Jane runs every night between eleven and one in the morning. Quiet, no distractions, peaceful and calm. She runs from the top of the hill where her house is, straight down a half-mile, then through the city park, cutting across to the marina for another two miles; making a circle back, and runs another half-mile past Gladewater Cemetery, then back up the hill and home.

It was always the same, five nights a week.

Then the disappearances happened. It still didn’t stop her from running. She just added something extra to her jogging adventure. A snub-nose .32 Police Special. Jane’s a cop. Whoever was abducting people tried to get her, she had a surprise for him or them.

Two weeks went by, and nothing. No one missing, no one crying foul.

Jane continued her nightly jogging routine.

On a night with a full moon, no less Halloween, Jane was rounding out the finish of her run going past Gladewater Cemetery; when she heard a scream coming somewhere from inside the grounds.

She drew her weapon and found the entrance. The gate was wide open.

She made her way slowly in the direction where the screaming came from, then cursed herself for not having her two-way radio with her.

As she ventured deeper into the confines of headstones; ever deathly quiet, she felt hands reach out for her. She struggled to twist free and see the person whose hands were trying to take her out. She wanted to yell out he was under arrest, but not only couldn’t she see this person, his grip around her throat from behind was causing her to lose oxygen.

She was growing limp, when she felt more hands at her ankles, calves, thighs, wrists and arms, and she was being pulled down. The gun fell from her grasp as she was becoming weaker.

Jane realized with a finality of horror, the scream she heard was her own.

The hands pulling her down, enveloping her body as she was pulled beneath the ground, and she disappeared.

The ground remained undisturbed.

And they say jogging is healthy.

I was never a man who believed in any rumors. Nor have I ever been jealous of my lovers. Because, I had the heart of a lion, yet soft and tender. When I loved, I loved abundantly. When I trusted, I did it wholly. But along the way, someone once told me, “When your promise gets shattered into tiny pieces, and your heart is left in complete disarray, and in the coldness beyond repair, you’ll have a different perspective about life.”

But today, I regret for being blind all these years.

I stood outside, trying to control my anger, my fury rage, as I watched the only woman who stole my heart but now wrapped in the arms of a stranger. They sat by the bar, laughing, joined in body and soul; and their hands intertwined around each other, just like how she and I used to do. They seemed lost in their own fantasy world, paying no attention to whom their actions could badly hurt.

I saw her soft, warm fingers following his palms and his face, as his fingers were also lingering over her lips, the same way I used to brush her lips, looking into her euphoric eyes. She appeared happy and free. That even made me sick and crazy. How could she do this to me? What have I done to her, other than loving her more than my life?

I thought I was her pillar, her one true love forever, the only shoulders she’d cry on.

I felt her sudden betrayal in my bones.

I watched them in my intense and raging eyes, as they swirled in each other’s arms. I saw her glittering happiness. I wanted to barge in and make a mess. But, what could’ve I said to her? Why you loved another man? Why did you find happiness? I felt my head split into two, thinking about it. I left the one woman I adored, cuddling in the arms of a stranger, and quailed into the dark night. I never looked back.

The next morning, I saw an early rising bright sun, and a reason to live, as I inhaled the fresh air.

It was hot. The club was a kaleidoscope of dimly lit movement and sound. The crimson floors and walls of the room seemed alive, glistening with the sweat of a hundred bodies, pulsating to the beat of the loud music. The small space was bursting with the energy of dozens of undulating bodies writhing rhythmically, almost in sync, sharing in the pleasure of sensual abandon.

Alone, Alyssa stood off to the side, observing, delighting in the spectacle. Then she noticed him. Beneath half-closed eyes, she watched him prowl the edges of the dance floor, watching the bodies slide on and around each other in a frenetic waltz of publicly displayed desire seeking private release. He moved with the grace of a feline predator, stealthily seeking its prey. She turned her head to hide a smile. She was certain that she would taste him before the night was over. She knew what she wanted. She had no qualms about reaching out and grabbing it when the opportunity presented itself.

When she turned back to find the prowler, he was not even a breath away. “Come,” he said, turning away, assuming she would follow.

She smirked and followed unhurriedly. Down the hall, pass the rest rooms, out the back door to the alley behind the club. She walked right up to him, her body flush with his and whispered huskily, “So, what…”

Before she could finish he turned around in a quick, smooth movement. In the moment before she knew, she thought he would press his lips to hers, seek her tongue with his, pull her soft curves against the hard planes of his body, shatter her senses with blissful release.

Unblinking, he stared into her eyes, barely breathing, heart beating to the rhythm of the music in the club. He watched the rapid display of emotions revealed by her eyes: Heated desire changed to fear, shock, confusion, understanding, excruciating pain, fury, hopelessness, acceptance, oblivion. He let her slide out of his grasp then, the slim, razor-sharp knife still protruding from her chest, as he slipped into the shadows of the night.

It was a stormy night, and the sea was rough. The waves furiously smashed against the rocks. I laid in bed listening to the storm and sea. Tonight was great, and this was the best way to wind down.

Just hours ago, I got dressed for my big night. I paced the hall of practice rooms before finally settling in to one and beginning my warm up routine. Before I knew it, the audience started to trickle in to the recital hall.

As the performance time drew near, I felt my heart start to race a bit. I just have to get through it. Live music is an abstract form of art. It exists in only one moment and then it’s gone forever. I only get one chance to make it right. My hands shake. I grip my sheet music tighter.

The hall was soon packed. This was it. I’ve worked so hard for the past four years, and it all came down to this. An hour of performing was all that stood between being a student and becoming a graduate. The lights dimmed. The hall was silent. I walked out on stage.

My accompanist started to play. One deep breath, and I began. In that first solo, I was very technical, insistently counting and perfecting each and every note. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I cherished that last note a minute and ended. There was a slight, deafening moment of silence, then applause. I felt the tension in my upper body ease. I got this.

I continued on. I felt strong and lost myself in the music. Before I knew it, I was taking my final bow. More applause. What a rush – and a relief.

After praise from my professors and fellow students, I got in my car. There was lightning in the distance, and a few fat raindrops hit the windshield. I hurried back to my family’s seaside home.

First, a hot shower. My sweat and anxiety washed down the drain. Then bed. The storm and sea lulled me to sleep. Tomorrow I wake up a graduate.

Sam was hungry. Her hunger was a sentient being clawing at the inside of her stomach, demanding its liberation. Hunger is a delicate thing, something that should be treated with the same amount of care as a box with breakable contents. The measly apple and stale piece of bread she had eaten that morning for breakfast were nowhere near enough to tide her over until noon. Using the last bit of money she had left, she bought another apple and loaf of stale bread, accepting her fate with resignation. Sam was doomed to live on one measly penny each day, until the day she married her betrothed, Mikell, who she had no desire of coming within a mile of, let alone spending the rest of her life with. Luckily, Sam came from humble beginnings and was used to living without much more than the clothes on her back. Sam had many things that keeping her going each day; the fragrant field of flowers she passed each morning on her way to the market, the shopkeepers who knew her by name and surreptitiously slipped her rolls or lumps of soft cheese when no one was looking, the boisterous young children darting around her, and most importantly, her best friend, Lara. Everyone called Sam crazy for speaking to her, but Sam could never figure out why. Sure, Lara didn’t have any distinguishing facial features, or much of a face at all after her house burned down with her in it, but what she lacked in beauty, she more than made up for in personality. Sam could talk to Lara for hours, about the strangest things, like what would happen if the Sun stopped shining, if the stars could talk, if trees felt pain when they were cut down, what would happen if animals could talk, and so on. As long as Lara kept on asking questions and offering her insight on what their answers should be, Sam felt like she was wanted, and a part of something. These things made her remember how good life was, no matter how ravenous she felt.

When the war started, we did not think much of it- at first. Of course, this was folly on our part. However, in our defense, this was not the first time the supposed “war” had broken out. For months, radio announcements had been riddled with faux declarations of war. Blabbering, fired-up radio hosts had been debating the inevitability of this “war” for months.

In the beginning, we took everything much more seriously. Bunkers were built and businesses shut down- all in readiness for our impending doom. Lovers had parted ways with tearful eyes knowing full well it could be their last chance for an embrace.

Then we sat quietly in our houses, waiting for death. It did not come.

By the end of the month, we dared peek through our curtains and when we were met by neither bullets nor canisters, we dared to go about our business as usual. At first, normalcy was embraced hesitantly. In the midst of tilling the land, we would pause and inspect the skies. In the middle of watching the evening news, we’d pause to listen to any looming drone sounds.

There were none.

The second month came and went and even though the radio hosts still debated the onset of war, their tones were much different now. Instead of blaming the political parties and lecturing the politicians on the immorality of war, they too were skeptical now. They made jokes and odd quips and blinded the masses with entertainment instead of information.

The war had a new name now. Neighbours would call to each other, laughing mockingly about the invisible war.

Even the newspapers carried caricatures and mockeries of the ‘invisible war’. The nation was breathing a sigh of relief with just the slightest tinge of disappointment. We had been ready but even sharpened machetes were returned to trimming grass.

When the war started, we were caught unawares- pants down, taking a shit in the bushes. Suddenly, nothing was as funny as it had seemed. The caricatures were suddenly an irritating mockery drawn in bad taste. As for the radios? Nothing. Only silence.

Rhea Byrd yanked the hood of her raincoat over her messy curls. It was a rainy day in Burnsville, Minnesota, and Rhea was unfortunate enough to have been caught in the worst of it on her walk home from work. Hard pellets of water shot at her like seeker missiles. It was as if Mother Nature was targeting her. She heard a car roar by and looked up. On the other side of the street was a man. She tried to stop herself from looking, but her gaze kept being drawn back to the man.

"Excuse me?" she calls, finally, "Are you okay?" She crosses the street.

"I'm just fine, thanks," says the man. "And who might you be?"

"Rhea. Rhea Byrd."

"Nice to meet you, Rhea. I'm Anton."

"Hi," says Rhea breathlessly. "You don't look like you're from around here."

"Aptly noticed," says the man. "I'm just visiting." Rhea tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

"What's the cause of your visit?" Rhea asks. The man chuckles.

"Just business, I'm afraid. Nothing too exciting." Rhea nods in his direction and continues down to her apartment.

Today, luckily, sleep comes easily, and she thinks no more about the man.

The next day, however, she turned on the television to see his face.

"Wanted; Anton Philipe, for a double murder. He's a naitive of Atlanta, Georgia."

A double murder?

"The victims include Skylar Perry and Rhea Byrd, both Minnesota residents."

Rhea Byrd? But that... that's my name, she thinks. I'm not dead.

She looks down at her body. Nothing. No scratch, no blood. She couldn't be dead...

"Hello, are you Rhea Byrd?" She jumps and turns to face the strange man who had just now appeared in her house.

"Who are you? How'd you get in here?"

"Calm down," he says, with a sigh. "This part is always so annoying."

"Who are you?"

"Look at your bed." She does, and sees her body, lying battered on her sheets.

"What- how-"

"You have to come with me, Rhea."

"Who are you?"

"Mortals call me Death. Now, please, come with me."

Some people remember the day when dogs ran through the earth. They were kept in households, used for guarding and as pets. They were humanities protectors, keeping them safe from danger.

Dogs were valued by men and women all over the world. They were given to each other as gifts, used by the government, the army, the police force.

Until the Plague.

The protectors turned into the predators and they turned on their owners. The dogs, once beloved by all, were now feared and killed on sight. The government created machines to wipe them out, machines that took on the role of the dog.

These machines did the job better than expected and it only took a year before the entire dog species was declared extinct. The people celebrated, declaring that they were saved and that the government was their hero. But their joy was short lived.

Realizing the efficiency of the weapon they created, the government began to rule with an iron fist. Tearing apart all the hope the people once had, enslaving them to do the government’s bidding.

They mined the earth beneath their feet until nothing was left. No gold, no silver, no coal, no oil. Nothing. They turned on the trees, cutting them down one after the other until none remained. With nothing to clean the air and nothing to get from the earth, the environment slowly began to die. Sand took over the grass and the sun burned hotter than ever.

Cities began to crumble, people began to revolt. Realizing the mistake they made, the government no longer knew what to do. But they did know that this was not the way they were to be overthrown. They sent the new dogs into the streets, allowing them to take out anybody who dared defy them.

With this new show of power, the government knew they had gained control. The people were forced into slavery once again, rebuilding the cities into something from history. Clay houses where there once stood marble mansions. Hard dirt streets where pavement was once layered.

The government took control of everything.

I stand behind my shield and sword on the battlefield. It’s silent, but at the same time loud. You ask how can it be loud, but silent at the same time? Yes, it is confusing, but it’s true. The loudness of all warriors both allies and enemies battle cry at the top of their lungs. Sword to shield clanking metal to metal and the slashing of swords. The night is silent with no one uttering a word, but the endless battle cries of warriors. There is no wind, rain or even fires, but if there were, I bet they would be silent. No one seems to get mercy, not even the kids who are forced into this senseless war.

I glance at the sky once just wondering when all this pain and suffering will end. To no avail I still have no answer, to my question of when this ridiculous war ends. I never wished for conflict once in my entire life, but I never thought it was peaceful either though. How wrong I was thinking that, now I understand that I was wrong in every concept. Now my only desire and wish is to return to my peaceful life I had before all this conflict began.

This war it’s horrible, it ends many lives, destroys lives and it results in nothing but an everlasting battle. I want nothing to do with war, but I have no choice. I am a soldier of this war, this horrific battle, that is not under any human understanding. Everyone wishes for the same thing freedom to live their life peacefully, but yet the war still rages. If we have the same wish, you would think there would be no war, but that is naïve. My sword fights for me, while my shield protects me, my body is strong to never to be defeated by this horrible pain of war. I may have said war too many times, but that’s only because it has a large affect on our lives. I can’t handle this war anymore, but all I want is to return home!

When they left his home, he never thought they’d make it to the new planet. Now that he actually looked at it, he wished that he had been right.

Where his planet was green, this planet was brown, where there were oceans, there is nothing but pits covered with salt. They say that people lived here once but he just couldn’t see how that was possible.

He didn’t know how he had ended up as one of the “lucky” few to be transported to a new planet. He knew why people were leaving in the first place, just not why he was one of them. His planet was dying, there was no easy way to say it. Some sort of machine or another was malfunctioning and everything was going to Hell. The ground was turning red and barren while the air was toxic to anyone who was unlucky enough to breath it.

“Fred! Stop gawking at our new home! We need to get ready to land!” Fred’s best friend, Garry, yelled from down the metal hall. Fred simply rolled his eyes and headed towards the main doors, he didn’t know if it was fate or divine hatred that put Garry on the same ship as him.

It wasn’t much longer before the ship landed on the dust dunes of this new world. The entire crew was silent as they left the relative safety of the ship to traverse the landscape. Almost as soon as Fred stepped off the ship, he kicked a strange metal slab that had strange runes on it.

“Great... so there’s junk and dust here. Can’t imagine anything fancier,” he grumbled to himself as he stepped over the useless slab. The sun was scorching as he kept walking forward. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours as nothing changed before him except the sheer amount of dust.

Finally, his eyes caught sight of one of the strangest sights he’d ever seen. As he looked upon the molten towers of steel he realized they were telling the truth. This planet was all that remained of the famous Earth.