Was there something I could have said to you that would have made you stay?

Was there something I could have said that to you that would have made you love me again?

Was there something I could have said that would have left my not in a thousand pieces?

Was there something I could have said that would have made me believe that you were'nt worth the tears?

Was there something I could have done to myself to make me believe that what you did was right for both of us?

Was there something I could have said to myself to make me believe that we were better off apart?

It’s a cold night, and there is nothing more that I would like to do than to return home and fall asleep with Jasper. Unfortunately, as there must always be, there is something holding me back—my job.

Now, 9 to 5 is sufficient, but this extra volunteeresque bullshit is unnecessary. This company would have us become mercenaries and spies for the “better good” if less of us were obese. In comparison to what is surely the ultimate Orbis Incorporated goal, my task isn’t too tedious, and it’s lucky that I live in the suburbs despite working in the city.

So, as every other day, I’m parked on the side of the middle of the long stretch of road taking me through nowhere (approx. 8 miles of it). The cheap projector I’ve been so generously given by my boss flickers dimly in front of me as I type in a traffic report so Orbis can “better our transportation” by spying on the world. Most of the roads were clear today, so I really had nothing to report except for the asshole who flashed all of Lipton Street around noon, causing police to swarm by and shut down that signal for ten minutes.

Granted, the report usually doesn’t take long. But it’s an obstacle in the travel from work to home and my temperament isn’t nice enough this late to allow for a pause in the drive, be it for a few minutes. I envy those who can be okay with the task, or even enjoy it. Kie Jang from Editing can make her summary an exciting adventure despite being about the perpetual traffic by the shantytowns she passes, and Oregon Sills, the office man-whore from Customer Support, can regale the readers with an erotic drive. Maybe that’s their way with dealing with the monotony of rewriting the same thing day-to-day. For Oregon, though, I suspect it’s the thing lifting him out of the monotony of his life (not including his choice of lifestyle).

When I finish, I click "send" and restart my car. Ahead of me, it seems like there is smoke rising, and I brace myself to stop on the road again to report an accident or an unsupervised campfire.

What I see makes me slam down on the accelerator and suddenly the car lurches

Someone shouts

A bloodied face comes too close to my window

And I’m shooting off with my heart racing more quickly than my driving with those faces rushing inwards and an evil creeping into my mind—

Breathe.

I still can’t believe it, but I have to because a glance at my window shows a bloodied handprint. The car makes a suspicious clunking sound and even though I desperately want to speed into oblivion, I have to slow down.

The city's roadside sign appears blessedly quickly, and I autopilot my way back home. With disgust, I just barely manage to hose off the blood on the glass into the front lawn, and then park in the driveway.

Inside, I want to tell Jasper about what happened, but he’s dead asleep and I should know how much he deserves that.

So I squeeze myself as close to his side as possible and try to forget the skull-wearing people and slow-burning man on the side of the road.

I wake up from a nightmare of iron fumes into a cinnamon-scented reality. Outside, Jasper’s by the waffle maker with an open jar of brown sugar, and I find myself hoping that his expertise in cooking outweighs the terror of last night’s events. I give him a quick kiss before helping myself to breakfast, and taking it outside.

The grass on the front lawn is dewy with the regression of the storm that paralleled my thoughts last night. I can’t see any remnants of what I washed off under the moon. It becomes almost too easy to forget.

“You should have woken me.” Jasper’s arms are wrapped around my waist and he rests his chin on my shoulder.

“I came home really late last night. You were knocked out.”

“Still. We could have finished that movie we started.”

I hum and lean back, trying to find comfort. Jasper’s chuckle loosens my rigid muscles as it passes through my body. “Will you stay at home today?”

“Can I?” I’d need it. “I should call in, then.”

“Was it that easy for you to convince yourself? Orbis is taking a lot out of you.” I can hear the concern in his voice, and I know he wants me to leave. This is far from the first time I’ve seemed tired of my job. But I need it—we have to pay for this house, and although Jasper could pay for the entire community with one signature, we agreed to earn our home. I can deal with boredom, but not with losing the battle to temptation of unearned prosperity.

Besides, the reason to stay home today isn’t because I’m tired; I’m scared of what might still be on that road.

“No, it’s fine.” I turn around and hug him. “I promise.”

“Okay, Atlanta. I’ll believe you.” I look up to brown eyes crinkled at the corners and I meet his smile with my own.

-

My boss picks up on the third call. “Atlanta, you’re coming, right? We need you here.” Joseph sounds harried—as usual. Insofar as I give any thought to him, I wonder how dangerously high his blood pressure must be.

“I’m sorry, but I’m calling in to say I’m sick.” I sound too calm to be sick, but who is he to judge?

“We just got an invitation to a very important meeting, and you especially—”

“My secretary has all my notes, and if you want my presentation I sent it to Kie. She’s probably done editing it.”

“No, Atlanta, this is really, um, a big deal...”

It’s probably nothing more a meeting to reiterate the importance of our jobs and for “all levels of the company, regardless of position, to serve the common good.” We’re overdue for one anyways. Or maybe they’ve decided to start training us as spies to infiltrate China—in the name of patriotism, of course.

“I got herpes from Oregon, sorry.”

There’s a silence, and then, “What? Don’t you have a boy—” Beep. I end the call and accidentally turn off my phone.

I feel bad for cutting him off. Joseph’s a nice guy. But a nice guy won’t make me go out there again. At least not today.

I turn around and almost fall over. Jasper’s right in front of me, and his eyes glint with humor and something a little darker. “Awfully horrible, what Oregon did,” he says.

“Jealous?” I smile. “Everyone knows his reputation. It only makes sense.”

“Not when you, Ms. Lin, already have a boyfriend. One who, yes, is jealous.” His eyes are focused on mine and the corner of his mouth lifts up.

“I really hope he doesn’t mind too much,” I say, and face the other way. I know exactly how to play Jasper, and having him follow my tune will, hopefully, keep him at home.

“And if he does?” I can feel the words against my ear, and I smile, turning to face him again. Just then, the oven beeps ridiculously loudly, as always.

I glare at it. “Dammit. Can’t you be more considerate?”

Jasper laughs. “The oven apologizes. It’s sorry for interrupting your insatiable thirst.”

“It should be.”

Jasper grabs the cake pans from inside and begins to put them in containers. I really don’t want him to leave. “Can’t you stay?”

He looks apologetic. “We have a client who wants a demo of how her cake is going to be.”

“I suppose that’s fine.” I shift on my feet as Jasper collects his things and exits the house. “But be back home quickly. I won’t miss you, but I’m sure Isthmus will.” Isthmus is the chocolate lab that our neighbors own, but who stays in our yard more than theirs.

“Tell Isthmus I’ll miss her, too!” He yells back. I pull a face at him, and stay a while longer to watch him leave, and then to just observe the tranquil community.

Lavish homes peek out from perfectly grown trees, hiding wealth under an illusion of wilderness. A sheer dome collects all of us under it, and allows for the perfect lazy warmth to ruminate in seclusion. I could almost fall asleep standing. It seems crazy to think that there are horrors outside this literal bubble of safety. But tinges of the real world glimmer at the edge of my crafted reality: the lone road is a single line in the distance on the hill it passes over; the air above us shimmers with the arranged gas particles constantly straining against the might of the sun; and my own heart thrumming too loudly to be at peace.

“Get your act together,” I say to myself. I know I’m overreacting. I should have reported the damn incident yesterday as soon as I got home. Just some crazy people on the road, let the police deal with it. But the utter wrongness of that scene, its backwardness, still makes me tremble.

I want to binge something, lose myself in a different world. But just as I turn to go in, I see a sleek black vehicle gliding on the highway in my direction. It’s a beautiful car—a Ski—skimming the air just above the ground. But it’s also a predator, silent and deadly. There are only about a dozen Skis around the world, and only one person owns one in the United States: the CEO of Orbis.

And I happen to be the only employee under his reign in this city.

-- -- -- -- --

Title: Beyond Anarchy

Genre: Adventure, Romance

Age range: 15-50

Author pseudonym: Aora Lin

Why your project is a good fit: I guess it appeals to a variety of readers. Dystopia isn't a new genre, but I'm attempting to focus on the fall into dystopia, the unraveling of a world into anarchy. The book itself will take a first person perspective into the futile attempt to save a world, and while this may seem bleak, I hope to eventually demonstrate that perhaps saving the world isn't what this particular world, bound by laws enacted by a single transnational leader, blatant class discrimination, and skewed morals, needs.

Synopsis: While Orbis Incorporated runs the entire world--and almost every aspect of it--an irreversible change is gaining traction. A movement that yearns for liberation at any cost is about to gain the public's eye, and it is Atlanta's (unwanted) task to infiltrate and disintegrate it. She has no experience with anything so dangerous, but backing out would mean she would be silenced--permanently.

Target audience: Young adults, adults

Platform: Inkitt

Personality / writing style: I publish short prose and poetry on theProse, but there are several files of lengthy, unfinished stories that are demanding to be let out from the confines of my desktop. I'm highly focused on everything I like to do, and I think I get along with people pretty well, although I thrive in my own company. My writing style involves lots of foreshadowing that isn't truly visible until the climax occurs, and impactful descriptions.

Likes/hobbies: Biological sciences, writing, drawing (faces, hands, flowers), binging books

Hometown: Parkland, FL

Once upon a chair sat a studious little lady.

On her lap lay A Theophrastic Study of Natural Phenomena, a book arguably above her reading level yet evidently well loved. The pages had earmarks and stains from steady use. Key words and passages had been underlined for later study in an assortment of bright wax colors. Plant samples, still gritty with dirt, lay smashed between the pages adding a soft, moldy scent to the tome. As the sunlight streamed down, illuminating the page and the girl with a soft glow, her tutor sat opposite thinking what a lovely portrait his student would make. Then he scowled.

“That is not your assigned reading.”

“No. It’s interesting.” She scowled back.

“You were supposed to read The Tales of Gilead. See, it has pictures too.” He held up a copy of an old beginner reader, the illustrations done in the traditional abbey style with bright, flat depictions of nobles in various poses. “Why look, here is your several-greats grandfather, the first Baron Ramses!”

Abigail scowled at her fat ancestor and skinny tutor in turn. “That book is boring.” She made a gagging face, then held up her own book and pointed to a detailed sketch of a yarrow root. “Look, Abernathy, this plant helps stop bleeding and infec-shon. Isn’t that more interesting?”

“Do you know what an ‘infection’ is?”

“Cook said it’s when your skin gets sick, turns colors, and smells.” She folded her arms smugly.

“Yes, leave it to Cook to describe disease and decay.” He muttered. “You should let her worry about dinner and stick to your own studies.” Shoving his worn glasses back up on the bridge of his narrow nose, the young tutor cleared his throat and continued to lecture from his seat in front of her. “The Tales of Gilead tells the history of the men who built our kingdom through years of military conquest and service to the king. Those battles established our current monarchy, along with the title your father and his forefathers have held for generations. Understanding your family’s inheritance might give you a better appreciation for the title your brother will one day hold.”

Abigail shot a critical look down at her little brother Philip, who lay flopped on his stomach scribbling stick figure soldiers into his own blank notebook. As the soldiers fought an indiscernible monster with five or eight legs on the other page, he let out a soft “Bang! Bang!”

She gave Abernathy a skeptical look.

Sighing, Abernathy tried another tack. “One day you may want to know where our allies and enemies come from.”

“Why?”

“Because as a lady you’ll deal with visitors from many different places.” Until your father marries you off and you become another family’s problem. He kept this thought to himself as the small girl ignored him and started arguing with her brother over his abuse of the color green. “Wouldn’t you like to know where the other children who visit here come from?”

“Children are stupid.” She sat back in her seat with a huff, triumphantly clutching the small stub of crayon she had wrestled away from her brother. Undeterred, he took up the brown crayon and carved a muddy path ahead for his men instead.

“Yes, they are.” Abernathy agreed with an eye roll. “But you don’t want to be a stupid child, do you? All the other children will have read this book. Won’t you seem silly if you don’t know what they’re talking about?”

“I don’t care what they think!” She yelled with a scowl.

Philip, seeing her dismay, apologetically offered up his brown crayon. With a faint smile she accepted it and handed him a hidden stub of orange from her pocket. His eyes lit up, followed by his battle scene as scribbled flames leapt across it.

Abernathy watched their exchange and considered.

“What about Philip? He’ll have to learn this one day too.”

“So?”

“Do you really think he’ll understand this as well as you do?” Abernathy pointed as her little brother began blowing on his page, fanning his illustrated fire with his imaginative breath. “How will he manage without his older sister’s help?”

Abby considered critically for a moment. “Well, he’s not a total idiot.”

“Hey! Where did you learn that phrase?”

“That’s what Cook always says about you.”

“Alright, clearly you spend far too much time in the kitchen.” Abernathy lifted her book out of her hands as his pupil protested. “If you spent the same amount of time studying you would have already finished your assignment.”

Abigail sank back in her chair. “But I like books I can use,” she protested.

Abernathy had to smile. He had been a little bookworm himself once. Had she fallen for silly romance novels or fairy tales it might have, quite literally, been a different story. Leaning forward he relented, “Okay how about this: we’ll read The Tales of Gilead together. Each time someone gets into trouble, we’ll look up which plant could have helped them from your book. How does that sound?”

Brightening, she nodded and hopped over to his lap as he held the book open for both of them. “You read the boring parts, I’ll read my plants.” Any book sounded better when Abernathy read it aloud. His rich voice made the characters come to life while adding dramatic flair to their otherwise dull adventures.

“Alright then, here we go.” He cleared his throat again and adjusted his glasses for the third time. Speaking from the bottom of his gullet, in his most epic narrator voice, he began, “King Gilead, Son of King Thelin, had to wrest control of his kingdom from the hands of his ambitious younger brother, Prince Edward, who had hired an army of mercenaries to help him take over the throne.”

“Nightshade!” his little lady cried out, flipping through pages of her book.

“What??”

“It’s a poison,” she explained and pointed as she found the picture in her guide. “To stop the bad brother.”

Philip, with a boyish curiosity inspired by deadly things, craned his neck up and insisted his sister show him the picture of the dangerous plant. As she proudly displayed the picture he began copying it to add onto his monster’s back.

Abernathy frowned. Maybe he underestimated how well his little lady grasped politics after all.

Title: Handsome & The Hag

Genre: Fiction / Fantasy / Humor / Romance

Age Range: Young to Not-so-Young Adult

Word Count: 64,000

Author Name: T. W. Wordsmith (pen name)

How My Project Fits: It takes a quirky, human approach to a traditional-style fairy tale - much like many of your projects illuminate the human side of extraordinary tales, fact or fiction.

The Hook: Lady Abigail must set aside her prejudices to join forces with the men in her life in order to save herself from a fate worth than death - forced matrimony.

Synopsis: The cold-hearted lady Abigail, who would love nothing more than to die a happy spinster, continually rejects every suitor her father Baron Ramses drags to their estate. Until a mysterious guest transforms Abigail into a wretched, ugly hag - and her brother Captain Philip into a pig fit for slaughter. He gives her only seven days to accept his proposal of marriage before he leaves them unrecognizable forever. With nothing but her wits and determination, Abigail must rely on the handsome veteran Beau and her loyal childhood tutor Abernathy to find a way to reverse the magic before their time is up. As they face thieves, thugs, and librarians, Abigail’s stubborn hatred for men gradually lessens against the kindness of her friends, and the realization that the only one not recognizing her true inner beauty is herself.

Target Audience: Romantic comedy fans of all ages

Bio: I have spent the past decade working soul-crushing office jobs while scribbling daydreams on the side. When not reading whatever I can get my hands on I’m playing with my spouse, walking with our dog, or herding cats.

Platform: Not chosen

Education: A very useless Bachelor of Arts in Nothing Helpful Whatsoever

Experience: I have no professional writing experience to speak of - I just write for fun.

Personality / Writing Style: I enjoy humor wherever I can, both on and off page. I try to avoid cliches / common tropes, or to twist them about when I can for fun effect. I am pro-LGBTQ+ and not afraid to include characters of the same in my work. As a recovering workaholic with a stress addiction I tend to rewrite a lot, hence my stories take awhile for me to forge into what I deem a suitable final version. This particular project has a completed rough draft, however I am still tinkering on it and debating whether it’s worth continuing. Regardless of interest, any feedback is greatly appreciated.

Likes/Hobbies: Carbs I shouldn’t eat, books, comic books, cartoons, board games, video games, tabletop RPG games, and any other geeky endeavors I may have forgotten to list here.

Hometown: Excellent question - I’m not sure if I claim one yet

Age: Slightly less than halfway dead

My dad has always loved Robin Williams. One memory in particular that I have, is him putting on one of his stand-up routines on cassette tape, on our old school stereo system. My mom would shake her head but laugh under her breath has he spewed profanities. I remember being so shocked and intrigued that the voice of the beloved blue genie was using these words that I knew were bad. But I loved it. Sitting between the couch and the stereo so my mom wouldn’t notice I was there. Listening. Taking it all in. Every single movie I watched with him in it from that point on, reminded me of that one hidden night, learning so many new words.

Bigfoot tore the last of the meat from a deer leg and enjoyed the seared meat. He always kept his wood stick fire small so he could eliminate it quickly. Oh my, humans again. Big foot morphed into a tree.

"Mommy, can we camp here?" A little boy could be heard close by.

"I think we should stay near the toilets and water, don't you Bill?' mother said to her husband.

"OK chicken lady, let's set up the tent." Bill said, secretly feeling insecure about camping himself. He remembered his older parents often saying they would pray for the family's protection.

The boy and his parents needed the great outdoors. Little Oliver's parents decided that city life was crushing their souls. They were sure that embracing nature would revive them.

Bigfoot watched as little Oliver searched for frogs and chased butterflies. He could smell the little human. It was pure and pleasant to him although not in the sense of food. He could smell his heart and innocence. The adult humans smelled a little stale as if they were once as fresh.

Bigfoot morphed again, this time into a caterpillar on a leaf near Oliver. It was illuminated by a sunbeam. Oliver immediately allowed the fuzzy worm to roam his little fingers before gently replacing it onto the leaf.

Nightfall arrived. "Critters" of all sorts were hunting, building homes and socializing.

Bigfoot now spying as a blade of grass, thought it strange how the adult humans fell silent and still but not the boy.

Oliver crawled out from between his parents and left the tent. The ground was wet and soft from an earlier rain. The barefoot child dressed in pajamas wondered past a picnic table to the woods edge. He could see the tent shrouding his sleeping parents and the faint glow of a night light inside. He listened to the sounds of the night. He could see the shiny stars through tree tops. Oliver pulled fresh air into his lungs. This atmosphere made him think about how much he wanted to "be good" somehow.

Bigfoot returned to his legendary state leaving his footprint in the moist soil just outside of the sleeping parent’s tent. He crept into the woods keeping silent so as not to frighten the little human.

Oliver saw a large snarling cat poised to attack him! He ran for the tent as the determined cat pounced and chased after him. All of the sudden Bigfoot swatted his mighty hand upon the side of the cat rolling it off into a briar patch.

The boy tripped and fell into the imprint of a huge apelike foot and was knocked into a daze. He could faintly see tree limbs being sucked into the woods before losing consciousness.

"Bill!" his panicked mother yelled out from inside the tent. “Where is Oliver!”

Bill shifted as the morning light and her voice alerted him to wake up.

His father Bill flew open the tent door and discovered the unharmed boy nestled inside the evidence of the legendary Bigfoot.

Title: The Magic and Secrets of Bigfoot

Genre: Children's stories

Age range: 7-11

Word count: 523

Author name: Della

Why good fit: Great campfire story with kids

Hook: Early suspense

Synopsis: Family goes camping, boy saved by mystical creature from the dangers of the night while learning that a "monster" can have a heart.

Target audiance: Bedtime story or library story for kids.

Della's Bio: Raised all over country (military brat), great parents, nursing school after HS, two kids, one long and two short marriages, grown kids, single.

Platform: I do not use Facebook any longer, no website; I have limited knowledge of technical computer things. I'm well known at work and I think very liked and respected.

I am looking for an agent who will represent me.

Education: Associate of Science and tons of required continuing ed.

Real Estate, history of voice and dance lessons, karate, gun safety, art.

Experience: Self published "Some of Life's Kettle Corn." I have material for a more "Adult", "Some of Life's Trail Mix." I've written several eulogies, a song for a hospital, retirement letters for hospital, a published "Letter to the Editor," hospital policy and procedures, job descriptions. One You Tube video (it got taken down--my adult kids pressured me). Modeling in past. Lead singer of HS garage band, Transmission.

Personality: Fun loving, intelligent. I sometimes leave people wondering if I'm really stupid or too smart for my own good. I'm a charge nurse in a psychiatric facility.

I love to laugh and have a tendency towards beer.

Writing Style: I admire Mark Twain's style. I am simplistic but like to try out new words. I forever make improvements and have learned to love editors. With no formal education in poetry, I love to write it as well.

Likes/Hobbies: Swimming, my cats, writing, yard work, politics.

Hometown: Texas

Title: Between the Redwoods

Author: Sydney C.L (pen-name)

Genre: Romance

word count: 7,000

The hook: Two convicts have just escaped prison we meet them as they are nearing the next part of their plan.

Sample:

Something ceremonial should have been done to baptized the moment that they tasted freedom. There should have been something to remind them of the moment, but this needed no reminded it was unforgettable. And as Al put it they were on a bit of a tight schedule. After some time the run turned to a trot, and now as they entered the final leg, they walked.

"I wonder what my first meal out is going to be?" asked Al "I mean I need something that screams victory success", he finished laughing.

"I hope my wife cooks something I mean that's the least she could do, whoa she can't really cook maybe's she got some take-out or something," he said stuttering through his sentence.

"I don't know if I'm going to her though, you know there's a lot to think of, I mean she's the first place anyone with any brains would look. I guess, it really wouldn't matter because were getting out of here anyhow. Just if go back to her now it means we're stuck together forever, I can't mess around after this. You know and take her out of her element, her country, her support group. That's just borderline abusive." he said slapping his hands together.

"But then again money has a way of buying a support group, and after all this, I think we were made for each other."

He talked on and on about what his first moments would be the decisions he needed to make and all along 1153 kept silent. Silently and blindly he followed. I can't say if he was merely in deep thought or if he was just following. I think though, it was the latter since no thoughts on his future lay on his mind. His plan had been made months years before getting out was so long overdue maybe it lost all the glamor.

"You know tonight you and I make history; it's like "Escaped from Alcatraz or something. " Al said laughing

Though he was notable for his silence he could no longer go on in doubt,

"What was that back there", 1153 asked.

Al smiled "What do you mean big guy, I was getting us out."

"Who were those people?"

"Growing a conscious?' Al asked smiling.

1153 gave him a look and he stopped with the games.

"Those people they-they kinda work for me, and we-we've been praying together," he said smiling referring to his visits to the chapel.

"I know you probably just thought that I-I was a worker, a little guy with a lot of dirt on people, but you know the thing is I kind have a slice of a, well say empire. I'm an important man. What can say? There was no way my boys were gonna leave me to rot." he said smiling.

"I will say the saying 'prison is an education', is true though I've never been the best with my fist it was scary there," he added.

1153 smiled he really had hit the jackpot.

The conversation died down a bit. "you need a break big guy we've got the time?" he asked looking back at his "partner", and taking off his shoes since he'd already decided the answer to the question. They stood and Al reached in his pockets,

"Want some almonds?" he said holding out his hand. His partner shook his head

"no."

Al proceeded to throw back a handful of stale almonds.

"Leave that out the memoir buddy,′ he said laughing.

"Something is kinda gay about throwing back almonds after jailbreaking but, I need the energy, I was never much of a fitness buff. Not like you are are the pushups and pull-ups in the morning you're dedicated," he said licking the residual almonds from his teeth.

"I did do track in high school though, I guess that never leaves," he said winking again referring to the long run they'd just completed.

He tied the shoes back up and clapped,

"Alrighty ready to go? we're just over the hill that's us," he said smiling at the building that was brightly lit. It had been a long walk but as Al had mentioned freedom, true freedom was just beyond the hills. He made enough conversation for both of them the whole of the journey there had been no silence.

Maybe that's why 1153 couldn't grasp the fact that he was free at least not just yet.

They knelt down to escaped the cameras when they reached their destination. It was a rest stop which was strange. They were missed from the cameras and they got into the bathroom.

"I know, what you're thinking, this is the plan?" Al said. He locked the bathroom,

"But you go in that stall and be out in 10," he said smiling, "The people who work for me they'll take care of you."

The stall had a backpack in it and 1153 rummaged through it,

"Keep the jumpsuit on," Al yelled over the stall.

He went through the clothes and found them interesting, to say the least. Somehow he managed to fit into the skinny jeans over the prison jumpsuit.

"Gosh these are tight, was this the style?" he wondered as he shimmed into the jeans. He tucked his hair in the bandana. It was straggly and yet the idea of cutting it felt more akin to cutting off a limb.

He was early and when he left the stall he saw who he presumed to be Al.

I say presumed because the boyish-looking criminal was gone. His hair had been erased and all that was left was the naked baby like round head. He had a sleeve of tattoos on his arm and neck and earrings adorned his ears.

"I guess I got carried away,′ he said looking down at his arm. The tattoos were pasted on, "They-they went on so easy, I guess I got carried away," he repeated.

His final touch was sliding his glasses to the floor and with one smash of the foot, the glasses shattered. It would have seemed rather hardcore if it didn't proceed to fumble about the backpack looking for his contacts.

1153 looked on wondering just how long he would fumble and then finally he begged

"Come on man help me? we're on a tight schedule," he said whining. There was that baby voice reignited. He remembered himself, found the contacts, and they fled. 1153 looked around shouldn't there have been a getaway car waiting? Al stood patiently with his backpack and skateboard in hand. He had combined a sort of criminal look with a Californian skateboard dude. In other words, he looked akin to an old guy trying to be cool.

1153 renowned for his quiet gave Al a look that questioned his judgment and abilities.

"Ah! don't worry man where gonna be fine," he said confidently smirking. Apparently his confidence waivered because sirens surrounded them and the police marked cars soon surrounded the rest area. Again breaking his traditional silence 1153 looked at Al and asked

"what've you done?" that was the second time he had asked that today.

Al hadn't quite prepared his partner for what to expect but as the policemen approached he simply said through greeted teeth,

"Stay calm."

The policemen's suspicions were aroused the tattoos, etc, gave them some reason to be so. With guns cocked the were already prepared for battle.

"Where you boys headed, this nice evening?" the cop asked with a thick accent and tone that made the question feel more like an accusation more than anything else. Al looked from his friend to officer and put his hands up,

"Wow! officer have we done anything wrong?" he asked.  His partner looked at him surprised the voice that came out was unfamiliar, the voice he used was different, it was Californian.

"Let's just have me stick to asking the questions alright, so boys were you headed?" he said repeating his question. Al took a deep breath this moment was everything projecting confidence as he spoke he answered, "back home hopefully."

"What'd you mean,"

"Well me and my buddy here were supposed to have a gig in Phoniex tonight, I mean we flew all the way from L.A and when we got here we got an uber with this chick. I mean she was hot and kind of sweet looking so I admit I trusted her."

The officer looked at him annoyed,

"Well to make a long story short she dropped us here and took our money man, totally crazy," he said nodding along with his story.

"Does this buddy of yours here speak?" he asked rudely looking him up and down. He almost spoke but before he could, Al again jumped in.

"Oh! Carl here is sort of hard of hearing so he doesn't talk much, but he sure can drum out a beat," he said smiling then seeming to remember his state became remorseful again.

"But I guess not tonight,"

"You got anything to back your story son," he said already excited that they probably weren't prepared and he was all prepared to make an arrest but to his surprise, they were prepared.

"CARL TICKET," he yelled loudly.

Al patted his breast pocket, they both opened there wallets and showed licenses and boarding passes, from L.A to Phoenix. Al had confidence while his partner was more nervous.

"We like to frame them so one day when, Dead Trap Alien, is really big we keep ourselves humble and remember where we came from at home we had this wall dedicated I mean most places we go we just drive so flying really meant something special for us tonight?"

The policemen handed them their stuff back.

"So why all these precautions?" Al asked putting everything back in its place. The policemen looked down disappointedly.

"We lost two convicts tonight so we are a bit on edge, you know," he said almost apologetically something about Al had charmed him. Despite the harsh look, maybe he reminded him of himself years ago or maybe it was the fact that hadn't met too many fast-talking city goers that seemed genius.

"Ah, man! scary and were just out here all exposed I mean anything could have happened" he said nervously.

"Is it confidential, I mean what they did?" he finished

"Ones a murderer and the others' has got ties to gang violence, drugs, and is an all-round con man," Al had to stop himself from smiling, he was proud of himself in this moment.

"Gosh! I mean we're from California and that's never happened before even there! Well I'm grateful you guys found us first you never know you could have really just saved our lives," he said humbly and mockingly.

The policemen went his way to regroup with the other cops,

"Great still stranded," 1153 said quietly. Al smiled again the thrill of it all felt like getting high. Theme music cued in his mind to pump him up, as he approached the officers again.

"Excuse me, officer, I was wondering is there any bus station around here," he shook his head no and looked at him sympathetically. Al dramatical kicked the ground,

"You know, what it's ok it's better that way if there had been knowing we were so close to getting home with no money I don't think we could bear it," he said returning to his partner concealing a conniving smile. The policemen looked on emphatically,

"Hey Joe, come here," he said to one of the eager young cops who stood just wanting something to do. Al, now back with his partner patiently watched the scene play out

"Wait for it," he sang in sing-song. The lights flashed and the young cop called Joe honked.

"Heard you boys need a ride Phonenix it's just 20 miles out." Al looked from his friend the officer and repeatedly cried,

"Were blessed, man you guys are real public servants, real heroes," he exclaimed throwing his backpack around his neck,

"I call shotgun," he joked as he jumped in the back. 1153 was star-struck here they were getting into a cop car, and not for the reason he might have thought, it'd been a remarkable turn of events. If they ever found out that they had aided and abetted fugitives how humiliating it would have been he smirked to himself.

"You know you hear stuff about cops but it's never the good stuff," Al began the officer agreed

"I know were not all bad,"

"I mean you guys deserve an award or something two convicts on the run and you still you find it in your heart to help us," he said hitting his less than an excited partner. Joe laughed dumbly and went on to explain how it was a cop's duty and he rambled on and on about how he was a public servant and all that entailed. 1153 wasn't excited though his partner was thrilled he enjoyed the calculated risk.

They soon exited they were in the big city of Phoenix. The lights were blinding it was overwhelming. The officer drove to Dunkin doughnuts, "I know its cliche but it'll make for a good story right?" he said releasing them and jumping out. He ran in a got a dozen doughnuts, and put the pink box in their hands.

"You boys know where you're going from here?" he asked back snugly in the car

"Well contact our band boys and they'll get us home," Al said which wasn't altogether a lie. The officer smiled and yelled "NICE TO MEET YOU!," to 1153. Both he and Al shook there heads at the fact that "carl", couldn't hear him.

He pulled away, once out of sight Al practically jumped for joy. He laughed and again threw his fist mockingly in the air. They had been successful.

"Was that the plan all along?"

Al smiled "Not exactly. Okay maybe- yes. Did I improvise a little? Yes, but did it work out? Yes," he said opening the pink box. They each took a warm doughnut into there hands and savored it. It was sweet and 1153 couldn't remember a time when he had eaten something so desirable.

Funny they'd began this journey wondering what meal would christian them free? What would forever be "that" meal? Somehow it turned out to be a box of pink doughnuts bought by a policeman. It would forever signify freedom. They met with Al's friends, and as they rode in a car surround by guys who didn't at all look like they would be Al's friends. But then again, you can't judge a book by its cover. 1153 found all of this interesting. Here he was finally free. He hadn't had a moment to think about all that had happened. He hadn't had a chance to evaluate his feelings. Take in the sights of freedom yet. It all admittedly felt surreal. Their destination was still far off they had quite a drive. But at this point, anything and everything felt possible.

synopsis:

Two lives two different stories one secret that ties them together. Some secrets stay covered for years and maybe that's because they should stay unearthed. For once unearthed it can't be buried again. Byrdie is a young widow who lives a recluse lifestyle. On the outside, her life is plain simple, and sad. But a one dark night and unlikely meeting change her whole perspective of life.

Owen has been imprisoned for nearly ten years but a chance meeting with a stranger with ties to the past changes everything.

What do these two starkly different people have in common and will it draw them together or pull them apart?

Target audience: 20-40 The young adult crowd probably...

Age/personality/writing style: I think that my personality reflects my writing style. My friends would probably say that I’m a quirky introvert. I have spent my life learning different languages, and at this point, I know six. I feel like knowing different languages really gives me experience that most nineteen-year-olds haven't had the opportunity to have. When I spent time learning those languages, I really dove into the cultures of the people that spoke them. It taught me so much about people and I think that those people have really become apart of me. They have really inspired my writing because I feel like I can write about so many different types of people and their experiences. I am a high school graduate. I made a very conscious choice not to go to college. I've known what I've wanted to do with my life since I was a kid. I didn't want to go to college and confuse myself, I wanted to stay focused on my goals in life. One of which, is to become a successful writer. I feel like it was the right decision for me because I have a job that can support me while I try to expand my writing. Besides, I feel like creativity can't be taught, it can be enhanced, but not taught.

Hobbies: As I mentioned before, I love learning languages, writing, listening to music, singing, spending time with my dogs and family, running, etc.

Platform: Prose has really helped me with my writing the website has opened me up to writing about different things. Also getting to know other authors has helped because I feel like I'm supported.

I also use Wattpad, I mostly use that platform to promote my book. It's also been pretty helpful as I've gotten a lot of reads on my book. If you look there you can see my book with its cover and read more from it.

Why it's a good fit: I feel like it's a good fit especially now because it's a book that has a lot of hope in it through the chaos. Right now living under a pandemic, I think people need something to take their minds off of everything. That's what this book does while still reminding people that no matter how hard a situation is there's always hope to be found, you just have to search a little.

Hometown: Being from North Carolina is a special treat. I live in the mountains so I feel like I am surrounded by inspiration. It also doesn’t hurt that Nicholas Sparks, is also from North Carolina. That gives hope that one day like him, I too will get the chance to really share my writing on a broader spectrum.

The sun was beginning to set, giving the gray city a pinkish hue. Toby scurried towards the alleyway that housed the entrance to his small hideaway. The last thing that he wanted was to be out on the streets of Geddich after dark. He glanced over his shoulder as he ducked between the scaffolding used to keep the sagging buildings upright. The metal creaked and groaned as the sun continued to set, almost as if the city itself was settling in for the night. Toby heard the unmistakable screeching sound as the city’s spies began to awaken and start their patrol. He needed to hurry.

He ignored the people surrounding him dressed as he was, in rags. He quickened his pace as he rounded the second to last bend before his hideaway, only to run right into a harkener.

“Well, well, well. Why are you in such a hurry you little faup?” the harkener sneered.

Toby could smell spirits on his breath, and knew that he had to tread very carefully if he wanted to come out of this situation unscathed.

“My mother sent me out for the rations over an hour ago, Sir. The line was long, and they were out by the time I reached the front,” Toby lied expertly. “I had to try to run across the gorge to see if they had any on that side. She’s going to tan my hide if I’m not back before dark.”

“Perhaps I should save her the trouble and tan your hide for her,” he grinned, revealing a yellow smile.

“I’d really rather you didn’t, Sir…” Toby glanced around him looking for anyone who might help him.

The few people who were left outside at this time of the evening refused to make eye contact. They were, just as Toby was, later getting home than they intended, and wanted to avoid trouble at all cost. The sky continued to grow darker as the smog obscured sun dipped lower towards the horizon. There were no street lights in this part of the city, as the regency didn’t want to encourage the people of Geddich being out past dusk. The harkeners would soon be relinquishing their posts to the more sinister spies used at night.

Toby looked up at the winding scaffolding that supported his world. The shiny and polished metal of Upper Supremus sparkled as the last bit of light from the retreating sun disappeared. The street lights illuminated far above him, giving Geddich an even darker feel.

“Please,” he pleaded with the Harkener, “just let me go.”

The Harkener released him, giving him a shove hard enough that his teeth knocked together as he crashed into the building behind him. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the ringing the impact had caused, and sprinted the rest of the way towards his safe haven. He did a full spin as he got closer to the rubble and wreckage that hid the lower entrance to his alleyway, making sure nobody was around. He ducked underneath a fallen pillar, squeezing through a tunnel of debris, crawling towards the clear space near the entrance to his home. Standing upright, he looked longingly towards the other entrance to his alley. The soft glow of the street lamps revealed how close to Upper Supremus he really was.

He reached his hands upwards, stretching to pull himself up onto the window ledge, pausing for an instant, looking both left and right to make sure he was alone in the narrow alleyway. Wiggling the middle two security bars free, he dropped his pack through the opening, sliding through after it, replacing the bars, and dropping into place the piece of cardboard he had hung when he had first found the hideout. The alleyway was easily accessible to anyone wandering the streets of Upper Supremus, but his home looked like any other abandoned building, and almost any citizen of Upper Supremus would hurry past. It was broken, deserted, and impervious.

He pulled his tattered, sweaty shirt over his head bringing his dirty grey hat with it, revealing a thick mass of brilliantly red hair. Grabbing his small blade kershaw from his left back pocket, he flung the sweater bundle to his right, where it landed on the dirty floor in a crumpled mess. He paused, put his kershaw back in his pocket, and walked over to his shirt and sweater to turn them right-side-out, placing his hat on top of the pile. He’d had to run too many times to add any life-threatening seconds to a time-sensitive escape.

Standing over his ready clothes, he grabbed the kershaw back out of his pocket, flipped open the blade, and drew it purposefully down his chest, slicing through a rough combination of polyethylene plastic and mesh. This he rolled up in a tight ball and stored in his pack, for later. He itched methodically and carefully, so as not to disturb and infect the heat rash that had made its permanent place on his frail, moist chest.

He picked up his sweater pile and pack, making his way to the dark corner that was his own, for now. He leaned back against the dusty, solid wall of brick that was a rarity in Geddich and let his legs flop out, rubbing his budding chest. There they were, the very evidence of who he had once been, who he didn’t want to be. They reminded him every night and every morning that he was as vulnerable and as wanted as anyone could be.

He spat just long of his feet, hitting the exact spot which he’d been eyeing, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction. He reached into his bag and pulled out a moldy hunk of bread, biting off too much to chew, heaving the manliest sigh he could muster.

He closed his eyes as he chewed, outlining the memories of his parents’ faces, as he had done every single night since he realized he had begun to forget the only faces in the world who had ever loved him. He tried to remember them as they were when they were full of life and joy, wincing as the vivid memories of their bloodied faces flashed before his mind’s eye. But he would never forget. And he wouldn’t forget who he had been when they knew him. Her. He wouldn’t forget what they made her become.

TARGET

My target age range is young adult. Between 9-14

HOBBIES

My hobbies are painting, playing the violin, exercise, cuddling my dogs, and watching food network with my fiancé

BIO

I was born in Canada, but grew up for part of my life in Vermont. Moved back to Canada at the age of 14. Lived without power for three years in the deep woods of Nova Scotia. Now living it up in the warmth and craziness of Florida.

“STARLESS and Bible Black” is a collection of interrelated short stories in which I use science as a backdrop to put humanism in the foreground. This succeeds in rendering a fascinating juxtaposition of cosmic effect and psychological affect.

GENRE: SciFi/humanism

AGE: 14+

WORD COUNT 45,000

AUTHOR: Gerard DiLeo

A GOOD FIT: it appeals to those looking for a theme not explored previously.

HOOK: Our world thrown a cosmic screwball.

TARGET AUDIENCE: SciFi fans, intellectuals, curious, offbeat/quirky, esoteric, philosophers.

SYNOPSIS: STARLESS and Bible Black centers on a common premise that we are suddenly alone in the universe: on a crisp, clear night the stars and other planets vanish from our night sky. Suddenly, mysteriously, and totally. Would you really miss them? As science scrambles to explain it scientifically, scholars wax philosophical on existentialism, religions fall victim to irrelevance, and the rest of the world scrambles to try to make sense of what has happened. Individuals--each visited via a short story--must deal with the effect the phenomenon has on him or her. Why should this change anything? The stars had no tangible effect before they left. Why should their absence even matter?

The stories center on religion, fanaticism, financial markets and capitalism, coming of age, sexual encounters, the common man, and other motifs. It interweaves humor, pathos, and several other facets of the human condition. STARLESS and Bible Black explores our perspective of place in the universe, whether we notice or not.

BIO: I am a retired MD writing full time now, with an interest in introducing themes based on science into stories that center on humanism.

HOMETOWN: Boston, from New Orleans.

This book is completed. Please request a PDF if interested. Thanks.

CHAPTER 1: Not in Kansas Anymore

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting. He wondered if she was anatomically correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ah. Decent guy, I hope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, this can't be good.

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

His mouth fell open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if this is real?

"Oh, fuck me," he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you," she finally whispered.

"Uh … sure, any time."

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

The others followed, crawling along close behind her.

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

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

"Looks like a city," the human muttered.

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

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

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

"Ah. I think I understand."

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 2: Waking Up Dead

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

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

"Dylan Engstrom."

"Pleased to meet you, Dylan."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone shook their heads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's even worse."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone stared in shock.

"Dylan?" Nishara whispered. Her hearts pounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She snarled.

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

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

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

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

#

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

More platforms filled the room, almost like metal beds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he wasn't. Why?

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

"What …? How …?"

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

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

"Here we are. I know. I think …"

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

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

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

"Yeah, it's me."

"But …"

"I know."

"You died!"

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

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

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

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

"How?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"I'm not." He smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck," Grishnag snapped.

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

The humanoid pointed into the cart again. Grishnag growled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit, that actually worked?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 3: Wheels of Fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For luck," she mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Syala closed the back door for her.

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

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

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

#

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll cover you," Dylan said.

"As will I," Syala added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's hopeless," Syala whimpered.

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

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

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

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

"They're above us!"

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

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

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

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

"Good work, Ayastal," Grishnag said.

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

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

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

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

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

Syala sobbed and covered her mouth with her hand.

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

"How do we know?"

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

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

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

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

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

"We have a new destination."

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

#

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cora told you to take off."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Guys, we've got more --"

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

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

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

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

"Cora!"

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

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

"Cora!" Dylan shrieked again.

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

"But …"

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

"Shit," Dylan moaned before accelerating away.

The others hesitated another few seconds but finally followed him.

The remaining three vans reached Cora.

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

#

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

"No," Dylan groaned.

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

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

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

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

"Stay focused," Grishnag said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No!" Dylan bellowed.

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

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

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

==========

Title: Game Over

Genre: Science Fiction

Age range: adult

Word count: 80,000 words

Author: Fred T. Kerns

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

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

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

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

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

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

Education: High school diploma, followed by life in general

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

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

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

Hometown: Tucson, AZ

Age: 46

Chapter 1

I gazed outside. The darkness spread over the sky and hid all the remaining light. The drops were falling heavily, pattering against the window of my bedroom. I wrapped the wool blanket tighter around my shoulders. It was cold. Instinctively, I touched the surface of the glass with my right palm. It left behind a merely visible imprint. I wondered how the palm could be overdrawn by so many lines. Lines with potential meaning, as a palmist would imply. I once visited one because I felt lost and sought out spiritual help. She was of Haitian descent. A very tall and skinny lady, her beauty reminded me of the buds of the black velvet petunia, that used to grow in my mother’s garden. Fragile but still fierce. She took my hand and followed each line with her index finger. “You will suffer at great length. A big loss is waiting for you, but you will find what you truly seek,” she said in her thick accent. I couldn’t relate to what she said. “How would my palm, something so unimpressive, be able to tell me how my life would look like? Let alone in such a superficial way.”

Thunder started growling through the thick grey clouds. The sound reminded me of the galloping horses that were tied to Achilles’ majestic chariot, dragging Hector’s dead body over the dried skin of their own mother, Gaia. How would she have felt, if someone told her, that her life was written on the surface of her palms? “Agatha, are you there?” I flinched at the sound of Frederick’s voice. “What time was it?” It seemed so early in the day. I turned around and walked out of the door. My bare feet touching the cool marble floor, leaving an imprint behind. “Do lines on the bottom of our feet also tell a story about our lives and destinies?” Frederick was kneeling on the floor, still wearing his raincoat and the rain boots that were both soaked in water. The tears that the sky cried for the loss of people’s faith were gliding down on the rubber of his boots. “Look what I’ve found in the garden between the gardenias. I thought this little boy lost his way, but when I looked closer, I saw that he had a wound. Probably from a fight with the neighbor’s cat. I decided to take him in to treat the wound and then set him free again in the valleys.” Frederick has always been passionate about helping animals, especially the small ones that couldn’t defend themselves well enough. And this hedgehog was, despite his quills, a small helpless animal. The passion he brought up for those creatures was what made him a great veterinarian. I couldn’t relate to the urge to help animals. I’m not heartless, I just never had a bond with any kind of non-human being. As a kid, I once was gifted a guinea pig. A white one. I called it Flake Pops because, at that time, I was pretty obsessed with the cereals called Flake Pops. I managed to keep Flake Pops alive for a month, but then I got bored in keeping a pet and taking care of it. So, I let him die. Die. “How could I be so cruel back then? As parents, you often fail to explain the depths of death to your own kids. But again, why would I care? I don’t have kids.”, I thought to myself. “Agatha, are you here?” Fredericks’s voice pulled me back into reality. “Yes sorry, I’m just very exhausted from work. I had a difficult meeting with Mr. Rockahue again. Do whatever you have to do with the hedgehog. I’m going to take a bath.” I turned around and walked to the bathroom, not waiting for Frederick to reply to anything I had said. As soon as I got into the bathroom, I closed the door and turned on the tap. The stream of warm water was strong and produced steam immediately. I took one of my favorite bath foams, “the sounds of ylang-ylang” and poured more than needed into the tub. While the water was slowly filling the vessel, I stripped off my clothes and let them fall on the ground. I took all of my hair and tied it up in a messy knot. The mirror was already covered in steam, not letting me see any of my facial features. I didn’t want to see them. I must have looked tired. Aged. Dead.

I slowly dipped one foot into the water. The movement triggered small waves, the same way a stone hits the surface of a lake after you’ve thrown it. Then, more and more, I let my body immerse into the wet. This felt like safety to me. The water surrounding almost every single part of me. I laid my head on the edge and closed my eyes. I slowly left the realm of people and drifted away into my private kingdom of dreams.

White. Everywhere white. It took me a while to get used to the brightness. The snow was falling. It was soft fluffy snow, pure in its nature, unsullied. I turned my gaze down to watch the landscape. Pine trees covered in a white glittery coat. A frozen lake. I wanted to step towards it, but I came to realize that my feet were tied to the ground. Around them a puddle of blood. It was fresh blood. The bright red color and the scent of iron gave it away. I looked to the right. Nothing. I looked to the left. Nothing. I turned around. Her.

“Agatha, Agatha! Wake up!” Fredericks’s voice was breaking through the water. His strong hands gripped my shoulders and lifted my body out of the tub. I felt a sudden cold sensation all over my body like I lost the membrane that covered it. “What on earth are you doing?” he yelled at me, a look of terror on his face. I was numb. I merely stared at him with emptiness in my eyes. “You could’ve died!” “I’m sorry.” But the truth is, I wasn’t. “Get out of the tub, the water isn’t even warm anymore. No more baths for you. You scared the hell out of me!” he yelled while rubbing me with a soft white towel, as pure as the snow I saw in my dreams.

Chapter 2

The ships docked at the harbor. One after the other. They all carried gargantuan containers on their spines, filled with numerous items, ready to be sold in the whole country. Leaning towards the harbor bridge I watched the captain’s maneuver their way to the docks. Soon it was time to depart from the life I was chasing after. I poured in too much energy and time, wasted it all for nothing. The bouquet of white lilies that my hands held tightly filled the air with their creamy, strong scent. I used to love lilies because they represent the life of an unborn soul to me. One that has to discover all the colors that life offers. I turned my head around. Life around me was busy. People were exercising, mostly jogging. Others were having an afternoon stroll with their partners or lovers. Laughing kids from a nearby playground filled the air with joy and excitement. Their moms were watching them from afar, having a chat with other moms. Life looked so idyllic on days like these. Even the sun finally broke through after a long period of rain. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, enjoying the fine tickles of warm sunlight on my skin. I think she would like it too if she were here right now, I thought smiling. When did the beginning become the end?

Taking a last breath, I decided to get moving again. The pavement was covered in golds, browns, and deep copper hues from the leaves that fell from the trees, a sign of its slow death. At least it gets reborn next spring, I thought. After crossing multiple streets, I walked along the stony path up the hill that led to the graveyard. At the top a small city of tombstones spread over the ground, enclosed by a dark steel fence. I opened the gate and stepped in. Every tombstone was different from its neighbor, each telling a unique story. I crossed several rows before arriving at the last one. The grave I was visiting was placed at the left end of the row. It was the most beautiful spot on the yard because it was located next to a fence overgrown with roses, creating sad red heaven. The lilies I brought the last time were already withered to replace them. “The fresh ones looked so much nicer on the tombstone.” Everything had its own life. From birth till death we live through the ravages of time, accepting each bruise or scar with open arms because they shape who we become in the course of our lifetime. “I wish I could see you one last time. Hold you one last time. Smell you one last time. You were barely there but you’re completely gone.” I stood there for a few more minutes before turning my back to it and walking away. Saying goodbye was always the hardest. And it didn’t change when the people you loved were dead. Instead, feelings stirred up, even the ones you hid or you purposely forgot.

On my way down the road, the caretaker walked up towards me. Luìz. He was already in his seventies but was fitter than most his age. ”!Hola senora Agatha! Isn’t it a lovely day?” “Hi, Luìz. Yes indeed. The sun came out again.” He looked down at my hand, still holding the withered lilies. “I see you replaced the old ones. I’m sure the person will appreciate it. It’s good to keep the dead in mind. They remind us how gifted we are, ¿No es asì?” “That’s right. We all will find an end one day. The question is if we also get the chance to be buried on a graveyard as beautiful as yours.” “Ay senora, I do my best to give the dead one last pleasure on the place they once called home. No biggie.”, he said smiling. I smiled back, nodded at him, and walked along. I wish I could call this place home too.

Chapter 3

“You look sad today. Is everything alright?” I looked up from the manuscript I was skimming through. Damon leaned on the door frame looking at me with a concerned expression on his still youthful face. “I’m fine. Thank you. There’s just a lot of work to be done. That’s all.” “Okay, but if there’s anything you want to talk about, my door is open.”, he replied with a simper. “And by the way, I got an interesting new manuscript you might want to read instead of the one you’re on now.” “Sure, send it to me, I’m going to give it a try.” With that he walked out of my office, leaving me alone inside the four walls of my own. We both met in our studies and after our graduation, we started out as interns at the same company and worked our way up to become the leading literary agents in the country. Over the years, we built up a solid partner- and friendship that was based on trust and honesty. Seven years ago, we decided to step out of the company’s shadow and establish our own. We had a solid customer base, which made it easy to enter the business. The manuscript I was currently reading through wasn’t exceptionally great. It was a nice story, but the author didn’t put enough effort into it. The characters were shallow and the storyline was crafted in a way that confused the reader more than giving insight on the deep meaning of the underlying message. I was about to call my assistant to tell her that we weren’t going to publish this author when my phone rang. Frederick. I didn’t bother answering it and let it go straight to voicemail, listening to it after the call ended. “Hey babe, my sister called me a second ago to invite us over for dinner tonight. Malcolm got the scholarship and they want to celebrate it with all of their friends and family. It’s going to be a nice party. Make sure to be ready around eight. I’m going to get gifts.” I was about to roll my eyes at the sound of her name. But my assistant passed the glass wall of my office so I got a hold on myself. I disliked Fredericks’s sister Carrie. She was loud, chatty and so over the top. Everything had to be perfect and there was no space for human flaws. But wasn’t it exactly that what made us so beautiful? I turned my chair around to look out of the window. My office was on the twentieth floor of an enormous skyscraper. From above I could see people roam the busy streets, taxis trying to make their way through the rush hour traffic and vendors selling newspapers. The street lights were already on, breaking through the darkness with beams of light like the lighthouse does when the storm whirls up the sea and the waves splash against the cliffs. It was six-thirty. I didn’t bother going home first to change and to freshen up. Instead, I got up and walked to the safe that I hid in my office room. I opened it and took out what I hid inside. My diary. A picture of Damon and me on the day we launched our company. A picture of me and Frederick at our own wedding. And a picture of what could have been my future. The frame that surrounded the picture was made of dark mahogany wood, crested with exquisite ornaments and an engraving “12. January 2017 - Some things are more precious because they don’t last long. – Oscar Wilde.” With my fingertips I stroke the glass surface. You left me behind while taking all my joy and happiness with you. Wasn’t hurting me already enough for you? Sadness came over me like an avalanche rolling down the mountains, destroying all the bright feelings that didn’t exist anymore. I couldn’t look at it any longer, otherwise, it would stir up old emotions that I buried a long time ago. I put all of the things back into the safe, closing it carefully. Then I got up and walked over to Damons’ office. “Frederick left me a message. I’m going to Carrie’s scholarship get-together for Malcolm.” “Ugh, that doesn’t sound like a pleasant evening. I can see why you make such a grumpy face.” I had to smirk a little. “I wish I could just put a big fat sock in her mouth, so I could finally enjoy the peace and quietness. But Frederick wouldn’t let me. I don’t understand how he doesn’t get annoyed by the constant gossip and showing off.” “Maybe he just got used to it. Or he secretly drinks an awesome medicine that makes you deaf for a couple of hours.” “I wish I could get a remedy like that. What are your plans for tonight?” “I’m meeting up with the potential new client for dinner to discuss her manuscript. It would be cool if you could join us. Since you always have a great take on newbies.” “I wish I could. It would be far more pleasant. Don’t forget to send me the book. I’m going to drive to Carrie’s now. Frederick won’t be happy if I am late.” “Sure do that, I’ll keep you updated on the client. If everything goes wrong, you know where to find me.” “I do, thanks. See you then.” “Sure.” And with that I left his office, oblivious to the way his eyes were resting on my back.

Information

Title: The calling (the current title)

genre: Mystery, Drama, Fiction

age range: +20

word count: 2668 Words

author name: Priscilla Mutschlechner

why your project is a good fit: This story/book is a good fit for the Trident Media Group because it is a fictional drama that features a very realistic look of character integrity of a female lead and how that manifests itself in her life. The overarching theme deals with loss and grief. The protagonist questions her place in her world as a woman, wife, and mother. There are other fictional dramas published through Trident Media Group that deal with the internal struggle of female protagonists. Therefore it would be a good fit.

hook/synopsis: For years now Agatha is dealing with the enormous loss in her life, caused by herself and the people that surround her. While fighting anger, sadness, and grief, she seeks redemption. She tries to hide her emotions from the outside world, but they constantly get revealed by her dead child. The hauntings cause Agatha to ignore her surroundings more and more. Her husband and her best friend are being cast aside. Will she be able to come to terms with her loss, find herself, and let go of the past?

target audience: Adults

your bio: Born and raised in Switzerland in a multicultural family Priscilla Mutschlechner was being early introduced to books and stories. Over the years her love and enthusiasm for writing evolved. Although she went to study Business Administration, majoring in HR, her passion never ceased.

platform: Up until now my work has been shared with friends and family as well as here on prose. I do own a social media account but that is not used for my creative work yet.

education: Bachelor in Business Administration, major in Human Resources

experience: Being young I enjoyed writing as much as I do now, but I’ve only been writing in English for only a couple of years. Before I mostly wrote in German but it never felt as honest and pure to me. I fell in love with English when I was a kid, and that love has never faded. Writing gives me a break from reality, creative freedom, and joy.

personality/writing style: I’d describe my writing style on the more poetic influenced side. I like it dreamy and imaginary. But not too descriptive. When I wrote the story I tried to “become” Agatha, to more easily describe what she felt. I want the reader to enjoy the story and to be able to identify with the characters on some level.

likes/hobbies: Writing poems and short stories, painting with watercolor and acrylic, drawing and illustrating, as well as reading.

hometown: Bern

age: 24