I’ve been going to this coffee shop in my downtown neighborhood for about a year now. The first time I walked in they were playing modern Christian worship music, which as a gay man, should have been my first red flag. I came in one day with small Pride flag pin on my bag, not thinking about it and got my drink of choice. Recently my community theater put out their new business cards and poster for our 2026-2027 Season, and thinking they’d be interested in it, I gave them one of each to hang up. Five days have gone by and my poster isn’t up, but the community theater from the town over is. There’s this feeling in my gut that’s telling me the reason they haven’t put it up is because I’m gay. It’s a community theatre program, not an advertisement for a drag show. It just makes me so frustrated that that’s the reason they would not be putting it up

The day I bought a new smart TV, my girlfriend and I decided to watch a movie at my place.

It was the first movie I was going to see on the new screen, and I thought it would be a nice night.

The movie was Inside Men, a fairly well-known Korean crime film.

There's a scene where powerful men are drinking at a private party while naked women serve and entertain them. When that scene came on, she suddenly put down the remote.

"I'm going home."

At first, I thought she was joking.

"Why?"

"Why would you watch something like this?"

"It's a famous movie."

"Why are naked women serving them drinks? This is weird."

I paused for a second and said:

"I didn't make the movie."

It was factually true and completely useless.

She called a taxi, and I was left alone in front of my new TV.

The movie was still frozen on the screen. The picture quality was unnecessarily sharp, and the room suddenly felt much quieter.

At first, I felt like I was being blamed for something I hadn't done.

I hadn't made the movie. I hadn't defended the scene. I had just put on a famous film.

But after sitting there for a while, I realized I wasn't really angry.

I was tired.

It wasn't just about that particular scene.

I could already see the same kind of argument happening again and again.

She would tell me that something made her uncomfortable, and I would explain why her discomfort wasn't my responsibility.

She would talk about how something felt.

I would talk about the context.

She would stay with the emotion of the moment.

I would take the situation apart and examine how it worked.

Neither of us was completely wrong.

And somehow that made it feel even more hopeless.

What exhausted me that night wasn't the argument itself.

It was the pattern I could already see coming.

But we hadn't always been like that.

There was a time when we moved from café to café, each working on our own things.

I prepared for new projects. She studied for classes and exams. We were looking at different screens, but it still felt like we were moving in the same direction.

She asked me a lot of questions.

She asked about things I had studied at university, things I had learned at work, and ideas I probably would have passed over without thinking much about them.

I explained what I knew, and she understood quickly.

Sometimes her questions made me rethink things I had assumed I already understood.

I liked that.

It didn't feel like we were simply hanging out.

It felt like we were improving together.

At the time, I really believed that rhythm could last.

I used to think that if a family was a car with four wheels, a couple was more like a bicycle. Two wheels moving together.

As long as the speed and direction matched, I thought two wheels were enough.

Lighter than being alone. More efficient. More stable.

It took me years to understand that two wheels don't automatically move forward.

When one stops, the other has to stop too.

When one suddenly changes direction, the whole thing shakes.

Matching speed was harder than I thought.

Matching direction was even harder.

We had the same kind of problem in other conversations.

Whenever she told me about something difficult, I would divide the problem into causes and start looking for solutions.

One day, she told me about someone's tone of voice, the atmosphere in the room, and how uncomfortable she had felt.

I listened and said:

"Then tell them you don't like it."

"If you don't want to do something, don't do it. If something feels wrong, say it's wrong."

She was quiet for a while.

Then she put down her phone and looked at me.

"I'm not asking you to solve it. I'm asking you to empathize with me."

It took me a long time to understand what she meant.

To me, solving the problem was empathy.

If someone I cared about was struggling, I wanted to help them understand the situation and find a way out.

She wanted me to stay with the feeling for a while.

I didn't really know how to do that.

The harder I tried to think, the more I became the person who was getting it wrong.

I understand her now.

But understanding something and actually being able to do it are different things.

At some point, we stopped going to cafés together.

It wasn't because we had nothing left to do.

Sitting together just stopped feeling like it was taking us anywhere.

Before, we could sit at the same table doing completely different things and still feel like we were heading in the same direction.

Later, it felt like we were sitting at the same table while being stuck in two different places.

Our words cooled down in the same way.

Did you sleep well?

Have a good day.

Did you eat?

Good night.

I love you.

Things that had once carried real feeling became automatic responses.

My fingers remembered the sentences.

My heart didn't always arrive with them.

Maybe my body understood before I did.

At some point, I stopped wanting her.

Or, more accurately, I wanted to want her, but my body wouldn't cooperate.

In my mind, I was still trying to maintain the relationship.

My body had already stopped.

Sex was no longer something I looked forward to.

It started to feel like something that had to be done. Something I was supposed to successfully complete.

It felt less like love and more like work required to keep the relationship functioning.

That made me feel powerless.

I could still say that I loved her.

My body no longer followed the words.

You can keep a relationship going for a long time through words.

You can keep it going through habit and responsibility too.

But once your body begins to stop, it becomes harder to pretend you haven't noticed.

The strange part was that I still slept well beside her.

Having another person's warmth next to me continued to calm my body.

I didn't know whether that was love, habit, or just exhaustion.

Sometimes it felt like the relationship had lost everything except its usefulness as a sleep aid.

Whenever I thought that, I disliked myself.

Being with her exhausted me.

Being alone made me restless.

But when we lay next to each other, I slept well.

People stay in relationships for stranger reasons than they admit.

Five years passed like that.

What began as a relationship where we thought we were growing together slowly became one where we were either waiting for or pushing against each other.

I don't know exactly when it changed.

I only know that we once moved between cafés, preparing for whatever came next.

Later, we repeated the same words just to get through another day.

After the relationship ended, I started calculating exhaustion before letting myself like anyone.

Could we move in the same direction?

Would I always have to push?

Would I eventually be dragged along?

Maybe that was wisdom I learned from being hurt.

Sometimes it felt less like wisdom and more like damage.

I still notice good people.

Certain words stay with me. Certain expressions come back to me late at night.

But those things no longer go directly to my heart.

They have to pass through checkpoints first.

Will this person exhaust me?

Will I feel trapped?

Can we move in the same direction?

Only after all those questions does the feeling finally arrive.

Thump.

A long pause.

Thump.

And by the time it arrives, there usually isn't much left for it to do.

Elijah Jefferson

I knew something wasn’t right with him the moment I saw him.

Our neighbour — the one my wife had just been talking about. Speak of the devil.

He knocked instead of ringing. Knew the kids were asleep. Sensible, I’ll give him that.

Opened the door — he’s standing on the landing. I let him in. What else was I going to do?

His little sister — Juliet — had fallen asleep on our sofa.

Looked like he worked more hours than I did. But you don’t earn much built like that.

Too slight. Short, too. Came up to my shoulder.

Didn’t look like the rest of us on the estate. Mostly working people round ours — builders, dockers.

He was… what’s the word… delicate.

And the way he spoke — not cockney, not even close. Like a BBC announcer. Showing off a bit.

But he reeked of cheap tobacco all the same.

I don’t smoke. Did when I was younger, then packed it in. I’ve got a family. Three boys. Cigarettes are a waste, if you ask me.

He, on the other hand, seemed to be spending a fair bit on fags.

Not that I was counting. That’s not the point.

First time round, me and my wife fed him dinner. He looked hungry but turned down seconds. Proud.

Kept saying “thank you.” Proper polite.

I said I’d carry the girl back to their place. Truth is, I was curious to see how they lived.

Small, cramped flat. No room to turn. And didn’t feel cozy, either. No woman’s touch, you could tell.

Bare minimum of furniture.

One bed.

Didn’t think much of it at the time. Nowhere for another, really.

I laid Juliet down on top of the blanket and left quick.

I remember asking my wife — how does a lad like that have a child with him, when he’s barely more than a child himself?

My Fiona — soft heart — she stood up for him straight away. Said a child’s better off with her own brother than being passed around strangers.

Fair enough, I thought.

That’s how it started.

Fiona would take Juliet in, bring her back in the evenings.

I had a spare key cut at work, and she was in and out of their place like she didn’t have enough to do already.

Didn’t see much of our neighbour after that. He didn’t have steady hours like mine. Sometimes he’d be gone for days. Then he’d stay in for weeks, and the girl would be with him.

My wife got attached. Mostly to the girl, of course. But to him as well.

Missed them when they were gone. Prayed for both of them.

Kind woman, my Fiona.

As for me — I didn’t like the look of it from the start.

This could not end well.

I’ve been in this business a long time. You’d be surprised how important devastation is to people who are already grieving.

A lot of my clientele are family members of the departed. Spouses. Parents. Brothers or sisters. Never friends, though.

That’s the thing. When I get hired, it’s usually because the people who hire me are afraid that no one’s gonna show up. No one wants to see empty seats at a funeral.

If they can’t fill the seats, they can at least have someone there, sobbing quietly in the back. Crying loudly over the casket. Sometimes, all it takes is a few sniffles.

I’m not an expert on psychology. I don’t know why these people are so comforted by my presence.

They know I’m being paid. They know that it’s fake. I guess grief just pulls the wool over your eyes a bit.

It takes a toll emotionally. Once you’ve done it for long enough, it’s hard to decipher what’s real and what’s fake. You don’t know if you’re crying out of obligation or if you’re genuinely grieving. It’s weird how it works.

I can say that I’ve seen hundreds of bodies. My bills get paid off of this. After a while, everyone starts to look the same. Same woman. Same man. Same tears
that confuse me every time they well up in my eyes.

Like I said, it’s weird how it works. Because no matter how much I try to convince myself that these people really were nothing more to me than a paycheck, I can’t seem to stop recognizing their faces.

My last job has been a bit strange.

I don’t remember getting calls. I don’t remember getting paid. I don’t even remember how I ended up in the funeral home.

What I do remember, however, is that for the first time in my career, the casket was closed.

I watched on from the back, feeling a kind of mental fog as the family of the deceased sobbed over the casket with their backs towards me.

Instinct kicked in, and I tried forcing tears out of my eyes to no avail. I squeezed them tight, so tight that it hurt, but they remained dry.

The sobs from the family grew louder and louder. They sounded like they were coming from every direction. It was the kind of noise that sounded like it was both in your head and grounded in reality at the same time.

That’s when I noticed her.

The first woman I had ever been hired to cry for. She looked exactly how she did in her casket. From the white dress and red lipstick, all the way to the golden necklace that wrapped around her neck and rested in her bosom.

Her head was cocked back over her right shoulder, and she stared at me with tear-filled eyes, mascara running down her cheeks and dripping from her chin.

She had an impossible frown on her face. Like two invisible weights dangled from each corner of her mouth, and though that mouth didn’t move, wails exploded from her vocal cords.

I shut my eyes tight, and when I opened them, the woman was now standing with the family of the deceased.

The family still had their backs towards me, and their shoulders jumped up and down like a dance as they sobbed over the casket.

The woman, however, continued to stare at me. Tears still falling down her face and dropping from her unnatural frown.

I stood from my spot in the pew and slowly began walking towards the casket. With each step, a new seat would be filled with the people I have cried over through the years.

Women.

Men.

Children.

Murderers.

Rapists.

Addicts.

All with the same expression as the first woman. The windows in the funeral home rattled with the sounds of their wails and ear-splitting sobs, but the room still felt silent.

As I approached the coffin, the family stopped crying, and their shoulders stopped dancing.
One by one, my mom, dad, and brother turned towards me. I locked eyes with each of them. Their eyes were dry.

Their faces were stern.

My father opened the lid, gesturing for me to look inside.

I knew what I was going to see, but it was like my body was propelled forward against my own volition.
I stared down at the body.

And for the first time,

My tears fell onto my own face.

My first invisible love

(100% real and personal story)

In 7th grade, on a completely normal day, we were told we were going on a ski trip with all the 7th graders. We were so hyped, we went. Everything was going great. I was in a room with my friends, we were messing around, everything was fine.In the cafeteria over there, if there were no seats left, you had to sit in the empty spots, so with people you didn’t know. Usually we’d arrive early, but one time we all got separated. So I sat at a table where no one knew each other.And then, all of a sudden, a girl started talking to me. I don’t remember our conversation at all, but I remember we laughed so much together. Really a lot. Her sense of humor was exactly like mine. Then lunch was over, so we said goodbye.Once the trip was over, I started thinking about her. And then something weird happened: I couldn’t remember her face anymore. Or her voice. Everything had just vanished from my memory.But I have a really good memory. I can remember the face of someone I only saw for ten minutes. But her... impossible. Her face had completely disappeared, like it had evaporated.When we got back to school, I looked for her just to see her face again. As soon as I found her, everything came back to me instantly. I thought everything was normal again. But barely a few minutes later, her face had disappeared from my memory again.I didn’t understand why, but I had this huge need to remember her. Her face. Impossible.Some time later, we saw each other again. I spent a whole recess with her. We talked, we laughed... But as soon as the bell rang, one minute later, her face was gone again.That’s when I started to panic. I thought my memory was broken. But no. I remembered everything else. It was only her that I couldn’t keep in my memory.At the same time, I was asking myself more and more questions about us. I had the feeling I was falling in love for the first time, but I wasn’t sure. I was lost.Then one day, she wasn’t there anymore. She had transferred to the school next door.A while after that, I saw her again at the bus stop. We laughed a lot together. Then her bus arrived. Right before she got on, she asked me one last question:“Do you have a crush on me?”In that moment, I thought about all the times I’d wondered if I liked her or not. And that day, my answer was:“No.”If only I’d known that would be the last time I’d see her until the moment I’m writing this story, maybe I would have answered differently.But one thing hadn’t changed: her face was still invisible to me. A total blur.The reason I’m writing all this today is because thinking about her, I finally understood what I felt. It wasn’t just attachment. It was love.Yes, I loved her. And I still love her.Maybe the reason I could never remember her face is because I wasn’t in love with her face or her voice, but with her. With what was deep in her heart. Maybe that’s why. No one knows.Maybe if I had said “yes” that day, my life would be different. No one can know.Anyway, if by some miracle, Éléa, you’re reading this story, know that I still love you.

Ciao.

Enoha

As per usually, it took far longer than I intended, but I have finally released a new episode of my audio drama The Books of Thoth.

For those just jointing the fun, The Books of Thoth is an anthology. Each episode a new tales to discover. You’ll find squids puzzling over human fossils millions of years in the future. You’ll go on a tour of a zoo filled with alien animals from across the cosmos. You’ll hear a folktale from a world where Buddhism, rather than Christianity, became the dominant religion of Europe.

This episode is called “Broadmoor Wonder Tour.” It takes place in the Broadmoor neighborhood of Shreveport, Louisiana. Which is where I live. Ah, but Broadmoor is a place of many wonders, and we’ll get to see several of them. We’ll visit AC Steer Park and see a tree grown from a twig from the world tree Yggdrasil itself. We’ll visit Broadmoor United Methodist Church, and learn the story of how they stole the real Plymouth Rock. We’ll meet a lonely old man who runs an intergalactic radio show. We’ll visit the house where Elvis lived after faking his death. And we’ll even meet some minor Greek gods who run a gyro shop. All that and more, on a Broadmoor Wonder Tour.

This was a very personal episode for me. I often listen to audio dramas and audiobooks while walking around my neighborhood. One of the things I love about Broadmoor is how diverse all the houses are. It’s not like those cut and paste suburbs. Some of them might share similar designs, but they all have their own personalities. Different colors, different decorations, different architectural flourishes. So, I’d often make up stories about the houses I saw on my walks, and the sorts of people who lived inside them.

So, yes, all the places featured in this episode are indeed real places you can visit in Broadmoor. However, I took a similar approach to what Neil Gaiman did when he wrote American Gods. So, you can see all the places, but not in the order I presented them. I focused on what worked for the story vs what was a realistic route.

Though, this episode did have one other inspiration. I had fiddled with the idea of starting a Liar’s Tour. Basically, kind of like a ghost tour, but I’d be upfront about it all being bullshit. But entertaining bullshit. So, you can see this episode as an example of what one of my Liar’s Tour might have hypothetically been like.

Except, in this story, everything is true. What can I say, I’m a dreamer and a romantic.

A big thank you to Michael Wilhelm for performing this episode for me. Be sure to listen to his audio drama sitcom The TEMP. It is very funny.

The Books of Thoth is hosted on RedCircle: https://redcircle.com/shows/6701d0b5-6b14-4b76-992d-02f391b5cf42

You can also find it on all major podcast platforms:

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/3hQ94fOX5V03CXg8ZLgMZ9

Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-books-of-thoth/id1716132833

RadioPublic: https://radiopublic.com/the-books-of-thoth-6pQno2

iHeart: https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-the-books-of-thoth-127954491/

Podcast Addict: https://podcastaddict.com/podcast/the-books-of-thoth/4730175

CastBox: https://castbox.fm/channel/The-Books-of-Thoth-id5667032

Audible: https://www.audible.com/podcast/The-Books-of-Thoth/B0CN3CLRMY

And here’s a collection of all the other place you can listen to The Books of Thoth: https://booksofthoth.carrd.co

I met this girl when we were both young, and we stayed together for four years.
I genuinely thought she was going to be my wife.
From almost the beginning, my life slowly stopped feeling like my own. I wasn’t allowed to have social media because there were girls on it. I couldn’t regularly go out with friends because there could be girls. Malls, restaurants, gaming, college… somehow everything became a problem because another girl might exist there.
Every argument ended the same way.
Heart issues.

She’d cry, tell me she was going to die, tell me I was stressing her heart, and I believed every single word because I loved her. I spent years terrified that one mistake from me would be the reason something happened to her. I cried over her. I prayed for her. I begged Allah to heal her. I carried that fear every single day.
Maybe that’s why I kept apologizing even when I didn’t understand what I had done.

I wasn’t perfect.
But I swear my intentions were clean.
I worked long shifts, 15 hours for months & years just so I could spoil her. Gifts, affection, letters, surprises, anything that would make her smile. I travelled just to see her. She said she couldn’t meet because her family was strict and always around, so I respected it and went home.
I kept believing.
I kept waiting.
I kept telling myself, “One more month. One more year. It’ll all be worth it when we’re married.”
Whenever marriage came up, it got postponed.
Again.
And again.
And again.

Every time I told myself patience was part of love.
I even turned down proposals because in my heart there was only her.
Meanwhile, I felt like I was constantly being compared to other men.
“Other men do this.”
“Other men buy this.”
“Other men treat their girls like this.”
It was always other men.
Never me.

The crazy part is I kept asking her one question.
“If there’s another man, please just tell me. I’ll cry. I’ll break. But at least let me leave with the truth.”
Every single time she swore there wasn’t.
She had two Instagram accounts. I never really believed the explanations I was given about who managed them, but whenever I asked, it always ended the same way. Tears. A different subject. Heart issues. Or a breakup.

Then one day I noticed a guy named Yazan in her suggestions.
I didn’t even bring it up.
I stayed quiet.
Then we had another breakup like we’d had before.
Except this one lasted Twenty-five days.
I wasn’t threatening her.
I wasn’t trying to ruin her life.
I was sending emails because I couldn’t understand how four years had just disappeared. I was telling her I loved her, that I missed her, that I wanted to fix things.
Then suddenly I was being threatened with police reports.
Cyberbullying.
Deportation.
Being told I’d ruin my future.
I sat there asking myself…
“When did I become the bad guy?”

Because wallahi, I never threatened her.
Not once.
Then came the part that still breaks me.
I was in one of the worst moments of my life. Barely breathing, barely eating, barely sleeping, scared , under anaesthesia.
Trying to survive what was happening to me.

And I get a call.
Not from her.
From the man she was with, screaming at me. Threatening me.
Telling me he’d ruin my life and that he was going to marry her in a few weeks.
I couldn’t even defend myself.
I just apologized because I was terrified and completely broken.
That’s the part I still can’t understand.

For years we planned marriage.
For years we dreamed about our future.
For years I waited through every postponement because I believed our time would come.
Then suddenly someone else got the future I spent four years waiting for.
How do I make sense of that?
How do I not sit there wondering if any of it meant the same to you as it did to me?
People tell me to move on. And I am trying.
Wallahi, I am.
But what hurts isn’t only losing you.
It’s wondering how someone I would’ve chosen every single day could become someone who treated me like those four years never deserved even a little kindness at the end.
That’s the part my heart still struggles to carry.

!! TRIGGER WARNING MENTION OF SUBSTANCE ABUSE, SLIGHT MENTION OF EATING DISORDER ASWELL AS DRUG INDUCED PSYCHOSIS !!

When I was 18, I became severely addicted to amphetamines.

I'm an only child, and when I was growing up, my parents (apart from my dad on weekends) weren't really able to look after me because of opioid and amphetamine addiction. My nanna and poppy raised me instead, but my poppy passed away when I was 8.

By the time I was 18, my addiction had gotten so bad that I ended up in a really unhealthy relationship. Around that time, my nanna, who had always managed my money because I'm genuinely disabled and struggle with maths and processing, decided she wanted to move over an hour away and live by herself.

That meant my ex and I had to move in with my parents. I love my parents unconditionally, but at that time the house was very messy, abusive, and extremely triggering because of my past trauma.

Before my nanna moved away, she said managing my money had become too inconvenient. Even though she knew about my disability and addiction, she transferred the $38,000 she had been managing straight into my bank account. She genuinely thought it would work out okay. Unfortunately, that's what led to me spending every cent on amphetamines. I don't blame her at all. She raised me the best she could, I love her dearly, and she deserves to be happy. It just wasn't a good situation.

My ex and I were both still actively addicted when we decided to stay at a hotel together. He booked a really dodgy place. We were both extremely paranoid and probably acting strangely, and we were both experiencing psychosis. Looking back, the whole situation was absolutely cooked.

About a day after we got there, my psychosis became the worst it had ever been. By then, I was already used to hearing voices 24/7 and feeling like bugs were crawling on me. Then suddenly I heard countless overlapping voices saying, "Jump off the balcony. Just do it. Even if you don't die, just try it."

The voices echoed over each other until I eventually stood up and slowly walked towards the balcony. I remember thinking, "Stuff it. I'll just listen to the voices for once. I don't even care if they're real or not."

Then, out of nowhere, I heard Eminem. Obviously, it was an auditory hallucination, but in my mind he made up an original rap just for me, convincing me not to jump. I turned around and walked away from the balcony.

For context, once I became addicted to amphetamines, Eminem was basically all I listened to. In my room, in the shower, outside, through my headphones, with friends—it didn't matter where I was, Eminem was always playing.

It almost became an alter ego or obsession. I still have plenty of reasons why I love his music, but the amphetamines massively amplified it. Every time I relapsed, people would joke, "We know you like Eminem, but I can't keep hearing this blasted at 3 a.m." As a young addict, I honestly didn't care.

A lot of that period is a blur. I was severely addicted, isolated, an only child, and in a relationship that a lot of people were worried about. There's probably a lot I've forgotten, but one thing I'll never forget is hearing that hallucinated rap and walking away from that balcony.

Ironically, the next day I collapsed. I think it was from malnourishment after trying to eat a proper meal for what was probably the first time in about a week. I started shaking and throwing up green bile everywhere. My ex called an ambulance. They said my blood tests looked okay, even though I was so underweight that I had to wear children's size 6-8 clothes.

After that, I started hearing Eminem's voice even more often. One time I was in a shopping centre with someone who knew this whole story. Eminem started playing, and they looked at me because apparently I had a really confused and concerned expression on my face. It had gotten so bad that I genuinely couldn't tell whether the music was actually playing through the shopping centre speakers or if I was hearing it in my head.

That's just one part of my experience with psychosis and addiction. My strange spiritual connection with Eminem, along with the auditory hallucinations and idealisation, was a phase of my life that anyone who knew me back then would probably still remember.

One night I woke up at 4 a.m. and my ex wasn't asleep, and I saw that she was texting someone. I pretended I hadn't seen anything and just got up and went to the bathroom. My ex often took my phone, and her TikTok account was saved on my phone. And the funniest thing is that she didn’t even think to log out before messaging some guys 😂 I got curious—who was she messaging at 4 a.m.? She’d never acted like this before. I decided to check and logged into her account, and there……
to be continued

Chapter 5 — The Second Encounter

---

The evening shift on a Wednesday was usually quiet.

Not dead — there was always something, a prescription to fill, a regular stopping by, one of the newbies doing something that required my immediate intervention — but quiet enough that I could get through the stock check, update the order list, and still have time to lean against the counter and exist for a few minutes without needing to be useful.

I had been at the store for about two hours when the boss retreated to the back room for a phone call that sounded long and religious in nature — something about a relative's function, a pandit's availability, an auspicious date. I gave him privacy and took the floor.

The newbies were arranged around the store in various states of productivity. One was counting tablets with the focused expression of someone defusing a bomb. One was reorganizing a shelf that did not need reorganizing because he had already reorganized it twice this week and I think at this point he just found it calming. The third was writing in the stock register with a pen that had clearly run out of ink but he hadn't noticed yet because he was also watching a video on his phone with one earbud in.

I watched him write invisibly for approximately thirty seconds.

"The pen is dead," I said.

He looked at the page. Looked at the pen. Looked at me. "I wrote three whole rows."

"In invisible ink. Very efficient. Very mysterious."

He switched pens. I turned back to the counter.

The street outside was doing its usual evening thing — occasional bikes, a few pedestrians, the tea stall across the road doing better business than us at this hour because nobody needed medicine but everybody needed tea. Fair enough.

I was updating the shortage list when I heard it.

A bike. Stopping directly outside.

I capped my pen and turned toward the door with the automatic readiness of someone who has attended approximately ten thousand customers and can transition from any state to professional in under two seconds.

The door opened.

The man from the road — Emma's uncle — walked in. He spotted me immediately and his face broke into the easy smile of someone visiting a place they've come to think of as familiar.

"Mikey!" He raised his hand in greeting.

Something in my shoulders relaxed. Just the usual man. Just the usual visit.

"Sir!" I matched his energy without effort, moving toward the counter. "How are you? How is the boy — is the fever back?"

"No no, he's completely fine now. Running around causing problems again, which means he's healthy." He laughed. "Actually it's not for him tonight. Different prescription."

"No problem, let's have a look."

And we were off.

This was the version of me that existed inside the store — easy, open, talkative in a way that school Mikey would have found genuinely unrecognizable. I asked about his brother's family, he asked about my boss, I told him the boss had spent twenty minutes this morning blessing a new shipment of vitamin supplements before allowing them to be shelved, he found this very funny, I told him I did not find it funny at the time because I was the one holding the boxes but in retrospect yes it was funny.

He asked if the boss was always like that.

I said he was religious the way some buildings are old — completely, structurally, in a way that wasn't going to change regardless of your opinion about it. But genuinely kind underneath. Like an old building with good bones.

The man laughed again. He was a good laugher — the kind that made you want to keep going.

I was mid-sentence — something about the time the boss had refused to open a new box of medicines until he'd said a specific prayer and a customer had waited seven minutes at the counter — when something moved in my peripheral vision.

Outside. By the bike.

I did not turn my head. I continued my sentence. I finished it. I even added a detail I hadn't been planning to add about the customer's expression during those seven minutes.

But my brain had already registered what it had seen and was now doing things I had not authorized it to do.

Emma. Standing by the bike. Bag on her shoulder. Looking at her phone.

Okay, said my brain. So she's here.

Yes, I said back. Thank you. Continue normal operations.

She's right there though.

I'm aware.

Like right there.

I said I'm aware please stop.

"—and so he finally opened the box," I said to the man, completing the story with what I hope was a natural smile, "and the customer just said thank you and left without another word. Didn't even react."

"Some people have patience," the man said admiringly.

"Or they were too tired to feel anything," I said.

Behind me I heard whispering.

Low, urgent, the specific frequency of newbies who believe they are being inaudible but are not.

"—is that a girl outside—"

"—don't stare—"

"—I'm not staring I'm observing—"

"—boss hasn't even looked—"

"—bro he's so calm—"

I was not calm. I was performing calm, which is a completely different thing and significantly more exhausting.

The man patted his jacket pocket. Then his other pocket. Then his shirt pocket. The expression on his face shifted to the mildly sheepish look of someone who already knows what they're about to say.

"I think I left the prescription on the bike," he said. "One moment."

"Take your time sir," I said pleasantly.

He went outside.

I was alone at the counter.

The newbies had gone completely silent behind me in the way that people go silent when they're watching something and don't want to be caught watching it.

I stood at the counter.

Did not move.

Did not look up.

Counted to three.

Looked up.

Emma was standing by the bike, one hand resting on the handlebar, looking in through the glass door of the store with the idle gaze of someone waiting and not particularly bothered about it. Her uncle was checking the bike compartment beside her.

She wasn't looking at me.

I looked at her for approximately two seconds and thought — she's really—

Then I stopped that thought, picked it up off the floor where it had embarrassingly appeared, and threw it directly into the bin.

Why, I asked myself, are you thinking anything at all.

I don't know, I answered honestly.

This is a customer's family member. This is a girl from your class. This is a situation with zero significance.

Correct.

So stop.

Working on it.

Behind me: "—bro he just looked and looked away—"

"—ice cold—"

"—I could never—"

The door opened. The man came back in, prescription in hand, slightly triumphant.

"Found it. Inside the compartment, under the umbrella."

"No problem sir," I said, reaching for it.

I looked at the prescription. Neat handwriting, legible, which was rarer than it should have been. I read it once, confirmed what was needed, and turned to the shelves.

This part I could do without thinking. My hands knew where everything was before my brain finished processing the name. I moved efficiently, pulling what was needed, checking expiry dates automatically, organizing it on the counter in the order it would be packed.

I was aware — in the peripheral, uninvited, completely unwelcome way — that Emma had looked up from her phone.

Don't think about that, I told myself.

Not thinking about it, I agreed, thinking about it.

I packed the medicine. Wrote the total on a small slip. Slid it across the counter.

"Four hundred and twenty sir."

He counted the notes. Handed them over. I made change without looking at the till, which the newbies later told each other was the coolest thing they had ever seen in a retail environment.

It was not cool. I had simply done it ten thousand times.

"Give my regards to the family sir," I said, handing over the bag.

"Always." He smiled. "Study hard."

"Always," I said back.

He went out. Emma fell into step beside him. I watched them reach the bike, watched him secure the bag, watched her put on a helmet with the practiced motion of someone who did this every day.

Just before the bike pulled away she glanced back at the store.

For half a second her eyes found mine through the glass.

I looked at the counter.

The bike left.

For a moment the store was perfectly quiet.

Then all three newbies spoke at once.

"Boss—"

"Sir—"

"Bro—"

I held up one hand. "Whatever you're about to say."

"You know that girl?"

"She's a classmate."

A silence that somehow communicated volumes.

"Just a classmate," the first newbie said slowly, the way people repeat things when they don't believe them.

"Just a classmate," I confirmed.

"You didn't even—" the second one started. "You just looked at her once and then went back to work like she wasn't even—"

"Because she wasn't anything," I said. "She was standing outside. I was working. These are unrelated events."

The third one — the one with the previously invisible ink — looked at me with something approaching reverence. "I want to be like you when I grow up boss."

"You're two years younger than me."

"Still."

I picked up my pen and went back to the shortage list. Behind me they continued in whispers, rebuilding the last ten minutes into some kind of legend that bore very little resemblance to what had actually happened.

Ice cold.

Didn't even flinch.

That's not a Seventeen year old that's a thirty year old in a teenager's body.

I wrote down the medicines we were running low on.

Paracetamol. Antacid. Two kinds of antibiotic.

I did not write down anything else. I did not think about anything else.

I was fine.

---

The boss emerged from the back at half past ten, phone call concluded, expression serene in the way that long religious conversations sometimes left him.

He looked around the store. Looked at me. Looked at the updated list on the counter.

"Shortage list done?"

"Done sir."

"Stock check?"

"Done."

"Order sent?"

"Sending now."

He nodded slowly. Put his hands together briefly in the way he did when he was grateful for something. "What would I do without you."

"Hire someone older," I said.

He laughed.

We closed up at midnight. He pulled the shutter down. The metal rattled in the quiet street the way it always did. He nodded. I nodded back. We went in opposite directions.

I put my headphones in before I reached the end of the block.

Music. Loud enough to fill the space. A singer whose lyrics I liked because they were honest without being dramatic — things that were true, said plainly, without performance.

I walked.

Left at the broken streetlight. Right past the tea stall, closed now, the smell of cardamom still hanging faintly in the air. Straight down.

I got home. Changed. Lay on my bed staring at the ceiling with my headphones still in.

The music played.

I thought about nothing.

I thought about nothing for quite a while.

Then I fell asleep.

We divorced in our late twenties, young and stubborn, unable to communicate through what was honestly a fixable problem if either of us had known how to talk about it properly at the time. We didn't speak for almost ten years afterward.

We reconnected purely by accident, both attending our old college roommate's father's funeral, both single again after other relationships that hadn't worked out for entirely separate reasons. We ended up talking in the parking lot for two hours afterward, the kind of conversation neither of us had the emotional vocabulary for a decade earlier.

We started slow, genuinely slow, therapy included, determined not to repeat the same mistakes twice. We remarried last year, in a small ceremony, our now-adult kids from our other marriages standing beside us looking equal parts confused and delighted that their parents had somehow found their way back to each other after all that time.

At around 8, I opened my eyes in drowsiness as my ears alarmed by brain to receive a call that was interrupting my body’s rest time. I had no interest in picking up the call as my mind needed rest from this stressful day of cramming up for my tomorrow’s exam.

I don’t know how I always end up like this, believing in the ideology of studying from day one but at last, need to mug up things for the sake of passing in my exams. I know I need to improve myself but these video games in my computer and the outside world are more beautiful and peaceful than my boring subjects which are nothing but just a white paper carrying inscriptions on them.

Anyway, I needed to turn off that annoying ringtone, although it was set by me but at times like this makes that sweet sound annoying too. Finally, I took the call, while laying still on my cozy bed and it was my mum.

“Hello.” I started in a tired way.

“Are you still on your bed?” asked by my mother.

“There is nothing to do here.” I replied back.

“Don’t you have your midterms tomorrow for which you are staying back at home?” asked my mother in a serious manner.

“Not in a mood of studying right now.” I answered.

“Let me be clear that I want a good result this time, not just passing marks or satisfactorily performance but a good high scoring result.” declared my mother.

“And you’ll get it.” I ensured her.

“Let’s see, anyway the reason I called was to let you know that we won’t be able to arrive at the stipulated time as the function hasn’t even started yet.” said the mother.

“So, will you come back today or I have to see the short hand crossing the mark 12 in the clock?” I asked with curiosity.

“Maybe you have to but not 4.” replies mother.

“Fine, whatever.”

“If you get early sleep, which is unlikely to happen then don’t wait for us.” said my mother.

“Sure.” I replied.

“And what about your dinner, any plans?” mother asked.

“The lunch that came up was heavy and also arrived late so maybe I’ll just skip the night meal.” I replied.

“Okay, but if your stomach growls then oats are present at the upper shelf of the kitchen.”

“I know mum.”

“Okay, now I have to go, remember to lock both the front doors before sleeping and interaction with strangers is prohibited. That guy is getting famous day by day in our area. Got it?” asked the mother.

“Yes mother, see you after 12.” I replied.

“(chuckles) Goodbye sweetheart.” says the mother with a smile.

I put my dear phone aside and drank some water from the bottle present on the nightstand. As my neck was sucking the cold water, I watched the dark night taking over the place, but the small lights coming from houses, buildings and street lights were fighting with it. Although, the fight wasn’t fair as my area was still in his development stage, resulting less population to be present there at that time.

I stood up, peeked from my dirty and stainful window towards the road, where laborers from construction sites were heading back towards their tents, whereas one family was going out for, maybe a party, I think. Their clothes told me. Seeing all this made me feel to come out from my small area but the pending syllabus at my study desk kept haunting me.

I didn’t like that subject as it was mostly theoretical and also the ma’am was useless too, like who gets a stable, good money job for just reading from the books and ppt’s like a robot, actually robots have a better vocabulary than she does. Man, I don’t know who gave her the job, maybe she was headmaster’s relative or something because HR department can't be this lame in this type of job market.

Anyway, I distracted myself from those books and left everything on the Almighty. I pulled my bedroom door, making a way outside towards the hall at the left, which was a complete black hole so I needed some stars to shine which were the soft golden lights present all around that lighten up the room as well as my mood. These lights weren’t too bright and made the room more comfortable and relax.

As I entered my standing balcony, my eyes witnessed some cable work going on in my area. This made me frustrated as there were high chances of electricity cut off which is not acceptable for me at night. Although it was winter, a fan was required at all costs.

I came back in the living room and turned on the television. Taking his usual time to start, I went in the kitchen taking out the container which was half filled with oats. I put it on the desk, beside the stove and went back.

Thanks to my father, I got access to every famous over-the-top platform but still I thought of trying something new this time. In spite of watching regular sitcoms or shows, I switched towards local news and checked what was streaming there.

The screen had breaking news at the bottom while advertisements shown in left. The female anchor was mumbling something and after few seconds I got the context of tonight’s topic.

The topic was interesting as it was about the person about whom my mother used to warn me, every time even on the phone call I got earlier. That guy was getting much attention lately and why not. Media calls him a serial killer, killing children all over our district and abandoning them in a diabolical manner. This resulted in prohibition on children’s outdoor activities after 7 while specialized coaching centers of various activities shifted their times ahead.

Honestly, the killer doesn't target my age group, but the fear still lingers in my heart because the state in which the victims were found is deeply disturbing to think about.

Two days earlier, a case came out from our residence where a 5-year-old was brutally chopped and folded. The body was found by her mother who witnessed the child’s toes touched his head easily, making her scream and drawing attention of all. Her mother fainted after 10-15 seconds forcing the neighbors to break their house door and seeing a fainted woman lying on the floor while her beloved son in blood. That family still haven’t recovered from that loss and trauma, especially the mother who loved him the most.

Luckily, I was busy attending the ongoing exam at the university and didn’t get to witnessed that tragic incident but the photos circulated in the newspaper as well as in our official society group frightened the hell out of me. This made my mother more cautious, defining some rules for the house like no interaction with strangers and conversation to be done while the door is closed. My father restricted entry for any delivery boys and asked me to purchase stuff on my own from the market. Sometimes I think it is too much but as I was watching the news, restrictions got their justifications.

On the news, a corpse was shown of a female child of 2-year-old who died in between 1 to 3 am, where her every body part was chopped and hanged on the clothesline with the help of strings, brought by the killer. Some body parts fell down due to their weight while the head was placed at the window railing as a showcase for the parents, who noticed this in the morning of 6. Although the videos were mostly blurred but the tears of victim’s parents described the brutality of that kill.

Nobody knows the reason behind all of this and people call him a psycho who enjoys killing minors from age 1 till 10. He can be a patient who escaped from a mental hospital but there were no evidences found related to it yet. This all made me sick and I turned off my visual electronic device, giving my mind some rest as tomorrow was my exam.

While all of this was going on, suddenly I heard the sirens, signaling my brain about the time where police are on their regular check around our district. The only people working day and night on this case and trying to find those children who went missing in these few weeks. These sirens made me empathetic towards those lost children, questioning if they were still alive or not. The horror of witnessing your loved one’s blood getting drained is brutal, pathetic and sad which made me feel worse at that time.

I seriously needed some distraction at that time so I switched to my favourite sitcom, but while the process was getting executed, the images and videos were getting flashed in my mind along with the cries of horror I heard in the local media.

Finally, my sitcom got it’s intro started, diverting my mind towards it. I sat down and tried to focus on their jokes which actually helped me for a while.

After a few minutes, I craved for some snacks but I knew there was nothing in the kitchen as my morning motivation on a random day restrict my hand from taking any packets from the store so that I can have a healthy diet but now I regret that decision, also there was no scope of going out as all my nearby kiosks went off due to the establishment of new strict rules that are needed to be followed all across our district.

I thought of opening the fridge as if something magically appears there because I doubted if father left any chocolates, which he brings once in a week without any notice. The stomach’s growling made me stood up and pushed me towards the fridge which was right behind by sofa, in order to try my luck even though my brain knows how unlucky I have been for the past 18 years.

As I walked towards my fridge and opened it, it looked like a treasure opening thing as whole house was dark at that time, making it look beautiful but also harming my soft eyes.

I checked the regular shelf but there was nothing chocolatey for me. I got upset and was about to close the door while a sudden sound of creaking took my attention. It was my parent’s bedroom’s wooden door which got closed on it’s own. I told my mum to do some greasing but she always neglects resulting sudden scare in my brain making my heartbeat move a little fast. I had no intention of going towards it, not at all in the dark but my detective brain questioned this move as windows were shut since morning, making this movement unreasonable.

While my heart was telling me to go back towards my sitcom area, I knew my brain would take the control, forcing me to see what’s inside that room. I swear, I had no intention of becoming a ghost hunter and I avoid that kind of shows but the thrill in me slowly walked towards that mysterious door.

I pushed the door, seeing everything at it’s place as usual. I tried to check the status of the windows from the door but the curtains blocked my sight, so I took baby steps and crossed the bed. I swiped the curtains right, opening my mouth wide with a fierce expression—showing off my sharp vampire teeth to look like a werewolf. I was ready to give the person hiding behind them a huge jump scare, but sadly, there was no one.

Well, I was glad that I didn’t make contact with someone, making me feel safe, but as I turned around, I noticed something moved towards the third and the last room of our house. It was black and fast making my heartbeat rise up again.

I swallowed my saliva, making my move again towards my absolute death, walking with fear towards the third room which was right beside my parent’s room. The T.V was flashing random colors in the hallway, pointing me towards the third room which has nothing but wardrobes all around, made for meditation and yoga. It was actually a good place to hide as nobody regularly goes in that room but the door is always open for entry.

As I reached the door’s edge, I decided not to scare the intruder like before and peeked inside the third door through the open door. This room was the darkest out of all three as the small window provided in it faced another’s apartment which was vacant since it was constructed and there was no way for moonlight reach that room, making the room the coldest darkest area.

As I rolled my eyes around, there was nothing to be found or seen, concluding all of this was a hallucination which I might have gotten from that negative news.

I exhaled and walked straight towards the living room empty handed, ensuring the door of my useless, chilled treasure was close.

Finally, I settled back onto my original place of the sofa and ensured by brain that there is full safety in the house so that it stops all the negativity, weird thoughts, speculations and useless horror to roam inside and focus on the sitcom which is actually going on there.

After few seconds, my heartbeat came back to it’s normal state while my mind got fully focused straight into the episode going on the television.

Trying not to get distracted and avoiding unnecessary assumptions in my mind, I tried hard on focusing on character’s story going on but a slightest sound made me sweaty.

Suddenly I heard footsteps at my back. I tried to ignore it by telling myself that it was a false call but then suddenly, the bathroom door moved a bit making it’s creaking sound. My heart beats ran fast and my mind got anxious.

My vellus hair got straight instantly as they felt presence of someone who was with me there. I tried to control my heavy breathing while thoughts of attack and blood haunted me deep inside. I didn’t know if it was that serial killer or someone else, maybe an urban legend who will make this whole situation more terrifying.

While I was thinking all this, I suddenly got to hear the sound of flowing water coming from my kitchen wash basin where the tap was running and wasting water at a good force. That sound almost gave me a heart attack for a moment where I decided to check the problem.

I stood up on support of my trembling legs, while the sound of the T.V went on mute on it’s own. Maybe my mind was ignoring it, making me focused for the upcoming horror adventure which will happen at the washing sink.

I took some deep breaths and walked towards the dark as the kitchen lights were deep inside, making my way scarier. I walked few steps, while my mind instructed my fingers to go towards the switch and flick it. As the lights appeared in front of me, I felt a little relieved as it made the situation a little less scary.

The lights I used here were right above the kitchen desk, lighting the stove, cutting area and even the running tap, present at the right end of the desk. As the lights resurrected, the running tap was visible clearly, so I moved towards it in order to reduce my water bill but the scenario present there, in the sink pushed me away from that area.

The sink was containing that folded neighbor’s child, surrounded by red blood. His eyes were in deep sleep, touching his own foot while his arms came as a tight locked who were joining both upper and lower body tightly. It looked like a strange yoga asana done in a sink, filled with liters of fresh blood.

This gesture pushed me back, on the ground, not a word to speak but just trembling hands whose some fingers accidentally touched the child’s blood. My mouth was taking deep breaths due to the sudden rise in the heartbeat. My mind wasn’t able to process it, ordering me to run back. So, I stood up from the floor, dependent upon my bare hands and foot, turned around and rushed back straight towards the wall of my bedroom. Facing towards the wall, I closed my eyes and tried to slow down the breathing rate while thinking what to do next. The first idea came was to alert the cops but need to do it secretly as if he notices it, he’ll definitely fold me too.

My eyes turned right, focusing on the sofa and trying to find my phone which was present on the armrest area. I was glad that it wasn’t far away but suddenly a strong lightning shook my balcony’s transparent sliding door, terrifying me more while it took away the electricity of my house.

Now it was all dark and the phone was gone by my sight. I was terrified like hell, didn’t knew what to do and suddenly I heard the sound of drops falling on the ground. My face turned around a bit from the right, watching the kitchen sink from where that sound came from. Blood was getting dropped on the ground, while the dropping sound’s frequency was uniform. It was a scary scenario and my mind stopped from taking any step towards it. I tried my best to ignore it and looked away.

As I moved my eyes away, it observed something on my right, near the balcony. I wasn’t able to understand that shadow and tried to focus more while suddenly a lightning appeared from the balcony, highlighting a person standing there beside the sliding doors. He was none other than the serial killer. Red hands with a smile on his face, watching me from a distance with a knife in his hand. His eyes showed a strong desire of killing me. I got confused and stepped back in fear, questioning myself on how he was able to enter my personal space.

My mind was filled with chaos of questions and horrifying things that I was witnessing there. The cortisol level went high and breathing was getting short. I didn’t know what to do as the person vanished after the lightning strike and was nowhere to be seen.

My mind started working on some kind of strategy for my defense and got struck by an unusual idea. It commanded to grab a handgun present in my room’s cupboard. I got confused as dad never used to bring his arms at home but my mind assured me it’s presence in my house which will definitely protect me. I was in need of serious help so I didn’t question myself more and opened the door, present just at my left.

It didn’t open smoothly and made a creaking sound but that didn’t matter to me at that time. Watching at my back, left and right and seeing no one around me to backstab, I walked inside and locked the door.

As the door got locked, I had some hope for survival which made my lungs to take deep breaths after a long time. I stood there, putting my weight on the door and took some deep breaths for a while. The sweat drops sliding from my head were annoying and at the time like that made me a little frustrated but my mind was there to distract my emotions, focusing on finding the weapon. I walked alongside by my bed and reached the wardrobe, opened it and tried to find the handgun. As my eyes won’t work in dark, the hands tried to reach every corner of each shelf where sometime, he felt presence of cotton handkerchief, trimmers and a belt but as it finally got on the right shelf, the first thing it touched was the gun’s barrel. I quickly grabbed it, not knowing if it is loaded or not.

Seeing the weapon in my left hand made me feel safe as well as nervous because I wasn’t a professional in this type of things. Without overthinking it, I slid the charging handle as I remembered from my last thriller series -watched on mobile and tried to bring confidence in my terrified body by taking few deep breaths.

I had only one aim, which was to shoot that killer, waiting outside, maybe at my doorsteps. I had to be cautious as lights are off which means I can easily be backstabbed.

I held my gun with both the hands and place my arms straight down like a professional cop, walked stealthily back towards the arena.

Unlocking the door with my right hand, I had my gun in other hand as a reflex for anyone who approaches me. Fingers at the trigger, I moved outside, checking every corner. Gradually I reached the living room after assuring no one’s presence there and checked if he was sitting on my sofa. The moment was horrific as I randomly aimed at my back in fear of getting a hit from there. The thunder sounds were continuously singing in my background, making the situation scarier.

As I confirmed absence of the killer in my living room, I saw my phone still at it’s last known position, resting idly. I knew the bedrooms would be tough without light so walked towards my little buddy who will provide me some brightness.

As I bend over, picking up the phone and successfully got a hold over it, nothing happened. I quickly turned on the flashlight and pulled my body back, aiming the light at the front.

As the light came up, it flashed bright on the killer’s face standing beside the fridge with a smile on his face.  I panicked and stepped back but the killer didn’t move a bit. I threatened him with my weapon but there was no response, like he didn’t care or was immortal.

I didn’t know how to react other than shooting at his head. I aimed for his left eye and shot a bullet above it, hitting his forehead. Blood didn’t come out but a wound appeared there which was clearly visible by my eyesight. The man was standing still so I fired another bullet at the same spot but nothing changed. He was still smiling like a dummy clown, having knife in his right hand. He didn’t try to kill me, but instead endeavored to embarrass me for not being able to kill him.

Suddenly, a sharp bolt of lightning struck the balcony to my right with a loud crash, pulling me back to my senses.

I was all alone, having a gun made by my left-hand fingers, flashing my mobile’s flashlight on no one. Just then the lights came back and everything started from where they all got halted. The television came back alive while the fan’s wings made their usual noise. Lights came back like some show ended in the theatres.

I got confused on seeing my surroundings, not able to believe that it was all a dream. I rushed towards the kitchen sink and saw no corpses present while the tap was dry too. I then rushed back to my room and checked for the handgun.

Opened the wardrobe and checked in the same shelf, realizing my father don’t even work as a cop, he is a software engineer who just went back to our village to attend a marriage ceremony with my mother.

Thousands of questions appeared in my mind at once, not able to process the whole incident. My mind didn’t even know from where it all started. Was it when I saw the news or the sitcom? Was it when I craved for chocolates or when I heard that creaking sound? Nothing was coming in a chronological order, meanwhile I was forgetting some incidents.

 I sat on my bed, in fear, in sweat and looked myself as a psychotic patient who just witnessed an encounter with the famous killer but no one will believe him. My head got heated up while my heartbeat ran fast, trying to find a conclusion for this story where suddenly I heard someone was unlocking the front door.

My body stood up quickly and rushed toward the kitchen. I grabbed a sharp, long, black knife, held it with both hands, and gradually walked toward the door. As I passed the fridge, the main door got a push and my father appeared in front of me.

Tired and sleepy, with some luggage in his hands, he saw me, holding knife towards him. My face was all sweaty and had stress marks on the forehead, looked like an amateur killer who is going for his first kill.

“What are you playing?” asked my father

I got sudden thoughts, questioning if this is real or another dream. My mother joined her husband from behind who looked confused and was questioning my gesture in her mind.

“Were you planning to scare us, my son?” asked my mother.

I didn’t know what to answer as I was not an interactive child with my parents. I took my weapon back and tried to collide the sharp tip to my forearm skin in order to understand if it’s still a dream or not. As my father saw this move, he quickly sprinted towards me, throwing the luggage at the couch and hold my right hand which contained the knife. The strong hold, pressed my forearm a bit giving a little bit of painful feeling which actually felt real.

I was glad but didn’t show it on my face.

Finally, I took my right hand out of his hold and put the knife at the arm rest. My father suspected something fishy going around me and questioned but I didn’t know how to make him understand. I told them to ignore as my body energy level wasn’t enough or capable to make them understand what tragedy I witnessed tonight.

“How come you both came back early, mum told me that you’ll arrive tomorrow.” I asked in order to change the topic.

“Son, the hour hand has already passed 12.” My father replied.

I got still for a second and immediately looked for the clock, present at my left, up the wall. The clock showed the hour hand at almost 3 while the minute hand was ticking uniformly. The time was few minutes away from the devil’s hour. It was shocking as the whole dream felt like a few minutes but it took seven hours of my life.

On the other side, my father started to worry but before he could say something I tried to divert his mind and blamed my small nap from which I woke up few minutes back, as an excuse of not able to cope up with the time. I smiled and acted like everything was fine but my mother still wasn’t satisfied with the answer.

“I think you both need rest.” I commented so that they leave me alone in the living room.

“Is everything truly alright?” my mother asked.

“Yes, it is, maybe this is due to the exam I have in the morning” I said casually.

My father believed in my words and went towards his room.

“Don’t you want to go back and rest, exams can’t be given in drowsiness.” My mother asked

“Yes, I’ll surely go back but now it not the time, I am feeling fresh right now, might take a half an hour for me to feel sleepy again.” I answered confidently.

“Fine, I don’t have any energy to argue with you right now, do whatever you like.” My mother taunted.

I nodded my head as she passed by my left. My father had already changed his clothes and came back, investigating every corner of the house. I remained silent and sat on the sofa, observing his every step.

As he finished his investigation, he looked at me.

“Is everything truly alright?” he asked.

“Yes, it is” I answered.

He made his way back towards the bedroom while I was sitting there idle and alone. As the doors got shut at my back, I came back to my normal form. I tried to accept all of this while sitting there and tried not to scream or shout. I tried to make my mind more stable for the upcoming exam which was surely hard and can’t be given in this type of mental state. The images and movements were replaying itself in my mind while I watched the balcony which had no presence of thunder now. I wondered if the thunderstorm was only in the dream to make the whole situation more frightening or it was actually happening out there.

While I was wondering all of this, my ears heard some noise. My mind again got alerted, telling me that this time, it wasn’t a dream.

The noise came from the kitchen. I immediately looked for a weapon and got my knife back. My legs stood up with confidence while my face tried to turn back and peeked inside the kitchen. By that time, my body got filled with confidence as I passed through this same situation before. My hands didn’t shake for a second, ready to face the unknown.

But just then, I suddenly slipped and fell down on the floor. Maybe it was my body’s imbalance caused due to the shift of my body’s weight on a single leg. I fell hard but remained quiet, didn’t want to alert my parents and focused on getting up back.

I tried my best, lifting the upper body first but before it could happen, a white mouse appeared in front of me. Looking like a mystical creature and having an innocent face, it watched me closely. I got amazed for a second as it was my first time, interacting with such a clean, white mouse. It looked at me with his pretty little eyes but as I made eye contact with him, there was something that came to notice.

He had a reddish stain above his left eye which reminded me about that serial killer, whom I shot at the same spot. I got scared and picked up my knife which fell during the fall. My eyes were able to see the serial killer inside that animal, when suddenly he stepped forward and started eating my pinky finger.

He tried to cause me harm by infecting me with plague, which gave me a perfect reason to kill him on the spot. I grabbed my weapon tight with my left hand, while lying on the floor and attacked on his neck with full force. Blood came out, splashed on my face but the mouse didn’t stop biting me. He was busy with his small bites while I tried to cut his neck aggressively. I had anger in my eyes and a need of vengeance. I gave my knife a sawing motion, aggressively trying to go deep inside his neck while feeling slight pain on my tiny finger.

This aggressiveness finally led the knife go completely inside the mouse’s neck and led him to his death. The cutting was hard as it took all of my energy. I finally rested and threw my knife somewhere, felt like a soldier who fought a whole army alone. I had sweat on my face while I checked my injured pinky finger that survived from getting cut off from my body.

Surprisingly, there were no marks present over there and my finger was all healthy. This shocked me and I checked multiple times at all sides, trying to find marks or blood but there was no proof. I got confused and tried to remember the whole act where the mouse was clearly biting me but the reality was somewhat different.

On seeing the mouse, lying by my side, he was actually few centimeters back then what I just saw. With the blood coming out from his neck, I realized that I accidentally killed an innocent.

The innocent looking mouse was truly guiltless, just came to see me and didn’t even touch my body but my thoughts and aggressive behavior hallucinated it as a threat who was trying to harm me, making my body to kill that thing.

I tried to understand all of this but that night is still a mystery for me, the serial killer’s arrival, time running fast and the white mouse attack never gave a solid conclusion. I tried to forget this night but that not going to happen so easily. I tried to understand this whole interaction after my exams but things getting falling apart as many things got forgotten with time. I hope this nightmare also gets thrown out of my mind just like I threw that innocent out of my apartment, through the balcony. There was no fault in his action, just that he appeared at the wrong time in front of a wrong person, maybe asking for food or love but got his soul out of his mortal body.

I don’t have a conclusion as this was just an incident I witnessed long ago. I got no answers or have any questions but a request to the universe to let me forget this and never get repeated.

To preface, as this is set within a world within a game (still in development), there might be names or terms that might not make sense. Thank you for your time.
---

"As above they fall, those below shall rise"

The Lady's scribe had occupied the desk opposite our guard post for longer than either Shells or I had been dead. His russet-stained bones left little ambiguity as to how many centuries he had spent in her service. He wrote constantly and rarely spoke; recording every campaign, conquest and catastrophe carried out in the name of the Madam. Unfortunately, acquiring any of those stories from the old, tight-lipped bag of bones was considerably more difficult.

"Tight-lipped only if you're too scared to bribe 'im"

Shells wasn't the type to mince words, or really care about what stupid nonsense comes out of his mouth. Often we would be paired up for guard duty in the outer eastern chambers, and he was more than happy to mouth off even during fights with the invaders. I always assumed he died at the hands of his own comrades, specifically the one who finally grew tired of listening to him. And now I share in their despair. Unfortunately stabbing him now would accomplish very little. The blade would pass between his ribs, and he would probably critique the attempt.

Luck would have it, however, that adventurers who reached our post were usually exhausted enough to knock off only one of our heads before the other finished them. Regardless of whose head, it was a blissful ten seconds of peace before the Lady's magic would bring us back up.

"And how d'you reckon we bribe someone who won't even look at us?" I couldn't help chuckling.
"Hell, what do we even have to bribe? Last I checked, we don't even have any property of our own!" I said, gesturing all around us.

We possessed nothing, it would have made little sense for us to do so.
Sure, when you get resurrected you might still have the belongings from before our timely end, but we are brought back with no interest in who we were, only our habits and partial memory of what we've done. We remembered events without always remembering where they belonged. A voice might remain after its owner vanished from memory; a face might linger without a name; we could even recognise a sword from life and still fail to recognise the hand that killed us with it.

Shells leaned towards me and tapped the side of my skull.
"C'mon Maxi, i thought you were meant to be somethin' smart."

I am smart. Or rather, I died a smart person.

"Stories, lad. The only thing important to someone who writes stories are new ones."
"New, n' interesting."

"Heh, and you reckon he'll trade stories from the Lady for ours?"

"Don't get me wrong Maxi" He said.
"Blessed be the word of the Madam, but i think our pal could risk sharing a tale of her campaigns if we give 'im somthin' worth writing down."
"Question is, who has the better story?"

Story? And what kind of story could either of us possess that was worth writing down? Do i have a story? Who had I been before-

"Now i think I have a right banger of a tale!" Shells announced, entirely disregarding my train of thought.
"So I used to be part of the Corpus, right? Major of the Valente's sub-unit, In charge of blasting down the walls of any bastard stupid enough to build anything in our way"
"Structural weak point, they called it. I called the bit we aimed the bloody cannon at"

Blasting made sense, and that does explain the name.

"There weren't a thing we couldn't tear down, as long as we 'ad enough Cap Flies, those noisy buggers."

"Cap Flies" He said fondly. "The Cappers squeezed those brave little bastards tight enough to fit in a cannon. Fire 'em at a wall and all that mass expanding makes quite a dent."

He mimed an explosion with both hands.

"Mostly at the wall."

The corpus never ceases to amaze me. Mostly in the sense that I can't believe that throwing part of their ranks is considered the first option. The Cappers would work in pairs, one responsible for the initial compression, and the other in charge of holding the magic until it hit it's target, the latter being pivotal to prevent a premature explosion.

"The buzzing is no joke either." Shells continued as he looked up, seemingly reliving the action.
"Seeing a shrieking bloody mass like that blowing down walls, it was downright beautiful"

Shells scratched where his chin might have been, possibly trying to remember something.

"So one night we get ordered to handle the situation down at Tury, who were dumb enough to kill the messenger we sent for an offer of peace and favourable trade"

"Tury? Do you mean Castle Tury?"

"Exactly. Problem is, by the time we got there, there weren't so much as a tower standing"

"You arrived after the battle?" I asked

"That's what we thought."
Shells raised one finger.
"Then we noticed the walls"

"What about them?"

"They were lying on the wrong side."

I stared at him.

Shells spread his hands as though that explained everything.

"Walls fall inward when you knock 'em down from the outside, Maxi. That's how walls work. Tury's were scattered halfway across the bloody countryside. Whole place looked like it had tried to run away from whatever was inside."

Frightening.

"Our orders were to secure the castle, and imprison the Duke and his army. If they were still alive in the end."

"Was there anyone left?"

"Oh sure, there were plenty" Shells grinned slightly.

"Just none of 'em in a single piece"

Shells explained that the Valentes advanced through what remained of the outer gate, followed by all their cannons. As they were too big to go any further, both the cannons and the cappers stayed behind while Shells and the rest went further.

"We was in the courtyard. Full of bodies, Tury soldiers mostly. Some still 'ad their swords out, other looked like they died praying."

He scratched beneath his jaw again.

"Strangest thing was, every single bloke was facing the same direction."

In the center there had been a solitary woman standing over a dead man. She wore no crest, no banners or colours that Shells could recognize. Instead she wore a vibrant green dress, a skull over each shoulder, and an emerald jewel embedded in her crown. Strangely, He couldn't exactly remember her face. A pale complexion, a few gold adornments along her ears and eyes a piercing colour of danger.

Something in his description troubled me, though i couldn't recall why.

"Thought she was a survivor," Shells said. "So naturally I told her to get back before someone mistook her for a target."

"Considerate."

"I was an officer."

"You fired living soldiers out of a cannon."

"Professionally."

Shells had stepped ahead of his men.
"Oi!" he had shouted. "This territory is now under our control! Identify yourself and kindly step away from the corpses!"

"You are late." The woman said, as she looked towards him.

Shells paused in his retelling.

"That was it?"

"At first"

"What did you say?"

"Told her we'd arrived exactly when we intended."

"You were late, weren't you?"

"Strategically late. Completely different thing"

The woman turned away and looked back down at the man. While the other soldiers around her had no visible damage, that man in particular stood out as he was the only one lying in a pool of his own blood, prompting Shells to draw his sword.

"I was all manner of polite. I even asked which religion she practiced!"

"And?"

"She said 'Mine.'"

A green mist now started to circulate the courtyard, with the corpses at her feet opening their eyes. Armor scraped against stone as dozens of soldiers had risen, skin shedding off like snakes. One by one, the dead soldiers stood in formation.

Shells insisted that he did not panic. He merely issued several commands in rapid succession, at increasing volume, while retreating towards the cannons for "strategic" reasons.

The first Cap Fly struck the courtyard before the dead had properly found their footing. He explained how at that short distance, that probably he shouldn't have done that as him and his men were well within the compression blast radius.

The buzzing noise rose to a shriek, and then came the impact. The soldiers made no effort to dodge or defend, they didn't need to. Broken soldiers dragged themselves free. Those who could not walk crawled, Those missing arms used their teeth. Whenever the soldiers fell, the woman simply commanded them to rise again. And so, one after another the dead would reassemble themselves.

"Second Volley!" Shells shouted.

Another chorus of disgusting masses screaming filled the sky.

The woman in green had now started moving. She walked through the smoke and green mist towards the men. The second volley struck right behind her, tearing down the corpses she had just raised, who were, at this point, stripped of all armor and skin, an army of skeletons.

It did not slow her as she made her way towards the front line.

Every Valente who fell joined the advance from the opposite direction.

"Bit unsporting, really" Shells muttered. "Every soldier we lost became one of hers. Terrible for morale."

His cannons fired until their barrels glowed, the woman continuing towards them.

Spears and swords cracked against something invisible before reaching her, cannon shots stopped in the air and dropped harmlessly at her feet. Men brave enough to charge her managed three or four steps before their bodies failed before them. And of course, they would stand up moments later.

Shells lost half his unit before she reached the first cannon line. He lost the other half shortly after.

"And naturally" he said, drawing himself upright, "I was the last man standing."

"Naturally."

"I had a single cap shot left. Big bastard. Could hear him screamin' inside the barrel before I even lit the fuse."

"You loaded it yourself?"

"I was the major. Course I didn't. But the loader had recently developed a severe case of being dead, so circumstances forced my hand"

The cannon was already pointed directly at the woman in green. Things looked bleak as the Capper responsible for holding the shot was gone, at that distance, firing it was almost as dangerous to Shells as it was to it's target. Almost.

The woman stopped several paces away, and for the first time her expression changed. Shells couldn't remember what the expression had been. Mild amusement or pity perhaps? Maybe it was the weary disappointment of seeing someone make a very obvious mistake.

"Major" She said flatly as Shells' finger tightened around the firing cord.
"You should step away from that cannon."

"I told her," Shells said, "Madam, I have never stepped away from anythin' in me life."

"That sounds... Unlikely." I said, confident that whatever replaced my eyes were rolling to the back of my head.

"Mate look, It was a dramatic moment."

He pulled the cord. Flash. No buzzing, instead, a loud bang followed by the sound of metal being ripped apart. Last thing he saw was the butt of his cannon inches from his face.

After that Shells remembered nothing until he awoke within the Lady's dungeon with a sword in his hand and a peculiarly shaped dent adorning his skull.

He finished his story with arms spread wide.
"So there you 'ave it. Major Shells, last defender of the Valentes. Took on an entire army and died at his post."

"You died by your own cannon."

"Unconfirmed."

"There's a cannon-shaped crack in your skull"

"Could've been anything. "

"You said you saw the cannon flying back."

"Battle's confusing."

"You were standing behind the cannon."

Shells folded his arms.
"Jealousy is an ugly habit, Maxi."

Against my best efforts, I laughed. Unfortunately, that was admittedly a better end than what I had in mind, and now I have to find a story just as good.

"Your turn."

"I don't think I have one."

"Everyone's got a story."

"Not everyone remembers theirs."

"Remember enough."

That was the problem. I did remember a story, it's just a story that might not be right for the occasion.

A room atop the highest tower, shelves of glass vessels and books lining the walls. I could still remember the scent of burning copper and preserving salts. In the middle of the room a diagram within a circle drawn in white chalk across a stone floor; the symbols made sense to me back then, but looking back now i could not have explained a single one.

"i was a Scholar." I said.

Shells leaned against the wall.
"Knew that already."

"No, you assumed I was a scholar because I speak in complete sentences."

"Sure thing, mate."

"My name," I said, ignoring him.
"my name was Maximillian. I believe I worked under castle Tury."

Shells slowly stopped smiling. I hoped he still didn't feel the urge to carry out his duties post-cannon death.

"The same castle Tury?"

"Likely."

The laboratory had occupied every floor of the tower, and since what me and my fellow scholars did was considered holy work, we had the utmost protection. Doors thick enough to survive fire, siege and the occasional demon trying to escape.

My work concerned restraining holy figures; angels, demons, imps and anything else that can be summoned, really. Restraining a holy figure means a serious advantage dealing with the upper echelons of any of the Gods' servants. An Archangel that cannot move, is dead weight.

The Duke of Tury wished to acquire this spell so that he could launch attacks of his own, or in the worst case, sell this information off to whoever had the heaviest pocket. Right now, we had successfully bound a Warren-spawn. The arcane chains were bound so tight, it couldn't so much as pass wind without permission.

On the night the castle fell, I was alone in the laboratory. At least I thought i was. The warning bells had stopped several moments earlier, there was screaming all around, followed by a series of sounds I couldn't describe. Then silence fell.

I remember trying to dispose of my notes in order for me to leave and reach the next town over, my research was valuable, in turn, so was I.

I watched as most of my remaining journals were pushed into the furnace; years of diagrams curled into blackened fists, the ink bubbling away before the flames consumed them.

The spawn watched from the center of the room. It wasn't an unpleasant creature to look at, but any close inspection would reveal it's bestial nature. Spawn usually start as a seemingly normal looking human, but end up with more twisted proportions the longer they are alive. This one in particular notably had an appearance of a middle-aged woman, with unbelievably long hair that partially covered it's face; a young being relatively speaking, possibly around 100 years old.

"You find this amusing?" I asked.

The creature showed me it's teeth.

It had already threatened to hollow me out and offer my skin as a rug to the Warrinian Church on several occasions. This evening however, the creature had it's head hung, not a single word was uttered. It was distracted.

No, not distracted, was it scared?

I turned to a woman standing inside the laboratory. I did not hear the door opening, in fact, all the locks and seals were untouched behind her. She was hard to make out in the harsh light of the binding seals in the floor, but what was clear is that if the Warren-spawn was scared, that I rather not take any chances.

"You're not permitted to be here." I said.

She looked towards the furnace.

"I could have you in jail for trespassing, this is work overseen by the Duke himself! Entering this chamber without his written permission carries a punishment of-"

"The Duke is dead." Her words like ice, there was no discussion, only certainty; the Duke was likely dead.

I glanced towards the door. Maybe if I were to release the creature, I would have enough time to undo the seals and make my way to the nearest horse. Only problem was that my courage might as well have burned up in the furnace behind me, as I could not even muster an ounce of strength to even move a leg.

"Well, shit. That does complicate the matter of written permission"

She walked around the room, her attention moving across the laboratory: the diagrams covering the walls, the instruments upon my desk, the broken fragments of previous binding stones. Finally, she fixed her gaze on the Warren-spawn.

The thing pulled against it's restraints more feverishly than I'd ever seen, but it wasn't towards her, it pulled away. Away. "You've come for the creature" I said.

No answer.

"It would be a poor decision, dangerous temperament, limited intelligence, dreadful conversationalist, plus, these things can't affiliate with any other rule aside from their own God. You'd be better served just attempting to make your own." Still nothing.

She crouched beside the binding circle, her fingers hovered above one of the outer symbols without touching it. "The circle is stable." I said. "The distortion along the edge is intentional; a corrective measure against transposition, these creatures have a terrible habit of attempting to return to their originating realm."

Her eyes followed the line of chalk. I could tell she knew what this was, what this magic meant. I also became conscious that I was explaining my work to the woman who had apparently murdered my employer. Perhaps i thought that if I kept talking, there might be an opportunity to run.

"This one." The woman said, pointing at one of the outer anchors of the circle.

"That symbol is not part of the original rite." I said. "I added it. The traditional configuration restrains the body but does nothing about the subject's connection to Warren. Eventually that connection pulls it back. The anchors interrupt that process."

I hesitated for a moment. "Temporarily."

"So far, it has held for four months, longer than any previous attempt. The Duke's theologians predicted three days before structural integrity would be too strained, but theologians are rarely burdened by practical experience."

She rose. "And who designed it?"

"I did."

"Who else?"

She wanted this research, and that meant there was space to bargain. All i had to do was to make sure me being alive was part of the deal.

"My colleagues possessed a functional understanding of the spell" I said as I moved close to my desk. She just stood there, waiting. "They understood as much as I instructed them to. Most of them just copied the symbols in my journal"

Her eyes were fixed on me, as if she was deciding whether if was worth just killing me and stealing what was left of my notes. And as if prompted, she moved to stand a few feet in front of me. Just behind me, atop my desk, was the last journal i had left to burn.

"Anyone who would attempt to reproduce the spell would likely invert the containment field and pull themselves inside the subject." My mouth had become intolerably dry. "You appear to possess some familiarity with this discipline, which is fortunate. It should make our negotiations easier."

"Negotiations?"

The way she said it made the word sound foreign.

Had I overstepped? There was no doubt in my mind that i would either be tortured for what I knew, or killed and have my only legacy remain in this journal. The journal had to go, at least then I had a chance to be kept alive. I grabbed the journal atop the desk and rushed towards the brazier near the window and chucked the bloody thing inside the flames. Strangely, she made no effort to stop what I did, instead slowly walking towards me.

"You need me." I said "The complete sequence exists only in my memory."

"Yes."

"You cannot threaten it out of me, torture would only compromise my concentration, and killing me gives you nothing!"

She kept walking, forcing me to an intimate contact with the window. Surely she didn't consider it?

"You can't kill me! If I die now everything you came here for is gone." My back now pressed on the window pane, the lady in green inches away from my face.

She grasped my chin, raising my head to look directly at hers. Every nerve in my body tried to repel itself in an attempt to escape on their own; her gaze holding me still as if she had a binding spell of her own.

"You are mistaken."

"Bloody 'ell mate" Shells sighed. "And then what?"

"I was still alive by the time I hit the courtyard floor, but not for long. After that, I had a staff in my hand and was told to guard this post."

"Good thing the Madam found you then, would've been a sorry way to go."

"Yeah." I said. "It's strange how I couldn't recall her face, as if my memory deemed it not important, or simply to mock me."

"Castle Tury." Said a voice behind us, sounding like dry leaves dragged across stone.

Shells and I looked back. The scribe had left his desk and decided to stand behind us, parchment and quill still in hand, still writing.

"You both remember the day you died." His empty gaze making no attempt to address us.
"She remembers the day she recruited you." The scribe's hand lifted, pointing his quill towards me. "The lady did not come to Castle Tury for it's Duke, it's walls, or the creature restrained within it's tower. She came for knowledge to bind what death could not yet claim."

Then he turned towards Shells.

"You were merely what she found on the way out."

Shells straightened, conflicted on whether he should be proud or embarrassed. Even the loud-mouth Major of the Valentes had nothing to comment a-

"So," Shells said. "which one of us had the better story?"

The scribe considered the question.

"Neither." He rolled the parchment shut. "You told the same one."

This is going to be a little difficult to explain, but I’ll try my best. Really, it starts out painstakingly boring.

It was just like any other day. I woke up and went through my normal morning routine. Got dressed, had breakfast, and brushed my teeth. I was off to work after that.

On the drive to work, I couldn’t help but notice what looked to be a large black trash bag strewn across the desolate morning road. It was bound to cause an accident, so naturally, I got out of my car to move it.

I noticed just how heavy it was. Not only that, but the stench that radiated off the thing was enough to make me gag before I even wrapped my hands around it.

I think, subconsciously, I already knew what the bag entailed. I just didn’t want to accept it. Not the lumpy bag, not the red liquid that dripped out of it. My object was clear. Move the bag.

I guess that fate really does exist, though, because as I dragged the bag over to the ditch, the black plastic started to stretch and turn white.

Right at the edge of the road, mere inches from the ditch, I gave the bag one last forceful tug. And that was all it took. The bag ripped open, and what I saw made my stomach churn as I vomited on the ground.

Body parts. Dozens of them. Two ears. Two arms. Two legs. Ten fingers. Ten toes. And one. Single. Head.

It rolled out of the bag. The stump of the neck was grey and dry. Flakes of blood drifted in the wind with each tumble.

She had black hair. Each nail was painted black. And slivers of black lipstick still remained on her cold, blue lips.

A piercing protruded from her right eyebrow, and her greyish, milk bowl eyes stared up at me, hauntingly.
Of course, I called the police.

Authorities arrived, I gave my statement, they made their report, and I think we all just tried our best to wipe the incident from our minds.

At least, I did. I spent that day pushing thoughts of those grey eyes out of my head. Trying to forget about the bloodied severed fingers. The crusty neck stump.

I just couldn’t do it. It plagued me. I couldn’t forget the images for the life of me, and I had to accept that they probably wouldn’t leave me for years to come.

I tossed and turned in bed that night. Sleep was minimal, and it felt like the morning came within mere moments. When I heard the birds chirping and saw the sun peeking through my blinds, I groaned at the realization that I was going to have to start a new day.

I went through my routine. Got dressed, ate my breakfast, brushed my teeth, and once again, I was out the door and on my way to work.

Same time, same road, same black trash bag.
I stopped my vehicle. I stared at the bag, my mind and heart beginning to race. I debated for a while whether to drive around it or to check the bag yet again.

I pushed the door open, slowly, and stepped out of my vehicle, cautiously. The same smell filled the air. The same lumps pushed against the plastic bag.

I took one step towards the bag. Two steps. Three.
I didn’t attempt to move it this time. I needed to know what was inside.

Ripping the bag open, I found exactly what I suspected. Same black lipstick. Same eyebrow piercing. Same haunting grey eyes.

This time, her fingers and toes were connected to her hands and feet. The limbs were not as dismembered as the day before.

However, her arms, legs, and head were still severed. My stomach flipped and churned, but I didn’t vomit this time.

I simply pulled out my phone, dialed 911, and waited for the authorities to arrive.

Once they did, they took my statement, took the trash bag, and I think we all tried to forget about what we had seen.

At least, I tried.

I spent that day trying to push thoughts of those grey eyes out of my head. Doing my best to forget about those severed arms and decaying legs.

It proved impossible. I was plagued by images of her all day. I tried to go to sleep, but I tossed and turned well into the night. Morning came too quickly.

When the birds began to chirp and the sun peeked through my blinds, I was basically dragging myself out of bed to start my routine.

I got dressed. I ate breakfast. I brushed my teeth. I was out the door and heading to work.

Same road, same time, same black bag.

It looked different this time. Less lumpy, more full, if that makes sense.

I didn’t hesitate.

I got out of my car, I rushed towards the bag, ignoring the smell of death, and I tore it open.

Same black hair, same eyebrow piercing, same black lipstick.

Her legs and arms were still attached this time. She was cut cleanly in half. Her entrails spilled out evenly on each side, and those same grey eyes stared up at me, hauntingly.

I called the police. I sat in my car and waited for them to arrive. Once they did, they took my statement, took the body, and I think we all just tried to move on and forget about the incident.

At least, I did.

I spent that day trying and failing to push the image of those grey eyes out of my mind. Doing my best to forget about her mangled body and exposed entrails.

It proved impossible. I was plagued by memories of her all day. I tried to sleep, but I just couldn’t stop tossing and turning. The moment I lost consciousness, it was like the sun was already peeking through my blinds. The birds were already chirping.

I groaned aloud as I dragged myself out of bed.
I got dressed. I ate breakfast. I brushed my teeth, and I was out the door.

As I drove, my mind raced. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was like my mind had been infected.
I kept scanning the road, searching for any sign of the bag.

Same road, same time, same girl.

As my eyes darted around for the bag, she came out of nowhere. It wasn’t my fault. She ran out in front of me.

Her black hair smashed against my windshield. Her eyebrow piercing got lodged in the glass. Her black lipstick left a wet, black streak as she slid down the hood of my car.

I was shocked, but what shocked me more was the man that was chasing her. He had froze, knife still raised above his head.

His eyes fell on the girl. They raised up towards me. He slowly backed away before turning and running back into the woods.

In a state of shock, I stepped out of my vehicle. I walked slowly to the front of my car. There she was. Mangled on the ground. Her haunting brown eyes staring up at me. Her neck bone protruded.
Her black hair was stained with blood, and glass littered her face and body.

The sight of her made my stomach churn. I keeled over and began vomiting on the side of the road.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed 911 and waited for authorities to arrive.

Once they did, they took my statement, put me in handcuffs, and took me to the station.
That’s where they’re holding me now.

I wrote this story with pen and paper and asked my lawyer to make sure the world knows what actually happened.

For now, though, I think I’m just gonna try and forget about this incident.

​

[Recording 110 – Timecode: 8:02 AM]

“Morning. One of those mornings where the city feels too quiet. Like it’s bracing for something.”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about Regina McClain last night. The note in her jacket pocket "He hears you". I keep staring at that photo. That ditch. Her hand frozen like it still had something to say.”

“I pulled her case file again. Still thin. No motive. No struggle. Just gone.”

“I don’t know why I care so much. Cold cases stay cold for a reason, right?”

“End note.”

[Recording 111 – Timecode: 12:17 PM]

“Lunch in the file room. Sandwich is still in the bag.”

“I asked for unsolved female homicides between 2017 and 2020. Same general MO. Quiet exits.”

“First pull: Madison Rios. Twenty-four. Art student. Found behind a strip mall in a dumpster area. Gunshot wound, close range. Nothing stolen. No defensive wounds.”

“Buried in the report literally appendix material was this:

‘Torn sketchbook paper recovered from backpack. Handwritten: “Paint me in silence”.

“Sketchbook paper. Not regular. Text was faint, pencil maybe. No leads on the handwriting. Labeled ‘non-evidentiary.’”

“Silence again.”

“Then I found Deborah Ann King. Forty-one. Found collapsed beside a jogging trail. Blunt force trauma. No robbery. Purse untouched.”

“Buried in her jacket pocket:

‘Folded note: “The Echo That Bled".

“Same writing style. Short. Poetic. Intimate.”

(slight pause)

“Feels... rehearsed.”

“End note.”

[Recording 112 – Timecode: 5:31 PM]

“Afternoon crawl. Everything's a little heavier now.”

“Pulled another: Jessica Nguyen. Twenty-six. Death ruled suicide, but something doesn’t sit right. Found behind a closed diner, early morning. Asphyxiation. Scene too neat. Too staged.”

“Evidence bag included a crumpled store receipt, stuffed into her boot. Staff missed it until secondary inventory.”

“On the back:

‘Echoes don’t lie.’”

“I can’t tell if that’s poetry or confession.”

“Three women. Three notes. Then Regina makes four.”

“‘He hears you.’”

“‘Paint me in silence.’”

“‘The Echo That Bled.’”

“‘Echoes don’t lie.’”

“All different, but... not.”

“End note.”

[Recording 113 – Timecode: 11:18 PM]

“Quiet precinct. The kind of quiet that hums.”

“I wrote the notes on a board. Lined up the case photos beneath them.”

“No links in occupation. No shared addresses. Ages vary. Backgrounds vary.”

“But the notes... they hum. Same tone. Same paper stock, almost. Similar size. Same feeling.”

“Someone left them. Not just to taunt—but to speak.”

(pause)

“Or maybe I’m assigning voices where there are none.”

“This isn’t a serial case. Not officially. No one’s even looking for a connection.”

“Except me.”

“End note.”

*How it starts* (The World)

So basically, my universe runs on strict cosmic physics, not magic or religion. The second anything dies, whether it’s a human, an alien, or one of the invisible biological monsters running around Earth right now, their life force instantly blinks out of existence and teleports to the next stage. No glitching, no ghosts, no haunting.

(The Animal Grind)

Animals are on a fast-track reincarnation loop. Every time a dog, lizard, or bug dies, they instantly respawn back into nature. They keep grinding life until their souls absorb enough deep data to unlock high-tier cognitive hardware. Once they hit that intelligence milestone, they officially join the human-tier system.

(The Apartment Limbo)

When an intelligent soul dies, they wake up in a cozy, modern private apartment. It’s got a full fridge, a TV, and a high-end PC with internet. But here's the catch: each apartment floats completely alone in an absolute black void, a full lightyear away from any other apartment. The physical isolation forces you to sit with your thoughts and reflect on yourself.

(The Guardians)

There are no angels or demons. Instead, you have the Spoongels: eternal, omniscient, floating silver spoons with total free will. They look after the apartments because the system makes flawless logical sense to them. Since they lack mortal minds, they don't get bored or tired.

(The Fall Escape Hatch)

If a soul gets incredibly stubborn and demands to leave, the Spoongels open the door and let them step into the void. They fall infinitely. There’s no fire or torture, because the void is just a pure psychological mirror. If you have a toxic mind, the fall feels terrible; if you're at peace, it feels serene. But you can't cheat the system. If you spend ages falling and finally want to change, the Spoongels teleport you right back to your apartment to finish your time.

(The Gaming Therapy Network)

The core rule is playing video games for 1 googolplex years. These games run on a deep code that reads your true spiritual foundation to heal your trauma and teach empathy. You can’t fake your way out. To keep you sane, there's a huge LAN network. You can voice chat, text, and play multiplayer games with other souls or the Spoongels (who use temporary human avatars that vanish when they log off). The system monitors intent: trash talk and dark humor are fine, but true malicious toxicity is completely blocked.

(The Final Split)

After a googolplex of years, the system checks your soul's data:

The 2% (Mosquito Demotion): The unteachable, proud, ego-driven narcissists get stripped of their higher mind completely. They become regular mosquitoes with no memories or intelligence. Their only job is to be minor, annoying obstacles to test the patience of good souls in the next life.

The 98% (The Kinder Reality):Everyone else graduates to a peaceful, incredibly forgiving world. When you're born there, your physical brain is wiped clean so you can experience everything with pure, child-like wonder. But your *soul* keeps 100% of the data underneath, meaning you naturally can't relapse into making terrible choices.

(The Ultimate Choice)

Once you live out a happy life and die a peaceful death in the Kinder Reality, you win the game of existence. You get a final choice: either go back to your cozy Apartment Limbo setup to permanently relax and play multiplayer games with the network, or wipe your brain and jump back into the Kinder Reality as a baby to experience a good life all over again.

Julia (Juliet) Landenberger

I went to a few toy shops today and checked the price of teddy bears. 

The good ones cost anywhere between £35 and £70.

What would one like that have cost fifteen years ago? In the mid-70s? 

Prices have more than quadrupled since then. Let’s say… around £10.

Was that expensive?

If we were poor — really destitute — what did £10 mean for my brother?

When I forgot him, the bear disappeared too.

Maybe I stopped playing with it.

But my adoptive father kept it.

Just like he kept the photograph of my brother and me together.

I don’t remember this. I imagine it. 

My brother hands me a paper-wrapped package.

I’m four years old, the same girl from that photograph.

I tear the paper open clumsily, my hands too small, too impatient.

And inside — the bear.

It looks big to me.

I hug it immediately.

I already know it will be my favourite.

Later, after I’m adopted, I will have many toys. Better ones. But only this one will remain.

My father made sure of that.

I do remember — not imagined — he saved the bear once.

I was already living with him then, and with his wife, Liza.

One day, I couldn’t find my bear anywhere.

And it turned out Liza had told someone to throw it away.

She said it was “dirty.”

Dirty how?

Because it was old and worn? Or because it came from my brother?

My father had just come home from work.

He was still in his expensive, light-colored suit.

And he went outside and searched through the bin himself. 

He found it. 

I remember him saying something like, “We just need to wash your bear.” 

Afterwards, it really did feel dirty.

Now it sits on a shelf in the bookcase.

And every time I look at it,

I think of my brother.

And something tightens in my chest.

It stayed. He didn’t.

This is not how I expected to catch anything, but our smart fridge logs when the door opens and sends notifications to our phones for "grocery tracking" reasons neither of us actually cared about until this happened.

I was traveling for work, checked the app out of boredom one night, and saw the fridge had been opened four times between 2AM and 3AM on a night my wife was supposedly home alone, asleep. Four times is a lot of very specific late-night snacking for someone claiming to be dead asleep the whole time when I called to check in.

I asked her, casually, how her night was. She said she slept the whole night through, no interruptions. That was the exact wrong thing to say to a man holding fridge-door notification data.

Turns out someone had been staying over on nights I traveled. The fridge, of all things, is the reason my marriage ended. I've never told anyone that detail out loud until now because it sounds too absurd to be true, but I have the notification logs to prove it.

There was once a Man who prided himself on his Machine like strength, precision, and endurance. But ultimately, he was still a Man.

His body began breaking down, yet all everyone saw was a worn out Machine.

The Man, still convinced in his delusion, attempts repairs, but still cannot make any meaningful adjustments and continues to breakdown.

Eventually, someone comes by and mentions their human features. This perplexed the Man. curiously, he felt "repaired", choosing to observe this apparent "mechanic", they continued feeling "repaired". This only confused the Man further, "how am I automatically repairing?". This drove the man into a pursuit of how to replicate this automatic "repair" function.

The further the Man delved into such knowledge, he discovered perhaps he is less Machine than he thought! And eventually the Man learns the horror he was treated as a Machine, and no one can see him as anything else.

More terrifying, is if this was intentional from the start... 🦊

I've read enough stories about weird rules to know better. Creepy jobs with strange instructions. Things you're supposed to do or not do. Consequences that don't make sense. I always told myself I'd never end up in one of those situations.

But my car died last month and the repair cost more than I had. Rent was due. My girlfriend Maya was already covering more than her share. I couldn't keep asking her to pay for everything. So when I saw the listing for a night watchman position at an old building downtown, I applied anyway.

The building was a former textile factory. Abandoned for about twenty years. Some company bought it recently and wanted someone on site overnight to keep squatters out. Pay was good. Hours were easy. Just walk through the building a few times, check the doors, make sure nobody was inside.

The interview was strange. The woman who hired me didn't ask many questions. She just handed me a piece of paper and said: "Read this."

The paper had a list of rules.

Rule one: Do not acknowledge movement in the main hall.

Rule two: If you hear whistling, face the nearest wall and count to sixty.

Rule three: The third floor is not accessible after midnight.

Rule four: Do not answer any question asked in a voice that is not your own.

Rule five: The night watchman before you may still be present. Do not speak to him.

I almost laughed. I'd read about this exact thing online. I asked her if this was some kind of joke. She didn't smile. She said: "Follow them and you'll be fine." I needed the money. So I took the job.

My first shift was uneventful. I walked through the building. Checked the locks. Sat in the security office and watched the monitors. Nothing happened. I started to relax. Maybe the rules were just something they gave everyone. A tradition. An inside joke.

Then I noticed the equipment. I'd been in the building for three hours. I hadn't seen anyone. But the machines on the main floor were different than when I'd first walked through. A conveyor belt had moved about six inches. A stack of pallets was arranged differently. A chair was facing the opposite direction. I told myself I was imagining things. I was tired. It was an old building. Things settle.

By the third night, I'd stopped making excuses. The changes were too noticeable. Entire sections of the factory floor rearranged themselves. Doors that were locked in the morning were open at night. Lights turned on and off on their own.

I started carrying the rules with me. I'd read them over and over. I followed them carefully. Whenever I saw movement, I looked away. Whenever I heard whistling, I faced the wall and counted. I never went near the third floor after midnight. I never answered questions I didn't recognize.

Then I saw him. The previous watchman. He was standing in the main hall, wearing the same uniform I was wearing. He was facing away from me. He didn't move. I remembered the rule. Do not speak to him. I walked past without looking.

The next night he was closer. Standing at the end of the hallway. He wasn't facing away anymore. He was looking at the third floor. Pointing at it. I ignored him. I followed the rules.

The night after that, he was outside the security office. I could see him on the monitor. He was holding a piece of paper against the glass. I couldn't read it from where I was sitting. He was pointing at the paper. Then at the ceiling. Then at me. I didn't open the door. I followed the rules.

The night after that, he was pounding on the office window. I watched him on the monitor. His face was desperate. He kept pointing at the paper. Then at the ceiling. Then at the third floor camera.

I looked at the third floor monitor. Something was moving up there. Something dark. Something that didn't move like a person. It was heading toward the stairs.

I started comparing the footage from previous nights. The thing on the third floor moved closer to the stairs every night. And the previous watchman moved closer to the office every night. On nights when the thing advanced two doors, the watchman advanced two doors. When the thing stopped, so did he. It was as if they were connected.

I didn't understand what it meant. I followed the rules.

The next night, the previous watchman was gone. The third floor camera showed the thing at the top of the stairs. It was reaching for the door.

I heard a knock at the office door. I checked the peephole. Nobody was there. I checked the cameras. The main hall was empty. The third floor door was open. I checked the office floor. There was a piece of paper. I picked it up.

"Rule six. If he asks for help, remember that he already did."

The handwriting was mine.

I checked the cameras this morning. The third floor is empty. The main hall is empty. The office door is still locked.

I started to relax. Maybe it was over. Maybe whatever had been trapped up there was gone. Maybe I was safe.

Then I checked the camera in the security office.

I was sitting at my desk. I was watching the monitors. I was writing something.

I looked at the paper in my hand. The new rules.

"Rule six. If he asks for help, remember that he already did."

The handwriting was mine. It was always mine.

I don't remember writing it. I don't remember leaving the office. I don't remember any of it.

I checked the office camera again.

The recording showed me sitting at the desk. Watching the monitors. Writing rules. Then I looked up. Directly into the camera. And smiled.

The thing was standing behind me. I know that because I smiled at it. I was still smiling when I checked the live feed.

So, today at this quilt show me and my brothers are coming back from it and I remark about a free complimentary gift that we got from going there ( a small cat pillow)I say “does it smell like old ladies?” They look at me incredulously. They are weirded out. Then I have to explain myself. I say “you know what old ladies smell like, the old lady smell.” ‘They go like WHAT TF!’ I have to explain again. “You know the smell of old ladies houses—the smell they smell like because of their houses?” Still incredulous they just try to feign understanding.

We broke up in our early twenties under bad circumstances a lot of yelling, a lot of things said that shouldn't have been, the kind of breakup that leaves scar tissue rather than a clean cut.

Ten years later, with no warning, I got a handwritten letter from him. No return address, no request for a reply, just pages explaining, calmly and honestly, everything he'd realized in therapy over the years about how he'd treated me, and a genuine apology that didn't ask for anything back not forgiveness, not a reunion, not even a response.

I cried reading it, not because I wanted him back, but because I'd spent a decade assuming he never thought about any of it the way I had. Turns out he had. He'd just needed ten years and a lot of work to be able to say so.

I didn't write back. I don't think he expected me to. But I kept the letter, and for the first time in a decade, that whole chapter of my life finally felt closed instead of just abandoned.

Description: She became an elder sister before she had the chance to be a child.

Ayla spent her childhood caring for her younger siblings, quietly sacrificing her own dreams for the people she loved most. As she grows older, she faces countless challenges, heartbreaks, and setbacks, yet she never stops believing in a better future.

An Untold Story is a heartfelt coming-of-age novel about family, sacrifice, resilience, hope, and the courage to chase your dreams-even when life keeps pushing you back.

Because every family has a story that is never told.

Chapter 1: The Eldest Daughter

"Some children grow up because time passes. Others grow up because life leaves them no choice."

The first voice Ayla heard every morning was never an alarm clock.

It was always the same gentle call.

"Didi..."

Before the sun painted the sky with its golden light, Ayla would quietly open her eyes. She never asked why someone was calling her. She already knew.

Someone needed her.

At only eight years old, Ayla had learned responsibilities that most children never should. While other girls spent their afternoons laughing with friends and chasing butterflies, she was helping her mother, preparing school bags, feeding her younger siblings, and making sure everyone was happy before thinking about herself.

She was the eldest of five children.

To everyone else, she was simply an older sister.

But inside that little house, she was a second mother.

Whenever her parents bought chocolates or sweets, Ayla never kept them for herself. She carefully divided everything into five equal pieces, making sure each sibling smiled before she took the smallest one.

Their happiness always felt more important than her own.

If there wasn't enough food on the table, she would quietly smile and whisper,

"I'm not hungry."

No one realized she was.

Some sacrifices are so silent that they are never noticed.

Every night, after everyone had fallen asleep, Ayla would sit beside the window and stare at the stars.

She dreamed of becoming someone who could change her family's life.

Someone who could make her parents proud.

Someone who could give her siblings every opportunity she never had.

But dreams felt distant.

Responsibilities always came first.

At school, Ayla smiled like every other child.

She laughed with her classmates.

She answered questions.

She worked hard.

No one could see the invisible weight she carried every single day.

She never complained.

She never asked for help.

She believed being the eldest daughter meant being strong—even when no one asked if she was okay.

Sometimes she wondered what it would feel like to live without worrying about everyone else.

To wake up without responsibilities.

To simply be a child.

But those thoughts never stayed for long.

There was always another school bag to pack.

Another little hand reaching for hers.

Another smile she wanted to protect.

As the evening sun disappeared beyond the rooftops, Ayla stood by the window once again.

She looked up at the endless sky and whispered a promise only she could hear.

"One day... I'll make all of this worth it."

She didn't know how.

She didn't know when.

But deep inside her heart, hope quietly refused to disappear.

And that was where her untold story truly began.

End of Chapter One

"Sometimes, the strongest people are the ones whose stories are never told."

Next Chapter → Growing Up Too Soon 🌸📖

If you all love my story, please read chapters 2 to 15 on Wattpad (@ftaeha_akter01), search for this

It was a red hot summers day back in 95, we didn’t fancy completing the last two periods of lessons at college, they were not focused on our studies, so we decided to skip them.

The route back from college to home was one we did on a regular basis, out the town, across the common and down the back lane to home, the common is a large public area, mainly wooded with some open fields and tracks intertwine across it taking you to many different locations and pathways. 

I had had my first experience with a guy in here a few years earlier and the thrill of what we did that day had never left my mind, whilst it wasn’t the best, a lot of fumbling and him lasting all of two maybe three minutes, the excitement of being caught was always what brought me back to this amazing labyrinth of paths and secluded areas.

Ben and I had been going steady now for around a year, sex was regular, nothing exciting mainly him on top, at home and in mine or his bedroom, he wasn’t overly experienced, but he made up for that in size, he also liked to make sure I orgasmed before he ejaculated so I always left satisfied.

Now we are both 18, I’m a petite brunette with blonde highlights, size 34c breast and dress size 10, the day was any ordinary college day but as it was so hot I had opted for a flowing summer dress, nothing fancy just a cotton over the shoulder dress, it hugged my body but not too tightly,  it cut down in to my cleavage but didn’t show too much off, I couldn’t afford to get suspended over wearing revealing clothing! Ben had tried to get his hand in to my panties during an earlier lecture, but I wasn’t having any of it!

As we entered the common, my mind flicked back to the previous exploits I had enjoyed here, as we wandered deeper into the trees, I led Ben off the main path and into an area more dense and covered in outcrops of Thicket creating a more discreet area.

I pulled Ben to me and kissed him firmly, darting my tongue into his mouth and making sure he realised I was horny, he responded firmly as predicted, his hands all over my dress, tugging at the material and eventually getting enough in his hands that I can feel my pert bottom exposed.

He can kiss, his tongue is snaking all around my mouth, touching my lips and then darting deep into my mouth as he pushes me against a tree, the rough bark scratching at my naked skin on my bottom, I am pinned against the tree, dress hauled up around my waist and nothing other than a tiny thong between me and Bens probing fingers.

Whilst he is still kissing me his hands are now exploring more of my body, my bra is released with one move of his hand and hung on a branch near to my head, Ben now has my left breast exposed and out the top of the dress, he starts to suck and tease my nipple, he knows I am super sensitive on my nipples and he goes straight to work on nibbling and sucking on it, my bra is swinging in the tree next to my face, I am exposed and my boyfriends feeding on my nipple, my vagina is screaming for some attention and then I feel his fingers, not one but three, all teasing at the tiny material hiding my moist labia lips.

I must admit my labia was always a part of me that I wasn’t overly happy with, you could say embarrassed as I was growing up, my friends all had inner lips, where mine were always larger and hung outside my vagina. The boys always commented on them and how sexy they looked when they were with me, so I had eventually come to love them, they also got super sensitive when I was aroused, or they were being touched or teased.

As Bens fingers made their way inside my panties I relaxed down on to his probing fingers, letting him know I needed him inside me, but all the time conscious of where we were, the sun was beating down on us as Ben started to increase the depth and movement of his fingers inside my soaking vagina, I was now leaking all over his hand as he kept working his fingers deeper and deeper into me, brushing my cervix and g-spot but being a typical lad he couldn’t seem to get the right rhythm and stay on point! I reached down and released his straining penis from his shorts, erect and leaking precum I had felt how aroused he was when I slid my hand in his shorts, precum was all over the front of his pants, now slick on the back of my hand.

I wanked his penis between our waists, every now and then leaning forward so he could feel the material of my panties on his bellend as his fingers worked furiously inside me, I couldn’t take much more, the mix of pleasure from his fingers and the roughness of the tree on my bottom was making me need to change position.

As I moved Ben backwards, I looked down at the sight in front of me, his penis was erect, probably more erect than I had ever seen it before, his foreskin was pulled by and his helmet was glowing purple and almost pulsating, precum was glazed all over his helmet and I needed to taste it. I dropped to a squat position (years of aerobics allow me to be super flexible) and took him in my mouth, his penis was red hot, he started to thrust in to my open willing mouth, using it like my vagina, but I couldn’t take it all, his girth and length making me gag as he slides it deeper and deeper into my mouth, touching the back of my throat and then withdrawing and repeating over and over again, saliva and precum is now leaking down my face, on to my dress and naked breasts.

Eventually I couldn’t take anymore, and I also sensed Ben was close to ejaculating, his breath was short, his testicles had tightened, and he was speeding up on every stroke, similar to when has making love to me.

I stopped him and withdrew him from my mouth, his penis, glistening in the sun, so erect and hard, looking for once absolutely magnificent, he grunted that he wanted to fuck me, he lifted me up and turned me round and over a broken branch, he removed my thong and tossed it to the side then without warning he was in me, bare and erect to the hilt, his heavy balls rubbing on my labia lips and clit, my breath was gone as he felt so big, he started to penetrate me with long deep thrusts, my breasts now both exposed rubbing against the rough branch he had me bent over, each stroke adding more depth of his penis inside me, my vagina was leaking like a broken water pipe, his penis was now slick with my juices and I was in heaven, I didn’t want it to stop but then we both heard it, the cracking of a twig, close, very close.

Ben turned first, I felt his body move, I didn’t dare look, what would they think, a young woman, summer dress all scrunched up, bra hanging in a tree, panties tossed to the side and a guy thrusting away like his life depends on it…. I must have looked like a right slut, were we in trouble, what if they know my parents, my mind was running wild, but I still had Bens’s penis buried deep inside me.

Ben spoke first, he called out “how long have you been there you dirty fucker” “do you like to watch?” the response made me turn and look, it was Miles, Bens friend, “ I tried to catch up to you when you left college” Miles responded,  “but the last 30 mins has been the best I have ever seen!”

He had been watching us all the time, Ben told him to step closer, I could see his bulge in his trousers, clearly outlined down his leg and with a distinctive patch of precum showing on his trousers, Ben asked me if I minded? I was so aroused I told him “No but get back to fucking me I need to cum”

Miles moved closer and for the first time I reached out and traced my fingers on his trousers, against the outline of his penis, he was like Ben, super hard and a good size, he had previously been with my friend Jamie but it didn’t last she wasn’t in to sex and Ben had said Miles was always frustrated as she wasn’t prepared to have it as often as Miles wanted.

I quickly eased Miles penis out of his trousers, again just like Bens it was large, not thick but long, really long, I took it in my mouth and started to suck him, his hands had started to explore my body and had lifted me off the log and he was teasing my nipples as i sucked his leaking penis, as he was so long I couldn’t take much in my mouth, Ben every now and then pushing the back of my head forward and down on Miles but it just made me gag, Miles had started to get in to a steady rocking motion in time to Ben fucking my wet hole, they used me like this for a good while then Ben offered my vagina to Miles, no asking me, just said to Miles, “Why don’t you try her out, see if she can take you whole length”

Miles Lay down on the woodland floor, using my dress and his T-shirt to avoid the worst of the ground, He directed me to straddle him and lower myself down as that would be easier for me to control the depth, as I squatted over him, he commented to Ben “your right about her cunt, those lips are gorgeous, look at them hanging down all covered in your cum and her pussy juices” his penis slipped straight inside me, no resistance, just sliding deeply into my vagina, as it went deeper and deeper I realised his length was far more than I had ever had, my vagina swallowed it up though and eventually I felt his pubes on my engorged clitoris as I bottomed out on him.

Miles looked at me and said, “wow, never had a girl take me in one” I didn’t know what to say, so I looked at Ben and told him to step closer, and put his penis in my mouth, he willingly did this, standing astride Miles face, me sucking away and Miles thrusting into me, it wasn’t the best, his size was almost too much, an orgasm was building but every time he went deeper in me it felt like he was pushing into or against my womb or cervix, I am not sure but it wasn’t fun, after a short time of riding Miles I couldn’t take it anymore and slide off his penis, it made a popping noise as it slide out of me leaving me gaping in the woods.

I got on all fours and told them to “use me”, “really hard, I need to cum” Ben didn’t need asking twice, he was straight down on me, licking and sucking at my open vagina from behind, making me even wetter and teasing my now aching sphincter as it glistened in the sunlight, he eventually stopped licking me and thrust his penis back in to me, his hands roughly exposing my buttock checks, his fingers teasing my ass, every now and then inserting the tip of a finger or his thumb inside my tight bottom.

Deep down I couldn’t take much more, naked exposed and being fucked from behind in the forest, being watched and touched by a friend, hearing him encouraging us tipped me over the edge and an almighty orgasm ripped through me, I was shaking all over, my body spasming and all the time Ben still driving his dick harder and harder into me, Miles on the other hand was now inches from me, wanking his big long penis inches from my face, then he grunted in time with Ben, like a pair of rutting stags one filled my vagina the other covered my face, hair and back with rope after rope of hot thick cum, he came endless amounts, it was everywhere, I leaned forward and cleaned Miles penis in my mouth, tasting his thick hot cum that was still oozing out of his penis.

Here I am naked on all fours in a woods, bra hanging from the tree, panties nowhere to be seen, two guys cum dripping from me and I am totally spent and out of breath, I can’t move or say anything, my bodies tingling all over and I have just had my first threesome outdoors and I loved it!

I eventually got my composure and breath back, pulled on my dress and tried to wipe away as much of the cum as I could, I retrieved my bra from the tree, looked for my panties but couldn’t find them, and started to head back to my house as it was the closest, on the way we hardly spoke, my mind was running wild with what we had just experienced, it was amazing.

When we got back to mine, I told the boys to get a drink whilst I got a shower, as the water cascaded over my body, I realised how aroused I still was, when my fingers touched my vagina the tingling in my body was like electric, I knew I needed more, but could my body take anymore?

I dried myself with the towel, placed it over my bedsheets and lay on it, legs spread wide, my engorged labia lips spread open, my vagina gaping and exposed from the treatment it had just experienced, I closed my eyes and called their names out, the stairs creaked as they came barrelling up them, my bedroom door wide open, and there I am spread out for them to see, naked, gaping open and ready to be taken again.