the windows would go away… but no help came. The man’s voice grew louder and louder until… I woke up. It was all a dream, but that dream gave me a jumpstart. It was a prediction perhaps. For soon, things started to change from that point on.   
“My loving family grew hungry, hungry to the point of feasting on my childish dreams. They were dreams of hope; they were dreams for love.  
“The “white shirt man” had scared me since that night. But on the night before my 18th birthday, he gave me truth; he gave me life. I was given a “dream”—a wonderful and precious “dream” where I took the knife from its holder, rushed up the stairs in a flash, slowly and quietly let myself in the rooms, and ravaged them to endless sleep!… with the underlying smile that partially covered my twinkly face… thank you for your time. That’s it. That’s my story.”  
“I don’t like it one bit,” he responded. “Don’t you notice that it sounds like trashbags and brash rags?.”   
“I know it’s morally trash,” he mused, “but what exactly do you mean by that?  
“Okay,” he huffs. “You say that the…this “man with the white shirt” gave you life but really, how did he actually do it?”  
“He gave me the knife. I saw him standing beside a coffee table. I was scared, so I took it and speedily walked away.”  
“Didn’t you mention taking the knife out of its holder?” he asserted questionably.  
His dead eyes showed cold disdain after remembering his interrogator’s unchallenged position. “I’ve nothing to say except that it was I who had commited to doing it.
“I had taken the knife indeed.  
‘And of course, it is and will always be the miracle that my family had been needing.” he uttered stubbornly.  
The gray flavor of opaque acid rain grinded the steel metal that lay by the ocean-blue body of a troubled runaway.  
He, Michael “Mike” Graymatter, had finally gotten his first body. After he threw the body, he headed straight to his apartment for relief.  
He remembered everything and decided to sleep when apparently, he felt the strong urge to barf. He ran straight to the bathroom, dodging any furniture that might get in his way. And let it all out. He was pretty bummed that he hasn’t gotten a hang of the killing yet. And so he went back to bed, thinking deeply into his future plans.  
A knock on the door didn’t end his deep sleep at first, but as the knocks grew louder, so did his groaning on waking up. A woman of red lips waited outside the door, still knocking repeatedly.  
“Hey, if you’re gonna be knocking too hard, you’ll wake my neighbours up,” Mike said, demoralized from yesterday’s killing.  
“I’m giving you food? You got a problem with that,” said the capped woman. She gave the food and left immediately.  
“Huh, she’s cute. What was her name again?” he thought, invigorated by the sudden visit especially by a “cute” woman. “She must be one of the neighbours I don’t see a lot.”  
He opened the box, hoping to find common gifts like apples and bananas.  
“Unfinished food—half-eaten chicken nuggets and one-fourth cup of rice… . interesting.”  
He continued on to bench-press for several hours, discounting the incident behind his apartment door.  
His heart spat out a sigh as he relieved himself by sitting up all while laughing hysterically.  
Yesami’s Ship Log and Captain Wigwag’s Goodbye August 31, 2019 
Alice slowly stumbled into the room, and fell face flat as soon as she walked up to her bed. She turned her head to see Revy’s still body, actively snoring as he lay.  
Meanwhile, three strangers relaxed their back onto a vintage couch beside two ornate coffee tables.  
“So, you like these kind of stuff, ‘God’?” asked Malkov as he playfully moved around a pen used to pen down reports.
“So I’m ‘God’ huh.  
‘Well. I do go down from time to time to experience the human life you live,” spoke the terribly tremendous light.  
Later, the unbecoming grunts of brisk footmen furnished the podium on which an act portrayed an oh-so-spectacular prince who left his half-witted self-indulgence and fled to the eastern states to marry his childhood friend.  
Before the stage sat three friends supposedly going on a night walk. Revelled in the calm atmosphere of the theatre, Jujirou, Malkov, and Yesami soon sat by a pious fountain said to magically draw in the hidden munificence in the adamantly uncharitable.  
The very night on which they watched the theatre play was also the night they lost their money. “Oh, it wasn’t free.”  
The village harbor awaited travelers of old and young to brace the fierce winds that stood their ground on the oceanic sea.  
But one of three musketeers was nervously standing on a buck shabby ship, waiting for orders. “Hey, you boy!” called a captained rehabilitant wearing a strikingly black headband. “We don’t wait around for others to man the ship theirselves!”  
“Oh, yes Si—Captain Wigwag!” Yesami quickly replied. “Um, What should I do Captain?”
“Well. How ‘bout giving my angry dogs, the rascals, some rations they’ll need for the day?”
“Yes Si—Captain Wigwag! I’ll do it!”  
The night before, Yesami had already decided to establish a log in of daily events, notably of great changes that can’t be denied.  
“We were dropped off by ‘God’ down here at Plaintive Village.  
“It’s a small, humble, and friendly community, but yes, humility does has a limit.  
“We decided to run down the big city by which most tradesmen of the countryside pass and do plan to live luxuriously in, one day.”  
“I accidentally tripped and fell off board. I tried miserably to keep myself afloat, and I was soon rescued, but I got a fever that lasted for a week.”  
“Junjirou let me call him ‘Jun’. It was awkward at first but we became friends I think.”  
“I stubbed my toe thrice in a row after I walked out on a challenge. I might be cursed… maybe.”  
“Thunderstorms.  
“I need help.”  
“I keep on flinching everytime I hear a loud sound. It’s annoying.”  
“Captain Wigwag gave me a good pep talk. He was… actually concerned. Thanks Captain!”  
“I’m not that close with Malkov, but I did notice how good he is at entertaining people.  
“Oh, and Junjirou and I became friends I guess?… Well, he said so.”  
“I had not realized it, but I had lost that sense of uncertainty that had defined me in my old life and when I first arrived here.   
“I pray that these eight months were enough for me to be ready.”  
“And here we are… at the bountiful city of Canessgery Von!” exclaimed our Captain Wigwag heartily. “Well, not exactly; you still have a long way to go. But life is all around you. Don’t be shy! I believe in you!”  
“Thanks for everything Captain!” yelled the three men as they focused their eyes in the direction of their destination.  
They half-closed their eyes as they slowly walked toward the road; wistfulness grasping the memories they thought to love and hate.  
“For a second there, It felt as if the gravel road was gesturing at their perserverent legs to keep up.” speculated the captain as he held tight his ship’s paddlewheel, giving out a few tears to celebrate their sweet, good times.  
Month later, the three comrades were found walking along a sidewalk at the city when thunder stroke the ground near them, and a voice called from the sky, “So, you can use your items and abilities now. Your one year of learning is over; now, live as you wish!”  
“I almost forgot my abilities until it activated just a moment ago.”   
Junjirou’s indicative words alarmed Malkov as he consequently uttered a “hmm” and proceeded to ask, “So what you’re saying is that you detected someone’s killing intent a moment ago?”  
Junjirou’s tight situation reached him when Malkov voiced out his stern concerns.   
“Oh gosh, I spilled my milk!” exclaimed Yesami from the kitchen. “Looks like I’m gonna have to go get some later if there’s still left.”  
Malkov had been trying to call Yesami for a while now, and after having fixed his creamy mess, had run to where they sat.   
Yesami and the others haven’t been talking much after finding a place to work at and had been meaning to get together for a while now.  
“What’s the fuss about?” I asked tremulously.
Alice’s Farm Refuge and Anna’s Sadness Therapy September 17, 2019
After a long week of running, Alice needed rest.  
Her husband and children were murdered in front of her. She couldn’t handle the weight that came on her the next day.  
She ran around the roads. Stray glares would frighten her, but these only bolstered her will to seek safety.  
Her uncle’s family was her only family left, so she decided to move east towards her uncle’s farm.  
When she arrived, the farm was wasted. The plants were ripped along in an uneven line. The fruits were thrashed around as if stepped on and trampled. The farm’s orchard became a congested area of fallen fruit trees. It was a wasteland in description, and a wave of storms most likely caused it.  
“Who goes there!?” a voice from the house called. “I’ve got no time for insolent dogs taking from my father’s wrecked farm!” It was Alice’s snarling cousin that was outside the door, glaring at Alice with her hands clenched.  
“Wait! Stop! My name is Alice Wormwood! I’m your father’s niece! I’m not here to take anything.”  
After hearing about her father’s secrets which she thought she alone knew, she switched to her calm self and looked up at Alice and replied, “Oh, we can continue this inside. I’m Anna Winston by the way.”  
They stepped inside her ancestral home, witnessing firsthand the various paintings that decorated the walls. “Did you make this?” Alice asked.   
“Oh, they did. I mean, everyone in the family tree were great. They did what they knew made them happy, or I mean—truly happy that is. It’s amazing I was raised here in the same house”—she glanced upward—”as them.”  
“By the way, where’s Uncle and the others?” Alice raised her eyebrows and softened her voice, trying not to sound imposing.  
“Father died 10 years ago; Mom passed away when I was 3,” Anna said, as if quoting from a manual she memorized for questions she hears all the time.  
“Oh, I see.” Alice frowned, disappointed at the late news. She looked down in silence, giving herself time to grieve.  
“It’s fine if you want to leave ‘cause they’re not here,” Anna continued in the same bleak monotone. “I don’t mind, honestly.”  
“Oh. Is it okay if I rent a room here? I don’t want to be much of a bother so please take my money and babye!” She dashed upstairs, going in every possible room to appease her doubt.  
Meanwhile, hearing Alice’s rushed footsteps, Anna sighed intensely and stood up to resume cooking her stylish dinner… for two this time.  
The next morning, Alice’s groan alerted the entire house she was awake… and annoyed. “How’s the room?” Anna asked, her green eyes flashing between the half-closed door. “I haven’t heard your opinion on the dish yet.”  
“Why? Why?” Alice groaned once again.  
“Why do I look so pretty?” Anna finished her sentence slyly.  
Alice chuckled. She realized this and looked away. “I’m sorry. I just can’t… it hurts. My husband died. Danny, Alan, and Fitz were with him. He was caught. If only I had been there…”  
“Sorry, but can I ask you to do something?” Anna looked around the room before continuing.  
“What is it?” Alice mumbled at the corner.  
I want you to be the most sad you’ve been ever. Now, right now. If there was a scale of 1 to 10 for sadness, I want you to go up to nine. Take it in, take it in.”  
Alice immersed herself at the lowest she’s ever been, taking in the pain and guilt as she lay down.  
“Do you remember when you first did it? With him?”  
“What!? … I do.”  
“The feeling when you reached the peak of pleasure? What were you thinking that time?”  
“It was good. It felt good.”  
Anna paused. And breathed out, “Now, after everything, you’re going to realize that nothing has changed. What will happen now?”  
Alice looked up. She looked up with doubting but thoughtful eyes. “Reality hasn’t changed, but what I can do with it can.”  
“Nice! Okay, see ya!” Anna beamed.  
Alice looked away and managed to say “thanks”. Anna smiled, going back downstairs to finish up her breakfast.  
Anna decided to fix up the farm after noticing the increased need for food supply since two occupants now lived at the Winston house. She also broke her past record of procrastination finally. She laughed right there and then, ignoring her troubled thoughts for a moment. “This is a new beginning for me I hope.”  
Abilities Granted: Revy, Malkov, and Yesami August 13, 2019
A sunbeam juvenile drifting through the air will hit a certain shadow, dispersing the shallow darkness that covered the grained sunflower.  
The frivolous sunflower would have only lowered its head for the rest of its depressing life.  
Graft had trended toward it creepily.  
But soon, weathered hope will flip its disposition toward lightening.  
Luster does lust over its hidden, silent beauty.  
The sunflower awaited the time on which passersby would barge into its view. The sunflower never felt complacent with it.  
2 weeks later, the angels of light were caught gazing at a trampled flower, grieving over its anticipated eternal passing as it relieved, through hope, its memory nuggets of passersby. “So long, bruised and enlightened sunflower,” said thoughtfully an angel.  
Severed ties with the government convinced a mumbler to relish his inward pains.  
For during that road onto redemption, his wife and children were slaughtered viciously. There, at his daughter, son, and wife’s bodies grieving was held off to release his fugitive soul toward safety.  
He ran around the streets and found a cap to cover his head.  
Constant tiring engaged him with suspicion.  
Even four short of a dozen stray glares would have alerted his entire system.  
But he did have a place to run to—the city hall. He had a friend there who he believed would keep him safe no matter what.  
“Revy?” His friend, surprised, listened to him intently as to find out why he seemed unmistakably flushed and rushed. “Oh, you can stay at my office.”  
He rushed around the back doors and entered the indicated safe room. He relaxed once he sat down.  
Meanwhile, rigid officers were barging into possible places of contact with their runaway. They viewed their target as an ambitious, indelicate outlaw who “knew no better than to commit coup d’état”. While they earnestly discussed their explicit plans, their target was napping gently.  
And seeing him sleep so nicely, his friend lay beside him after finishing her work quota.  
With the moon floating up in the sky, she quickly stood up and walked up to the window. “Don’t worry. I’ll take him there.”  
“So, what is thy wish, visitor?” asked a voice resembling a huge blinding light. “You are venturing into an entirely different world from yours. And yes, I am letting you have the choice to select two supernatural abilities and an item that is also supernatural.”  
The visitor, a human, had just died. “I want to have cartoon characters’ abilities.”  
“Hmm… so, let’s just do mental activation for now. All cartoon shows aired during his time… Okay. We’re ready.”  
“So, your 2nd ability?”  
“I want the ability to detect any ill intent towards me.”  
“Okay, okay. Get the guys going!”  
A series of crashes are heard behind the back. “Yes sir! We’re”—glass falls and breaks—”doing not so good momentarily.”  
A sigh precedes his next question: “Where were we? Oh. Yes, how about your item?”  
“I want a book that answers anything I ask.”  
“Answers anything you ask only within this world. We can’t let you have power beyond that.”  
“Sure.”  
“Oh, Revy, you’re awake.”  
“Ah, yes. Where am I?… I can’t stay here,” he responded. “My wife and children are in… oh, yeah… Thanks for taking me in.”  
“Don’t worry Revy. I already told you before, ‘If you need me, I’ll be here.’.”  
“How about you Malkov?” asked the blinding light. He was aggravated by the irrelevant discussions he overheard from the back.  
“Supernatural abilities. I”—he scratched his chin—”need something that priotizes protection but still enough to be fair.”  
“I could give you steel skin. Or super strength?”  
“No, no… how about immunity to non-physical damage?”  
“Oh, that’s not too bad.”  
“And an inexhaustible body. Maybe I can get tired mentally to balance it out.”  
“So. Your entire body, excluding your mind, never gets tired… But you should atleast hunger, thirst and age.  
“That’s great.”  
“Now all you need is a tool to utilise in your journey.”  
“I’ve always wanted a wolf as a pet. Can I have that as my item?”  
“Okay. Now that we’re all set, I won’t explain any further since it would better you more when you learn how to use them on your own.  
“Well. Hmm… the last one, yes. Yesami, that’s your name?… Yesami?”  
“Oh yeah, yes, that’s right.”  
“Now that you know how you got here, think of a way to empower yourself in this new world you’ll be reincarnated in.” He looked down as he said that.  
“Ahh. How about”—he placed his hands to his chin—”living my life there with an RPG user interface?”  
“Accepted.”  
A well-rounded table sat atop the whimpering that continued to blast from Revy’s mouth. “Those damn bastards!” he huffed. “They got nothin’ else to do than chase down some old geezer tryin’ to change the country! It really ain’t enough for their scallywag lusts!”  
“Talking a bunch got him to start crying,” Alice, Revy’s friend, told her friends from work. “I can’t handle it!”  
“What’s wrong?” her friends worriedly asked.  
“It’s just that…” Her friends bounced up to hear what she had to say.  
“He’s… still so cute after all this time!”  
She jumped with joy. She’s seventy-six.  
Her younger co-workers couldn’t bear to hold back excitement at her probable fortune. “Have you two gotten together already?”  
“No! I look at him as my son!” Alice bluffed.  
“Oh.”  
Later, after work, Alice tiredly strolled through the back. “He might be twenty years younger than me… but that doesn’t mean that I have feelings for him.” she faintly explained to herself. “Right?”  
She slowly stumbled into the room, and fell face flat as soon as she walked up to her bed. She turned her head to see Revy’s still body, actively snoring as he lay.  
Meanwhile, three strangers relaxed their back onto a vintage couch beside two ornate coffee tables.  
“So, you like these kind of stuff, ‘God’?” asked Malkov as he playfully moved about a pen used to pen down reports.  
“So I’m ‘God’ huh.  
‘Well. I do go down from time to time to experience the human life you live,” spoke the terribly tremendous light.  
Later, the unbecoming grunts of brisk footmen furnished the podium on which an act portrayed an oh-so-spectacular prince who left his half-witted self-indulgence and fled to the eastern states to marry his childhood friend.  
Before the stage sat three friends supposedly going on a night walk. Revelled in the calm atmosphere of the theatre, Jujirou, Malkov, and Yesami soon sat by a pious fountain said to magically draw in the hidden munificence in the adamantly uncharitable.  
The very night on which they watched the theatre play was also the night they lost their money. “Oh, it wasn’t free.”  
The village harbor awaited travelers of old and young to brace the fierce winds that stood their ground on the oceanic sea.  
But one of three musketeers was nervously standing on a buck shabby ship, waiting for orders. “Hey, you boy!” called a captained rehabilitant wearing a strikingly black headband. “We don’t wait around for others to man the ship theirselves!”  
“Oh, yes Si—Captain Wigwag!” Yesami quickly replied. “Um, What should I do Captain?”  
“Well. How ‘bout giving my angry dogs, the rascals, some rations they’ll need for the day?”  
“Yes Si—Captain Wigwag! I’ll do it!”  
The night before, Yesami had already decided to establish a log in of daily events, notably of great changes that can’t be denied.  
“We were dropped off by ‘God’ down here at Plaintive Village.  
“It’s a small, humble, and friendly community, but yes, humility does has a limit.  
“We decided to run down the big city by which most tradesmen of the countryside pass and do plan to live luxuriously in, one day.”  
“I accidentally tripped and fell off board. I tried miserably to keep myself afloat, and I was soon rescued, but I got a fever that lasted for a week.”  
“Junjirou let me call him ‘Jun’. It was awkward at first but we became friends I think.”  
“I stubbed my toe thrice in a row after I walked out on a challenge. I might be cursed… maybe.”  
“Thunderstorms.  
“I need help.”  
“I keep on flinching everytime I hear a loud sound. It’s annoying.”  
“Captain Wigwag gave me a good pep talk. He was… actually concerned. Thanks Captain!”  
“I’m not that close with Malkov, but I did notice how good he is at entertaining people.  
“Oh, and Junjirou and I became friends I guess?… Well, he said so.”  
“I had not realized it, but I had lost that sense of uncertainty that had defined me in my old life and when I first arrived here.   
“I pray that these eight months were enough for me to be ready.”  
“And here we are… at the bountiful city of Canessgery Von!” exclaimed our Captain Wigwag heartily. “Well, not exactly; you still have a long way to go. But life is all around you. Don’t be shy! I believe in you!”  
“Thanks for everything Captain!” yelled the three men as they focused their eyes in the direction of their destination.  
They half-closed their eyes as they slowly walked toward the road; wistfulness grasping the memories they thought to love and hate.  
“For a second there, It felt as if the gravel road was gesturing at their perserverent legs to keep up.” speculated the captain as he held tight his ship’s paddlewheel, giving out a few tears to celebrate their sweet, good times.  
The three were found walking along a sidewalk at the city when thunder stroke the ground near them, and a voice called from heaven, “So, you can use your items and abilities now. Your one year of revelation is over; now, live freely!”  
”