A story about alcohol and being an arch-mage

"Archmage Bumblebob"

A chair drifted lazily over Jerry's head as he found a seat in the rear of the mess hall. Jon slid into the seat beside him and Harriet took the one opposite. Light flickered across them as a candelabra danced past. Jerry looked about them to make sure it was safe to speak then motioned his friends closer.

"I have to get to Bumblebob. I have to warn him-" Jerry's words were cut short as he noticed the telltale gestures of magecraft aimed in his direction. McDragon. His old nemesis motioned over his mashed potatoes with his scepter. A round glob of potato rose into the air before McDragon thrust his scepter, pointed directly at Jerry.

Without hesitation Jerry reacted. Scepter already in hand, he waved the magical device toward the onrushing mash. In an instant the projectile was vaporized, dissolving into the nether like warm ether. Another of McDragon's sinister pranks foiled.

Unfortunately the rest of the mess hall had not missed the interaction. In an instant the room was a cascade of magically propulsed food. Corn and peas and potatoes flew everywhere, splattering against walls and knocking levitating chairs from their rhythms.

A story about alcohol and being an arch-mage

"Why I Became a Police Officer"

I was an arch-mage, Kev was an Oreo, and Mills had pulled some things together from his closet to make an almost-passable cowboy. He would have been just at that age where he suddenly started feeling like he was too cool to dress up for Halloween, but had decided he’d go along with us younger kids one last year. It was only after we got to the next block, behind the tree on Mr. Pearson’s house, that he took the bottle out from his bag.

Now remember, Kev was an Oreo here. He was only 10. I think he was just happy to be included. I was old enough to know what it was, but young enough to still have unquestioned moralistic values forced into my consciousness, so I had said (“doing the voice,” Mills insists), “Come on, Mills, that stuff is bad!” I don’t think he’ll ever let me forget that line.

We ended up going to Montrose Park and sitting on the playscape, drinking alcohol (which was a mickey of rye, by the way). Kev had about three shots worth then went on the swings, even more raucous than usual. Mills and I shared the rest of the bottle. I hated the taste of it, but he insisted the worse it tasted, the drunker we would get. He was right. First we couldn’t even stand, so instead we sat there and ate the candy from the five or so  houses we’d already been to, which wasn’t enough to satisfy. We needed more.

A story set in Argentina in 1932, in which a teacup plays a crucial role

“The Pre-Teen Years: Family Hardship”

Father was a hard-working man who supported the entire family (all six of us). He had been a line supervisor for one of the biggest factory in Buenos Aires since the early 1920s. After the communist executions started, it wasn’t long before the factory was shut down. We didn’t understand why at the time – we didn’t know this time would go on to be called the Great Depression. Knowing that now, it seems fitting.

It was a Sunday. Father had been out of work for over a year, and we were sitting around the kitchen table, all of us, listening to the radio. It was the election, and we were being given a new president. Perhaps we were hopeful that this would bring about change for us, that maybe some of the factories would re-open and father could have his job again (that wasn’t what happened at all – the Great Depression would continue for tears to come, although I would eventually leave the city before the end of it). Arturo was only 4 at this time, and he had been crying on and off all day for hunger. Mother could only give him water and cradle him, trying not to cry herself. (She never did; I think she was the strongest of all of us.)

A story set in Argentina in 1932, in which a teacup plays a crucial role

"Time for Tea"

"Damn it Henry, if you could warn me before the rough stops I'd be most appreciative."

"By all means I shall, Jenson, assuming they're expected, but that one was most certainly not."

"What do you mean? Where are we?"

"Well, if I were to hazard a guess. . .hmm"

"Well?"

"Yes yes, give me one moment to get my bearings would you Jens? I'd say. . .South America, early 20th century, give or take."

A story with an assassin in it that ends during a business meeting

“First Day”

Having just turned twenty-nine, Sam was going to be the youngest person ever on the board of Salience.

At age twenty-three, straight out of his undergrad, he’d started working in the call centre. ”Right down there with the rest of them,” his dad used to say. He’d never gotten any special treatment.

After less than a year, he was promoted to junior underwriter, and a year and a half following that, senior. Soon after he became department manager. He had employees reporting to him that had been at the company for years. Most were older than him. Some by decades. They never showed any outward resentment – he always feared the day that would start, that he might overhear a snide comment behind a cubicle. He thought he did once, and he froze in terror, unable to think, He didn’t know how to handle disrespect from his employees, his team. How would he be able to confront them? But it turned out they were talking about one of the other managers, thank god. He remembered laughing out loud about it. But the truth was, he deserved to be in the position he was. He earned his way here. He never got any special treatment, never any handouts. This was all his. They knew this.

A story with an assassin in it that ends during a business meeting

"Corporate Martyr"

Greg double-checked the device strapped to his waist one last time before buttoning his blazer and stepping out of the car. Doubts regarding the amount of explosive rushed through Greg's mind but he pushed them away and marched inside.

The Mill-Industries corporate headquarters was as busy as it was any other day. The front desk personnel each gave him a quick nod and a tight-lipped smile before returning to the endless ringing of the phones. The asocial environment of Mill-Ins had pressed Greg into a profound depression, today he was rather happy for the lack of attention.

He pressed on through the lobby toward the elevators. A few nameless office drones stepped aside as he approached, allowing him to step right to the front of the line. He felt the same guilt now that he had been feeling for years as he stepped in front of each of them.

"M-Mister Chairman." One young worker smile nervously and bowed her head as Greg stepped past. He didn't even know her name. He didn't know any of their names. They treated him with so much respect, like a king even, yet he had never done a single thing for them.

A storm destroys your uncle's shed and kills his six-year-old son

"Forecast"

"He was always such a good kid, you know? Quiet and sweet. Spent so much time out in that old shed, just reading I think." Uncle Derek's words collapsed into sobs. We sat together for a few minutes beneath the blue sky, the only sound across the entire farm was the gentle echo of my uncle's sniffling.

Finally Derek was quiet again, wiping his red nose on the back of his sleeve. I put an arm around the old man's waist and we continued our march across the field. At the far corner of his land I could just make out the dilapidated form of the shed where my young cousin Ellis had died.

Our footsteps left obvious imprints across the tilled field. It had been nearly 3 weeks since the storm and Derek still hadn't gotten around to planting. He was nearly 50, strong and grizzled after a lifetime of working the fields. Six years ago he and his wife, my aunt Laura, had finally conceived. Many had said it was too late for them, that the child would likely have serious problems, but against the odds they had a healthy young boy. Ellis was quiet but already showing some smarts for his age, and he seemed to enjoy the family business. Derek would finally have someone to take over the farm.

A storm destroys your uncle's shed and kills his six-year-old son

"Where I Learned About Mortality"

I had only met Stanley once, when I was in first grade – Christmas of 1991. It was at Aunt Karey’s house in Gravenhurst. We had all came the afternoon of Christmas Day, after having first Christmas with our respective parents – which, let’s be honest, was the main attraction. But this was second Christmas, and sometimes our grandparents got us stuff our parents wouldn't. I always looked forward to second Christmas.

Stanley lived in Port Elliot – I had no idea where that was at the time, of course, but I knew it was far. I just wanted more people to play water guns with. There ended up being all five of us kids there (including Stanley and his brother, Shane, who were the only cousins I hadn’t met before that day), and I remember that being the most fun second Christmas ever. Aunt Karey had a crawl space and we dragged pillows and blankets in it to make a fort, then we brought our toys in. Stanley got a Lite-Brite (the ones with the plastic pegs, back then) and I remember us being so into that, for some reason. Some of the other boys played Game Boy but I was a little sad I never got one so I tried not to get too into that. I remembered we high-fived when we were leaving, and we thought we’d at least get to hang out again next Christmas, because look how much fun it was! But that was the last Christmas he was alive for.
 

Sacred

"Wooden Gods"

Long ago a seed was planted. The land was barren and the water sterile, but the seed managed to root none-the-less. Its roots dug deep, spreading beneath the ocean and slowly twisting all across the world. And where the roots spread the world changed. The sterile oceans teamed with life and as the Great Tree pushed up through the surface, the land was soon alive as well.

All over its surface, the world was no longer barren. As the Great Tree's roots dug deeper and spread further, new life sprang into existence on the surface. Strange new creatures crawled, slithered, and flew over the land. Many made their home upon the Great Tree itself. Sheltered in its branches and fed by its fruits.

Finally, after the creatures had changed and mixed and spread countless times over the world, one creature fell from the Great Tree and stumbled awkwardly across the land. No longer content in the Great Tree's protection, the creature cut branches from the tree and made its own shelter, lighting fires with the leftover branches to keep away the night.

Sacred

“The Most Sacred Bond”

She gave birth to her first on a wooden floor. There were people all around, so she knew something was wrong. She was terrified, and the pain was excruciating. The doctor put his hand firmly on her shoulder, but that was it in terms of support. That’s not what everyone else was there for.

Samuel Joseph Hendrick came into the world fully formed, but clumsy, like a lot of children. When he looked around, he didn’t understand what he was seeing; he didn’t know where he was. All he felt was one magical, religious bond toward the being next to him, who he somehow already knew, despite only having been alive for seconds. All he knew was that – safety. The sense of complete safety she gave him. His every instinct was telling him to get closer to her.

But Samuel was special, and that was why all the people were gathered around them. Before he could move, rough hands brought him up, rubbed him off, and branded the number “999” in his ear. He screamed, never having known pain until then. Everyone applauded. He was terrified, obviously, but confused, because all of his instincts told me his mother should keep him safe. He had been Samuel Joseph Hendrick for mere seconds of life, but now he was just 999.

A scene where the only spoken dialogue is "uh-huh," "umm," "err," and "mm-hmm"

"Tacit Bond"

It had been a two-week trek from Grendos but Edron was looking forward to finally diving into the tomes at the Great Archives. And, thanks to Bellis' militaristic time keeping, it looked like they might just make it by dusk. As much as he loved seeing the corners of the world, Edron missed the comforts of city life. And his feet were killing him.

Edron did his best to conceal that from Bellis'. They had been traveling together for nearly 5 years now and he was still amazed at Bellis' drive. Even weighed down by her heavy armor she trudged forward without a hint of discomfort or low spirits. He was grateful to have her at his side.

Edron caught a fleeting smile shoot over Bellis' shoulder.

"Uh-huh?" He had seen that smile before.

A scene where the only spoken dialogue is "uh-huh," "umm," "err," and "mm-hmm"

"The Longest Summer"

“Uh-huh.”

The call had already clocked almost half an hour by the time she let go of his hand and got up out of her chair. He barely reacted, staring with intent at his phone, his conversation partner. She walked, first aimlessly, then toward the kitchen. The lights were on; she reflected in the sliding glass doors leading outward to the summer evening. She stood at their counter, eyes lowered, hands clasped on the granite, and felt her heart beat through her blouse and in her stomach. She felt all her years of yoga and meditation fall at her feet, ineffective. The beautiful kitchen they’d had contracted that had once been so important to her now felt like a mausoleum. All that wasted effort. She didn’t even care about the money.

"Once upon a time I was dying..."

"Circle"

Dark
green leafy skeletons
are being born, pushing their
way through the ground, out of the dirt. But are they
zombies or flowers? That is why we must
wait and see what they
are going to eat.
And so it was,
the sun.

"Once upon a time I was dying..."

"The Corruption"

I sat in the courtyard of the mage's guild watching the browning leaves drift from their branches. My shoulder ached and tingled but I resisted the urge to scratch at it. The healer magi promised me that agitating the wound wouldn't make the corruption spread any faster as so many claimed, but it would likely make the whole process more uncomfortable.

So I tried to take my attention away from my own dying body and put it on the dying leaves. I had once found them so beautiful, the tumbling colors. When I was a child dancing through the fall forests. My father would tell my sister Daiya and I to find the prettiest leaf we could and the one who found the most beautiful would get an extra slice of apple bread for dessert.

Death was not so beautiful for me nowadays. My father had died long ago when the war had began, and my sister had become infected by the corruption that spread after the fighting had ended. Like so many others I had sought a cure to the darkness taking over our world, and like the rest I had failed. By the time I had returned in defeat Daiya had already succumb.

A story that begins with a ransom note

"YOURS"

dEar frIEnD,

wE HavE wHat You ARe MIssInG.

MeEt us aT    The Appliance Superstore
                     325 15th Ave
                     Spring View, IL 60033

TUESDAY! nIgHT AfTEr 11pm

WE haVe It
It iS YourS!

A story that begins with a ransom note

"Garrett Porter, Age 55"

He remembered first not reacting to the situation at hand, but going into a rage over the fact that it was not spelled out in cut up magazine letters. He had insisted they show him the letter, and would not accept their telling him “it doesn’t really work that way anymore, sir.” He’d read the text of it off a computer screen, but couldn’t remember it verbatim now. Something about the kids. Didn't he care about the kids? He had them one weekend a month for the past 12 years - although since turning 18, Molly hadn’t come more than a handful on times, but she was paid off now, so he didn’t really blame her). Of course he didn’t wish anything terrible on them, but he certainly wouldn’t really say he liked them. They were simply his responsibility (“responsibility” being a synonym for “burden”). And honestly, he wasn’t a bad father. He never hit them, he never yelled, he never discouraged them from doing whatever it was they wanted. And, obviously, he’d given them everything they wanted, ever. It made sense, when he couldn’t show up to Molly’s high school graduation, that she should get a brand new Prius. And the kids liked it. They seemed to. They never complained.

Loyalty

"...to the End"

"Where are we now, Faron?" Dry earth crackled under the men's feet. Faron glanced about them and saw nothing but an endless wasteland stretching to every horizon.

"I. . .think this may be 'the shades', my lord." Faron's shoulders sunk at the realization. The Shadelands. After all he had given had he still failed his lord?

. . .but at least he was here too. Lord Inan would not walk the dead highway alone. They could not question his honor so long as he had fallen too.

"'The shades'? I have not heard of that. Last I remember we were cutting down those heathen Falk men on the plains. I don't remember seeing any deserts on the maps, though." Inan continued forward, marching onward even now. It had been that same ruthless ambition that had won Faron's sword so long ago.

Loyalty

"Adopted Sibling"

When we met for the first time, you ran across the field and
gave me your hand
it is nice to meet you, I had said, like a nerd; and so it began
after a few evenings in the field, (when) I soon learned that you were
good
good boy.

What can happen in a second

"1.855094832 × 10⁴³  t_P"

"Um, hi I was just. . ."

Steven froze. The world around him seemed to freeze as well while the one inside of him slipped into panic. His eyes went wide as within him a shouting match was happening between the flight and fight parts of his mind. Neither, unfortunately, was particularly well equipped for this particular situation.

It was the longest second of Steven's life.

100 billion neurons fired 300 times each, seemingly at random, in an electrical storm of desperation. His breath caught in his throat. He felt damp as nearly 2 ounces of sweat poured onto his skin, though a chill shot down his spine. His heart beat twice.

What can happen in a second

"The Story of Nothing"

Firstly, understand that this is a self-defeating exercise. To describe Nothing, we must use the antithesis of Nothing – something. To even comprehend it, we must understand, which is itself a concept, a thing, a non-nothing. No matter how closely I can describe it, I will never do it justice, because Nothing in a collection of words is as useful as explaining infinity to a rock. The best description would have been to leave the page blank, but as I have already begun with words, so I will continue.

So imagine you are out in space, except there is no space. You close your eyes and see the sort of Nothing that looks like what we might describe as “black” on the colour spectrum. Now realize it’s not like that at all. Instead, there is the clearest ocean. It is infinite – no bottom, and no sky above it. It encompasses everything, colourless, but at the same time it’s not anything at all. It’s an infinity mirror in the middle of this ocean that, no matter how deeply is peered into, shows only more ocean. It’s pure reflection without anything to reflect.