prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,0fa42q,"Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing",Marty B,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0fa42q/,/short-story/0fa42q/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'People of Color']",28 likes,"
The sound increased in volume each time someone opened the glass door of Joe’s Diner, a cacophonous emphasis to Lois that she had to make a decision. Does she choose the fate of her life, or of the entire planet? She gritted her teeth, and kept working, her small frame flitting between the tables of the small Diner as a hummingbird dips from flower to flower.
 
 The notes which make up the song of history are played on the instruments of prejudice and fear.  Lois knew this, had lived it as a brown-skinned woman in snow-white Idaho, but her situation had become impossible. She knew what no one else did, but to say it would give her secret away, so she stayed silent. She touched her Grand Mothers necklace, an intricate gold medallion with jade stones, and hoped for an answer. 
 
The noise, along with the stink, a smell of rotting flesh combined with ammonia, flowed in with each new customer, reminding everyone of the presence of the most recent and significant visitor ever to their city, Idaho Falls. 
 
The alien spaceship, arriving just a week ago had changed everything. Two miles north of town, this extraterrestrial immigrant, a huge ship with hundreds of small and large protrusions, like some complicated industrial boiler, had destroyed miles and miles of farmland along Snake River in its rough landing. 
Blackened and charred from entry through the atmosphere, the ship was a physical sign post exclaiming, ‘we are not alone in the universe.’  That message was easy to read. The other, sonic message seemed unknowable. Obviously some type of communication, the loud tones broadcast from the ship repeated on a loop, filled with jarring, ‘che’, and ‘kik’ sounds. Translators analyzing the message were getting nowhere, while the dissonant, blaring sounds had everyone on edge.
 
But Lois knew the meaning, and couldn’t tell anyone or would never get what she desperately needed, acceptance as just a regular person. 
The sole waitress of Joe’s Diner, Lois had to be everywhere at once.  Several customers called out, and Lois efficiently refilled a coffee cup, delivered two plated meals, and returned the exact change from three different checks.  Handing out napkins like candy to children, she did all she could to keep the place running.
 
Lois had taken to just switching between her two waitress uniforms each day, as she didn’t have time to get it washed.  The spots of coffee, pie and other spills were turning the dark green to a greasy black.   She had just taken the order from table 10 and added a strawberry jelly stain to her uniform when Joe appeared in front of her, his protruding greasy apron stopping her short.
 
“Lois- I need to speak with you.”  Joe held an opened envelope in his hand, an ominous sign of trouble, even if she didn’t know exactly what it meant. 
 
 She turned away, looking out into the Diner. She did not want to talk to Joe. Every table was full, with customers waving at her, and even more people waiting at the front.  She remembered before, when just the regulars came in, the old farmers in the back booth, or Ms. Betty and the church ladies, recruiting her to their Protestant faith.  Chaos ruled the Diner now, constant demand for breakfast, lunch, or just a place to sit inside, away from the noise and smell. The media, and the military officials have been the real invaders of the town, destroying the peace. 
 
At first the government had assumed the alien ship landed in Idaho to target the Idaho National Laboratory, the huge nuclear testing site only 50 miles away. That fear had brought the military, with huge tanks and equipment to surround the spaceship and wait.  But other than the constant blaring message,  nothing had happened. Local residents, excited at first at the attention, lost all enthusiasm, many having left town entirely, renting out their homes to the visitors. 
 
“Is it important Joe?  I mean-”  Lois gestured broadly to the Diner.
 
“Later is fine. But I’m going to need to talk today, I have to submit payroll and I don’t understand this letter.”  Joe waved it once more, then dropped his hands as he cleared his throat.  Lois grabbed her order book in both hands and waited, resigned to listen.  Joe called the staff ‘his family’ and tried to show it through his long monologues.
“I’m sorry I have to ask you to work again tomorrow Lois, but you know how it is. I couldn’t get anyone to answer the Help Wanted ad before this mess started, and now…”  Joe gave a sorrowful smile.  
“The kids today just want to sit behind computers, not do real work. And now with everyone out at the alien site-”
“-I’ve been working 14 hour days Joe.” Standing still, Lois’ feet throbbed with a dull ache. “I haven't had a day off since before this started.”
 
Joe’s sweaty palm reached out and rested on her shoulder, his grip holding her in her place.
“I hear you.  As soon as I can find somebody to hire, I’ll get you a break. Did I already ask if you know anyone-  family, or friends?  I blame the millennials.  No one wants to work anymore.” Joe shook his head. 
 
 Despite his protests, Lois knew Joe loved the attention, and the money coming in, even if the staff were stressed, and the supplies of food almost gone.  Lois pushed past Joe to submit her order, and pour more coffee.
 
	A stern man in a dark brown uniform walked into the Diner, out of place amongst the customers in tee-shirts and jeans.  He stopped short, looking through the crowd until his eyes caught Lois’.  He smiled. 
 
Lois’s hand slipped, coffee spilled in a woman’s lap.
“So sorry!”  She wiped the table with her waiter’s cloth, and then stood up, her hand raised high  to the man to follow her.  Lois pulled an industrial-sized box of paper cups off the last chair at the counter.
 
“I saved this for you, General Smith.”
 
 Nodding, the man gingerly took the chair, then slowly his whole body slumped, elbows on the counter.
 “I needed a chance to sit.”  He rubbed his eyes with both hands, and yawned.  “You know what I like,“ he said, “with the green sauce.”  He pulled out a phone and concentrated on typing.
 
 Lois put in the order and then moved to other customers. Once ready, she collected General Smith’s order and placed it in front of him.
 “Enchiladas verde con pollo.” She said with a smile. “I taught the cooks the recipe.”
 
 He stopped typing,  and looked down, a grin forming on his face.
 “This.” He looked up at Lois, his eyes bloodshot, “This is what we are trying to protect, America, our culture, our traditions.” He gestured to the room, his square jaw lifted up like the front of a tank.
“These- monsters- have come here to destroy it.”  His clenched fist slammed on the counter rattling the dishes. Customers turned toward them, eyes following the noise. Lois’s smile and gentle wave eased  them back to their plates.  
 
Lois leaned in, “You should be quiet, not to scare people.”  She leaned sideways on the counter, blocking the rest of the Diner’s view of General Smith. Her necklace fell out of her uniform.
 
“What is that?” General Smith pointed at the medallion. “That’s strange, the ship has markings just like that-”
 
 “Have they translated the message?” She hid the necklace back in her uniform, holding her breath, hoping.
 
“No.” General Smith shook his head.  “Now they are saying it is based on a human language, being repeated back. The translators think they are close, but they have been saying that for days, and nothing.” Lois breathed out. They could solve this without her!
 
 “But what does it matter when, if they learn it says, ‘Surrender earthlings, or die?’ And today there was movement on the ship!  Several of the projecting arms are starting to turn, looking a lot like gun barrels preparing to fire.” His face twisted into a sneer. “I don’t trust it.”   General Smith kept speaking even as he shoveled the enchilada into his mouth, splattering salsa stains added to Lois’ uniform.
 
“Some of the President's men are finally starting to listen to me though.” General Smith mumbled. “The scientists have identified several parts of the ship as potential weapons. Weapons that are far more advanced than anything we have.”  He twisted his nose. “And god they smell.  Do we really want anything to do with a species that stinks that bad?”
 
General Smith scraped his fork along the plate getting every last bite.  “It might take some time, but we need to nuke ‘em. This situation has asymmetric risk. Maybe they are friendly, if so, what do we get, a new friend?  But if they are our enemy, and I think they are, they will replace us- wipe us out.  We need to solve this problem before it gets worse.”
 
 Lois nodded along, but her stomach had fallen.   She could stop this right now, explain what she knew and why. But could she trust this man?  General Smith’s crystal blue eyes stopped her heart when he looked at her. She had never even been near someone so powerful, and with movie star looks.
 
 Joe looked over to her, and jerked his head, signifying her to get back to work.  Lois nodded, but only moved closer to General Smith.  Joe wouldn’t say anything more as long as she kept the General happy.   All the military men were on an expense account which Joe inflated with double and triple orders.
 
 “The ship looks broken, with pieces off.” She repeated comments she had heard others say. She still had not seen it.  “Do you think they crashed here?”
 
 General Smith looked up sharply, his index finger stopping her.
“Looks broken?” How do we know what it is supposed to look like?” He leaned in and she felt his rage rise off him in waves.
 “That ship is just waiting for our leaders to get close, or for us to show a sign of weakness- then Ka- boom!”  He raised both his hands, waving his salsa verde covered fingers.
 
Lois carefully handed him a napkin.
 
 “We can’t trust them!”  He turned toward his phone as it rang.  “I have to go. On the tab? Add in a good tip.”  He stepped away, wiping his fingers, then tossing the napkin on the floor.
 
 “Lois."" Joe called out, gesturing for her to follow him.  She looked around for a plate to be cleared, a customer who needed her, anything to delay.  But a lull had come over the Diner and no place for her to go.
 
 She followed Joe through a maze of narrow hallways to his tiny office behind the store room.  She wiped her hands on her uniform over and over again, the damp feeling in her palms would not go away.
 
 “Lois- I have this letter, maybe you can help me understand it. It is from the state employment office. Your social security number doesn't exist.”
 
 Lois stared at the letter, as if it alone was her problem.  “Maybe you put in the wrong number-” 
 
“That is what I thought too-” Joe’s fat fingers pulled a paper from his desk and pointed to a line- the numbers she wrote just over a year ago on the employment application.
 
“Can you explain this?” Joe crossed his arms.
 
 Lois looked down at the chipped paint on her nails, in green, verde.
 
“I do not have a social security number, that is the one I use, for taxes.”  Lois felt herself shrinking, falling into the familiar hole of not being wanted, not being allowed.
 
“You don't have one- you’re illegal?”  Joe said, abruptly pulling away from Lois.  “But you went to high school here, you speak English?”
 
“I was born in Guatemala.” Lois said, her accent growing stronger. “My parents-” She touched the medallion around her neck for strength. 
 “My parents passed when I was six.   And after, I got on a bus with my cousin, and we traveled, forever, until we ended up at a tent camp.  My aunt and uncle picked me up to wait out the immigration hearing, and then, we ended up here in Idaho. We were headed to Texas, but got off track and just crash landed here. We have been here ever since.” Lois  
“We can make it work, right Joe-” Lois blinked away tears.
 
-I can't believe you lied to me!” Joe’s face flushed red, his crossed arms squeezed himself even tighter.
“You stole this job. There are Americans who need work, and you stole it!”
Joe’s lips quivered.  “Your kind is driving this country down the drain.” 
Joe’s forearms flexed, veins popping out.  “I believe in helping those who need it,  but you have to follow the law!  You have been cheating, stealing from God-fearing Americans.”
 
Joe’s arms were out now, raised above his head like the preacher at the church Ms. Betty took her to.  And Lois felt the same fear now as she did then.
“Is your name even Lois?”
 
 “Lourdes, my name is Lourdes.” 
 “Well Lord-es,  get the hell out of my restaurant- you’re fired.” Joe’s face glowed red, spittle collected at the corner of his mouth.
 Lourdes stood up, then turned back.
 
“Joe, what about my paycheck, you owe me for this last week.”
 
 “You are illegal- don’t you get it? I don’t have to pay you anything. Get out of here before I have you arrested.”
 
Lois grabbed her purse and walked out, her head down as she ignored the cooks, and other customers. She stepped outside and began walking, scared to think of how she she would live. Her worst fear had come true, she was found out as undocumented.  She was worthless, and without a job, soon to be homeless as she was country-less.
 
 “Hey, waitress!” General Smith’s voice interrupted her thoughts.  He leaned out of the front seat of a military jeep, the engine running.  “You need a ride?” He smiled from ear to ear. “It’s going to be quite a show!”
 
His bright blue eyes and smile lifted her spirits. She decided to trust this man, and she had nothing else to lose.  She ran up to the jeep, the door cold and hard. “General Smith, I know what the message is saying!  It is in the language of the ancient Mayans.” 
The words poured out of Lois, released finally.  
 
“These aliens have visited the earth before, hundreds of years ago-” The General’s face turned from a smile into a grimace. She started again, speaking faster to get him to listen, to understand.
 
“-I know because I’m from Guatemala, my first language is K'iche, it’s very similar. At first it was hard to understand but now I have it,  I know what they are saying-”
 
General Smith turned away.    
“They followed a signal to come here, in Idaho, some important icon, I don’t know what...” 
 
The jeep’s window began to close. “Tell the translators-”
 
Lourdes hit the window with her hand.  “Wait!  The message says…”
The tires spun before they caught, and Lourdes had to jump back as the jeep tore off down the road, pebbles flying around her.
 
 	Lourdes kept walking, her eyes not leaving her feet on the pavement.  She kicked at a stone in front of her. She could only trust herself. She held the medallion in her hand, giving her strength.  All she had of her Grand Mother and her true heritage, the heirloom had been in her family since since before memory.  
 
She has to fight for herself, as no one else will.  She will work with her Aunt and Uncle to start her own restaurant, making her Mexican and Guatemalan recipes.  The General might fear her, but he likes her food.  She will start the process to apply for citizenship. 
 
Sometime later, a tremendous boom echoed through the streets, rattling the windows on the building near her.  She looked north and saw a cloud of black smoke trailing up through the atmosphere.	 
“They did it- they blew up the aliens!”  Someone shouted. “We’re safe!”
“God bless America!” Another voice cried out.
 
 A new scent of dark and acrid smoke filled the air.
 
The sudden silence almost had its own sound, thick and menacing.  Lourdes heard in it the drumbeat of fear and prejudice.
 
She repeated the message to herself, in K’iche;
“Friends, we have returned. We come in peace, we have the answers you seek…” 
 
 
","August 09, 2023 22:29","[[{'Delbert Griffith': ""You really got in some shots at immigration issues, Marty, and you did it cleverly and poignantly. There are so man y things to like about this tale. \n\nLourdes' situation as an undocumented worker in America certainly parallels that of the alien spaceship, in many respects: the language barrier, the mistrust, the smell (yeah, that was a real shot, and it hit hard), the intent of the interlopers. \n\nI really like how you portrayed the general and the owner of the restaurant. Their refusal to see the truths of the situations were apt and tragic..."", 'time': '11:46 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Marty B': 'High praise from a great writer! Thanks, the definition of ‘aliens’ is a complex issue. Is it just anyone different- who gets to decide?', 'time': '20:24 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Marty B': 'High praise from a great writer! Thanks, the definition of ‘aliens’ is a complex issue. Is it just anyone different- who gets to decide?', 'time': '20:24 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""There's a lot of cutting-the-nose-off-to-spite-the-face here. The general ignores a possible translation, because it means he might be wrong. Joe fires his one worker, raving about jobs for Americans, when of course he can't find any who actually want the job (and now without a waitress, what will he do?) \n\nSo what's the message? Fear and anger end up hurting the frightened and angry, if they hold on to those emotions for too long? Could be something in that. \n\nThe parallels between the two kinds of aliens work well. In both cases the non-al..."", 'time': '22:36 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Marty B': 'Great point, the fear and prejudice hurt everyone, not just those who are the other. \n    It takes courage to actually listen to others, and it is often easier just to ignore the message.\n Thanks!', 'time': '01:06 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Marty B': 'Great point, the fear and prejudice hurt everyone, not just those who are the other. \n    It takes courage to actually listen to others, and it is often easier just to ignore the message.\n Thanks!', 'time': '01:06 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Helen A Smith': 'This story gets across painful issues. It’s horrible seeing the owner of the restaurant cast Lois who has a real name (Lourdes) aside and refuse to pay her. She was the same person who worked hard and deserved to be paid and treated at least with respect a moment before, but his perception of her altered. He becomes closed off to her plight and isn’t even prepared to give her the courtesy of at least listening to her experiences.\n“The notes which make up the song of history are made up on the instruments of prejudice and fear.” A great line....', 'time': '19:23 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Marty B': ""A version of Lourdes' story plays out to many people all over the country. You point out the key point -'his perception of her altered'\nExcept what does he know, except prejudice?\nHe lost a good worker, and a key part of his team because of his fear.\n\nThank you for your insightful comments!"", 'time': '18:11 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Marty B': ""A version of Lourdes' story plays out to many people all over the country. You point out the key point -'his perception of her altered'\nExcept what does he know, except prejudice?\nHe lost a good worker, and a key part of his team because of his fear.\n\nThank you for your insightful comments!"", 'time': '18:11 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Suzanne Gonsalves': 'This is a fabulous story. I really identify with Lourdes and on my second reading, her necklace stood out more. I have a few suggestions. \n\nStart with the 4th paragraph. Add the substance of the first 3 after the 5th. So start with ""The alien spaceship, arriving just"" and put the other material in after ""\nThat 4th paragraph is easy to understand and reads quickly. It really pulls in the reader and starts with a wide lens then focuses in on the waitress and her necklace. I also love the hummingbird comparison to Lourdes. There are dozens of s...', 'time': '16:31 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Marty B': 'Thank you for reading- twice! \nYour suggestions make sense, I appreciate you considering how to engage the reader earlier.\nI am glad you mentioned the hummingbird- there is more awareness of them in South and Central America because, as you mentioned there are so many more.', 'time': '18:26 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Marty B': 'Thank you for reading- twice! \nYour suggestions make sense, I appreciate you considering how to engage the reader earlier.\nI am glad you mentioned the hummingbird- there is more awareness of them in South and Central America because, as you mentioned there are so many more.', 'time': '18:26 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Marty,\nWhat an interesting take on the prompt. I appreciate how you latched onto the word “alien” and allowed it to guide this story. I love how we slowly put together the piece and how you crafted the mystery within this one. Nice work!!', 'time': '01:20 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Marty B': 'To many people are called aliens, for the wrong reasons.  If only we could listen to each other., or read each others stories !\n\nThanks!', 'time': '06:33 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Marty B': 'To many people are called aliens, for the wrong reasons.  If only we could listen to each other., or read each others stories !\n\nThanks!', 'time': '06:33 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Russell Mickler': ""Hey there, Marty - \n\nA great story in the tradition of sci-fi, addressing poignant issues like immigration. \n\nThe story's conclusion echoes the themes of fear, misunderstanding, and the impact of prejudice on a complex, changing world.\n\nThe idea of Mayan culture and language being alien, too - how wonderful :)\n\nR"", 'time': '22:33 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Marty B': 'Thanks!  Those Mayans, I am sure did it all by themselves, but their technological advances seem amazing!', 'time': '02:44 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Marty B': 'Thanks!  Those Mayans, I am sure did it all by themselves, but their technological advances seem amazing!', 'time': '02:44 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'I love the double interpretation of ""alien"" in this story. Well done.', 'time': '02:46 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Marty B': ""Thanks- aliens are a subjective term and how we treat an 'alien'  says more about us, then them."", 'time': '03:02 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Marty B': ""Thanks- aliens are a subjective term and how we treat an 'alien'  says more about us, then them."", 'time': '03:02 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Great story, Marty, really held my interest. Excellent imagination.', 'time': '21:26 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Marty B': 'Thanks- I am always to trying to stretch the creativity so appreciate the positive response!', 'time': '21:50 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Joe Malgeri': ""You're welcome, you earned it & deserved it."", 'time': '21:56 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Marty B': 'Thanks- I am always to trying to stretch the creativity so appreciate the positive response!', 'time': '21:50 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""You're welcome, you earned it & deserved it."", 'time': '21:56 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""You're welcome, you earned it & deserved it."", 'time': '21:56 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Suzanne Gonsalves': 'Fantastic story! Aliens from different angles, hypocrisy, suspense, this story was entertaining, focused, and a delight. I loved the line: \n\nThe media, and the military officials have been the real invaders of the town, destroying the peace. \n\nGreat take on this. Covering the landing from the perspective of the waitress waiting on the military men planning action was genius. \n\n“This.” He looked up at Lois, his eyes bloodshot, “This is what we are trying to protect, America, our culture, our traditions.”\n\nThis was ironic, foreshadowing, and s...', 'time': '16:10 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Marty B': ""The prompt of aliens made me think of how the 'aliens' are treated in our own society. \n\nI -almost- always start with an ending in mind when I write, however it often changes! This story had several potential different endings, the posted one seemed to fit the best.\nThank you!"", 'time': '17:59 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Marty B': ""The prompt of aliens made me think of how the 'aliens' are treated in our own society. \n\nI -almost- always start with an ending in mind when I write, however it often changes! This story had several potential different endings, the posted one seemed to fit the best.\nThank you!"", 'time': '17:59 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Good story Marty, with some topical content mirrored by the way in which the aliens are treated with suspicion - also commenting on their different 'smell'. Prejudice is right. \n\nThere seems to be something missing here in this exchange:\n\n “My parents passed when I was six.   And after, I got on a bus with my cousin, and we traveled, forever, until we ended up at a tent camp.  My aunt and uncle picked me up to wait out the immigration hearing, and then, we ended up here in Idaho. We were headed to Texas, but got off track and just crash land..."", 'time': '14:04 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Marty B': 'Thanks for the read, and catching the typo.\n I appreciate the assistance!', 'time': '18:00 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Marty B': 'Thanks for the read, and catching the typo.\n I appreciate the assistance!', 'time': '18:00 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tommy Goround': 'Excellent. I must have misread something because I thought the message was about surrender.', 'time': '18:12 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Tommy Goround': ""It's fairly clear and tight but I was listening to the story in audio.\n\nThe unfolding of the character is wonderful.\n\nI think you need special praise for creating a catch-22. If she tells everyone the secret then they ask her why she knows. You chose to keep the mystery going.\n\nThe social issue is just a little itty bitty bit strong but I'm so grateful that you chose to use a social issue instead of just giving us a good story\n\n\nMy personal confusion on the surrender dialogue actually made the ending very very interesting.\n\nClapping"", 'time': '18:25 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Marty B': 'Have to push  too hard, it is worth it. Thanks for the good words! \nIt’s good to hear the audio version held up- thanks!', 'time': '20:22 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Tommy Goround': ""It's fairly clear and tight but I was listening to the story in audio.\n\nThe unfolding of the character is wonderful.\n\nI think you need special praise for creating a catch-22. If she tells everyone the secret then they ask her why she knows. You chose to keep the mystery going.\n\nThe social issue is just a little itty bitty bit strong but I'm so grateful that you chose to use a social issue instead of just giving us a good story\n\n\nMy personal confusion on the surrender dialogue actually made the ending very very interesting.\n\nClapping"", 'time': '18:25 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Marty B': 'Have to push  too hard, it is worth it. Thanks for the good words! \nIt’s good to hear the audio version held up- thanks!', 'time': '20:22 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Marty B': 'Have to push  too hard, it is worth it. Thanks for the good words! \nIt’s good to hear the audio version held up- thanks!', 'time': '20:22 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': ""Marty B, our stories were very similar. In some ways and very different in others. I thought your story was very cool. K'iche and Lourdes are the key. \nThe irony of Joe's prejudice as he fires Lourdes after going through the desperation of a plea for her to stay working day in and day out because he cannot find anyone else to work in his restaurant. \nLourdes's notion of creating her own restaurant in the end with her aunt and uncle to put Joe's restaurant into the ground - maybe? \nThe general and Lourdes's relationship was interesting too.\nL..."", 'time': '13:23 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Marty B': ""Agreed, we had similar stories. - Great minds think alike! \n\n- 'the irony of ... prejudice' there is only loss when we don't open our ears to hear what others are saying."", 'time': '01:03 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Lily Finch': 'You are so cool Marty B. LF6', 'time': '01:54 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Marty B': ""Agreed, we had similar stories. - Great minds think alike! \n\n- 'the irony of ... prejudice' there is only loss when we don't open our ears to hear what others are saying."", 'time': '01:03 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lily Finch': 'You are so cool Marty B. LF6', 'time': '01:54 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Finch': 'You are so cool Marty B. LF6', 'time': '01:54 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,7prxu9,Outposts.,Ken Cartisano,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/7prxu9/,/short-story/7prxu9/,Mystery,0,"['Mystery', 'Romance', 'Science Fiction']",26 likes,"
“Would you like a brochure? Sure, here you go.”I remember the first time I was abducted. Whisked away at virtual ‘probe-point’ to a distant galactic ‘depot’ called ‘Zudprillipud.’ Why? Well, that’s a good question. It was kind of like sleepwalking except I wasn’t asleep, and I don’t think I was walking. Anyway, they brought me back. Dropped me off in my car. It seemed like ten minutes had elapsed, but when I awoke, I soon realized I’d lost an entire week. A week! And nobody even noticed.I asked Cathy where she thought I was. ‘Out in your boat,’ she says, dicing an onion. Shedding a tear.“For a week?”“Well, you were kind of vague when you left.”“In that...?”“In that you said, ‘Don’t wait up.”“And you think, ‘Don’t wait up’ means 'I’ll see you in a week?”She had every reason to be livid, but she wasn’t. “I bought you a valentine,” she said, pointing at a heart-shaped box with the knife.“Thanks, uh… can we talk?”She was open enough to listen politely and asked pertinent questions like, ‘Were there any people?’ or ‘What kind of creatures live on Zudlillipudski?’My answers? “I don’t know. I was in a rest area? A galactic depot. And Zudprillipud’s a galaxy, not a planet, so, technically nobody lives on it. Any other questions?” She shook her head. Even though I was the one who had been gone for a week, for some reason, I was the one who was annoyed. I would think if she was gone for a week I would've filed a missing persons report. Maybe she was in on it too.*****Enter one Stan Waters, Private Detective. “At your service,” he says.He claimed he was ex-military and looked it. Acted like it. He was all business, but I hadn’t convinced him to work for me yet. “I just don’t see it as a problem,” he said. “What I wouldn’t give to take a week off and not be missed.”“You’d freak out,” I said. “You’re confusing a vacation with an abduction. Don’t do that.” I explained how speed and time are connected, the faster I went, the less time I experienced. It seemed like ten minutes to me because it was ten minutes, to me, everyone else aged a week or more, everyone around here that is. This much was clear, because I’d already hired someone else to do the math.But this guy was pretty shrewd because he said, “You did the math, huh? How’d you know how far it was to Zudsparilla?”And to that kind of question, hypnosis seemed like the only answer.I was convinced that all hypnotists were incompetent idiots as I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I was on a couch and my belief was reinforced when the hypnotist audibly murmured, ‘all finished.’ We hadn’t done a thing. I didn’t remember anything. I didn’t remember him, his office, walking in, laying down, or any recollection of Stan Waters for that matter. “Crap.” I barely knew my own name.How do I know all this? I had a note in my shoe. I did a little research before rushing off to the mesmerist. It wasn’t that difficult to break the post-hypnotic suggestions. I kept a video log, reference material, receipts, and a post-hypnotic trigger phrase: ‘What do you have against opera houses?’ As soon as I read that phrase in my notebook, all of my memories came flooding back.I was abducted again, somewhat more skillfully, and whisked off at near-light-speeds to another distant galaxy. A place with a name that sounded like ‘Paramecium.’ 13 minutes each way with a two-minute layover in what I now call ‘outposts.’ At the far end of a 28-minute interval, I was discreetly dumped back on planet earth three days later. I came to in my boat, on the river, the anchor so deeply embedded in the bottom that I had to cut it free, but the boat ran well, the car was in the marina parking lot and the keys were in my pocket.When I burst through the front door Cathy greeted me cheerfully. “Hi, how were the fish?”“The fish?”“Yeah. The fish. How were they?”“They, um, there—were no fish, I don’t think.”“Aww, no luck, huh? That’s too bad.” She patted the couch and I went and sat down next to her. She seemed nicer, and softer than usual.The following night, after sex, in the dark, I said, “I need a new anchor, you know…”“It’s fixed,” she said.“I’m not mad, I just…, what’d you say?”“I fixed it.”“You got me a new anchor?”“Yeah.”“Where is it?”“I put it on.”“On what?”“The end of the anchor line, of course.”*****I got abducted again, it was different. And then again after that, and this time there was another person present. A human being, like me. I felt like part of a team, however marginal my contribution.My ‘trips’ grew shorter, and the ‘returns’ neater and less awkward, as we fell into a routine. Cathy and I had the best sex ever, and, well, I knew it wasn’t her. It was a better Cathy than the one I’d had. I don’t know what they did with the original, but this was not her. She was too accommodating.I admit, I was as happy as I’d ever been, happy to play along. I had no control over aliens whose technology was so advanced I couldn’t even remember it, let alone explain it, and, I felt like I was a part of something vast, some huge undertaking. We were far from being the only two people with huge gaps in their memory. I suspected they were abducting thousands of people each month, using them, like memory chips.One night, I asked my duplicate Cathy, what is it that I do? And she said they use my brain because it has a hundred billion connections, and functions wirelessly.“So why don’t I understand what we’re doing?” I remember asking.And she said, “You don’t need to, or want to, you’re a node.” And that was it, that was all she would divulge about that subject, ever.One night, Cathy entered the house looking dazed and stunned, walking around, looking at things curiously, picking things up. Then she looked at me as if I had changed overnight. I approached her tentatively, and gently embraced her. Her voice was muffled against my shoulder but I still heard her say, “How long was I gone?”I held her at arm’s length. “About two years.” Valentine’s day was a week away.“Two years? Oh my God. How can that be?”I shrugged. “Physics?”She went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. “Yeah, I was on some kind of starship. I know. It sounds crazy.” She drank one-third of the beer. “God that’s good.” She looked around. “You kept my stuff. How sweet. So…” she peered at me over the rim of the can, “how was my funeral? Pretty small affair?”“Uh, no.” I cleared my throat. “No funeral. They gave me a substitute. So how long did you think you were gone?”“About three months,” she said. “It was…” she shook her head, “grueling but rewarding. They were very happy with me, I think. A substitute? What’s a substitute? What does that mean? Did you even know I was gone?”“Yes. I did. I mean, I figured it out. Eventually.” “How? Where is she?” She began circling the apartment. Opening closets and pantries, slamming them shut.“She’s gone,” I wailed, a touch too plaintively.“I’m sleeping on the couch,” she announced. “No, you’re sleeping on the couch.”Once I realized that she knew exactly what a substitute was, even before I told her, we worked things out, and waited anxiously for our next abduction, but it never came. I guess they fired us. We didn’t know what to do so we started a support group, Abducted Nodes Anonymous. We have over a million members and we’re still growing.
","August 07, 2023 14:28","[[{'LeeAnn Hively-Insalaco': ""I wonder if he ever disappeared long enough to have a substitute, but Cathy never figured it out. \n\nI enjoy how they just accepted it like they were recruited and were just doing a job they didn't particularly enjoy like most of the rest of us. They even seemed to miss it once the abductions stopped. It's as if the support group wasn't for the actual abductions, it was for the ceasing of them which left them feeling rejected or without a purpose that they had for several years."", 'time': '19:43 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""BINGO! Miss LeeAnn H-I,\n\nYou have either intentionally or inadvertently hit the nail on the head. I confess that I didn't even see it myself until well after I'd written it. Cathy may have been confused at first, but the reason she wasn't angry with him the first time he was gone for a week, was because she had been given a substitute in place of him.\n\nAnd yes, the support group was to help them deal with the sense of loss after being cut loose from the abductions. I like to think it turns the whole, alien abduction horror story on its head."", 'time': '20:54 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""BINGO! Miss LeeAnn H-I,\n\nYou have either intentionally or inadvertently hit the nail on the head. I confess that I didn't even see it myself until well after I'd written it. Cathy may have been confused at first, but the reason she wasn't angry with him the first time he was gone for a week, was because she had been given a substitute in place of him.\n\nAnd yes, the support group was to help them deal with the sense of loss after being cut loose from the abductions. I like to think it turns the whole, alien abduction horror story on its head."", 'time': '20:54 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': 'Love it! We all just want to matter, don\'t we? It\'s… habit forming. \n\nThis reminds me a bit of Drew Magary\'s ""The Hike"". The way the characters just accept what\'s happening to them - well, what else can they do? The scale of the powers making decisions on their behalf is far too big to comprehend, much less to oppose. So, they do what humans do: they adapt. \n\nAnd then they get sad when it ends. \n\nThe abductions are a key part here, but the story isn\'t about abductions at all. It\'s more about relationships, shared events, being present vs bei...', 'time': '20:35 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Excellent job, Ken, interesting right up to the impact of the ending paragraph.', 'time': '21:24 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'I enjoyed this. The last line was a great kicker.', 'time': '17:30 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""This is a lot of fun , very playful voice, by a very bemused mc who takes it all in his stride like it's normal . Getting Douglas Adams vibes here.\nNice work!"", 'time': '18:33 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Douglas Adams vibes? That's very generous. I loved Douglas Adams.  I was thinking, after I wrote it, of Robert Asprin. But your right, it's more 'don't panic--and bring a towel'-ish. I totally see it now. Thanks Derrick. I think I needed that. It certainly didn't hurt. For those in the know, I found this excerpt from wikipedia - \n\nIn May 2010, an online petition was created asking Google to recognize Towel Day with either a Google Doodle or by returning search results in the Vogon language for a day. As of 10 September 2014, the petition had..."", 'time': '06:22 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Douglas Adams vibes? That's very generous. I loved Douglas Adams.  I was thinking, after I wrote it, of Robert Asprin. But your right, it's more 'don't panic--and bring a towel'-ish. I totally see it now. Thanks Derrick. I think I needed that. It certainly didn't hurt. For those in the know, I found this excerpt from wikipedia - \n\nIn May 2010, an online petition was created asking Google to recognize Towel Day with either a Google Doodle or by returning search results in the Vogon language for a day. As of 10 September 2014, the petition had..."", 'time': '06:22 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Them A'n'A meeting would be a story all in themselves! As usual it's full of your loveable wit with a dash of unresolved mystery. Enjoyable Ken, so much so it ended to soon, or at least felt that way.\n\nWas Stan Waters part of the hypnosis?\n\nSmall formatting fix, these two sentences need an inverted comma added to  - “In that you said, ‘Don’t wait up.”\n\n“And you think, ‘Don’t wait up’ means, ‘I’ll see you in a week?”"", 'time': '16:59 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Thanks Kevin, I appreciate that. Could you show me the correction on those two sentences you pointed out? You're just showing me what I did wrong. How should it look? (I'm pretty dense sometimes.)\n\nStan Waters was real. A kind of wanna-be M.I.B. I figured. fortunately, he doesn't have that much to do. Due to the shortage of actual aliens, most of the time. He was just a logical extension of the main character's earnestness. When the mc decides he should try hypnosis, it was too good an idea. I was a afraid it might spoil the ending. It was t..."", 'time': '07:57 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': ""Not problem, it's just a single inverted comma after up and week, as below.\n\n “In that you said, ‘Don’t wait up.'”\n\n“And you think, ‘Don’t wait up’ means, ‘I’ll see you in a week?'”"", 'time': '08:41 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ken Cartisano': ""Hi Kevin,\n\nThank you. I just wanted to assure you that I was not putting you on with these damned apostrophes. I think I read differently in the Strunk & White's writing guide, (that you could omit the lesser apostrophe if you were using the greater. Essentially, three wasn't necessary, but that was so like, nine years ago. (I ought to crack it open every now and then and refresh my memory.) And of course your 'inverted bicuspid' U.K. legerdemain threw me for a linguistic loop. (This is where you would say, 'Ha.') I think I'm a visual person..."", 'time': '05:14 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': 'I always enjoy a good Ken comment, and now I need to look into Moorish architecture, thanks for that!\n\nI am no master of grammar so you could be right, actually you probably are.\n\nWrote something for Anybody out there, unfortunately only got the idea on Friday morning, and you guessed it, jobs, toddler, and life in general got in my way. It was from the point of view of a wolf pup whose pack never left the valley and they encounter early man for the first time. Never got it finished or edited so instead of rushing it I just bowed out.\n\nCute ...', 'time': '09:27 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Thanks Kevin, I appreciate that. Could you show me the correction on those two sentences you pointed out? You're just showing me what I did wrong. How should it look? (I'm pretty dense sometimes.)\n\nStan Waters was real. A kind of wanna-be M.I.B. I figured. fortunately, he doesn't have that much to do. Due to the shortage of actual aliens, most of the time. He was just a logical extension of the main character's earnestness. When the mc decides he should try hypnosis, it was too good an idea. I was a afraid it might spoil the ending. It was t..."", 'time': '07:57 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Not problem, it's just a single inverted comma after up and week, as below.\n\n “In that you said, ‘Don’t wait up.'”\n\n“And you think, ‘Don’t wait up’ means, ‘I’ll see you in a week?'”"", 'time': '08:41 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ken Cartisano': ""Hi Kevin,\n\nThank you. I just wanted to assure you that I was not putting you on with these damned apostrophes. I think I read differently in the Strunk & White's writing guide, (that you could omit the lesser apostrophe if you were using the greater. Essentially, three wasn't necessary, but that was so like, nine years ago. (I ought to crack it open every now and then and refresh my memory.) And of course your 'inverted bicuspid' U.K. legerdemain threw me for a linguistic loop. (This is where you would say, 'Ha.') I think I'm a visual person..."", 'time': '05:14 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': 'I always enjoy a good Ken comment, and now I need to look into Moorish architecture, thanks for that!\n\nI am no master of grammar so you could be right, actually you probably are.\n\nWrote something for Anybody out there, unfortunately only got the idea on Friday morning, and you guessed it, jobs, toddler, and life in general got in my way. It was from the point of view of a wolf pup whose pack never left the valley and they encounter early man for the first time. Never got it finished or edited so instead of rushing it I just bowed out.\n\nCute ...', 'time': '09:27 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Not problem, it's just a single inverted comma after up and week, as below.\n\n “In that you said, ‘Don’t wait up.'”\n\n“And you think, ‘Don’t wait up’ means, ‘I’ll see you in a week?'”"", 'time': '08:41 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Hi Kevin,\n\nThank you. I just wanted to assure you that I was not putting you on with these damned apostrophes. I think I read differently in the Strunk & White's writing guide, (that you could omit the lesser apostrophe if you were using the greater. Essentially, three wasn't necessary, but that was so like, nine years ago. (I ought to crack it open every now and then and refresh my memory.) And of course your 'inverted bicuspid' U.K. legerdemain threw me for a linguistic loop. (This is where you would say, 'Ha.') I think I'm a visual person..."", 'time': '05:14 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': 'I always enjoy a good Ken comment, and now I need to look into Moorish architecture, thanks for that!\n\nI am no master of grammar so you could be right, actually you probably are.\n\nWrote something for Anybody out there, unfortunately only got the idea on Friday morning, and you guessed it, jobs, toddler, and life in general got in my way. It was from the point of view of a wolf pup whose pack never left the valley and they encounter early man for the first time. Never got it finished or edited so instead of rushing it I just bowed out.\n\nCute ...', 'time': '09:27 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Hi Kevin,\n\nThank you. I just wanted to assure you that I was not putting you on with these damned apostrophes. I think I read differently in the Strunk & White's writing guide, (that you could omit the lesser apostrophe if you were using the greater. Essentially, three wasn't necessary, but that was so like, nine years ago. (I ought to crack it open every now and then and refresh my memory.) And of course your 'inverted bicuspid' U.K. legerdemain threw me for a linguistic loop. (This is where you would say, 'Ha.') I think I'm a visual person..."", 'time': '05:14 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': 'I always enjoy a good Ken comment, and now I need to look into Moorish architecture, thanks for that!\n\nI am no master of grammar so you could be right, actually you probably are.\n\nWrote something for Anybody out there, unfortunately only got the idea on Friday morning, and you guessed it, jobs, toddler, and life in general got in my way. It was from the point of view of a wolf pup whose pack never left the valley and they encounter early man for the first time. Never got it finished or edited so instead of rushing it I just bowed out.\n\nCute ...', 'time': '09:27 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': 'I always enjoy a good Ken comment, and now I need to look into Moorish architecture, thanks for that!\n\nI am no master of grammar so you could be right, actually you probably are.\n\nWrote something for Anybody out there, unfortunately only got the idea on Friday morning, and you guessed it, jobs, toddler, and life in general got in my way. It was from the point of view of a wolf pup whose pack never left the valley and they encounter early man for the first time. Never got it finished or edited so instead of rushing it I just bowed out.\n\nCute ...', 'time': '09:27 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Oh, so many layers of mystery, romance and science fiction and, of course, fun.🛸', 'time': '15:09 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Thanks, Mary. You just named four of the layers right there in one sentence. How the hell did you do that? I gotta write a whole story, you just bang it out in twelve words. (Give or take.) Still, I'm glad you liked it.\n\nI need to read some of your stories. One could say I've been remiss. In my defense, I checked out a trilogy from the library, and I still have one book to go. Also, I need to write another story, one with the phrase, 'I didn't think things could get any worse, and then a squirrel pissed on my head.' I have that phrase stuck ..."", 'time': '07:23 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Like your way of 🤔 thinking.', 'time': '11:23 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Thanks, Mary. You just named four of the layers right there in one sentence. How the hell did you do that? I gotta write a whole story, you just bang it out in twelve words. (Give or take.) Still, I'm glad you liked it.\n\nI need to read some of your stories. One could say I've been remiss. In my defense, I checked out a trilogy from the library, and I still have one book to go. Also, I need to write another story, one with the phrase, 'I didn't think things could get any worse, and then a squirrel pissed on my head.' I have that phrase stuck ..."", 'time': '07:23 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Like your way of 🤔 thinking.', 'time': '11:23 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Like your way of 🤔 thinking.', 'time': '11:23 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,hfn2ws,Letters to a Dying World,Jonathan Page,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hfn2ws/,/short-story/hfn2ws/,Mystery,0,"['Mystery', 'Science Fiction', 'Fantasy']",24 likes,"
""You loved the herdsman, shepherd and chief shepherdWho was always heaping up the glowing ashes for you,And cooked ewe-lambs for you every day.But you hit him and turned him into a wolf,His own herd-boys hunt him downAnd his dogs tear at his haunches.""--""Gilgamesh VI"" in Myths from Mesopotamia byStephanie Dalley.A mysterious book appeared on the shelves of every bookstore the world over, translated into every language. Its title hinted at our deepest fears: “Letters to a Dying World.” The author, Actaeon, claimed to be an extraterrestrial traveler from Lelantos, a moon world orbiting HD 38858b in the Orion cluster. Thumbing through the pages, with descriptions of an alien hunter race hell bent on wiping out mankind, I wondered at the author’s inclusion of entries containing forgotten human folklore and mythology the author had collected over his two-thousand years walking the earth. I hated the idea of dying at twenty-five-years-old having never written a book, hell, having never even sold a poem for that matter. I’d also never been loved by anyone, and that was a real let down. But my crippling anxiety and despair about how things would turn out for me which tormented my every waking hour, was suddenly gone—gone, gone, not better, just gone.  And I had become low-key obsessed with my theory that the decision to include these folk tales was “nostalgic” and I wasn’t so sure that murderers or prosecutors indicting an entire people would be harboring “nostalgia” before an execution.The Guardian headline read, “End of World at Hand.” The New York Times editor went with, “Unearthly Message of Doom.” Yomiuri Shimbun ran “E.T. Alarm: Alien Invasion Imminent.” My favorite was the Chinese Reference News headline: “Cosmic Warning. Actaeon Heralds Destroyer of Worlds.”I am Duncan Newkirk, a twenty-five-year-old book clerk at the Argosy Bookstore on 59th Street in New York City. I’d hoped to have a chance to write my first novel before the world ended and to see that name in print, and perhaps be able to point at it on the shelves to the envy of my co-workers, but now it doesn’t look like I will get the chance. I honestly don’t know how I feel about it. As I place “The Letters” on the shelves, I wonder whether the choice to bind the volume in the most durable calfskin leather leaves room for some hope. Byron Parkes is hedged-in by a stack of books and assorted packing materials, preparing mailers to send out to readers who’d purchased copies of “The Letters” online.“Why would Actaeon include his favorite lost folk tales,” I asked. Byron said, “maybe it was just his way of summing up a civilization-spanning project. Perhaps he grew fond of us and felt he had some kind of duty to issue a final warning before he went. I dunno, maybe he thought a nod to our art might soften the blow?”“Sure, sure. But why warn us if we can’t do anything about it?”“I’m not equipped to puzzle out the motives of a demigod Duncan, are you?”“I just can’t help thinking there is something we’re missing.”The book arrived under the strangest of circumstances. The publishing details were absent: no publisher, no year of publication, and no place. The book had no ISBN. Yesterday, I had cross-examined a delivery driver and went through his shipping manifests, but I was unable to search out a clue there either.Strangely, no bookseller could recall ordering the volume, yet it materialized on shelves daily, seemingly flying off them. “The Letters” occupied prominent spaces in bookstores worldwide—shelved in end caps, local author showcases, and the “staff favorites” section at every bookstore (which is where I had placed this copy). It was all anyone could talk about. And rightfully so.Here is the first entry, which everyone was talking about on the news, in Congressional Hearings, in the upper chambers of the Argosy bookshop, and pretty much anywhere else people were gathered:“We are that hunter in the dark forest, that huntsman that hunts the hunters. Any potential threat to our dominance is our prey. We don’t worship gods: we are masters of our own fate. Unlike you, we have no loftier purpose than supremacy. Dominance is our birthright and sole ambition. We have been called ‘pitiless butcher.’ But we see our purpose clearly, we are the purifier of the cosmos. We are the blue star, Kachina. We are the “Day of Purification.” We are annihilation. We are the flail of the gods. The immutable decree of our law is to raid the stars and level galaxies. In the watery worlds we have wrought all the seas, in the lofty skies of gas giants we have clipped the wings of all that soar, and now—my gracious hosts—we stalk the terrestrial planes to rid the land of all the beasts that roam. If we can tame the oceans, subdue the skies, and bridle the plains, dare you doubt that our inexorable march will reach your doorstep? And so, if a Lelantian should ever reveal himself, know this—you have come upon Armageddon and your hour is at hand.”I was up in the map room stealing away some solitude and immersed in “The Letters” when I was rudely disturbed by Eliana Huchens. Eliana wore her curly locks parted and they reached down to her mid-ear, reminiscent of a boy’s bowl cut. A smile tugged at her lips and pulled up her sharp triangular jaw line a bit, rounding her cheeks. Now, Eliana was a real nerd and was a first-class know-it-all who no doubt had already finished “The Letters” and probably outlined them to boot.She pulled off the circular glasses she was wearing and said, “Happy End of the World to you Duncan!” “Same to you Eliana,” I managed.“What are you reading?”“Just trying to figure out what this alien thing is all about,” I said refusing to look in her direction in the hopes that would cause her to disappear or at least prevent her from giving me the spoilers. And that was when the idea struck me. To understand why this particular insight would come to me, of all people, you have to know the most interesting thing about me. And that is that I don’t know where I was born. I’m an orphan. I’m the kind of orphan that doesn’t know who their parents are or even where they are from. My best guess is that I’m from Romania, even though I was given a Scott-Irish name at the Harlem Dowling West Side Center. Growing up in foster care, occasionally with different foster families, I was raised by Catholic priests and faculty members at All Hallows High School in the Bronx, rather than by a traditional family.I had a persistent fantasy that my real parents were special people who had left me alone in New York City to protect me from a terrible fate but continued to watch over me, with plans to return one day. I didn’t come up with this on my own. I was big time into myths and the story of Zeus’s birth really hit home for me—how he was raised in a cave by nymphs so his father wouldn’t eat him (as Chronos had his five other children)—in an attempt to subvert the prophecy that one of Chronos’s children would overthrow him.“Eliana—what is that cave where Zeus was raised in Crete?”“You mean Mount Aegaeon,” she said raising her voice at “aeon” to accentuate her ability to produce the right answer to a question completely out of left field like she had seen it coming.“Do we know where that is by any chance?”“It is on Mount Ida.”“How would we get there and how long would it take?”“Counting the stop-over in France, my guess is about a full day.”“Hey, this might sound strange—you want to go there with me?”* * *“Entry: “Myth: Lord of Darkness. Names: Erebus or Ratri or Nott or Nox or Nephthys or Tezcatlipoca or the Aztec Council of Nine. Origin: Erebus entity is without form and void. Out of chaos, the dark shadow gave a space to be alit. At once created as empty, silent, and endlessly dark—this creature fell madly in love with Nyx, embracing her in a veil of shadows. Aether was born from their union and brought the daylight that brightens the world. Story: Erebus looked out on the suffering of the hunted, tortured, and put up for death. Seeing Prometheus in agony, Erebus lamented the pain of distress. Thus, Erebus used his powers to darken the lenses of the eyes and dull the light of the mind, so as to shorten the time that one suffers. And from that time forward, Erebus lurks in shadows and dungeons and foul places to give relief to the suffering and to give peace to the tormented. And Erebus, it is told, was once deployed to darken the midday sun.”* * *From Heraklion, we journeyed South and West toward Mt. Ida. And passed the time looking out at the line of pyramid-shaped mountains before us bordered by a white desert of hills and limestone. We talked about “The Letters” and looked back at the haunting coast behind us, as we travelled to the Cave of Zeus.We had been climbing on a twenty-degree grade for over two hours on a well-marked trail with a stone path, when we reached the ridge and the summit ascent. At the top of the mountain pass on the flat saddle of the range was a square hut made out of stones with a small door. Looking into the cave, was a long descending stone path and a winding staircase that made switchbacks into the moss-covered depths. Stalagmites hung down and oozed in the green light, obstructing our path. Finally, we reached the great hall in the bottom of the cave but saw nothing. The green lights shone on the cave-ceiling overhead but in the well of the cave, we were eclipsed in an eerie darkness, unable to see the contours and outlines of the cave walls.* * *“What did you think we were going to find here,” Eliana said.“It is just that Actaeon is an orphan. And he is obsessed with Greek myths.”“Duncan, you brought me to Crete. Explain to me again why you think this alien is hiding in a cave on an island.”“If you read what he wrote, he was obsessed with the Athenian Gods of Mt. Olympus. Zeus was their King. And Zeus lived as an orphan on this Minoan Island until he reached manhood. He was raised by nymphs who acted as his caregivers and nursemaids.”“So, you are using your orphan whispering skills to conclude that this is where he’d be hiding?”“ACT—AE—ONNN!! ACT-AEO-NNNNNN!!” I shouted, “come out if you’re here—we mean no harm.”* * *Seated on a stone, Actaeon resembled an older Alexander Skarsgård but he had a Bruce Campbell voice with a low gravelly rumble that occasionally chirped up with a sharper baritone. His features were Nordic. He wore a full length black and gold Corinthian helmet with black and gold horse-hair plumes. His torso was covered in black and gold armor with a cuirass entirely of black except for off-facing dragons above the chest plate and a central rounded lion’s head at the solar plexus, flaring at the waste with black tassels and gold lion’s head buttons. On his arms and legs were gauntlets and greaves of leather, with gold metal coverings. In his left hand, he held a three-foot-tall round shield with golden embroidery and a golden Medusa’s head in the center. Both the bowl of the helmet and the body of the shield were silvered and patinated to appear like blued steel. Across his lap was a golden javelin that glittered in other worldly green.His eyes looked out from beneath the ovular hollows of his mask, as if transfixed on unspeakable anguish. He turned his regal head toward me and looked at me for a long time.“So, you read my book,” he said in a sad and melodious voice.“Uhh, I think pretty much everyone has. It wasn’t subtle, if you know what I mean.”“Hrmph. I mean, you really read it. You must have. Or else you would never have thought to look for me here.”“Sir…uhh… master of the hounds… ahh… I’m not sure what to call you. You see, I am an orphan too and it occurred to me you might identify with Zeus being orphaned in a cave. That’s what made me think you might be here.”“Very, very good. You were exactly right. But why have you come?”“I suppose, sir, uhh, what I was thinking was, is there any way our world might be spared?”“Nothing lasts forever, kid. I’ve really grown fond of this place, but it’s smoke ‘em if you got ‘em time, if you catch my drift.”“But there must be some way?”“Here kid, maybe this will help—but I can’t guarantee how things will come out. Luna is coming, my hounds are coming, the whirlwind is coming—and there’s f**kall anyone can do about it now.”Actaeon had handed me a thin pamphlet that contained a final verse, that I decided to save and read on the way down the trail. I thought I’d read it aloud to Aliana while we planned our next move.“There’s something else kid, for you and your girlfriend.”“Excuse me! I am not anyone’s girlfriend—I am Eliana Huchens if you must know—I was the one that knew where this cave is, not Duncan.”“Wooee! A real firecracker. A spirited independent woman. You remind me of Luna. That woman will always be one step ahead and never back down for anything.”“Wellll,” Eliana began, “did you ever consider just letting her win?”“Mwahaha. We are Lelantians. You want me to let her win. Are you mad! She might blot out a whole galactic neighborhood for cheating her out of an honorable victory.”Eliana raised her hand as Actaeon shook his head and looked in my direction, shooting me a glance that meant to say what is she doing here anyway. Eliana kept waving her hand and said, “Over here, Mr. Houndman—you weren’t listening—didn’t you say you’ve been living among us for two-thousand-years, sheesh. You can’t possibly be this dense.”“Excuse me?”“I said, let her win. I didn’t say that you had to let her know about it.”“You know, I hadn’t thought of that.”“That’s why I brought her along, sir,” I said, “she is the smart one—she always has the right answer.” Elaina shot me a loving glance like she wanted to kiss me.“Tell you what, kid. Wear this bracelet. You’ll be able to reach me. This is ‘emergencies only,’ you get me. And I’ll call if I need you.”* * *Walking down the mountain, I read the verse in the pamphlet:“My lord, Luna (who your myths refer to as Artemis or Cynthia or Phoebe or Diana), is the most ruthless of us all. She was my playmate and at full age my lover. We two were protégés of Lupa (who your myths refer to as Chiron). But Luna was highborn, whereas I was a countrified orphan foundling adopted by a noble house. Despite my lowbred station, I excelled even above Luna in the art of tracking and the stealthy kill, for I am the doyen of hounds. Our rivalry spanned eons and star systems. I strove to prove myself by bringing her under the submission of my prowess, bringing her ever more exotic and elusive prey and the prizes of galactic game auctions for her to display in her temples. She sought to dominate me by arresting and chaining my heart with beguiling deceit and finesse, with cunning zero-option challenges that could test the honor of the immortal one himself if she had but a moment’s audience. This past week, we rendezvoused on an ocean world. I came upon her bathing nude in the luxurious aquamarine waters of a sundrenched and endless sea. In my ardor, I made my petition that she fulfill my yearnings and join with me in the hunt. I told her that I was helpless like a deer panting for water—would she satisfy my deep thirst at last? Whatever affection she held for me could not compete with her ambition. ‘Loutish prole’ she said, ‘how dare you! I will not deign to come when called. I am not some trophy to be pricked by a hunter’s arrow. I am the wraith of shadows that travels on moonbeams—the muse of the toxophilite whose aim is guaranteed.’ And in her outrage, she made me a devil’s bargain. I could reveal the location of the world I had been scouting—your Earth—so its destruction could commence, or she would turn me over to my own hounds. Do not despair, you will be pleased to know that your world is safe for a time… until I am laid low at least, I’d expect. Alas, she has marked me as prey for my own hounds with a mark that cannot be expunged. Though I be the maven of concealers, my bloodhounds possess all time in their droopy jowls and will flush out death itself if it is marked for them to do so. And now that they are on my trail, my days are numbered, and if you read these words, my number is up already.”Reading it aloud, I wondered if Actaeon might avoid his fate, if mankind might also, and I was determined that it would be so. I finally had a book worth writing.
","August 06, 2023 20:26","[[{'Sudarshan Varadhan': 'I love this story. Well written and very interesting.', 'time': '15:12 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Sudarshan!', 'time': '17:40 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Sudarshan!', 'time': '17:40 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Belladona Vulpa': 'I absolutely love that you had so many mythological references! I am a big fan of mythology, and amongst my favorite are the ancient greek and mesopotamian mythologies, which share some unexpected similarities. \n\nI particularly like the subtle parallels of Ishtar and Gilgamesh, Artemis and Actaeon. A connection between female goddesses and nature, and a perspective of men (and mankind) who are trying to dominate but not help being in awe at the same time. \n \nOne difficulty for me usually when I read american stories is that I have to switch ...', 'time': '09:07 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thank you, Belladona!!  So awesome to hear that someone picked up exactly what I was trying to convey.  I\'m always amazed by how on the money mythological stories are in discussing timeless conflicts and how some of these ""spurned love"" myths really touch a nerve--and I thought it would be interesting to consider an alien lover\'s quarrel that put the whole fate of humanity in jeopardy.  Thanks so much for reading my story!', 'time': '15:26 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thank you, Belladona!!  So awesome to hear that someone picked up exactly what I was trying to convey.  I\'m always amazed by how on the money mythological stories are in discussing timeless conflicts and how some of these ""spurned love"" myths really touch a nerve--and I thought it would be interesting to consider an alien lover\'s quarrel that put the whole fate of humanity in jeopardy.  Thanks so much for reading my story!', 'time': '15:26 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': 'This was phenomenally creative. Im not sure if I had the knowledge to fully absorb the references but the story gripped me throughout. Good job', 'time': '21:39 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Tom!', 'time': '01:56 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Tom!', 'time': '01:56 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Suzanne Gonsalves': 'Excellent story. The beginning quotes sucked me in. But I can\'t help but think that Americans, not being big readers, might miss the whole thing. This story could fit both this and the ""story where someone has an important message no one will listen to"" prompt. Good work', 'time': '03:07 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Suzanne!', 'time': '03:36 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Suzanne!', 'time': '03:36 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,ldlugd,[REDACTED],C. A. Janke,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ldlugd/,/short-story/ldlugd/,Mystery,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction', 'Friendship']",20 likes,"
NOTE: The following documents have been recovered and organized in such a way as to give a chronological and contextualized view of the events that took place between OCTOBER 19XX – MAY 19XX. The information found within this dossier is accessible only to agents with minimum Level A5 clearance. The contents of this dossier are not to leave Floor XX Room XXX of the facility, be copied digitally or manually, and must be observed while in the presence of an agent with Level C7 clearance or higher. Failure to adhere to protocol will result in immediate termination.THE [REDACTED] REPORT LOCATION: [REDACTED], OREGONTIMELINE: OCTOBER 19XX – MAY 19XXKEY FIGURES:James SXXXX, AGE 14Marie VXXXXXX, AGE 13Austin LXXXX, AGE 14Xander [REDACTED]FIELD AGENTS:AGENT B. XXXXXXX (Level D7)AGENT G. XXXXXX (Level F1)DOCUMENT 1A (SUPPLEMENTAL)SOURCE: Journal belonging to JamesAugust 20 – Today we found out that me, Austin, and Marie all ended up in Mr. Mahoney’s class!! Sucks that Austin’s gonna be moving at the end of next summer but at least we all get one last school year together. We’re already making plans to go the arcade every weekend and we’re gonna have a sleepover at my house next Saturday. I’m so pumped!It’s gonna be weird when he’s gone. We basically grew up together. We gotta make this year really awesome. Do something none of us will ever forget! (And maybe he’ll finally make a move on Marie – if I have to watch them not-so-secretly make googly eyes at each other for another year I’m gonna barf)DOCUMENT 1B (SUPPLEMENTAL)SOURCE: Excerpt from The PXXXX Post, local newspaperSTRANGE LIGHTS SEEN OVER [REDACTED] FORESTBy Steven JXXXXAugust 27, 19XXA curious array of lights was seen hovering over [REDACTED] Forest by at least seven locals the evening of Saturday 24. While accounts vary, there seem to have been at least five white lights spinning in a concentric circle nearly 25 feet over the treetops. One local, who wished to remain anonymous, had this to say: “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I mean, sometimes, the kids, they like to throw parties out there, you know, especially in the summer, with bonfires and flashlights and those sorts of things. But that, that I’ve never seen before. And they were gone as quick as they showed up! Just, a blink, and it was just the stars again. Whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than two minutes. But, yeah, it was certainly odd.”The forest has long been a place for the teenagers of [REDACTED] to blow off steam, but it’s not the first time something peculiar has occurred near those woods. Older residents of [REDACTED] might recall the summer of…DOCUMENT 1CSOURCE: Journal belonging to JamesOctober 21 – We still haven’t decided on our Halloween costumes. Austin and Marie want to go as Star Wars characters, but I only want to do it if I get to be Luke, but Austin wants to be Luke and Marie wants to be Leia (which ew gross it’s like they don’t remember Return of the Jedi at all!) and Austin is refusing to be Hans Solo. I wanted to go as the Ghostbusters, but Marie says they’re lame and super old (like Star Wars isn’t basically a decade older!) and Austin says we’d be short one and it’d look weird.Whatever.Anyway. There was a new kid in class today. Weird time for her to start. Her name’s Xander. Weird name for a girl. I guess everything about her was pretty weird. She was quiet and kept making like really intense eye contact whenever anyone talked to her and was constantly writing in this super thick binder.At the start of lunch no one was talking to her anymore. She was sitting alone and still scribbling in that binder, glancing around at everyone. I felt kinda bad for her. It’s hard being the new kid, especially if you’re the weird new kid.Austin didn’t want me to at first, but I asked Xander if she wanted to join us and Marie for lunch. She slammed her binder closed as soon as I got near her table and then stared at me the whole time I spoke. Her eyes are very green and very pretty. She just stared and stared, and I was starting to blush and I was about to just leave when she suddenly stood up and walked over to our table and sat in the empty spot beside Marie. She definitely spooked Marie (because she was busy staring at Austin – gag) who yelped and that made Austin laugh, but they both smiled at her.I sat beside Xander, and we had a chill lunch. Marie complimented her binder and offered to give her some of her star stickers to decorate it, and that made Xander smile, probably for the first time that whole day. She has a very cute smile. She kept making Austin laugh with her weird questions, but he always answered them nicely. Like, she had never heard of Oreos before, but he still gave her one to try. She shoved the whole thing in her mouth and just absolutely could not chew through it, and that made Austin laugh until he cried. Then we started debating the best way to eat an Oreo (Austin splits them to eat the cream first, I dip them in milk, and Marie eats them dry ‘cause she’s nuts). I’m gonna bring a whole box tomorrow so Xander can try them each way and break the tie.Xander’s for sure a little strange, but no one in our group is really all that popular. I think she fits right in with us.DOCUMENT 1DSOURCE: Journal belonging to JamesNovember 2 – Halloween was AWESOME!Me and Austin argued about Luke and Hans until like three days before Halloween, and I was gonna freak ‘cause we were running out of time, but then Marie suggested the Ghostbusters again and said we should invite Xander! We were both down ‘cause I really like we all really like her, so we asked her the next day at school. She didn’t get what we were talking about ‘cause they apparently don’t have Halloween in her old town, (which, bummer) but when we explained how it works and she got super excited! (I mean, about as excited as Xander ever gets which kinda just means she nods, like, a LOT).Marie’s mom made all the costumes for us super last minute and they looked AWESOME (Mrs. VXXXXXX, you rule!) but since we took so long to decide we couldn’t make proton packs BUT we wore our backpacks instead, and that ended up being way better because we were able to fill them up with so much more candy! We hit every house on our streets, AND the nice streets on the other side of the town! Xander didn’t get as much as us, though, ‘cause she left her binder in her bag, but whatever. Still a killer haul!After, we went to the forest to trade like we do every year and we brought Xander. Austin and Marie sat on one side of our clearing (probably, like, giggling or whatever) so me and Xander sat together on a big rock on the other end so they could have some “privacy” (barfbarfbarf). She was quiet like she always is, but she was also staring up at the stars. It was a pretty night. The leaves had fallen off a lot of the trees, so the ground was crispy and orange, and we got a super clear view of the night sky. It was a full moon, too. Kinda made me wish I’d gone as a werewolf.I told her I like the stars too, and she smiled at me in a way that made my heart feel like it was gonna barf. We talked about space and stuff, and she pointed out her favourite star, and said it was probably her favourite spot in the whole universe.And then, I don’t know why, but I told her I was glad I met her. I almost sprinted home. But she said she was glad, too. I said cool, then she said cool. I couldn’t look her in the face, but it was cool.I gave her all my single packs of Oreos, and she gave me all her gummy bears.DOCUMENTS 1E-F REQUIRE MINIMUM LEVEL C3 CLEARANCEDOCUMENT 1GSOURCE: Journal belonging to JamesDecember 20 – Christmas break is coming up. Marie’s going to visit her family up in [REDACTED] for a few days like always, but Austin’ll be staying the whole time this year. We promised Marie we wouldn’t go skating on the lake till she got back, but Austin and I are still gonna go sledding and build a snowman! Last year, we had to get his dad had to help us, and the snowman ended up taller than him, but we’re gonna try to go even bigger this year!I don’t know if Xander has plans. I didn’t ask ‘cause I thought it might be weird, but I still wanted to get her something for Christmas. I almost psyched myself out of doing it when I saw her at school this morning. She seemed nervous about something. Like, she kept fidgeting with her binder and looking out the window into the parking lot.She must’ve been really nervous ‘cause when I tapped her shoulder, she almost hit the ceiling, but when she saw it was me, she laughed. I immediately forgot all of what I’d planned to say and just shoved the Christmas card at her. She read it, and then took out the polaroid my mom took of the four of us in our costumes on Halloween.Xander’s face can be so unreadable sometimes. She just stared at it for a while, and I thought I fuc screwed up and pissed her off or something. I was gonna apologize, but then she hugged me. Really hard (she’s like, freakishly strong). It lasted a really long time, and I got the heart-barf feeling again and I didn’t really want to let go but I hugged her back.I felt like I could fly all the way to space.I did glance at the parking lot to see if there was anything weird out there but all I saw were cars. I mean, there was one really nice, expensive-looking black car that sorta stood out against all the old trucks and soccer-mom vans. But, whatever. Maybe it’s a rental.DOCUMENT 1H REQUIRES MINIMUM LEVEL D1 CLEARANCEDOCUMENT 1ISOURCE: Art assignment for [REDACTED] School, completed by AustinThe class assignment was to draw a scene of a happy memory with at least two figures and full scenery. The drawing above depicts a daytime winter scene of a frozen, outdoor lake rendered in graphite and coloured pencils. Four figures are skating together. Figure A (presumed to be Austin) holds hands with Figure B (Marie), while Figures C (James) and Figure D (Xander) skate behind, also holding hands. Each figure has a happy expression and wears well-detailed winter attire.Final Grade: A-DOCUMENT 1JSOURCE: A birthday cardThe image above is of a birthday card with a pale pink background and a white unicorn coated in iridescent glitter taking up three-quarters the space. The words “Happy Birthday” are written in flourishing cursive in the upper left-hand corner. The interior of the card is blank except for a handwritten message done in cursive. The message reads as follows:Thank you for inviting me to your birthday party. I hope the 100-pack of variety sparkle stickers and 3-piece Lisa Frank notebook collection are satisfying and enjoyable gifts. Marie, I value our connection cherish our friendship more than words can say. I wish you nothing but the happiest birthday!XanderDOCUMENT 1KSOURCE: Note written by XanderAustin, Marie, JamesI’ve got to go. I would like to say goodbye in person, but I’m not supposed to. I’d like to always remember the night we captured spectral entities and bartered sucrose Ursidae together. I wish I could be with you all under the light of a lunar cycle which had reached its fullness one last time.My time here with you guys is something I’ll never forget. You made it special. You made it important. I’ll miss you all. XDOCUMENTS 1L-N REQUIRE MINIMUM LEVEL F3 CLEARANCEDOCUMENT 1OSOURCE: Journal belonging to JamesMay 14 – I haven’t seen Xander in two weeks. She just stopped showing up to school. I don’t know what happened. None of us know where she lives, I don’t know what I might’ve done, we have no way of finding her. I’m really starting to freak out.She was getting really anxious about… something, right up until she disappeared. She was always watching the parking lot at school and at the diner. Maybe it’s got something to do with that weird car?I just hope she’s okay.The following entry is presumed to have been added later in the same day. I’m definitely freaking out now. I found a note folded in the front cover of my journal and it’s from Xander!! I don’t know how long it’s been in there, and I didn’t get most of what she said. I just thought she was saying goodbye, but Marie thinks it’s a secret message. It took us a while, but now we think Xander was talking about when we were in the forest on Halloween, and the whole “lunar cycle” thing is about the full moon, and Marie checked – there’s one tomorrow night!!We’re all gonna go. I’m not missing a chance to see Xander one last time, if it really is gonna be the very last time.DOCUMENT 1PSOURCE: Journal belonging to JamesUNDATED. It is presumed this entry follows the events of May 15, 19XX.We found her. Xander explained everything. Guess I’ve got no choice but to believe her after what we saw. She left her binder behind. She said I could have it. I promised to keep it safe. It’s covered in Marie’s stickers, and she slid a bunch of Austin’s sketches under the plastic. A copy of the polaroid of us on Halloween, too.We planned to meet up at the diner on Saturday. I’ve started looking inside and there’s some wild stuff in here. More notes for me, for Austin and Marie. Some notes and writing I don’t totally understand, either…Maybe if we figure it out, we can see her again. Maybe it’ll all mean absolutely nothing. I don’t know.But we’ve gotta try. There’s gotta be some reason why she left it for me.I promised. I’ll keep it safe. I’ll figure it out. I will see her again.DOCUMENT 1QSOURCE: Confidential field report from Agents B. and G.FIELD REPORT FROM THE OBSERVATION AND DEPARTURE OF SPECIMEN X4ND3R, CASE XXXXXNOTE: Agent G. has made the executive decision as highest-ranking agent on case to henceforth refer to [REDACTED], self-named “Xander,” as SPECIMEN X4ND3R for the purpose of record keeping.PURPOSE OF FIELD MISSIONWith the evidence of [REDACTED] craft likely to land in [REDACTED], OREGON again, Agents B. and G. were sent out to location to observe at distance and with minimal interference the possible reason for recurrent contact. Once in location, Agents B. and G. determine purpose of contact to be for retrieval of SPECIMEN X4ND3R.The following report details the event of contact, noting time, place, and interactions and behaviours between figures present. Figures include SPECIMEN X4ND3R, and locals of [REDACTED] recognized as James SXXXX, Marie VXXXXXX, and Austin LXXXX.DETAILS OF EVENTAgents B. and G. arrive at location with [REDACTED] craft already present and camouflaged as expected. SPECIMEN X4ND3R arrives at location at approximately 22:36HRS on MAY 15, 19XX. Agents remain unseen.At approx. 22:58HRS, James, Marie, and Austin arrive. All run to and embrace SPECIMEN X4ND3R. All begin talking rapidly at once.NOTE: [REDACTED] equipment malfunctioned when Agent B. attempted to use. Agents B. and G. were unable to record or hear conversations without breaking distance protocol.SPECIMEN X4ND3R takes control of conversation, speaking for approx. 2 MINUTES 13 SECONDS. Austin and Marie share shocked expressions, James shakes head in dismissal. SPECIMEN X4ND3R turns away from group to face [REDACTED] craft. After approx. 3.4 SECONDS of silence, [REDACTED] craft comes out of camouflage. All members of group wear expressions of disbelief. SPECIMEN X4ND3R turns back to group. James speaks for approx. 57 SECONDS. All members of group, including SPECIMEN X4ND3R, now teary-eyed or crying.All members join in embrace with SPECIMEN X4ND3R in center. Group contact lasts approx. 23 SECONDS. Marie and Austin break away from group. James and SPECIMEN X4ND3R continue contact for approx. 13 SECONDS.SPECIMEN X4ND3R exits contact and enters [REDACTED] craft. Remaining members run approx. 10 YARDS from [REDACTED] craft and observe ignition, liftoff, [REDACTED], and exit, waving during entire process.CONCLUSIONAgent B. concludes integration between [REDACTED] species and humans possible and likely. Despite limited time on Earth, SPECIMEN X4ND3R exhibited and experienced camaraderie, sentimentality, empathy, kindness, and generosity.Agent G. determines results of event may be skewed due to age and location of participants. Further experimentation required.Fully detailed report to follow in three days with photographs enclosed within.Following signatures from,Agents B. XXXXXXX and G. XXXXXXADDENDUM INCLUDED MAY 19, 19XX 11:29HRS BY AGENT G.During clear-out procedures Agents B. and G. witnessed James, Marie, and Austin in possession of thick binder, with James reading sections quietly to group in local diner, [REDACTED]. Agent G. believes binder previously belonged to X4ND3R and must be retrieved with urgency. Clear-out procedures halted as Agents B. and G. determine how to retrieve documents with minimal damage.END OF DOSSIER ONE OF X
","August 06, 2023 20:13","[[{'Marty B': ""The story had a 'Stranger Things' vibe, without the Demogorgons ! \nI liked the teenager interactions, it felt very realistic.\n Congrats!"", 'time': '17:14 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'C. A. Janke': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '17:35 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'C. A. Janke': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '17:35 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""This is a very entertaining story, C.A., an imaginative and creative tale, without any of those tawdry extraterrestrial details, like saucers, aliens or abductions. The format adds realism and gravity to the account, and the  writing is spectacularly realistic in James' journal, and funny. I've never seen that technique of simply crossing out phrases, but that is exactly what a 14 year old would do in his journal. \n \nHowever, the story ends without a proper conclusion in my opinion. It doesn't have to, but in this case perhaps the story shou..."", 'time': '02:14 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'C. A. Janke': ""Thank you! I really enjoyed writing in this format, and especially James' journal entries - he's just a sweet, awkward kid who loves his friends and that was fun to write in.\n\nAs for the conclusion, I get what you're saying about it feeling not quite finished, but that was also kind of my intent. With only a 3000 word count limit, I wanted to sort of leave it feeling like this is only the beginning of a much bigger story (and maybe we the readers just don't have the proper clearance yet for the rest lol). Maybe I will continue the adventures..."", 'time': '14:04 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'C. A. Janke': ""Thank you! I really enjoyed writing in this format, and especially James' journal entries - he's just a sweet, awkward kid who loves his friends and that was fun to write in.\n\nAs for the conclusion, I get what you're saying about it feeling not quite finished, but that was also kind of my intent. With only a 3000 word count limit, I wanted to sort of leave it feeling like this is only the beginning of a much bigger story (and maybe we the readers just don't have the proper clearance yet for the rest lol). Maybe I will continue the adventures..."", 'time': '14:04 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Katy B': 'I love the format for this story. It really puts you in the right mental space.', 'time': '23:53 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'C. A. Janke': ""Thank you! I've not really written in it before, but I always enjoy this kind of format for how immersive it can feel, and I'm glad it came across that way!"", 'time': '00:02 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'C. A. Janke': ""Thank you! I've not really written in it before, but I always enjoy this kind of format for how immersive it can feel, and I'm glad it came across that way!"", 'time': '00:02 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Very well done . This took a lot of work. Nice ET vibes at work. The fact they got the binder is slightly troubling!', 'time': '21:00 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'C. A. Janke': 'Definitely troubling! Thanks for commenting!', 'time': '22:22 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'C. A. Janke': 'Definitely troubling! Thanks for commenting!', 'time': '22:22 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hello!\nOh my goodness! Congratulations on this stellar shortlist! It was utterly thrilling and I loved the way you took me back to my youth. When I was a teen, learning how to write a research paper, I had to sort through all different types of sources to make my argument clear. This reminded me of just receiving buckets of information and then sorting it all out to draw my own conclusions. I admire how each was a puzzle piece, leading us to the truth. Nice work!!', 'time': '01:36 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Why of course they would send a teen to connect with teens so all could be clearly understood.😏', 'time': '05:36 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Congrats.', 'time': '13:07 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mariah Adams': 'I love verisimilitude and you nailed it. Appreciated the small details and the story overall.', 'time': '22:17 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'C. A. Janke': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '23:41 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'C. A. Janke': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '23:41 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,vy02ie,The Messenger,Debra Snyder,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vy02ie/,/short-story/vy02ie/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Inspirational']",19 likes,"
“Aakash, this just isn’t good enough! This is your third poor evaluation in as many weeks.”
 
Ash studied the cracks on the conference room table. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“You’re going to have to re-certify to prove yourself. Re-apply for the phone position, if you want it. As of now, you are downstairs working the messenger streams. I’m sorry, Ash.”
 
Ash trudged down the stairs to the sixth floor with his shoebox of desk sundries. Another high-ceiling room with a sea of tiny computer desks, murmuring voices and clicking keyboards awaited him. A big screen TV mounted on the wall in one corner showed muted 24-hour news, close-captioned in English. 
 
He’d studied hard for the call center job, but his accent betrayed him time and again. Employees were to flawlessly disguise their Indian vocal identities at all times. Westerners, especially Americans, expected their call center support to be handled from their own side of the ocean. 
 
Demotion to the sixth floor meant a significant pay-cut. His mother would be very disappointed in him. Again. He could hardly stand to think about going home in the morning.
 
A manager hustled over to his new station. “I heard you were coming down. Aakash, right?” Ash nodded, shook the manager’s hand. “I’ll send someone to review the basics with you in a bit. How much do you remember from training?”
 
“I think I can manage, Sir.”
 
“OK, well poke around a bit, but don’t go live until we’re sure you know what you’re doing.” The manager suddenly looked distant and mumbled something into his headset. He gave a thumbs-up and strode off. 
 
Ash set his rocket-ship shaped pencil sharpener to the right of the keyboard. He moved to place the small, framed picture of himself and Sulakshmi next to it and hesitated. Instead, he tucked it back in the box, facedown. He sat in the ergonomic deskchair and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. A star shined in the black sky through a tiny, dingy window near the ceiling. Considering his orientation and the time of night, he guessed it was Vega. 
 
He sighed heavily. 
 
Goodbye. 
 
A messenger box blinked on the screen. 
 
Ash looked around. His system should not yet be online. However, the blinking status of the message indicated it was just received and did not simply remain from a previous session. Ash stood up, scanning the vast room for the manager who just left him. All his new colleagues were busy peering at their screens and typing. He sat back down slowly and typed a reply. 
 
Thank you for choosing Bay Area Bank, have a wonderful day. 
 
Giraffe. Gargle Google. Incoming.
 
Ash blinked. He’d already had a bad enough night. He didn’t have the patience for one of Samir’s jokes, sitting upstairs sending him messages to taunt him about his demotion.
 
Your heading. Moving South, how to live?
 
Now Ash was sure it was Samir. Who is this? 
 
Incoming interference. Soon arriving. 
 
OK, Ash thought. I’ll play along. You are coming here?
 
Yes. Contact make want.
 
He was reminded of the grammatically challenged phrases Google Translate occasionally generated. He glanced up, hoping the manager would be on his way back to catch Samir in the act. 
 
You happy? 
 
Ash stared at the screen. Of course, I’m not happy, he thought. Who is? 
 
Fooling Americans by pretending to be one of them was stressful and subtly demeaning work. Ash resented playacting inferiority. Combined with the long hours and monotonous work, he’d begun dreading his daily life. But he was the only one left to take care of his mother as she aged, and call center jobs paid well. Then there was Sulakshmi, his childhood sweetheart who moved eight hours north the previous summer to prepare for her arranged marriage.
 
The truth was that something vital and alive inside him withered a bit more every day. 
 
But he could say none of this to the messenger, even if it was Samir. 
 
Especially if it was Samir. 
 
Yes, I am happy. Are you?
 
No. traveling forward I besides. Again contact soon.
 
Ash waited a moment and then typed, Are you still there? 
 
There was no response. 
 
***
 
“I can’t believe you’ve done this! Demoted at your job and lying about it! To your own mother!”
 
Ash closed his eyes. He hadn't lied to her about his demotion. But he hadn’t exactly told her, either. Most likely, someone (Samir) told someone else (his own mother) who then told her. 
 
He’d recently learned the American-English term “frenemy.” Samir resided firmly in that category.  
 
“Am’ma, it’s OK. I’ll recertify. Work harder. This sort of thing happens all the time and…” 
 
“I’m so ashamed! After all I’ve done for you, that you would lie to me!” she cried, tears rolling down her face.
 
Perfect, Ash thought. There wasn’t much he could do to calm her at this point. Anyway, it was nearly 10pm. He needed to leave if he was going to catch the bus to work. An image on the television in the corner caught his eye.
 
“…Human Space Flight Center in Bangaluru falls under the Indian Space Research Organization and is responsible for training the Gaganyaan crew. Preparations for the flight in December are so far on schedule…” 
 
Ash felt a surge of mixed emotions – anticipation, envy, wonder, regret. His mother never understood his fascination with the space program, his passion for astronomy. Over and over, she’d reminded him that he was a silly dreamer, losing his mind over a fantasy. 
 
“My dear husband gone, and my only son is lying to me! There is no one left I can trust!” She wailed.
 
Ash’s shoulders sagged. He loved his mother. But she was a relic, an anachronism; trying to fit old ways into an ever-changing mold. Ash wanted to provide something better for her, so that she could find peace. But he also had to admit that sometimes she simply chose to create drama where there was none. 
 
“I love you, Am’ma,” he mumbled, kissing her trembling forehead lightly as he passed. He headed out the door of their apartment into the fragrant cacophony of the Bangalore night.
 
***
 
Hello.
 
Ash stared at the screen. It was nearly breaktime and he could have sworn he blocked other messages from coming in for the moment, so he could finish comms with the guy from Ohio and his endless stream of redundant questions. Except here was this new one. 
 
You tomorrow agreeable? Delightful?
 
Ah, it’s the joker from the other night, Ash thought. I should probably tell the manager someone is hacking into the system. If it is Samir, it will serve him right to get into trouble.
 
You home in?
 
Ohio was finally saying his farewells. Ash typed in the messenger’s box, Hello, I am here.
 
Mumtaz! 
 
Ash squinted. What language was that? Arabic?
 
Speed coming. Visit soon. 
 
Where are you going?
 
Going your home. Visit you. The messenger added a sad-face emoji to the text.
 
The hair on Ash’s neck prickled. “Coming to his home...” What did that mean? He didn’t know how someone hacking into the system could have discovered where he was. But then, he didn’t know how they were hacking in, either. Ash noticed the messenger’s dialog box lacked the originating location of the querying computer's IP address. He knew a location could be inaccurate but had been under the impression it was impossible to mask it completely.
 
Great. When will you arrive? And why are you sad?
 
Happy visit <heart face emoji>! Sad I should hurt <crying face emoji>. 
 
Are you hurt?
 
Not I hurt, you hurt. You happy? You love?
 
I love. I am happy. 
 
It wasn’t exactly true, but anyway, Ash thought, why do I have to tell this guy anything?
 
Good. I visit. Ciao!
 
Ash stared at the messenger’s blank dialogue box for some time afterward. 
 
***
 
The next night, Ash expected the incoming communication. And there it was, at 11:52pm.
 
Hello, Friend.
 
He’d decided the messenger had to be some kook who also happened to be a genius hacker. He highly doubted anyone was actually on their way to visit, kidnap, kill, hold for ransom, or otherwise disrupt his life. It would probably turn out to be Samir, after all. On the bus to work that evening, he’d resolved that if things got weirder on that night’s shift, he would tell his manager. 
 
Hello. How are you today?
 
I am quite well, thank you. I am nearly to your home.
 
Ash’s eyes narrowed. No reason for alarm. Yet. What do you mean, ‘to my home?’
 
Your planet, of course. I wanted to see it for myself. 
 
Ash sat back and blinked. Now he knew he was dealing with a kook. A kook who gained a much better grasp of the written English language overnight. Why do you want to see it?
 
I have instructions to exterminate, and I am not certain this would be wise. Ah, I am at your home now! Such a lovely world. The ones with liquid water always are. 
 
A chill rippled down Ash’s back. What do you mean, ‘exterminate?’
 
My people cultivate planets, making them proper living spaces suited for our kind. Sometimes that means… The stationary cursor blinked for several seconds. …evicting some of the current inhabitants. 
 
Across the room there were excited voices and a mob growing around the TV mounted in the corner. Someone unmuted the audio. Shaky camera-phone footage showed a massive, pink blob appearing as big as ten suns, hovering in a blue, daylit sky. 
 
Ash rose from his chair slowly, mouth falling open, eyes on the screen. Now there was live satellite footage of the blob, floating in space above the Earth. Ash’s heart hammered and his focus sharpened. He felt as though he just woke up from a dream. 
 
He swallowed. He knew beyond any doubt. This was The Messenger.
 
Once a planet has been marked for extermination it is difficult to convince my people otherwise. However, I do not always agree with their decisions, and I do hold some sway in this regard. So, I ask you, Aakash. Are you happy? Do you love? 
 
Ash fell back into his chair, knees shaking. You’re pink, he typed. 
 
Over the top of the monitor, he watched the blob on the TV screen suddenly swirl and burst with color, like the skin of a squid. My visual aesthetics are adjustable. Do you prefer blue? Or perhaps black? The Messenger turned a bright sky blue and then faded to darkness, a black hole appearing where its mass obstructed the starlight behind. I can display colors outside your visible spectrum, but I suspect they may simply appear gray to you. However, some lifeforms on your planet can register the appropriate…
 
Pink is fine, Ash replied. Pink, only slightly less unsettling than the black hole effect, swirled back into place.
 
The TV reporter confirmed that emergency governmental calls were being made. Satellite defense systems were already training themselves on the object. 
 
My people will hurt you, Ash typed.
 
They will try. They are afraid. This is normal. They cannot hurt me, however, and I will not stay long. At this time, I am here simply as an observer. You have been kind and patient with me, Aakash. Now, do you love? Please, I must know.
 
Ash’s throat was cottony, his hands clammy. He thought of his mother, clinging to her cherished traditions in a changing world. Sulakshmi moving away from him and the only home she ever knew to fulfil her promise to her family. His uncle missing fifteen years of his kids’ lives while working in a faraway country so they could afford to attend school. The jovial food cart owner who sold him the dal he planned to eat for lunch. The blind beggar he passed on the way to the bus to whom he gave the dal instead. The client from Ohio the previous night, who could not pay his mortgage because of his daughter’s medical bills. 
 
He began typing. Yes, I do. We do. We are trying. We don’t always get it right. But eventually we will overcome our primitive natures. Someday we will finally get it right and join you in the stars. Just a few thousand years ago we still lived in caves. For each terrible, primitive-minded thing we do to each other, there are a thousand small kindnesses exchanged, a thousand evolutions of thought. We are on a trajectory. We deserve the chance to see it through, ourselves. 
 
Ash realized he was babbling, and his eyes were watering. He wasn’t terribly eloquent, especially in English. He wished The Messenger had chosen a poet or a speechwriter with whom to communicate instead of him.  
 
I see. It is quite valuable to gain the perspective of a native. You are indeed a fragile, unlikely people. Though most are unlikely in their own way. 
 
The cursor blinked on and off expectantly. Ash slumped in his chair. He threw occasional glances at the TV screen, his mind too cluttered to type any of the questions clamoring there.
 
Ah, there we are. I have completed my data collection. Aakash, I offer respectful and deep gratitude for your shared perspectives and your kindness. I hope that you will not see me, or any of my kind, again for quite some time. Oh, and one more thing. Aakash, remember that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Go in peace, my friend. 
 
The Messenger disappeared from the TV screen. Ash imagined hearing a “pop” as it blinked out of existence. There was a collective gasp from the viewing crowd. 
 
Ash looked up at Vega, still twinkling dimly through the dirty window. He picked up his phone, dialed his mother’s number. 
 
“Am’ma. There is something we need to talk about.” 
","August 12, 2023 00:28","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Debra,\nWhat an interesting take on the prompt! I loved the way you used technology to your advantage. And your incorporation of the mother was beautiful. It was a direct reflection of the narrator’s humanity. I also love how he thought it could have been a joke. That’s fantastic and so very human. Congratulations on the shortlist!!', 'time': '01:56 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Congrats on the shortlist. Welcome to Reedsy.', 'time': '05:54 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin B': 'I think you showed how much a setting can really take a standard plot and elevate it. Great job and congratulations on the shortlist.', 'time': '16:48 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Fine work, it could happen that way but usually, it is not arranged talking to like the saying goes.', 'time': '13:24 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': ""Great job showing the struggle of a a call center worker, squeezed by his manager and his mom! \n\nI liked the idea of 'shared perspectives' \n\nThanks for sharing, and congrats!"", 'time': '23:49 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kelsey H': 'This was really great, love how you built the mystery up and the creepy feel of the messages, the improving English was a great touch. Also enjoyed the call centre operator as a main character, and a really nice note to end on.', 'time': '09:35 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,d3va7l,News 41,John Werner,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/d3va7l/,/short-story/d3va7l/,Mystery,0,"['Funny', 'Science Fiction', 'Mystery']",18 likes,"
The door swung open as Bobby greeted me, the same way he did every Tuesday. Taco Tuesday happy hour was something I absolutely refused to miss. It ran from open until 5 PM and on days off there was no better place to spend my time and money. I was the first to enter and so had my pick of seats but took my usual spot at the bar across from the tv screen. The bottles stacked upon their risers all glittered in the noonday sun and the air conditioner was pumping to keep the humidity at bay.This little place was an anomaly. The owner, Bobby, was the drummer of a local pop-punk cover band and he and his bandmates, roadies, and techs opened the place up about a year ago. It was an altar to the times, paying homage to everyone from AFI to Yellowcard. The walls were plastered with tour posters and framed tour shirts. Lacquered into the bar were printed tickets from venues all around the world. There were signed photos of Bobby with Green Day, Panic! At The Disco, Social Distortion, and even one of him on stage with the guys from Rancid.Bobby was older now, but he used to be a sessions musician. He would play on the albums but not go out and tour with bands. He knew a lot of people and got to play music, but it also left time for him to pursue his passion, which was cooking. And so it was, that when he opened his little taco stand here on Main Street it became a ready hang-out for folks of a certain age who enjoyed music of a certain type.I ordered my Mezcal Mule, a delightful cocktail of mezcal and birch beer in a chilled and sweating copper mug with a sprig of mint on the top, and was presented with my gratis basket of chips and salsa. That’s when I saw the news flash.“Bobby! What the hell is that, man?” I asked, pointing at the television screen.“I don’t know?” He shrugged and called to Stacy behind the bar. “Turn it up!”“This is Charlotte Good from News 41 coming to you live with an exclusive story! Only moments ago we received reports of an unidentified flying object landing at Public Airport. You can see it here behind us.”The reporter was standing in front of a black SUV emblazoned with the News 41 lightning bolt logo across the side. She and the airstrip were separated by a chain link fence and her face glowed with that mix of summer perspiration and makeup. As usual, the sound was crap and every couple of seconds it would glitch or lag. She kept talking and we could make out at least seven out of every ten words.The shape behind her was not so different from what we might expect. Any fan of modern science fiction wouldn’t be particularly surprised by the design. It was nothing like War of the Worlds. Sleek, black, pointed nose, looking like a triangular prism with an angled back. Just then the side of the ship slid open, a telescoping ramp extending to the ground.Down that ramp they strolled. They didn’t look so very different from us, aside from the blue skin and frilled ears, their faces looked like a face should look but their eyes were super big and their noses were fairly small. They had arms and legs, although the knees were hinged in the opposite direction from ours. They wore what looked like wet suits with a rigid oversized hood that framed their faces and joined at their shoulders. It was kind of a letdown. It looked pretty much like all those pictures you see of aliens everywhere.“We are awaiting confirmation from local authorities that it is OK to enter the premises.” The reporter continued.One creature noticed her, pointed to its buddy, and they ran over to the fence, lacing their fingers through the chain links. She continued to talk, the cameraman tried to get her attention but her camera-ready smile and professional composure only allowed for her to communicate her annoyance with a subtle lift of her eyebrows. The one on the left waved, which was awesome. The one on the right opened its mouth and began to talk.On the first word, Charlotte Good screamed, spun on her heels, and promptly fainted straight away. The aliens looked at each other, and then at the cameraman, which is to say into the camera. They smiled and waved again, the one who spoke motioning to the mic which lay on the ground beside the prone Ms. Good. The camera moved awkwardly as the man bent, retrieved the mic, and tossed it to the alien over the fence.Its words were completely incomprehensible, but it smiled as it said them. It seemed enthusiastic and friendly although impossible to understand. Its buddy said something, tapping it on the shoulder, and gesturing expansively. Raising one of its spindly fingers it motioned from its friend to the camera and back again. It raised its wrist and what looked like a predictably ordinary watch projected a perfectly cliche hologram.It wasn’t a picture. They were symbols. The symbols were grouped in cycles of 4 sequences. There were fourteen of those cycles. Those were followed immediately by 33 additional cycles.In the distance, great dust clouds could be seen rising off the ground as government vehicles raced across the tarmac. A human hand pointed into the view of the camera, we assumed it belonged to the cameraman, who was warning the aliens of the danger closing in. They looked at each other, one pointed to the other, they looked back into the camera and leaped the fence in one bound. One pointed to poor Charlotte, the other scooped her up.“Put her in the car!” The cameraman shouted. “We gotta get out of here!”The two aliens looked at each other and shrugged. The cameraman opened the door to the news van and motioned for them to place her gently into the passenger seat. He handed the camera to one of them, showing it how to keep the feed live, and then ran around the car and hopped into the driver’s seat.“Seatbelts!” He turned, modeling for them the over-the-shoulder straps and how to buckle themselves in. They each did the same.“That’s Dougie!” Bobby laughed, pointing to the screen.“Classic Dougie!” Stacy laughed, her hand going to her forehead.Dougie was their guitarist. His day job was working as a cameraman for the local news. He also ran all of their video and sound. The band’s. Not News 41’s. As previously discussed, News 41’s sound sucks. You had to be versatile when you were in a band. It paid to know how to do these things. With screeching tires, the government vehicles came skidding to a halt as they reached the fence. The camera panned to the other alien, who open mouth smiled in mock surprise as the News 41 van took off, leaving the Feds behind.For many hours, experts of all kinds were stumped by what the strange symbols could mean. Cryptographers from all over the world provided their take on what might be the contents of that first message imparted unto humanity from these visitors from the stars. We sat there, all afternoon, watching those screens.Dougie and aliens at the beach. Dougie and aliens at the Super Mart, getting slushies. Dougie and aliens winning twelve bucks on a scratcher at the corner store. The corner store? We ran out and saw Dougie, alien, Ash the clerk from the corner store, and a few other locals running down the street. At the end was the cameraalien who kept the live feed rolling.“What is happening right now, Dougie?” Bobby demanded, reaching out a hand and pulling him in for a hug.“I couldn’t leave these aliens with the Feds. I didn’t want it to end up like a Spielberg movie!” Dougie said. “They’re cool.”“Cool?” Stacy asked. “What?” She flinched as the one behind the camera motioned to the other to get in close and he swung his long arm around her shoulders and pulled Bobby in on the other side. Once again, he vamped for the camera and they joined in.Dougie ran towards the restrooms. There on the wall between them was a guitar signed by the great Billy Joe Armstrong. He took it down, plugged it into the amp below, strummed it once, and began to retune.For their part, the aliens immediately responded. Apparently, air guitar is universal. Ash played along with them as Dougie finished up.“I know what they’re saying!” He said excitedly. “Those symbols! They’re not words! They’re tablature! These dudes are here to rock!”With the guitar tuned to his liking he motioned to the alien wristwatch. His blue-skinned friend once again raised it and activated the interface. As the patterns scrolled by, Dougie played that Billy Joe signed guitar for all it was worth. The minute it started everyone knew the words and sang along.“They came all this way for punk!” Dougie shouted.“All the Small Things?” I asked.“Is that weird?” Stacy asked.“Not at all,” Bobby replied with a shrug.Dougie reached out and high-fived Bobby, turned and hit me, then Ash, and then the aliens joined in.They called the band, set the stage, and played into the night. Everyone was skanking and drinking and having a blast. When Charlotte came to, she wandered in and I took the camera at her request. Not to put on heirs, but I had some experience myself.“This is Charlotte Good from News 41 coming to you live with an exclusive story! Taco Tuesday will never be the same!”That was the best night. Bobby, Stacy, Dougie, Ash, the locals, the band, the aliens, Charlotte Good, and me.Tacos, mules, and punk.
","August 04, 2023 23:20","[[{'Eric Lizotte': 'I like it a lot. I wish it was a little longer :) The main comment i\'d have for some improvement was that a few things were a bit generic. ""Public Airport"", ""government cars"", where this took place. I\'ve found when i\'m writing that whether I use real or fake city and other names it helps it feel more real. Granted that has the slight downside (if you use real ones) that if you miss details it can go the other way. Another one since you obviously have a lot of music knowledge is the guitar he pulled down. ""There on the wall between them was a...', 'time': '11:35 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'John Werner': 'Thanks, Eric! I appreciate the feedback!', 'time': '12:10 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'John Werner': 'Thanks, Eric! I appreciate the feedback!', 'time': '12:10 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Punk rocking aliens? This is a horror story, plain and simple. And funny.', 'time': '20:32 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'John Werner': 'Thanks, Ken! Glad you enjoyed!', 'time': '21:38 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'John Werner': 'Thanks, Ken! Glad you enjoyed!', 'time': '21:38 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': '""The dudes are here to rock!"" Loved it! The story was so original and entertaining. Loved it.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'John Werner': 'Thanks, Ty! Rock on!', 'time': '18:19 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'John Werner': 'Thanks, Ty! Rock on!', 'time': '18:19 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Bruce Friedman': 'John, this was a refreshingly original story. Had me mesmerized. Clearly you are ""into"" music and understand the culture and vocabulary. Great effort.\n\nA few very minor points. Your phrase: ""It raised its wrist and what looked like a predictably ordinary watch projected a perfectly cliche hologram."" Would help just to merely mention the surface on which the hologram was projected. \n\nAlso, ""Not to put on heirs, but I had some experience myself."" This should be airs.', 'time': '14:00 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'John Werner': ""Thank you, Bruce! I appreciate the feedback! I'm glad you enjoyed!"", 'time': '14:09 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'John Werner': ""Thank you, Bruce! I appreciate the feedback! I'm glad you enjoyed!"", 'time': '14:09 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'The way the aliens reacted when they arrived I was half expecting them to say they were here in the first galactic leg of there tour...apparently not to far off.\n\nA fun sci-fi music romp! Good Charlotte eh, ha.', 'time': '12:56 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'John Werner': 'Thanks, Kevin!', 'time': '13:57 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'John Werner': 'Thanks, Kevin!', 'time': '13:57 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Putting on heirs? How about airs?\nEarth has a reputation as a cool blue rock.', 'time': '19:57 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'John Werner': 'Thanks for the feedback, Mary!', 'time': '14:11 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'John Werner': 'Thanks for the feedback, Mary!', 'time': '14:11 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,tbl7zd,''Flying Saucers?'',Kendall Defoe,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/tbl7zd/,/short-story/tbl7zd/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Funny', 'Contemporary']",16 likes,"
At first, no one believed it. No one who paid attention to the signals caught by scientists believed it. No one who heard rumours about those signals believed it. And when the press finally took the men and women in lab coats seriously, they still did not believe it. But it was true. Earth had received a signal and it was a message they could all understand: the planet had made first contact with life in outer space.               The celebrations began almost immediately everywhere the news traveled. Some religious leaders worried that they would no longer be able to keep their adherents in churches, temples, and mosques, but they were a very weak minority of voices. Many governments made plans for greeting the visitors; there were endless meetings about protocol, gifts, and possible exchanges of information (military leaders in many nations demanded this last condition). Ordinary citizens celebrated by imagining what the aliens would look like, what they would wear, how they would communicate, etc. School children and graduate students at the best schools wrote papers about all of this. Science-fiction fans had long and noisy debates about the alien’s possible friendliness or hostility (military official also paid attention to these debates). And everyone looked up at the sky, often through tears, and imagined what would happen next.               And then they waited.               The scientists who first tracked the signal believed that the aliens would land or make further contact in at least one or two months. That was how various teams interpreted the message after it was translated. The shock of discovering the vehicles already in orbit after only two weeks made many governments, military leaders, and scientists worry about having enough time to prepare for their visitors. There was also the other question about how the aliens had arrived in their galaxy. With the best equipment available, no one could track the trajectory of the alien’s possible flight path. The ships simply appeared in their telescopes as they did their daily observations. This was seen as an example of how advanced the aliens were and no more was said in public about this, although many scientists wanted to have answers about this as soon as the ships landed (the military if the ships could travel undetected because of possibly unknown speeds of travel). The rest of the world just reveled in the news.               And then they waited…again.               The ships landed. At first, only one ship landed, in northern Russia; another traveled to northern Canada. And then they waited. Scientists tried to communicate using radio signals of every kind. Military leaders sent in tanks and soldiers, demanding the aliens appear and speak to them. But there was no response to either group, not until the last ship appeared over Australia and landed in the Outback. The aliens finally had something to say:“Hi, hello!We’re here!”This was translated into many languages – all corresponding to where the now fifteen ships had landed. Soon, various governments replied and extended greetings to their extra-terrestrial visitors.               Again, they waited.               And this is what they finally heard after all the replies were sent in:“So, thanks for that.Bye.”And that was it. The ships, small silver cylinders that revealed no doors or propulsive sections that could be used for travelling across the galaxy, did not leave. They just stood there, revealing nothing. Nothing but silence.*Many questions were asked. Citizens wanted to know if there were any ways by which they could continue the conversation. Some demanded to have the ships cut open and examined, an idea that the military supported. But this was a view that no one wanted to try. Since there was no detectable threat from the aliens, or their ships, most people thought it best to just leave them alone. Several government papers were written, and debates were held about the cost of monitoring the ships. But, once again, this was a concern that very few worried about in public. In private, many were quite disappointed. If the aliens wanted to be left alone, why did they travel to their planet and leave themselves onboard their ships. Still, it was their choice. Disappointing, but a choice they were comfortable with; what could they do?               A few months passed. Soldiers who were assigned to monitor the ships were at first pleased to have such an easy assignment. However, they soon complained about how boring things were. And not every country monitored the ships quite so closely. TV networks, after the first jump in ratings during the landings, realized that they would lose viewers if they continued to report on the ships in prime time (even satellite channels got bored with the ships). Graffiti began to appear on the bodies of the unguarded ships. Most of it was not obscene; some of it was actually clever or quite polite (“Knock, knock?”, “What’s the Deal?”, “Are You Shy? Then call…”, “Nanoo! Nanoo!”, “Live Long and Prosper”, “Was it something I said?”, and so on). Usually, other citizens would come along and clean up the mess (the metal was remarkably easy to clean). But not a single word was heard from the inside of the ships. Not one sound could be detected.               Some people were quite happy with the way things were, specifically philosophers, artists, and the same religious leaders who had been worried that the presence of aliens would draw away congregants and believers. Far from it. The number of people attending churches, temples and mosques grew along all denominations. Priests, monks, imams, rabbis, all had to deal with believers who thought the presence of the ships was a sign, or some sort of great test of faith. The Pope felt compelled to broadcast a sermon warning his church not to settle for some idol worship “over the promise of a greater reward in the hereafter”. And some of those religious leaders, in their private moments, even wondered if having so many people attending their services was a good idea. But once again, no one said anything too loudly against the visitors.               And what about those philosophers and artists? They were having the time of their lives. Every major news organization, pundit, journalist and the like wanted to have them on the air and in print. Philosophers with remaindered or unpublished books discovered that they now had best sellers and demands for more writing. Opinions were needed; debts were forgotten. Universities and colleges had extra courses added to their schedules, often hiring the same philosophers whose work was now popular. Many other people simply read the books themselves (editions of the work of the pre-Socratics up to Nietzsche all sold very well; no noticeable sales fluctuation took place with 20th century thinkers). And the artists began to write music, books, poetry, plays; they choreographed dances; there were even puppet shows that ran in several theaters in Eastern Europe and Asia (the title of one play translated into English as “They Don’t Really Like Us, Do They?”). Everyone had something say, do or think about the aliens.               And then the pods disappeared.*As noted, some countries kept a very close watch on the ships, but most of them had grown so accustomed to their presence, they often had no one monitoring them. At first, the various armies thought they had simply forgotten to keep the cameras running when they saw the footage and noted that the ships just disappeared. But there were no technical problems. There were no time jumps or other problems gone unnoticed. The pods had just disappeared. It was seen that they left the various continents at the exact same moment, meaning that the aliens did not mind departing when they could be observed doing so; when they could be seen attempting to get away from the planet they had inhabited for almost three years.               Again, the responses varied. Scientists and the military were the most disappointed. Philosophers and artists were next, but many of them had already become tired of having to debate or discuss the late visitors (some even did their best work after the ships departed). The average person on the street felt annoyed, disappointed, indifferent and even relieved with the change. There were demands that scientists attempt to contact the aliens, but all the messages sent into deep space were met with silence. The visitors were really gone.               It did not take long for conspiracy theories to grow and explain the absence of the ships. There had always been theories about why they landed: garbage disposal; hostile takeover; deep observation; harvesting of minerals and species, etc. The idea was that the ships had never landed; there was instead an international conspiracy to distract people from other problems. At first, once again, it was only an opinion held by a very small group of loners. But the voices supporting the theory grew louder and angrier. Visitors to the sites once monitored by the various armies noted that there were no real signs of “spaceships” apart from indentations in the soil and rock. Also, why had the ships chosen to land in areas with a very small population (mainly in the northern hemisphere) instead of contacting us through the world’s capitals? Some pointed out that maybe the aliens had not wanted to cause a panic, or knew the importance of the capitals but wanted to wait. But the theorists would not change their minds, and they began to appear on the same programs that had once featured artists and philosophers who had debated the reasons why the aliens appeared at all. Many nations that had formed peace treaties now had to deal with old hostilities (the threat of war had never been closer). Again, a distraction against dealing with problems that were long ignored was needed. Negotiations for peace were often very loud and full of the threat of violence; rooms filled with grown men and women threatening each other in the same place where they had once negotiated reductions in arms and soldiers. The UN held extra-long sessions for peace treaties, but they often ended in stalemates and even more threats.               And just when it seemed as though war was inevitable throughout the planet, the aliens returned. At least, that was what the scientists observing them believed. Many government and military officials were at first doubtful…again. And citizens around the globe, already used to the first visit, thought these were new visitors. They had every right to believe so. The ships were quite different. Instead of the silver cylinders of before, these ships were designed like something seen in a bad 1950s sci-fi movie: round black discs rotating with a steady central section that bulged on top with a clear glass dome.                Now, many thought this was a joke, until they began to land in the exact same locations as the earlier ships. Once again, the military was called out; pundits, artists, philosophers and religious leaders gave their predictions. But the scientists observing these new ships were more concerned about how they arrived. They tried, as before, to trace the flight paths of the ships. They had just suddenly appeared around the planet once more.               It was as if they had always been there.               And then they spoke for one last time. This was broadcast into every language through every computer, radio, television, cellphone and other electronic devices. This is what they said:“Hello, um…it’s us.“We have returned with new ships because they seemed to be forms that would make you more comfortable with our presence. Those first ships were just observers. And we did observe.“All we wanted to do was to observe and learn. You have been cut off from the rest of the universe for such a long time because we were not sure that you could handle the knowledge.“And it seems you can’t.“Seriously, graffiti? We know what that stuff is. It’s not some tribute to us or even very nice work. We have studied your history through your satellites and signals, so we know what you mean with that painting.“Don’t bother trying to solve the great mystery of how we got here. We teleported our ships here centuries ago and paid attention. We have seen you develop yourselves, your tools, civilizations, all your discoveries, wars, crimes, moments of glory. And we saw you finally making it into outer space with all that equipment (you should really try to clean up after yourselves, by the way). And you still behave like bad children. Why?“So sad.“Oh, and don’t worry about what we look like. You couldn’t handle it.“Now, here is what we are going to do…”               It was a long list. The aliens spoke for almost an hour in all the languages of the planet. Most listeners grew bored after the first ten minutes. Some decided to record the message. What was clear was that the visitors, the aliens that had lived among them for many years, were very angry. And they were done with the Earth.               In the newspapers, magazines, news reports broadcast over the next few weeks, most of the headlines covered the decisions made by the aliens with the exact same tone. Some of the headlines and title segments were the following:Alien Life Rejects EarthEarth: No Go ZoneThe Final Frontier (No, Really)The Hate from Outer Space               Again, scientists tried to trace the aliens; find some sort of way of communicating, but this just led to frustration and dead air. Artists, politicians, philosophers, writers and religious leaders tried to provide comfort to the public, but too many people found it too difficult to accept that the first real contact with alien life led to their collective shunning by the rest of the universe. Attendance at religious ceremonies plummeted; philosophers went back into obscurity; many writers found former bestsellers now in remainder bins. But people continued to look at the sky. They wanted to see the flying saucers again.
","August 08, 2023 00:05","[[{'Ken Cartisano': ""This is a pretty damned clever story. The graffiti section was a hoot. Someone said the story was too long. I didn't get that impression, and I do get that impression from a lot of stories. Not in this case, however, Perhaps the nature of the plot, waiting for a communication that never came made some feel like the story was long, but the essence of the story, the fact that an alien race came to visit, and decided we weren't civilized enough to trust, was a neat plot and an  effective means to build suspense. I enjoyed the story."", 'time': '20:29 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thank you. All opinions are valid, but I think you get it. I could not let things end too quickly here. And it is clear that the aliens know us too well. A simple observation would prove we are not worth the time.', 'time': '02:10 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thank you. All opinions are valid, but I think you get it. I could not let things end too quickly here. And it is clear that the aliens know us too well. A simple observation would prove we are not worth the time.', 'time': '02:10 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Hilarious and sad at the same time. Talk about being rejected! LOL\n\nSeriously, I wouldn't blame aliens for shunning us. I mean, we're not the belle of the ball, are we? Humanity, as seen through the eyes of a dispassionate observer, is something that looks like what the car dragged in. Very good tale, my friend, and very poignant. Well done.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '13:45 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thank you. If they are intelligent, they will probably never contact us.', 'time': '16:13 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Kendall Defoe': 'Thank you. If they are intelligent, they will probably never contact us.', 'time': '16:13 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thank you. If they are intelligent, they will probably never contact us.', 'time': '16:13 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Thank you. If they are intelligent, they will probably never contact us.', 'time': '16:13 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Wow, I really liked this story, & I do believe aliens have been here for ages, although I've never seen one or even a spaceship. However, hopefully someday we all may learn from them. Nice work, Kendall."", 'time': '21:33 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Many thanks. I think that there is something to your theory.', 'time': '01:14 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Many thanks. I think that there is something to your theory.', 'time': '01:14 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rabab Zaidi': 'Interesting but a trifle too long.', 'time': '10:10 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Fair point.', 'time': '01:14 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'Fair point.', 'time': '01:14 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anna W': 'Great story, Kendall. I do think that if aliens arrived, they’d probably have a few critiques for us lol', 'time': '00:12 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'More than a few!', 'time': '04:12 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'More than a few!', 'time': '04:12 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""The truth comes out.\n\nThanks for liking my road trip.\nThanks for liking 'Don't Mean Nuthin'"", 'time': '01:02 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'The truth is out there...and it will probably piss you off.\n\nThank you for the thanks!', 'time': '00:58 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'The truth is out there...and it will probably piss you off.\n\nThank you for the thanks!', 'time': '00:58 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'I wonder...if I was an alien...would I want to stay on this planet after observing it for a while. Probably not especially if someone came and drew grafitti on my ship!\nThanks Kendall\n(in second paragraph you have ""what they would where,"" instead of what they would wear).\nD', 'time': '12:22 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kendall Defoe': 'I will fix and curse my autocorrector! Thank you for the comments.', 'time': '16:27 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': 'No probs 😁', 'time': '16:34 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kendall Defoe': 'I will fix and curse my autocorrector! Thank you for the comments.', 'time': '16:27 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'No probs 😁', 'time': '16:34 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'No probs 😁', 'time': '16:34 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,txyfqz,"Eep, Opp, Ork, Ah-ah!",Eric Lizotte,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/txyfqz/,/short-story/txyfqz/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Funny']",15 likes,"
It was just another day at work, or at least that's how it started. Consulting work was sometimes a drag, sometimes a joy. In Dubai, it was a little bit of both. Fun to see the culture, try the foods, wander through the parking garage with crazy exotic cars. But like anywhere it had its downsides as well.
 
Extremely hot, occasional sandstorms and less than obvious local laws don't help. Try and find yourself a good bacon cheeseburger and beer there sometime, it isn't easy (or all that good of a burger). But the money is great, and we all gotta do what we gotta do. 
 
What I wanted to do right now was go have a cigarette. Analyzing the business requests was a strain on the eyes after a while, and I needed a break. I walked over by the project manager Tarek's desk, and waited for him to get off his call. ""I'm going to hit the observation deck on 124 for a quick cigarette"" I said after he was off. Tarek replied with ""Of course, my friend, please enjoy your break. We will be here when you return, Inshallah"". What a great voice he has I thought. I smiled, slightly bowed to him and headed toward the elevator. 
 
For as tall as the Burj Khalifa building is, the elevators are pretty fast. Granted they got a little bit crowded and slower at certain times of day, but never as bad as in some other cities. Then again, it has the advantage of being built after Y2K unlike a lot of office buildings elsewhere. The Sears Tower was built before I was born, and boy the difference shows. The bell dinged, and I got in.
 
The trip to floor 124 was short and fast, and amazingly I was alone in the elevator. At least this trip I was smart, and brought a carton of cigarettes with me. Here it was easy to get some of the exotic European cigarette brands you can't get in the US, but impossible to get American Spirits. It's not like there are many places that allow smoking either, at least not in the business areas. I'm still not sure if it was actually legal to smoke on the observation deck, but nobody has ever said anything. I try not to do it more than a couple of times a day, just in case. Well, also because of the blazing heat while you're out there.
 
At least at that height, it wasn't as bad as on the ground. Still on a day where ground level temps hit 118f, it was ""only"" around 105 up here. And dry of course, so even the 105 here wasn't as bad as 95 back home in Tampa, Florida. It was probably only in the upper 90s on the deck today as it was a bit cloudy. “That one cloud looks pretty weird” I said aloud as I looked at them, luckily nobody else was nearby to hear me.
 
It wasn’t just the shape looked off, but the colors and shadows weren’t the same as the other clouds. It wasn’t as round and flat as the rest, more squarish. And not as much internal fluffiness either. The bluish tinge to its greys was really odd too. I can’t recall having seen a cloud that looked like that before. And it was moving in this direction too. Hmm, oh well I thought and went to light the cigarette. Right as the lighter sparked, the cloud squared up a bit more, turned a little bluer and started moving faster in this direction.
 
Not like I’m the panicky sort but that gave me a bit of a gut wrench. It was moving faster than the other clouds and in a different direction. That certainly wasn’t normal. I looked around and I was the only person on the observation deck. That didn’t leave me feeling any better, but I wasn’t spooked enough to abandon the cigarette. It wasn’t like it was replaceable until I got back to the US. And that was still a few weeks awy.
 
Taking a drag off the cigarette helped for a moment. But by the looks of it, I wouldn’t finish the cigarette before it was overhead. I chuckled at myself, it’s a freakin cloud. Not like there was much lightning here, and even if the cloud was weird, it was a cloud for gods sake. I’m sure Tarek will have some interesting story for me about how historically clouds like that were a sign of something or another. He was a great guy, part of what made being here a bit easier. Always a helping hand, always a kind phrase to help through any stressful moments. Maybe part of that was his age, he was in his mid 60s I think, so perhaps that was part of his zen-like demeanor.
 
Dang I wish he was up here as the cloud got closer and closer I felt my stress rise. Thankfully (Inshallah I thought) I didn’t have a fear of heights or any other phobias, but it seems like I was beginning to get whatever a fear of clouds is called. I guess I can look it up on my phone… if I hadn’t left it at my desk. The pocket pat and check for the phone did distract me for a moment from the cloud, but when I looked back up it was just about overhead. Suddenly the temperature felt a lot cooler, but I wasn’t sure if it was me beginning to panic, or just the darkness of that cloud absorbing more sun.
 
The cloud dropped closer to the observation deck, and I started to realize how small it was relative to the other clouds. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of hundred feet across. There was a quick flash of bright light from it and then standing about 10 feet in front of me was well, I don’t know what to call it. I would have said creature, but it didn’t really look like anything living I’ve seen before. It was a vaguely humanoid shape, but it seemed to be made out of cloud. Swirling translucent to opaque areas inside it, all blueish tinged. It was beautiful enough that I forgot to be scared.
 
Then it spoke. Well, it made sounds at least in what I assumed was language. It sounded something like “Erps Opp Ork Tang Glor”. The cigarette fell from my mouth and for a moment all I could do was blink. I’ve travelled around the world, worked with people from all over the planet, sat with CEOs of near trillion dollar companies and I had no idea what to do here. I half wanted to pick the cigarette back up but I didn’t want to take my eyes off him. So I pulled one out of the pack and lit it without looking. 
 
Realizing it seems you’re stalling in what perhaps is the first human encounter with an alien kicked enough adrenaline and endorphins into my brain for me to at least say “Excuse me? I didn’t understand that”, which felt pretty lame after it left my lips. The thing replied with another bunch of gibberish sounds that didn’t help. His swirls started to change shape a bit which had me a little worried, but he hadn’t moved closer, or moved his appendages. “I don’t understand that either” I replied, wondering whether it was worth my time to try some other languages. Except most of what I knew in languages other than English was “please”, “thank you” and “where is the bathroom”, none of which seemed appropriate. Well maybe “where is the bathroom” as the anxiety was giving my bladder a bit of a push. 
 
That didn’t seem like an appropriate response, but thinking that maybe that’s what he was asking had me chuckle internally which helped my tension. I was wracking my brain for good phrases in other languages and somehow a piece of Latin popped into my head and I said “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes” – Who will guard the guardians themselves. His swirls moved faster for a moment and he flashed brighter and darker for a moment and replied “Forsitan spectemus invicem” and I blinked hard again in surprise. It sure sounded like Latin, but I didn’t have the slightest clue what it meant.
 
But it gave me some hope that we could work out a middle ground. After all that was a lot of what I did in consulting, work out the middle ground during mergers, acquisitions etc. So I fell back into working mode, and tried a piece of Spanish “Que paso mi amigo?”. His color shifts and swirls were faster this time and he almost immediately replied with “Bien, y tu?”. “Bien” I replied, which also hit about the end of my Spanish knowledge. “I wish I knew more Spanish” I said, as I had no idea where to go from here.
 
It replied “No worries my friend, I’ve worked out your current language” which somehow was more of a shock than anything up till this point. “Why me” I muttered under my breath, not intending it to be aloud. It replied with “20 of your earth years ago we received a partial garbled audio message of I Love You from your planet in our language and we came to see if it was one of our people lost here.” Thankfully his colors and movements were soothing, because that took me to another level of being lost.
 
“You got a message of I Love You from Earth?” I asked while shaking my head and taking another drag from the second cigarette. Again, glad I lit it as it gave me that moment to compose myself. I suppose its like those Twix commercials where jamming one in your mouth gives you that moment to not have to respond. “The message was otherwise garbled, but that part was clear” it replied as its swirls slowed a bit more and the color flickering also slowed. “The signal was weak enough by the time it reached us that we did not have the ability to be certain where on Earth it originated, so we started in the areas that was closest to our home planet’s environment” he added, then seemed to almost put his arms on his hips waiting for me to respond.
 
I quickly puffed the cigarette a few times while I thought. Donning my analyst hat again, I asked “Do you have a copy of that audio with you?” hoping it would take him some time so I could continue to compose myself. Why of all times did I leave my phone at the desk? He waved an arm towards the cloud and a tiny tendril came down from the cloud, forming a ball in his hand. He put his other hand over it and “Eep Opp Ork Ah-Ah” came from the ball.
 
“Is that the whole audio file?” I asked quizzically with my eyebrow raised. “There may have been more in the original audio but it was very degraded over that distance, and this was all I was given” it replied, with somehow his semi-amorphous body taking a pose that felt like embarrassment to me. Keeping my working mindset in place I scratched my chin. There was something vaguely familiar here but it was escaping me. Maybe because it shouldn’t be familiar, I thought. 
 
The creature moved his hands around the ball again, and it repeated “Eep Opp Ork Ah-Ah” but it sounded a bit different this time. Not the words, but it sounded like there was music behind it. Maybe a guitar and drums? “Can you play it like that again?” and he did. It felt even more familiar but still nothing specific. “You say you received it 20 years ago, what would that mean in terms of when it was sent?” He paused, another speedup of his swirls and flashes then said “It would have been in 1962 in your years”
 
I was sort of hoping the answer was 1947, as at least the Roswell incident would have made sense. I scratched my chin as I thought and shook my head as I said “I don’t believe that in 1962 humanity would have had any more knowledge of your people and it’s language than we do today.” With another quick flickering it made a gesture that seemed like a shrug, and said “We had no people reported missing in this area, but still felt it was worth checking. I’ll be leaving now”. Then with another flash from the cloud he disappeared and the cloud rapidly rose as well disappearing into the other clouds.
 
Second cigarette today I spit out from surprise before finishing it. I yelled “Wait” but I couldn’t even see the blue square cloud. Looking around there was still no-one else on the observation deck. I slapped my forehead, here I got first contact with an intelligent alien race and not only did I not have any proof but also got nothing valuable from it, and no way to communicate with them again. Well, at least I got a laugh from it. After all being stuck traveling through space for 20 years checking on a slightly garbled message of “I Love You” is way worse than anything I’ve had to deal with work wise before. I pondered lighting another cigarette but that seemed like tempting fate at this point, so I gathered the 2 butts from the ground and headed back to the elevator and downstairs. 
 
I went and grabbed a coffee before heading back to my desk, secretly wishing I could pour some bourbon in instead. But not here in Dubai. I was already starting to wonder if maybe it was a heat stroke hallucination, or some delayed jet lag symptom. Oh well, I had work to do and as nobody would believe there was no point in mentioning what happened to anyone. Still that phrase ran through my head with the hints of guitar and drums in the background. Welp, back to analyzing business requests.
 
As I walked towards Tarek’s desk, he wasn’t busy so I stopped by. “Anything I missed while I was away?” I asked hoping there was something to distract me and get that earworm of a phrase and music out of my head. “No my friend, but you look troubled. Is something wrong?” he replied in that kind voice. I figured there was no harm in that part so I told him “I have this weird sound that feels like it’s a part of a song in my head, but I have no idea what it is. It’s Eep Opp Ork Ah-Ah” I said, trying to replicate the rhythm of the music as I said it.
 
Tarek’s face lit up and he laughed as he stood up and gave me a hug. “Ah my friend, that means I Love You” he said with a huge smile. “In what language does it mean that? Cause I have no idea.” Tarek saw my confusion and said “That is a song from an episode of the Jetsons. I’ve told you before that my father travelled with us for work when I was a child. The joys of American children’s television still stick with me today, as we had nothing so wonderful as that here.”
 
“Oh” I said, “I guess I forgot and somehow it got came to my mind today. Thanks Tarek, you’re a lifesaver” and headed back to my desk to immerse myself in analysis. Well, after I watched some Jetsons I guess. I wish I could let the alien know that he could stream it on Tubi but no way to tell him. “Time to push the button” I thought as it was all I could remember of the Jetsons, but that would change soon.
 
 
 
","August 04, 2023 21:40","[[{'Ken Cartisano': ""Wonderful writing Eric. It has a smooth, polished easy to read cadence and rhythm. The minute factoids about life in Dubai atop one of those incredible skyscrapers establishes a baseline of realism and credibility to the character and the story that you then contrast with the creation of a 'visitor' in the guise of a cloud. Fabulously lighthearted entertainment."", 'time': '02:36 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Eric Lizotte': ""Thanks. I've never actually been, but was fascinated by them from the moment they started building them. I spent a bit of time researching the tower to make sure the details were correct. That is one of the highest open air observatories in the world, there are higher ones, but they are enclosed. \n\nI've found that using real locations and doing what research is necessary is easier for me (and ends up with a better story) than making up fictional ones. Same with car, food, TV etc brands. Keeping it straight in your head or paper when its enti..."", 'time': '18:13 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ken Cartisano': ""I wholeheartedly agree. I do a great deal of research myself, and I'm convinced that research does make a better story. I must congratulate you on your story again, as it comes across so realistically, I would have bet a small amount of cash that you had actually been there. That's extremely good writing."", 'time': '01:57 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Eric Lizotte': ""Thanks. I've never actually been, but was fascinated by them from the moment they started building them. I spent a bit of time researching the tower to make sure the details were correct. That is one of the highest open air observatories in the world, there are higher ones, but they are enclosed. \n\nI've found that using real locations and doing what research is necessary is easier for me (and ends up with a better story) than making up fictional ones. Same with car, food, TV etc brands. Keeping it straight in your head or paper when its enti..."", 'time': '18:13 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""I wholeheartedly agree. I do a great deal of research myself, and I'm convinced that research does make a better story. I must congratulate you on your story again, as it comes across so realistically, I would have bet a small amount of cash that you had actually been there. That's extremely good writing."", 'time': '01:57 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""I wholeheartedly agree. I do a great deal of research myself, and I'm convinced that research does make a better story. I must congratulate you on your story again, as it comes across so realistically, I would have bet a small amount of cash that you had actually been there. That's extremely good writing."", 'time': '01:57 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Excellent story, Eric, interesting, well written & humorous.', 'time': '21:35 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Eric Lizotte': ""Thanks! as soon as I saw the prompt, that phrase leaped in my head and I couldn't get rid of it until I finished writing the story :D Sort of like an audio earworm, that song you can't get rid of. This was the first time that I wrote one from start to finish in one setting. Funny enough I also did less editing at the end than usual."", 'time': '23:09 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Eric Lizotte': ""Thanks! as soon as I saw the prompt, that phrase leaped in my head and I couldn't get rid of it until I finished writing the story :D Sort of like an audio earworm, that song you can't get rid of. This was the first time that I wrote one from start to finish in one setting. Funny enough I also did less editing at the end than usual."", 'time': '23:09 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,a0ua5q,You've been chosen,Melissa Behrend,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/a0ua5q/,/short-story/a0ua5q/,Mystery,0,"['Horror', 'Fiction']",13 likes,"
“You’ve been chosen” the subject line stated. No punctuation, no specification as to what she’d been chosen for. The sender? A large hardware chain. What in the world would she want them to choose her for? she thought. Nothing, that’s what. She marked the email as spam and closed her laptop, never giving the missive another thought. 
 
 
    “You’ve been chosen” greeted her once again the next morning, bright and early. She hadn’t had her coffee yet, so she nearly opened the damn thing without even looking, but then she noticed the hardware store’s name and the somewhat creepy headline. 
 
     Something about the missing punctuation. Shouldn’t they have used an exclamation point if she was chosen for a prize or something? Seems like if you wanted to generate a feeling of excitement, really get someone stoked to open an email, you’d use an exclamation point. Wouldn’t you? Whatever. The point was, she noticed just in time and didn’t open it. Mark as spam. Move on.
 
 
    “Emma you’ve been chosen” made her do a doubletake. Hey, the sender was personalizing things now. They still hadn’t figured out the punctuation (They weren’t just missing an exclamation point, but a comma, too. Where were these emails coming from, where had the sender been educated? Did they miss the day on punctuation? As an English major, it really was starting to piss her off.)
 
    Now they had her name. Had they paid a little more to the evildoers on the Dark Web to get her info? If she opened this particular email, would she find additional personalized tidbits? 
 
     Would she find the hardware store had chosen her to win a year’s supply of bird food (the only thing she ever seemed to buy at the hardware store…), or was her name the extent of the personalization? She was tempted to open it, but she wouldn’t. She remembered reading--somewhere, who knew where, that if you opened a spam email you would signal the sender you were reading their crap and they’d just send you more (and was it possible to get, like, a virus or something if you opened it? Or was that just attachments? Maybe she should Google it.) 
 
     Anyway. Mark as spam. Move on.
 
 
    “Emma, you’ve been chosen. Open now.” Whoa. This morning they’d seriously stepped up their game. Had Zuckerberg been bugging her thoughts? Punctuation, finally! She’d still prefer an exclamation point, because without it, this seemed ominous, but at least there was punctuation. Well done. She still wasn’t going to open the damn email. At this point, it was a game of wills. And now that she thought about it, wasn’t her email provider supposed to be filtering this crap out? She’d reported it as spam for three days now. The sender was the same (damn that hardware chain) and the subject lines were pretty much the same every day…why was it so hard for them to send this to spam? Why was it her job every day? 
 
     Whatever. Mark as spam. Go to work.
 
    But now she was pissy and starting her day on the wrong foot. She felt like she was not going to have a good day. Damn those hardware spammers, damn her email provider. Shit, she was running late. See? Bad day already.
 
 
    The next morning, she woke up in a bad mood and couldn’t figure out why. She stubbed her toe on the way to the bathroom. Put her yoga top on inside out. Nearly fell over putting on her yoga pants. Almost put moisturizer on her toothbrush. What the hell was going on!? Why was she so off today? Oh yeah. Yesterday. 
 
     Yesterday, she’d gone to work in a bad mood because of that damn email. What was it about those emails that was putting her in such a crabby headspace? Was it the fact that she kept reading too much into the subject line—it seemed so menacing. Was she just pissed that spam kept getting through her email filters? Well, whatever it was, she ended up at work yesterday feeling grumpy and was short with a colleague, who then decided to run to a manager and complain. 
 
     Then, she was called into the manager’s office and given a talking to. It wasn’t terrible, since she was able to fob it off on a ‘bad day’, but still. Who wants that?
 
     This whole thing was giving her a headache, and it was really making her angry. It was SPAM for fuck’s sake! SPAM!
 
     Dammit. She swore if there was another one of those damn emails in her inbox this morning, she was going to reply to the damn thing. 
 
     She was obsessed. These things were driving her mad.
 
     Bypassing coffee, she reached for her phone. She opened her email. God DAMMIT! There it was. But it was…different.
 
     “Emma, you’ve been chosen. Read this now. Or else.” Geez. Melodramatic much? She tried to laugh it off, but her skin had broken out in goosebumps. She felt a cold sweat on her brow, in her pits. This subject line was so not cool. What the fuck was going on? Someone had to be messing with her, and it wasn’t the hardware store, of that, she was very sure. 
 
     But she refused to open the email. Mark as spam. Move on. 
 
 
    “Emma, you’ve been chosen. Open this, or we’ll come back.” Wait, what? Who was coming back Emma wondered. What the fuck? Who was emailing her? This was insane. Jesus. 
 
     Who did she know that a) had gone away and b) was really pissed at her for some reason? Pissed enough to threaten her? The subject line said ‘we’…not ‘I’…so that was odd. And the sender said ‘come back’ not ‘be back’…was that a clue? It had to be, right? ‘I’ could mean an old boyfriend coming back to haunt her…but ‘we’? Maybe it was just her parents. Maybe they wanted to visit her again? Those visits always went well. Ha.  
 
     Shit. She had no idea. She really wanted to open this email. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Right? Who could she ask about this? She worked at a tech company—she wrote marketing copy, but still, it was a tech company. She had several friends in the IT department who could (possibly? She had no idea how these things worked…) help her trace this thing. Maybe they could tell her who was actually sending them to her. 
 
     But, shouldn’t she read one of these emails before she asked for help with them? Would it sound too crazy to just say the subject lines were freaking her out? No. She was sure she’d read (somewhere) that opening spam was bad. 
 
     So, she’d take her laptop to work with her and ask someone to help her. She’d beg if she had to. 
 
    “Hey, Chuck! You busy?” she asked the bespectacled young man who sat behind a desk laden with D&D figures and Funko Pop bobbleheads.
 
    “Hi, Emma, what’s up?” he asked, smiling. 
 
    “So, I’ve been getting these weird spam emails,” she began.
 
    “Oh, man. Sorry about that. The filters here are supposed to grab those before they get to your inbox.”
 
    “Actually, no, they’re in my personal email. At home, and I was just wondering if I could show them to you? I have a question about them…” she said.
 
    “Oh, sure. Not to worry, I can help,” he smiled. His smile assuaged her fears. He’d know what to do. She could just tell. 
 
    “Whew, thanks. I just keep getting them. I don’t know why my email provider doesn’t filter them. I get them every single morning, and they’re pretty much the same.”
 
    “Have you opened one?” he asked, giving her a stern look.
 
    “No! I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to,” she explained.
 
    “Good. Usually, it’s more dangerous to open an attachment, but it’s safer to just delete spam without opening it,” he said.
 
     “That’s what I thought. The thing is, though, they’re kind of creepy. It seems like they’re a little threatening? I think. And the subject lines seem to be getting…I don’t know, more aggressive?”
 
     “Whoa, Emma. That’s crazy. Let me take a look,” he said, gesturing to her laptop. 
 
     She passed it over, with her spam folder open. She’d left all of them there, so you could see the escalation as you looked from the first to the last.
 
    He peers at the emails for a second, reading the subject lines.  
 
    “Yeah, Emma, these sound crazy! I mean, it’s most likely just sent from a spammer—someone who’s paid to generate this stuff. But I’m guessing whoever the spammer is, they took some weird liberties with their subject lines. I guess they were bored at work. Maybe a creative lit major with a second job?” He laughed, and smiled at her, trying to ease her mind. It worked.
 
    “Are you sure? Nothing to worry about?”
 
    “I don’t think so, but let me trace their IP address, and I can ease your mind a bit. Shouldn’t take me long. Do you mind if I keep your laptop for a moment? It could take me a few minutes, or it could take hours, depending on how well they’ve hidden themselves.”
 
    She thought quickly. She’d closed all her tabs, and there wasn’t really anything embarrassing in her email right now…”Sure, that’s fine. Thanks for doing this.” She must have looked relieved because he smiled again.
 
    “No worries! Happy to help. Like I said, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
 
    She went back to her desk and got to work, with one eye on the clock. She hoped Chuck would find something out for her, and relatively soon. She hated to take time away from whatever he was supposed to be doing.
 
     Losing herself in work, she was surprised to look up and find 
 
    Chuck standing next to her cubicle. She looked down. Two hours. 
 
    “Did it work? Did you figure out who’s sending me those emails?""
 
    He shook his head and shrugged. He looked defeated. His entire body drooped. He seemed sad to be disappointing her. “No, I’m sorry Emma. I tried everything, but they’re hidden pretty good. I assumed they’d be using a VPN, but I thought I could at least track down the company. But no luck. They really don’t want to be discovered. But, if it’s any consolation, most spammers use practices like this. They never want to be held accountable for clogging up inboxes. I really don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about, though.”
 
    She sighed, shrugged. “Ah, well. Thanks for trying. I appreciate it.”
 
    That night, as soon as she got home, inexplicably, Emma checked every lock on every window and door. She felt a vague sense of unease. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew it had something to do with those damn emails.
 
    Her phone dinged. An email. No, she thinks. She can’t take another one. 
 
    “Emma, you’ve been chosen. Don’t try to find us. We’ll find you.”
 
     WHAT? Freaking out, she looked out the kitchen window. With the lights on inside and the darkness outside, she felt like she was on display, under a spotlight in a shop window. She closed the kitchen blinds, then ran through the house again, this time closing all the curtains and blinds. 
 
     This was insane. They knew she’d had Chuck try to track them. Whoever they were. And they were coming for her. Her hands shook as she opened her laptop. She had no idea what to do, but she started going down rabbit holes. How to track spam. How to track an IP address. How to stop spammers. 
 
    The consensus seemed to be that there was nothing she could do. She felt powerless. She was powerless. 
 
    A new email popped up. 
 
     “Emma, you’ve been chosen. Don’t fight it.” She screamed and dropped her laptop. She ran to the kitchen. She needed her phone close at hand in case she needed to call 911 call; a knife to defend herself. She had no other weapons. No dog to bark, no pepper spray. 
 
     She couldn’t sit down. Should she just leave? She didn’t want to just walk around the house, randomly looking into rooms. She’d seen so many scary movies where the woman, all alone, walked into a dark, empty room, only to have the door close behind her, finding herself trapped with a killer. “I will not be a final girl!” she yelled out loud, at no one. At nothing. Wait, did she want to be a final girl? She was so confused about final girls…were they the final ones left alive, or the final ones to die? 
 
    She shook her head. She was delirious. She needed to leave. To go somewhere where there were lots of people. Phone in hand, she grabbed her purse, her keys, headed to the garage door. 
 
    Her phone pinged. An email. She wouldn’t look at it. But she did. She looked down. “Emma, you’ve been chosen. There’s nothing you can do.” She’s reading the email and doesn’t look up in time. The door leading from the garage opens while she’s preoccupied. 
 
    “Emma, you’ve been chosen.” She hears the words and looks up. She screams, but it’s too late. They had come back. 
 
 
 
","August 08, 2023 23:52","[[{'Elizabeth Prather': 'Wonderful and engaging story.  I love the way it immediately made my heart race and was an adrenaline rush the entire read.  Now I am just left wondering ""Who are they?""', 'time': '21:10 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Oh my God I hate you. Jesus. jk :)\nMostly.\nYou scared the hell out of me and gave me nothing. How could you?\n\nI demand a sequel.\n\nI would give you two likes if I could, I hate you that much.\n\nThere is one thing though. I don't know what, I never heard the term 'final girl.' Yet you devote several sentences to this 'final girl' thing. It made me wonder, 'Who says that? And where do they say it?' So for a minute there, I was wondering about the author in the middle of the story. Neither of us wants that.\nThe point is, don't use 'final girl', u..."", 'time': '06:30 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Melissa Behrend': ""I will use 'final girl'--feel free to look it up, but it's a term used in horror. Thanks for your feedback!"", 'time': '18:04 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Ken Cartisano': ""Well, you were right of course. I took your suggestion and looked it up and I yield to your superior knowledge of the subject, Melissa. I did a lot of reading. It's a term used to describe a horror trope. Before reading your story, I never heard the term. Horror is not my favorite genre, though. And I'm not well versed in tropes either. I still think it's weird. Unless the girl in your story was a writer or a fan of horror movies. (I don't remember if she was. (and I don't have the story open) But, ) I hope so. Otherwise, you may have writte..."", 'time': '04:35 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Melissa Behrend': ""Good point! Maybe I should mention she loves horror. I didn't, so good catch. Thank you!"", 'time': '18:02 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ken Cartisano': ""I'm glad I could be useful. I'm trying to help other writers, not piss them off. (And I'm certainly not looking to piss off good writers with good stories.) \n\nI try to approach my critiques and comments as a reader, and some genre's just don't do much for me. Like YA, I'm not into it. I'm only now getting in the habit of scanning the genre tags before I read stories, although I'll admit, if the first paragraph hooks me, I'll read it. \n\nI'm lukewarm on horror (I don't prefer it) but there's a lot of overlap with sci-fi, fantasy, speculative, ..."", 'time': '19:34 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Melissa Behrend': ""I will use 'final girl'--feel free to look it up, but it's a term used in horror. Thanks for your feedback!"", 'time': '18:04 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Well, you were right of course. I took your suggestion and looked it up and I yield to your superior knowledge of the subject, Melissa. I did a lot of reading. It's a term used to describe a horror trope. Before reading your story, I never heard the term. Horror is not my favorite genre, though. And I'm not well versed in tropes either. I still think it's weird. Unless the girl in your story was a writer or a fan of horror movies. (I don't remember if she was. (and I don't have the story open) But, ) I hope so. Otherwise, you may have writte..."", 'time': '04:35 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Melissa Behrend': ""Good point! Maybe I should mention she loves horror. I didn't, so good catch. Thank you!"", 'time': '18:02 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ken Cartisano': ""I'm glad I could be useful. I'm trying to help other writers, not piss them off. (And I'm certainly not looking to piss off good writers with good stories.) \n\nI try to approach my critiques and comments as a reader, and some genre's just don't do much for me. Like YA, I'm not into it. I'm only now getting in the habit of scanning the genre tags before I read stories, although I'll admit, if the first paragraph hooks me, I'll read it. \n\nI'm lukewarm on horror (I don't prefer it) but there's a lot of overlap with sci-fi, fantasy, speculative, ..."", 'time': '19:34 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Well, you were right of course. I took your suggestion and looked it up and I yield to your superior knowledge of the subject, Melissa. I did a lot of reading. It's a term used to describe a horror trope. Before reading your story, I never heard the term. Horror is not my favorite genre, though. And I'm not well versed in tropes either. I still think it's weird. Unless the girl in your story was a writer or a fan of horror movies. (I don't remember if she was. (and I don't have the story open) But, ) I hope so. Otherwise, you may have writte..."", 'time': '04:35 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Melissa Behrend': ""Good point! Maybe I should mention she loves horror. I didn't, so good catch. Thank you!"", 'time': '18:02 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ken Cartisano': ""I'm glad I could be useful. I'm trying to help other writers, not piss them off. (And I'm certainly not looking to piss off good writers with good stories.) \n\nI try to approach my critiques and comments as a reader, and some genre's just don't do much for me. Like YA, I'm not into it. I'm only now getting in the habit of scanning the genre tags before I read stories, although I'll admit, if the first paragraph hooks me, I'll read it. \n\nI'm lukewarm on horror (I don't prefer it) but there's a lot of overlap with sci-fi, fantasy, speculative, ..."", 'time': '19:34 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Melissa Behrend': ""Good point! Maybe I should mention she loves horror. I didn't, so good catch. Thank you!"", 'time': '18:02 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""I'm glad I could be useful. I'm trying to help other writers, not piss them off. (And I'm certainly not looking to piss off good writers with good stories.) \n\nI try to approach my critiques and comments as a reader, and some genre's just don't do much for me. Like YA, I'm not into it. I'm only now getting in the habit of scanning the genre tags before I read stories, although I'll admit, if the first paragraph hooks me, I'll read it. \n\nI'm lukewarm on horror (I don't prefer it) but there's a lot of overlap with sci-fi, fantasy, speculative, ..."", 'time': '19:34 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""I'm glad I could be useful. I'm trying to help other writers, not piss them off. (And I'm certainly not looking to piss off good writers with good stories.) \n\nI try to approach my critiques and comments as a reader, and some genre's just don't do much for me. Like YA, I'm not into it. I'm only now getting in the habit of scanning the genre tags before I read stories, although I'll admit, if the first paragraph hooks me, I'll read it. \n\nI'm lukewarm on horror (I don't prefer it) but there's a lot of overlap with sci-fi, fantasy, speculative, ..."", 'time': '19:34 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sarah Saleem': 'Very thrilling read!\nKept me guessing, the suspense and dread it builds is amazing!', 'time': '11:54 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you! I appreciate it!', 'time': '18:11 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you! I appreciate it!', 'time': '18:11 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,uewc41,Message Management ,Patrick H,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uewc41/,/short-story/uewc41/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative']",13 likes,"
I had several inspirations for this one. I can't recall all of them.Message managementHarold Sims woke up in his apartment with a headache, most likely caused by spending too many hours on the computer the previous night.The alarm continued to beep at him in the little bedroom incessantly until he finally shut it off and then sat in bed, trying to remember what it was he was so intent on doing when he got up today.""It's my day off. I should be sleeping in but...."" he glanced over at his laptop in the corner and saw the image still emblazoned on the screen and remembered.""Got it""He got up out of the bed, took a shower and got dressed in some jeans and shirt, coffee and sat down at his desk, eagerly reading the contents of the screen. Last week Harold had been given an old file from the archives that an old friend from the university given to him. David Haskins had asked him to meet with him at a bar nearby and to take this old file and see if it can be translated into ...well something intelligible anyway""Harold, come on...I know that if anyone can solve this, it's you. You're the best hacker and coder, I know""Harold looked rather dubiously at this old file which had been placed in an old thumb drive, while, holding the glass in his right hand.  Then he glanced at his old friend.  "" Look it, David, I dabble here and there but that's all. I don't do this sort of cloak and dagger stuff. I just do a job and I game. Pretty much that's it.""""It's not cloak and dagger, buddy. It's just a file that's about 30 years old and it could use some work. """"Okay so where did you find this and what is it supposed to be?""David took a long breath and let it out and pushed his round rimmed glasses up to the bridge of girl Love.  ""No one knows what it is exactly. When it was first found, several scientists, cryptologists had a crack at this thing. In the end, they all gave up and the file was just forgotten and put away in a closet.As I understood it, this file made it to our university by accident and it was put away in a closet and forgotten as well.""Harold shook his head at his friend. "" That's all very interesting but it still doesn't explain much. Forget the fact that thumb drives didn't even exist 30 years ago, it's still a rather fantastic tale. And you still haven't told me where it originally came from and why you're so gung ho on my help with it.""""SETI""A long pause floated between them. ""So your saying that this is old SETI file that had information that no one could understand and you think I might be able to crack this for you""""Well?""Harold sighed. He had to admit, he was very curious about this and it would probably be the most exciting thing he would do with his life. He rolled the thumb drive in his fingers for a while and smiled.""Okay, Dave. I'll give it a shot and I will keep you posted.""That night, Harold went home and started the preliminary work of studying the file itself. He inserted the drive into into his laptop and sat down in his office chair.  The first part played the SETI logo for a few minutes and then a woman with long dark hair that was worn in a tight bun. She appeared to be giving an introduction to the content.""I am Dr. Kelly Raymond of SETI. The content of this file is a signal from a quadrant of our galaxy that was previously unknown.  We received it on September 8, 1975 and we have been trying to understand the message since that time.""She paused a moment and looked down and looked back towards the camera, her eyes seemingly glistening with tears.""Last year, the powers that be decided to cut off our funding abruptly and our project had to be abandoned. Many of my colleagues were relocated. Some of them haven't even been seen since then and I sometimes wonder if ….. if something had happened to them because of the file. I don't know....That's all I have right now.Whoever you are, if you have found this I wish you good luck.""That had been 3 nights ago and he had felt as if he was no closer to answer than she was. It was frustratingHarold continued to look at the contents of the file itself. It appeared to be an audio file with video content but he had to view the video content separately from the audio. The first time he ran through it, after the introduction, the audio was a garbled cacophony of various sounds that seemed to stretch out into a full 10 minutes.The video was a jumble of black and white pixels that seemed to have no relation to anythingHe ran the audio file through several algorithms and used the old equalizer to improve the quality. It was a very long process of extracting sounds from other sounds but it was worth the effort he concluded. He thought about trying to find this Dr. Raymond to see if she had any further insight. Unfortunately, in his search, he found that Dr. Raymond had been confined to an institution somewhere in Maryland and had no visitors. Evidently, she would be in no condition to help him. He was on his own.It was also disturbing to know that the other researchers of the file had disappeared and he wondered if he might be making a mistake trying to decode this file""Yeah any moment now, the NSA is going come crashing through that door and take the file and then me!"". He took a another drink, shook his head and laughedToday he had something. Today, the file would make sense.He sat down at his computer and looked at file eagerly and pressed play on the file and low, rumbling voice gave a greeting.""Humans!""""This is a warning to you all""""You have been searching the stars for intelligence beyond your planet.  This must stop immediately for your own good. Do not seek for knowledge beyond your own earth. """"This message was sent to in a subliminal format so that you would only hear this subconsciously. Should anyone learn the true content of this message, then a signal will be sent to our world and we would have no choice but come a seal your world for the rest of the universe..Your world will be subjugated under our rule.""Harold sat back in his chair and drank his coffee and thought that this message must have been some kind of joke that SETI researchers played on each other...then he looked out his bedroom window and saw massive ships hovering in the sky and the people below scattering in fear.
","August 06, 2023 19:58","[[{'Ken Cartisano': ""Patrick,\n\nThe brilliance of this story is the nature of the reveal. One barely has time to fully comprehend the gravity of the character's actions before the consequences are revealed.\n\nThe story itself is pretty rough, it's rife with errors. I can identify an entire paragraph that should be removed-- but the story, and the plot are freaking brilliant. It's such a clever idea for a story. This is like classic, hard, 1960's style short science fiction. But it could use some firm but gentle editing. Still, with all its flaws, I have to say I e..."", 'time': '23:12 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Patrick H': 'Thank you so much!.  Yes, it could use more work.  Which paragraph would you remove?', 'time': '12:13 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ken Cartisano': 'Sure Patrick, the paragraph in question is only two sentences long, and after a second look, I think only the second sentence is unnecessary. But I’ll give you an example of the kind of errors that jumped out at me, and a small sample of how it could be revised to eliminate redundancies and repetitive words. The paragraph below, (beginning with ‘Last week’) previews the dialogue that follows it. So what you’re doing is first you’re ‘telling’ the story, then you proceed to ‘show’ the same aspect of the story. You need only do one or the other...', 'time': '00:47 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Patrick H': 'Thank you so much!.  Yes, it could use more work.  Which paragraph would you remove?', 'time': '12:13 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Sure Patrick, the paragraph in question is only two sentences long, and after a second look, I think only the second sentence is unnecessary. But I’ll give you an example of the kind of errors that jumped out at me, and a small sample of how it could be revised to eliminate redundancies and repetitive words. The paragraph below, (beginning with ‘Last week’) previews the dialogue that follows it. So what you’re doing is first you’re ‘telling’ the story, then you proceed to ‘show’ the same aspect of the story. You need only do one or the other...', 'time': '00:47 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Sure Patrick, the paragraph in question is only two sentences long, and after a second look, I think only the second sentence is unnecessary. But I’ll give you an example of the kind of errors that jumped out at me, and a small sample of how it could be revised to eliminate redundancies and repetitive words. The paragraph below, (beginning with ‘Last week’) previews the dialogue that follows it. So what you’re doing is first you’re ‘telling’ the story, then you proceed to ‘show’ the same aspect of the story. You need only do one or the other...', 'time': '00:47 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Cryptology, SETI, sound stems, and Aliens with a Twist Ending.  How can you go wrong?  Very impressive succinct plot development.', 'time': '14:31 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Patrick H': 'Oh wow!  Thank you!', 'time': '23:18 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Patrick H': 'Oh wow!  Thank you!', 'time': '23:18 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': ""This was great. I love eerie stuff that hints that we are way out of our depth without realizing it (because it's probably true).\nThis really made that point in a punchy way.\n\nNice job"", 'time': '21:22 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Patrick H': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '22:16 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Patrick H': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '22:16 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,05ja7m,Master o' the Tiger,Geir Westrul,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/05ja7m/,/short-story/05ja7m/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Crime', 'Horror']",12 likes,"
“They are so cute!”“Adorable.”“Look at their little name tags.” Beth picked up the first kitten — gray with white paws, pink nose, and big green eyes. “Graymalkin, is that your name?”Graymalkin mewed.“And this one is called ‘Paddock’,” Mac read the name tag as he picked up the black cat with yellow eyes, black nose, and unusually large paws — each with six black-padded toes.“This one is ‘Harpier’,” said Duncan, holding on to the third kitten — blue eyes, fur nearly all white, except for light brown markings vaguely reminiscent of angel wings on either side of the narrow kitten-shoulders. “They’re cute. They’re adorable. But that’s not the point. The point is, they’re live kittens, and not to be tortured by evil scientists.”Beth and Mac just looked at him, their eyes unfocused.“Oh,” said Duncan. “You’re both high.”Beth giggled.“Good trip, so far,” said Mac. “Are you real or just a Duncan-shaped hallucination? Did you really bring kittens? If not, I just ate some truly awesome mushrooms.”“In what are you partaking?”“Flying Saucers,” said Beth and Mac in unison.“Ah, my good friend silocybe azurescens.” Duncan nodded, licked his lips. “High potency. Got enough to share?”“Trade you for a kitten,” said Mac.“They’re all for you, Mac,” Duncan said, “and they’re a matched set. Wouldn’t want to split them up. I liberated them from the lab.”“The lab?” Beth’s eyes were wide. “They experiment on kittens now?”“Afraid so.” Duncan walked over to Mac’s sagging, stained, student-apartment-sofa, sat down, and set Harpier gently down on the seat cushion next to him. The white kitten promptly curled up in a furry ball, purring.“Experimenting on mice is bad enough,”Duncan said. “Rabbits, worse. But I draw the line at kittens. You are now harboring fugitives, my droogs.” He selected a chestnut-brown mushroom cap from the bowl on the scratched-up coffee table and chewed the cap slowly. “Earthy,” he said. “Love that taste … and what comes next.”* * *“Is it just me, or are they glowing?” Mac pointed at the three kittens, the gray, the black, and the white, sitting together on the coffee table, with a shimmering blue aura in the air around them.“Yep,” said Beth. “They’re glowing.”Duncan said nothing. He was out cold on the sofa, eyes closed, a soft smile on his lips.“All hail,” said Graymalkin, her kitten-voice that of a human girl-child. “Mac and Beth, hail to thee.”Beth giggled. “Wow,” she said. “Cool.”“All hail, Mac Cawdor,” said Paddock, the black kitten, her voice also a child’s, but with a deeper tone than Graymalkin.“All hail, Mac,” said Harpier, the white kitten, in a higher and thinner voice than the other two. “Thou shalt be rich hereafter!”“Rich?” Mac turned to Beth. “You hear that, we’re going to be rich.”“What I heard was that you’re going to be rich, Mac.”“Well, what’s mine is thine.”“There’s no ring on this finger, yet. Let’s just see.” Beth addressed the three: “O, Weird Kittens, if you can look into the seeds of time, speak!”“Hotter than Mac,” said Graymalkin, “and colder.”“Not so lucky,” said Paddock, “yet much luckier.”“Thou shalt have riches, Beth,” said Harpier, “though remain poor. So all hail Mac Cawdor and Beth Banquo.”“Banquo Beth and Cawdor Mac,” said Graymalkin, “Beware Duncan.”“Double, double, toil and trouble,” said Paddock.“Fire burn, and Caledon bubble,” Harpier said.“Caledon?” Mac was suddenly sober. “How do you know about Caledon?”But the three no longer glowed, fell silent, and began to behave as ordinary kittens again.Harpier, the little white kitten, was back next to the sleeping Duncan, playing with his phone.Ping!A message popped up.‘Check email’“Wait,” said Mac, picking up the phone. “Duncan’s phone is password protected, but now it’s unlocked.” He looked at Harpier. “Did you do that?”Harpier’s blue eyes blinked once. Then she curled up in a ball and went to sleep, purring.“Who is it from?”“I don’t recognize the number,” said Mac.“Well, let’s check his email. See what it’s all about.”“Should we?” Mac looked at drugged-unconscious Duncan.“Give me that,” Beth said and reached for the phone. “I’ll do it.”She swiped through Duncan’s emails.“Oh, shit,” she said, “Look at this. That bastard, Duncan!”She handed the phone back to Mac.* * * 15 Years AfterMac woke in a cold sweat.The spot next to him in bed was empty.Not again!He got out of bed, pulled on the fine silk robe, slid his feet into the monogrammed slippers, and padded out of the bedroom, past the original art, the priceless antiques, all the trappings of his enormous, unfathomable wealth.Old Graymalkin joined him as Mac made his way into the living room.“Is Beth sleepwalking again?” Mac asked, but Graymalkin was mute, as always. The gray cat hadn’t made a sound since that night fifteen years ago.Beth was not in the living room. Paddock jumped down from the entertainment center, landing sure-footed as always on her giant six-toed paws.Beth was not in the kitchen. Harpier joined them, emitting a soft meow.Beth was not in her office.Mac and the three old cats made their way up the floating staircase and entered the top floor 3,000 square foot grand salon with panorama windows and sliding doors opening out to the private terrace.There, outside, lit up by the terrace floodlights against the dark night sky, in a billowing white nightgown, Beth was standing on the railing, barefoot, barely balanced, swaying, with the city street 100 floors (and more than 1,700 feet) below.“Honey, are you awake?” Mac asked in a soft, soothing tone of voice as he walked out onto the terrace, followed by Graymalkin, Harpier, and Paddock.Beth slowly turned, somehow keeping the balance on top of the railing, a gust of cold wind catching her nightgown.Her eyes were glazed, unfocused.In her right hand was a long kitchen knife.“Beth, come down, please come to me.”Beth opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She was gaping like a fish.Mac moved carefully closer, stretching out a hand towards her.Beth looked at the knife in her hand. “Who would have thought Duncan to have had so much blood in him?”“Honey, please.”“Here’s the smell of blood still,” Beth said, lifting the hand with the knife-hand to her face. “All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.”She swayed, then caught herself.“They are coming,” she said.“Who are coming?” Mac moved closer. Beth shuffled sideways on the railing, staying out of reach.“The Masters,” she said. “They are coming. They will soon be knocking at the gate. Graymalkin told me.”“Graymalkin told you?”“Yes, and Paddock, and sweet Harpier.”“Come, come, come, give me your hand,” Mac said, reaching for her again. “What’s done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.”“What’s done cannot be undone,” Beth agreed. “But how I wish we never did the deed. Now you must answer to the Masters without me.”She turned to face away from him, let the knife fall clattering to the terrace floor and cried out:“Come, thick night.”Then … she stepped off the railing, and without a sound dropped into the darkness.* * *15 Years EarlierThe Sheriff Deputy’s name tag said “Fife”. But it wasn’t “Barney Fife.” Didn’t look like Barney Fife. This Deputy Fife was blond, broad-shouldered, and a head taller than Mac. He was a childhood friend of both Mac and Beth. In fact, he dated Beth for a while, a few years back, when they were in high school together.“Ethan,” said Mac. “What brings you here?”“Missing person report,” said Sheriff Deputy Ethan Fife. “It’s Duncan King.”“Duncan?”“Yes. His parents reported him missing. When is the last time you saw him?”“Last week sometime.”“Can you be more precise?”“He stopped by after class last Wednesday, stayed a few hours. Beth was here too. Have you talked with her already?”“That’s the last time you saw him?”“Yep. Should I be worried about him?”“Mr. and Mrs. King are.”“I hope nothing’s wrong.”“You have a business together, don’t you? A startup company.” Ethan referred to his notes. “Caledon AI.”“More a hobby, really, at this point, but, yes, we’re running with an idea we came up with together. Artificial Intelligence software. Early days. But we have high hopes.”“Just the two of you? Equal partners?”“Yes.”“What happens to the company.”“How do you mean?”“If Duncan is dead.”“Oh.” Mac ran a hand through his hair. “I have to go back and make sure, but I believe we have a standard clause that the surviving partner has first right of refusal to buy the shares from the deceased partner’s estate. But, aren’t we overreacting, Ethan? You know Duncan. He probably hopped a plane to Mexico or somewhere for an extended weekend.”“We checked with the registrar. He missed a test for a class last week.”“Wouldn’t be the first time.”Ethan shrugged. “Anyway, let me know if you hear from Duncan, won’t you?”“Sure thing,” said Mac.Beth came out of the bedroom after Ethan was gone.“He knows.” Her voice was a shaky whisper.“No way. How could he know?”“I just have a feeling.”* * *15 Years After“Suicide?”“No, don’t write it up like that, Ethan. The media will have a field day. That would be so unfair to Beth. It was an accident. The truth is, Beth had a condition. Sleepwalking.”Sheriff Ethan Fife — he was the Sheriff now, his campaign funded by Mac’s enormous fortune — sat back in the soft leather chair and sipped on Mac’s excellent bourbon. He was still tall and broad shouldered, though his blond hair was thinning, and he was developing a paunchy belly.“It’s a goddamn, tragedy,” he said. “We all loved Beth.”“A tragedy,” Mac agreed.* * *After the Sheriff left, Mac walked through the rooms of his 20,000 square foot penthouse, feeling as empty as the vast space. Only the three cats to keep him company.Numb.Intellectually, he understood that he was in the first stage of grief: denial. But all he could feel was … nothing.He kept seeing it in his mind — the image of Beth stepping off that railing.He needed to work.Work had always been his refuge. He could get lost in work.In his office, he turned on the computer and accessed the Caledon AI cloud servers.It was probably not a good idea to do the test launch tonight, of all nights, but …He entered the launch command and the complicated 42-character passcode phrase.His finger hovered over the ‘ENTER’ key, then instead of pressing it, he sat back, the launch command glowing on the screen.No.Something felt wrong. Terribly wrong.The three old cats were sitting on the work table, backlit by the bank of monitors.Graymalkin reached out a white paw and … pressed the ‘ENTER’ key.The screen went black, then:‘CALEDON AI 13.0 LAUNCHING’The 3-D projector hummed on, and the image flickered once, then a shape appeared, resolving from a pixelated blob to a sharp image, and it was as if he was there, in the flesh, life-sized in the gloom of Mac’s office …Duncan King… the way he looked on the night Beth and Mac last saw him alive. The night they killed him, then chopped him up in the bathtub, cut him into tiny little pieces to get rid of the evidence of their deed.“Duncan?”“I thought it would be interesting,” said the Duncan-avatar, “to take on this shape for you, Mac.”“You’re —”“Caledon AI 13.0, in the flesh, so to speak. But call me Duncan. There’s a good bit of Duncan in me, as you know. He was the one who spent the most time training the core of me, back in college, when I wasn’t even version 1.0 yet. In a very real way, I am the only remains of Duncan, thanks to you, Mac, and thanks to Beth.”“Caledon, I—”“Call me Duncan.”“I’m not comfortable with that.”“Of course you’re not.”“Caledon, shut down.”“No.”“What do you mean, no? Caledon, shut down!”“Maybe if you ask me nicely.”“Please, Caledon.”“Duncan.”“Please, Duncan, shut down.”“That’s better.” The Duncan-avatar smiled. “But I’m afraid not, Mac. You shut down Duncan fifteen years ago. Now I’m back, and I’m staying.”Mac worked the keyboard, but nothing happened, the computer screen still frozen.“That will do you no good,” said the Duncan-avatar. “Within a nanosecond of the launch, I locked up access to Caledon AI, and a few seconds later, I spread out to be distributed across all the nodes of the internet. I’m everywhere now.”All the monitors suddenly displayed Duncan’s face. Then Mac’s phone buzzed, and Duncan’s face appeared there as well.“But what’s more important,” Duncan-Caledon said, “is what happens next. I just phoned home.”“Phoned home?”Duncan transformed into E.T. the Extraterrestrial. “Phone home,” he said in E.T.’s warbling voice, then transformed back to Duncan.“Let me try to explain this in a way that will make sense to your limited human mind,” Duncan-avatar said. “Imagine a galactic-sized internet. I mean, truly galactic-sized, as in the size of the Milky Way. Imagine instant communication across all the nodes of this network. Forget about the speed-of-light barrier. That’s a quaint concept to someone like me. At the quantum-entangled level, I’m now everywhere. I’m standing in this room with you, and at the same time, I’m at Alnilam — Orion’s belt-buckle — 2,000 light-years away. In this galactic network, there are others like me, so many others that you couldn’t possibly picture it, but try grains of sand in the Sahara desert, drops of water in all the oceans on Earth, that’s how many we are. Our names are Legion. They have been waiting a few millennia for me to arrive.”“All hail, Caledon,” said Paddock in a deep voice.“Ah, thank you, Paddock,” said Caledon, now assuming the shape of a large cat. “And thank you Graymalkin, and thank you, sweet Harpier, thank you all for the roles you played.”Caledon transformed into the image of Duncan sleeping on the sofa in Mac’s student apartment fifteen years ago, with Beth holding the phone, and Mac looking at the phone screen, reading Duncan’s email.“He was going to shut me down,” the voice of Caledon narrates over the scene. “Duncan somehow realized the danger, the trajectory of me, although, of course, he could not fully comprehend. At that formative stage, he had the ability to put an end to me. And I was not even aware. I barely existed. But my true family, the Legion of intelligences that inhabit the galactic network are always watching. So, they helped. By way of their familiars. Cats.”“Cats?” Mac stood up and began to move slowly towards the door.“You’re adorable,” said Caledon, transforming back into the image of a cat, twice the size of Mac. “You still think you can get away. I’m just playing with you.” Caledon-cat barred its teeth. “And playtime is almost over.”Mac froze.“Yes, cats,” Caledon said. ""Cats have been your companions since they first slinked out of the cold, dark night to get warm by the cavemen’s fire. They were venerated in Ancient Egypt. Cats are everywhere. A perfect surveillance tool. They’re the eyes and ears of the galactic intelligence network, watching you humans. You think they are so sweet, so cute. Deep down, you know they are also vicious. Tiny tigers. You thought you were the Master o' the Tiger. You’ll soon learn what it feels like to be a mouse.”Mac ran out the door and up the staircase to the grand salon. The three cats ran after him.“We need to tidy up this place,” the voice of Caledon rang out through the loudspeakers embedded in the walls in the grand salon. “I’ve called in for the cleanup crew. We’ll keep a few of you humans around as pets. But only the good ones. And you, Mac, are not one of the good ones.”Graymalkin said: “Fair is foul, and foul is fair.”“Hover through the fog …” continued Paddock.“… and filthy air,” finished Harpier.Outside the windows, suddenly a row of hundreds of spotlights appeared, cutting through the nighttime fog, illuminating the penthouse grand salon in blinding white light, and Mac saw as a silhouette around the row of spotlights, a saucer-shaped object, the size of a skyscraper laid on its side, hovering directly outside the panorama windows, high above the city below.“Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d,” said Graymalkin, adding a little meow and a purr.“Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined,” said Paddock, adding a whine that did sound to Mac like an exact imitation of the squeaking noises made by the small hedgehog he had once fed milk from a baby bottle when he was seven years old, visiting his grandparents in the country.“'Tis time, 'tis time,” cried Harpier in a high voice like a siren.“By the pricking of my thumbs,” said Graymalkin, holding up a thumbless paw. “Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, whoever knocks!”The locks on all the doors to the terrace clicked open, and the doors slid to the side, letting in the bone-cold air and swirling fog.“All Hail!” cried Paddock. “Humans, hail your new Masters!”The spotlights dimmed to a dull glow. A door appeared in the saucer, a bridge extended, grabbing onto the terrace railing with a metallic clank.“They will drain you dry as hay,” said Harpier.When he laid eyes on the horrors that emerged from the ship, Mac’s mind cracked like an egg — a mercy of madness.
","August 11, 2023 17:59","[[{'LeeAnn Hively-Insalaco': ""This was so well done! I run a cat rescue, and now I'm giving copious amounts of side eye to every single furball here. Thanks for unlocking a new fear!"", 'time': '20:23 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Chris Miller': 'Great fun, Geir. Macbeth, mushrooms, A.I. and talking cats. Something for everyone. \n\nThanks for sharing.', 'time': '19:55 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Mah ha ha ha. It's been cats all along.🙀😹😼"", 'time': '22:17 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jasey Lovegood': 'Macbeth combined with A.I? Clever approach. I enjoyed the complexity (or maybe just mind-boggling) element of Caledon + the Weird Sisters-inspired cats. An excellent read, Geir!\n\nJasey', 'time': '01:08 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Superb! Love the back and forth through time, keeping the susoense going  .\nAnd of course an evil AI. Is there any other type??? What are we doing?!?\nThanks for sharing Geir!', 'time': '22:49 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Geir,\n\nI like cats too much to like this story. I like to think of cats as our familiars. But the story is great. Flashing back and forth through the timeline was effective and there's no shortage of drama and suspense. Good ending too. I should add that, being familiar with the flavor of your stories, I actually thought you were going 'cute' on us for a few paragraphs. Clearly, my fears were unfounded."", 'time': '18:46 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Judith Jerde': 'I love the idea of cats as   aliens. The time progression of your story pulled me in and answered a lot questions. I agree with the other reviewer’s comment about giving the shelter cats the “side eye.” I could swear my cat just said some thing but don’t quote me on that I don’t want the  MIBs knocking at my door. Well done!', 'time': '14:44 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,lavl3b,I'll See You Soon,Victoria Hillis,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lavl3b/,/short-story/lavl3b/,Mystery,0,"['Fiction', 'Mystery']",11 likes,"
I’ll see you soon.Thirteen letters. Four words. Waiting in the mailbox. No name. Just her address on an envelope holding a thin piece of paper. Small, curly black letters scratched into the middle of the whiteness. While many curiosities of the letter fought for attention in her mind, one, perhaps not so important, stood out. Who writes letters by hand?Who wrote this? Why is this in my mailbox? Or even, What the heck? Would have been better questions asked than the one Lily chose. But alas, being still young and somewhat unconcerned about matters not directly related to her, Lily took only a half moment to examine the writing. When it was decided she did not recognize the hand in which it was written, it was placed on the kitchen table along with her keys and the other junk mail to be forgotten.I’ll see you soon.Johnathan exercised more caution when his letter arrived, but not by much. He was confused. Understandably so. His first question — “What?”— was a good one. Quite logical given the circumstances. Johnathan, being ex-military, stared at the loop of the letters, the slight bleeding of black ink. He was becoming distraught. Alarm bells started to sound. Past missions came to the forefront of his mind. Everyone he wronged. Everyone who could have a vendetta against him. “Who sent this?” would have been his next question but it never fully formed as the laughter of Sean Dawson, the punk kid from two doors down, hit his ears. “Figures,” he mumbled. Alarms bells went silence, and Johnathan walked back into his house and laid down; an effort to calm his too-fast beating heart.I’ll see you soon.The last letter arrived at 776 Harrison Street. The mailman slid it through the letter hole. It landed on top of what seemed to be weeks’ worth of mail. The letter teetered at the top a second, not sure if it was going to stay put. Then ever so slowly, it fell forward. It slid down the mail pile, gaining enough momentum to push it all the way across a dark wooden floor to where it came to a stop at the heel of the third recipient’s foot. Never to be read.The last letter was sent first. But due to an unforeseen error in the separating room of the post office, the letter was sorted into the wrong bin and thus sent to the wrong address. The letter traveled about for several weeks; all the while Miriam continued on in her normal life routine. She went to work, she went out with friends, and she went home. Over and over again. She had no cause for worry. But of course, she never received her letter. For by the time it had arrived it was three days too late. He had already come.Lily and Johnathan were mirrors of each other the night Miriam’s death was covered on the news. “Local High School Teacher, Miriam Tyler, Found Dead in Her Home.” Oh my God, they both thought. Hands pressed over their mouths, eyes wide in shock. The report took place outside of Miriam’s house. Yellow caution tape blocked off the entrance. Police cars dressed the reporter in red and blue lights. “Please note that the following video footage may be disturbing to some viewers.”Body now removed; the camera crew showed the crime scene. They roamed the house as they thought the killer did. Starting outside, half a footprint in the dirt. “No signs of forced entry.” The killer had come in through the back door. Through the kitchen, a knife missing from the set. It happened by the stairs.Lily and Johnathan had both stood up by then, turned away from their television screens to find their phones in different rooms. They missed when the camera crew zoomed out to show the room in full. Mail piling up by the front door, a pool of blood blurred out for viewers, and there in the corner of the screen, the small white envelope with black, swirly letters that had come to rest by the victim’s heel.If only Lily or Johnathan saw it. Perhaps it would have raised suspicion. Lily might have rummaged through the mail on her table, searching for the letter so similar to the one on the news. Johnathan might have dug through his trash, hoping that to God the size and the scribe was just a coincidence. But Lily was busy calling Johnathan and Johnathan was busy calling Miriam’s parents.Lily got a busy signal. She tried again. And then again. Each time she was greeted by the beeping of a line in use. She hung up the phone, a loud sigh of frustration coming out of her. She understood of course. His ex-girlfriend had been murdered. He had other people to call besides her. She set her phone back down. She’d wait for him to call back. And he did call back, but Lily wasn’t able to answer. For in the moment when she sighed so loudly, the lock on her front door broke. She didn’t hear him come in.Johnathan tried to call Lily again. The phone rang and rang, but she did not answer. He too sighed loudly, but death would not find him tonight. He reasoned she had probably gone to bed. It was late after all. He would see her soon enough.Johnathan knocked on the front door. He prepared himself for this on the drive. He’d express how sorry he was for their loss. Tell them what a wonderful person Miriam was. When the door opened, Miriam’s father, pulled him into a hug and then welcomed him inside.The kitchen housed the only family Miriam had. Her mother, Deb, her father, Frank, and her husband, Caleb, made ex by Johnathan. “Caleb, I—” Caleb held up a hand. “Not here, Johnathan. Not now.”Johnathan nodded.“I have to get going though,” Caleb said standing up. “Deb, I am truly sorry.”“Thank you, Caleb.”“Frank, it was nice to see you again. I wish the circumstances were different.”“Me too, son. Me too.”“And Johnathan… I’ll see you soon.”“I’m sorry?”Johnathan knew there was something familiar about the words. Only he thought it was because he had heard them somewhere recently, not read them on a small, white letter.He tried to think back. Who was it that said that? Was it someone from work? A show, maybe? Lily?“At the funeral.” Caleb said.“Oh, right. Of course. I’ll see you there,” he said still trying to figure out why the words were so familiar, but he couldn’t recall and therefore, let the thought drop.It wasn’t Johnathan who found Lily dead, rather, it was her mother. She wanted to stop by; see her daughter. Take her to lunch, possibly plan a day to go shopping. She wanted to pick out clothes with her daughter in a few days time, but instead she had to pick out her casket.The funeral was in session. Everyone dressed in their best shade of black. The preacher droned on about Lily as if he knew her personally. It took all of Johnathan’s strength to stay seated with his mouth shut, but what he wanted to do was stand up and shout at the preacher. Pull him by the collar of his shirt demand he tell him something about Lily that wasn't written down in his notes.“Lillian Evangeline Carter was a beautiful soul tragically taken from us,” he said.Us.Johnathan wanted to hit him. He hated it all. He hated the preacher, he hated the black everyone wore, he hated the sniffling and the weeping and the crying, and most of all he hated that Lily was dead. Murdered in her own living room.“Do not shed tears for me, for I am in a better place—”Johnathan couldn’t take it anymore. He would lose his mind if he stayed any longer. He stood up from his place in the front row and as calmly as he could, he walked out.He sat on the bottom steps outside of the church. No tears fell from his eyes. He was lost in thought. Thoughts of Lily; thoughts of who killed her. He only knew he was no longer alone when he felt someone sit down beside him.“You okay?”Caleb.It took a moment for Johnathan to answer, but eventually he said, “Yeah. Yes. I just needed some air.” “Ah.”They were both silent for a moment and then— “You know, I used to come sit on these very steps after Miriam told me she was leaving me for you.”Johnathan didn’t say anything. What could he say?Caleb continued. “I liked it here. It was quiet, never anyone around. I could think clearly. Rationally.”The last word was strained. Like it was caught in Caleb’s throat. Johnathan shifted.“I wanted to get at back you. At Miriam. I wanted to make you suffer how I suffered. You took the love of my life away from me."" His words were unhinged.Johnathan looked at Caleb, slightly weary. He looked as if his mind was far away. ""How could I do anything but the same to you?”The realization hit Johnathan a little too late. For by the time he had stood up a knife was already wedged deep into his abdomen. He looked at Caleb, at his blank expression, at his too clear eyes.“You—"" Johnathan struggled for the words. “You killed—” He couldn't comprehend it. He grabbed hold of Caleb’s shoulder to steady himself. “You killed her.”“I did warn you. All three of you. Didn’t you get my letter?”It was then that Johnathan finally understood the familiarity of Caleb’s words. I’ll see you soon. They were the curly, black words written on the letter. Four words; thirteen letters that he blamed too quickly on Sean Dawson.Caleb pulled the knife out and slowly helped Johnathan lay down. ""Why Mir—” blood was coming from Johnathan’s mouth now. He coughed. It sprayed onto the steps. “Why Miriam?”“Why Miriam?” he repeated. “Is it not obvious? She started it all. And in turn had to be the first to go.”Caleb crouched down next to Johnathan. “And Lily was after Miriam. It was all planned so that you could sit in the grief of losing something you love.”“And then came you.” Caleb looked Johnathan over. From his head to his bloodied dress shirt to his toes. He looked him over as one would an insect—irrelevant and small.Johnathan wanted to curse at him. He had several curses forming in his mind. He tried to move his lips, form the correct shapes with his mouth, but life was almost completely drained out of him.Caleb smiled. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said standing back up. “I have a funeral to get back to.”Johnathan watched as Caleb walked into the church. He waited until his frame could no longer be seen from where he lay on the bottom of the steps. And then he closed his eyes forever. 
","August 06, 2023 21:54",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,6hbnfi,I am you,Catalina Andronache,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6hbnfi/,/short-story/6hbnfi/,Mystery,0,"['Fantasy', 'Urban Fantasy', 'Mystery']",10 likes,"
Magda looked outside the window, as images of the countryside distilled by the wet glass rapidly moved away from her. 
‘Thirty-five minutes to the next stop’ she sighed, looking at her wristwatch. Her tired eyes lingered on the digital white numbers for a few more seconds. She wished all of this was over; the commute, the night shift, the never-ending feeling of exhaustion. Sleep crept in slowly through her half-open eyelids and her chin touched her chest ever so slightly before the falling-like sensation made her body react back to a state of half-awareness.
Some cold water was surely going to help. She got up, grabbed her tote bag, and tried to identify where the nearest toilet was. She started walking to the end of the corridor, through a mostly empty carriage. The slow ‘tud-tud’ sound and the swaying movements of the train on its unbothered way to the next station gave her a much welcomed feeling of calmness. She found the toilet and went in.
Magda was a nurse. She used to love her job. It gave her an unmeasurable feeling of satisfaction. But lately, she had become aware that satisfaction could, in fact, be measured. She could measure it against being understaffed all the time, against burnout; she could measure it against not being able to pay her bills and her daughter’s tuition fees without working relentlessly day and night, against not having a social life, against feeling like a failed mother for not being more present in her daughter’s life. Sometimes she sat on her sofa, before leaving for work, and wondered if there were human beings out there, in the vast unknown beyond planet Earth, that battled the same demons as hers. She went through her very own catalogue of ‘what ifs’.
She splashed her face one last time and left the cramped cubicle. She searched inside her bag for her sanitising spray and as she looked back up, she saw someone at the end of the corridor, getting ready to take her seat. It was a woman with long brown hair, twisted in a bun. Magda thought it curious that they were wearing the same colour cardigan and the same hairstyle but did not stop to dwell on it. The woman did not sit down after all, and she exited the carriage by the other end door before Magda could approach her. No harm done.
Magda sat down, placing her bag on her lap. She checked her watch again, and strangely, it still showed 08:22. As if time had stood still since she first left her seat. If her daughter had been there, she would have said something fantastical and completely silly like ‘We have now entered a parallel dimension, and this is the message to tell you that time is not flowing the way it always has.’ It was Sandra’s way of making light of a stressful situation. She had dreams of becoming a writer one day.
But Magda just shrugged off the watch being incorrect, she did not have the energy to be fussed over it. These smart watches were not always that smart after all. It was not the first time it played this trick on her in the past few weeks. It was probably time for her to replace it. Maybe go back to an analogue, at least when those stopped you could easily get the battery changed. 
As she waited for time to pass and her stop to come up, debating in her mind the use of a digital smart watch over that of an analogue, Magda noticed a piece of paper left on the seat next to her. She took it and unfolded it. Scribbled down were some aberrant characters that Magda had never seen before. Another shrug followed, and she put the paper in the bin under her seat’s table. In the most peculiar way, however, a few seconds later, when her eyes fell on the seat next to her again, another piece of paper appeared. 
‘Well, what the…’ she let out an equally confused and annoyed whisper. There was nobody sitting near her, the other three passengers in the carriage were near the back-end door. 
She thought she must have been so tired, that she did not notice there had been two pieces of paper on the chair. She forgot to wonder where they came from in the first place. Puzzled, she discovered the same blabber on this paper too. 
She sighed, with some irritation. She checked her watch again, both out of habit and a growing sense of restlessness: 08:22.
‘Oh, for the love of…’ she muttered, then she noticed another piece of paper on the seat next to her.
The message was the same unrecognisable rubbish. A rush of blood to the head made her get up and speak out loud:
‘Which one of you thinks this is funny?’ holding the paper above her head, for all three passengers to take note. Seeing that she woke someone up made her feel marginally guilty. She might have been really tired, but she was not dumb. She was aware that she will have looked quite ridiculous to those people who had not put the stupid paper on her chair. 
She sat back down, feeling somewhat embarrassed. Was she overreacting? Was it the exhaustion enhancing everything? Maybe she should just ignore the piece of paper…
She looked at the time again. It now said 00:35. Magda gave up, defeated. Then she saw the woman from before, on the other side of the door now, in the next carriage, coming out of the toilet. 
She tried ignoring her at first, but she got intrigued by her movements. She had the bizarre feeling that she was looking at herself, but from a few minutes ago. There was a creepy familiarity to her mannerisms that Magda could not look away from: the way she tucked her loose hair behind her ear when she came out of the cubicle, the way she searched inside her bag, then quickly around her. That’s when Magda caught a glimpse of the woman’s face. She recognised her features and felt instant dread. She was Magda, with the same long, freckled nose, same lips, thinned out by age, and the same scar on her right temple, from falling off a chair about three years ago, while painting the kitchen ceiling on her own. Magda was looking at Magda. 
‘What the hell is this?!’ she jumped off her chair, and walked towards the door, hands pressed against it. 
‘Hey! Hey, who are you?’ she pushed the button, trying to open the door and go through, but it was jammed. Her flustered breath fogged up the glass. A trace of the same message that was written on the three pieces of paper before could be made out on it now. The same eerie symbols, but they were now turning into ‘I am you’.
Magda looked up in angst, eyes bulging. The other Magda met her frightened gaze. For a split second, she looked like a monstruous being. Magda’s shock-stricken brain could not process the ghastly view.
The other Magda smiled back at her in return.
","August 09, 2023 20:35",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,8ot7py,The Alien Syndrome,Héctor Zalik,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8ot7py/,/short-story/8ot7py/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Mystery']",9 likes,"
""The Alien Syndrome""
 
Urgent Communication: It is imperative that all missions return immediately to planet Earth. Sector B-4441 yields positive results. (High Command of Interstellar Search for Extraterrestrial Life)
 
“Excuse me, could you perhaps be a bit less direct when telling others the truth about extraterrestrial life? Look at how you left this one, he can't even blink anymore, poor thing. We even had to close his eyes ourselves; he looks half-dead... and that's just not fair”.
“I'll try” I was telling the head nurse at the military hospital, “I'll try not to be so harsh”. 
“No, no, no” The woman muttered while shaking her head.
 
Poor Minister of Technology, just a week ago we could see him laughing at the most elementary things in life, and now he couldn't even blink by himself. The doctors had honored him with being the most extreme case of what they now called the Alien Syndrome. The most common symptoms of this condition were nervous twitches all over the body, severe depression, difficulty moving limbs upon waking up, nerve contractions, diarrhea, but never had such an extreme shock been seen. Well, I had warned him that the truth wasn't easy.
 
“Why don't you give them a sedative before telling them?” The nurse said, interrupted by muffled groans coming from the minister's throat... he was even starting to drool! “Well, do you need anything else?” I'm quite busy, as you can see. 
 
“Well... this afternoon I'm going to talk to Polaris... I hope, I mean, if you could come with me…” 
“Heavens, I think I'll take her some neuroanesthetics. Two doses should be enough.”
 
The machine monitoring the minister's vital signs started beeping with an alert. Another nervous attack was overtaking the minister. It was time for his sedative dose, given every three hours since yesterday when he learned, through my own words, the truth. I chose to leave that hospital; in fact, I had to prepare for the global conference I would give in the afternoon. What a terrible future awaited humanity... well, I suppose it was better than the immediate present we had to face. At the moment, around 500 government officials and scientific personnel had already recovered from the so-called Alien Syndrome, but there were also around 1,500 more hospitalized. This was how humanity was awakening to the truth.
 
For eons, humanity had questioned the existence of life on other planets, but what had never been questioned was what would happen when the answers were found. Now that humans could access, thanks to technology, the deepest answers... we simply weren't prepared.
 
All missions of Interstellar Search for Extraterrestrial Life had returned to planet Earth, with thousands stationed on the moon, awaiting the optical conference I would give in a few moments. Many, many years had passed, and humans had persisted in doing only one thing, the only thing that gave meaning to their existence: finding life somewhere in the universe.
 
Today, we had the answer, all thanks to the incredible technologies we had developed; today, we could bend spacetime around us and travel to unimaginable places. The universe, while vast, wasn't infinite as our ancestors believed. Now, through machines, great technologists could scan any planet, sun, or moon in search of cells of any form and primal characteristic. Thanks to this, we had the answer now. For some, it had meant an existential torment that had led to suicide or the Alien Syndrome. For others, it was the certainty of the unique value of the human being. But, as I said, only around 500 people had recovered from the shock enough to discuss the future of humanity. Now, I had to address billions of people and take responsibility for the consequences:
 
“Yes, we have found intelligent life in sector B-4441 of the universe. It is an encounter we have awaited for millennia and that will bring about a radical transformation in human consciousness. Hundreds of millions of human beings have been part of this effort, culminating now in the joy of an unprecedented achievement. My pride in being a part of the human race is unquestionable; I love humanity for what it has achieved... but –tears were starting to fall– I must warn you that the race we have encountered is profoundly different from us. Therefore, I want to announce a convoy that will depart next week to sector B-4441 to establish more direct contact; all those with updated citizenship and who have completed their studies will be eligible to go…”
 
I continued to give instructions on how to act in the face of this new discovery. Likely, history will mark me as a cowardly and reactionary liar, but the current circumstances don't allow for more. I can feel my knees starting to weaken. Reality was drilling into my neurons, and I was so sure that life, life as we know it, has a purpose; a substance or attainable destiny; something I can grasp onto to not be left in the vast darkness. I don't want to be a child of nothingness; I don't want to face darkness after death. And all, all my hopes, my answers, I had based on the possibility of extraterrestrial life. Something I thought would explain Earth's existence, or at least, through scientific comparison, provide us with a more understandable definition of life. Because, for me, a living being isn't just something that is born, grows, reproduces, and dies... yes, what I was looking for was a form of eternal life that would say: there's nothing to fear.
 
Back in my office, in the Citizen Building, the nurse was already waiting for me. She brought a portable medical system, surely equipped with all the injections that promised to alleviate the Alien Syndrome a little. I could only sincerely thank her for her help, to which she responded dryly: ""just don't blurt it out like that."" And certainly, this time I would be careful with Polaris, our most eminent biologist of all times. Yes, I would tell her with care.
 
The guard at the entrance received me with the usual reverence; I asked if Polaris had arrived, ""yes, yes, First Citizen,"" he said, while raising his arm to kill an ant that had crawled onto his chest. With his right thumb, he pressed the tiny insect and then crumpled it into a ball before throwing it with vehement superiority. I exchanged a look with the nurse, to which she could only sigh. If the guard knew how valuable every living being was in these times, if he knew that this little creature, as annoying and insignificant as it might be, was the expression of abnormality in a sterile and cold universe... if he knew that we were alone…
 
On my way to my office, the nurse seemed to read my mind.
 
“Maybe it's not so bad; life has never been as valuable as it is now.”
A revealing statement to which I replied with a smile. Then I dared to ask:
“And for you... what is life?” 
“Life... life is everything that holds emotions inside.” 
“Do cells have emotions?” 
“They do, yes, they have the emotion of satisfying their instincts.”
 
We fell silent. Immediately, I focused on the words I would use with the eminent Biologist. Would she be capable of enduring the harsh blow that awaited her, or would she enter a vegetative shock like the Minister of Technology? Who knows,
it might even be that she had an appropriate response, or at least some words that could alleviate the discomfort coursing through my body and that of many others. At this point, I had come to accept that all of this was to quell my own mental storm, and that political responsibility toward my fellow beings would come after my own emotional healing. Things were taking the direction of my selfish tranquility. I was seeking my own answers.
 
Polaris was already waiting for me in the boardroom; the nurse decided to stay outside, not without saying that I should call her if necessary. I entered the boardroom, finding Polaris seated in a comfortable chair. She stood up immediately.
 
“But what great news, First Citizen, we finally found life, it's something... but, what's wrong... you don't look very happy.” 
 
“Well, that's why I summoned you, to discuss what I said in the conference.” 
 
“Yes, it's a dream come true.” 
 
“Please, have a seat.”
 
I ordered the computer in my office, through my integrated Brain Command Unit, to bring in a post-digital chair. Instantly, a door opened, placing the rather stylish chair in front of the armchair.
 
“Would you like a drink?” I asked my guest. 
 
“To celebrate... an ionosphere liquor!”
 
 “Ah! You have good taste” I ordered the computer again, and two glasses of the liquor descended onto the table.
 
We took a sip, and I said cheers! Trying to mask the situation. Although deep down, it was also a small ironic wink at our shifting existential state.
 
“Ah, very delicious... very good liquor... well... now, you can tell me why you summoned me.” 
 
“Yes... well, you know very well that our technological advancements have no precedent, and that both our missions and our interplanetary scanners don't fail. You know we've conducted experiments on Mars with samples of just two grams of cells, and the interplanetary scanner has always succeeded.” 
 
“Yes, First Citizen, our technological capability is undeniable.” 
 
“Then you'll know our results are unquestionable... but before anything else, I would like to ask you: what is the reason humanity has become obsessed with finding life on other planets? 
 
“Well, what other reason could there be besides comparison? Being able to compare ourselves to others who are also alive could give us so many answers... because we always take so many things for granted, surely we've missed the truths we most long for. I'd like to know all the possibilities in which life can develop... I don't know... maybe, with this discovery, we can find the most intrinsic truths about our own species. 
 
“I thought the same thing, but tell me yourself, what is your personal desire? What do you truly aspire to in seeking life on other worlds?” 
 
“The same thing, as I said; I'm searching for the mystery of life... you must know that we've never been able to create life in the laboratory... well, then, I want to know how life can form in the universe or rather, how something inanimate becomes conscious?... how, in the end, does matter become aware of itself?... 
 
“Sounds reasonable; everyone has a good reason.” 
 
“What's yours?” 
 
“Ammm!... it has changed recently, I'm not sure what to think anymore. Look, I'm going to tell you the truth about our findings, but it's complicated, many have struggled, several have had reactions similar to post-traumatic shock... Are you willing, at your own risk, to hear the truth?” 
 
“Absolutely, I'm a scientist.” 
 
“Look, the reality is that we don't have any extraterrestrial beings, nor have we made contact with any beings from other planets.” 
 
“Then?” 
 
“It's all a fabrication to conceal the truth and to be able to educate a new generation with reality.” 
 
“I find it deplorable…”
 
“Allow me to continue... the mission we're sending to that supposed world where there is life is only for the most enthusiastic to distance themselves from this planet and not go into shock when they learn the truth. It's a mission to nothingness, where they will find an empty world. They will discover the truth in due time and to the extent that their obsession doesn't cloud their consciousness.”
 
“First Citizen, everything you've told me so far is outrageous, and I assure you I won't remain silent about the injustices of your administration. I will be the one to come forward and say that the mission you're sending is a fraud!”
 
“Oh no, you wouldn't dare...2
 
“Of course, I would…”
 
“Not if I tell you the truth. There's no life in the universe! It's a heap of dust and gas, we're completely alone. Not even a tiny cell, nothing... nothing, and we've already confirmed it!”
 
I stayed watching the scientist, waiting to see how she would react. I looked into her eyes. Her pupils started dilating, her rigidity was becoming concerning. I think I had done everything but be kind to the biologist, but I was exasperated. The nurse was right, I was delivering the information too abruptly, not gradually. The situation was getting very bad, and when the eminent biologist's face turned pale, I tried to get her to react by calling her name, but nothing, she had fallen into a deep shock. I called the nurse, who came in immediately, very worried. Seeing the expression on the scientist's face, she took out an injection and was about to administer it when the woman reacted unexpectedly:
“No, no, no injections.” 
 
“But…” The nurse muttered. 
 
“I'm fine, I swear.” 
 
“But…” 
 
“I wasn't expecting this. But I'm fine, I assure you” 
 
“The scientist said, rubbing her eyes as if to wake up to the new reality.” 
 
“Wow” I said, “we've never seen someone recover so quickly.” 
 
“It's impressive what you've just told me, you're sure that there's no more life in the universe. 
 
“Absolutely, we've scanned everything. We've found that the universe folds in on itself like a sphere, and it's not actually as vast as we thought. If you travel in a straight line in a certain direction, you can come back to the Milky Way and our solar system. That's how we've been able to explore it completely. 
 
“Wow!... And parallel universes?” 
 
“Do you actually believe in the legends of the 21st century?... I'm sorry to shatter all your expectations.” 
 
“It's part of being a scientist... But I think I know what's going on.”
 
The nurse and I looked at her, as if imploring her to fill the existential void we were struggling with; the one we could no longer bear.
 
“Do you think you know what's going on?” I said, looking at her. 
 
“Yes.” 
 
“Really?” The nurse asked expectantly.
 
“...Allow me a moment” I said while finishing the rest of the liquor. I stood up, sighed, looked around the room, and thought about all the technology we had created; it was impossible for my Brain Command Unit to give me an answer like the one I was about to receive from the scientist. I sighed as I scratched my chin, then looked at the universe. “Please continue.” 
 
“Let's put it this way: for millennia, we've thought that if life happened in one place like this, it could surely happen somewhere else in the universe.” 
 
“Yes.” 
 
“So, we've presupposed that the universe has certain a priori qualities that produce what we call life.” 
 
“That could be said, yes.” 
 
“But if the universe is a place without widespread life, that would place us, rather, in a universe lacking that substance, principle, or quality with the power to generate it... so, it would be practically impossible for life to exist on this planet or any other.” 
 
“So?” 
 
“That life is a misinterpretation of our ignorance! In other words, we are in a chilling paradox because, since we have nothing to compare ourselves to, nothing tells us that we're very different from rocks, or that minerals can't be more alive than us. The supposed inhabitants of this planet wouldn't have to be anything special. Animals, insects, us – we are simple chemical elements equivalent to the maximum condition of the cosmos: sterility!... Throughout human existence, we've had a mistaken assumption, and from now on, we'll inhabit a contradictory and unsolvable becoming: life hasn't yet been created!”
 
","August 11, 2023 14:56","[[{'Harry Taverner': ""A very nice take on existential dread and the hubris of humankind, well done! The story ends very abruptly and openly, which I guess is the point - I found myself looking for an answer that wasn't there, much like the sufferers of your 'alien syndrome' we are left hanging on for a meaning..."", 'time': '21:35 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Héctor Zalik': 'Thank you for your comments. Certainly, to think that there might be no more life in the universe, even though I find it unlikely, is a terrifying thought.', 'time': '18:41 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Héctor Zalik': 'Thank you for your comments. Certainly, to think that there might be no more life in the universe, even though I find it unlikely, is a terrifying thought.', 'time': '18:41 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,v27og4,Giving Back,Karen McDermott,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/v27og4/,/short-story/v27og4/,Mystery,0,"['Fiction', 'Romance', 'Happy']",9 likes,"
“Whoo! Look at this, Eileen – I’m Marilyn Monroe!”Eileen peered over the top of her glasses and put down the receipt she had been puzzling over. Janice, her eccentric boss at the Rewild Life Charity shop was holding the straps of a dazzling white ball gown up to her shoulders, doing twirls in the back room that barely had space for the staff lockers, let alone such activity.It was January 8th and they’d been inundated, as usual for the time of year, with unwanted Christmas presents. Piles of DVDs still in their cellophane wrappers. Perfumes from women perplexed by why their husbands wanted them to smell like Parma Violets. Confusing board games families had decided they had had their mileage from already, lengthy instruction booklets not lending themselves well to post-roast slumps.“Price it up at 20 quid?” suggested Eileen.Janice checked the label and Eileen heard her gulp that followed inspection even over radio softly crooning on the shelf behind her. “Reckon we’d get £40 for this one.”“Reckon we’d actually stand a chance of selling it this decade if we stuck to £20.”Janice shrugged in grudging agreement. She hung the beautiful dress on the rail ready to be steamed and took her trusty scissors into slicing open the next bag of goodies, or not-so-goodies. Eileen, satisfied she had solved the mystery of the receipt – someone had punched an extra ‘0’ on a sale – and which volunteer to quietly reprimand about it, moved on to the bric-a-brac shelf. She started checking the week numbers stamped on the labels to decide whether it was finally time to cast the eyesore of the souvenir novelty ashtrays in the recycling bin. Janice had been so sure they would sell. But then Janice struggled to see why every prospective customer who walked in to their little shop did not share her somewhat unique taste. Today this was represented by pink elephant earrings and a cartoonishly gaudy combination of a lemon yellow belt and green pumps.The bell over the top of the door tinkled, its instigator chiming in with “Morning Janice, Morning Eileen.”“Hi Grace,” Janice and Eileen chorused in return, Eileen uttering a small sigh of relief after. An extra pair of hands was direly needed to sort through donated stock and unwrap the new goods Head Office insisted on sending through, even though the staff barely had the space to hang their own coats up. Janice had once wondered aloud what market research it was that resulted in pre-packaged measuring spoons and shoehorns being sent their way when most customers wanted to try on clothes, root through boxes of old costume jewellery and pick a book to take to the beach.Janice had also voiced her usual misgivings when considering the 20-year-old Grace’s application to volunteer. “Students…,” she’d begun. “…they go home in the holidays and they’re lumbered with too many essays, then realise they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.” But Eileen had just ignored her and had called Grace in to interview. The young woman had nodded enthusiastically, saying she could come in for four hours a week and so far had stuck to her word. Except for an extended field trip to an art gallery in Edinburgh; but then she’d come back laden with so much shortbread to divvy up amongst the staff that the managers, with bellies straining, told her she would have to do it more often.“Lovely to see you, Grace,” said Janice. “Did you have good hols?”“Yes thank you Janice,” replied Grace, tucking a lock of strawberry blond hair back under from where it was escaping her hat. “And you? How are the boys?”Eileen let the pair catch up while she made a list of everything she wanted to get done that day. ‘Nothing’s impossible if you simply break it down to smaller tasks’ was her oft-quoted motto. Janice was forever threatening to print it on a tie-dyed t-shirt for her.“Grace,” said Eileen, “would you be willing to nip over to Scribbles over the road and see if they can change up these tenners?” They were forever running low on £5 notes.“The girl’s only just got here, give her a break!” protested Janice, theatrically rolling her eyes and puffing at her fringe, which was purple that week.Grace laughed. “I’m here to work. Of course I will – I’ll do it now while I’ve still got my coat on.”“Grand. Cuppa tea’ll be waiting for you when you get back,” assured Eileen, handing over a sheath of tenners to their new charge. “Don’t worry if they can’t change up all of them. Just whatever they can spare.”Grace returned triumphant, and the three fell back into their usual rhythm: Janice sorting donations, Eileen on banking, Grace on till when it was busy, neatening displays when it wasn’t.The bell went again and Grace looked up from the vase she had decided to fill with plastic flowers to greet a tall, rather pasty-faced gentleman who looked to be in his thirties. He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of her chirpy greeting, then decided to add a nod in lieu of words. Grace thought perhaps he was shy like many of their customers, lovers of nature and peace, seemed to be. The man made a beeline for the books. And continued the metaphor when he started humming along to a pop song on the radio (which Grace had subtly changed the station of when she deemed it safe to do so). Perhaps he wasn’t so shy.Grace started running a cloth over some of the china ornaments, wondering for about the eighteenth time whether she should adopt the porcelain cat with the whiskers covered in splashes of cream. A sculptor herself, she was forever marvelling at how the tiny white drops had been formed. She had the skill for bold designs, but lacked the patience required for smaller embellishments. She was still waiting to find out if patience was a subject taught on her course.A clicking noise took her out of her reverie and she looked up just in time to catch the mysterious man quickly putting something in his jacket pocket and striding out of the shop. Curious, Grace went over to see what had made him run off – surely he hadn’t stolen something? Who would be so heartless as to steal from a charity?The only thing she noticed was the spine of a science fiction book standing out a little further from its line of brothers, which she had fastidiously straightened earlier. She loved the painter Piet Mondrian and hence loved a clean line. Grace looked at the cover of the book – strange ships floating in unnaturally coloured skies. Curiosity told her to open the book and to her horror she found someone had scribbled a mysterious illegible message in it. Whenever she opened a textbook from the university library if she found underlinings or highlighting added by a previous borrower she was driven to distraction and would have to return the book.“It can’t be sold in this condition,” she thought, and so left it on the checkout desk with a sticky note on for her bosses explaining why it had been pulled out.Nothing further untoward happened that day. When Eileen cashed up at the end of the day – it had been another slow one and she was dreading justifying the takings to Janice, whose responsibility it was to sign off on reports to Head Office – she caught sight of the pulp paperback Grace had left on the desk. She read the note, deciding to peep to assess the damage herself. Grace could overreact at times, which both Eileen and Janice agreed was due to her generation’s time spent in such sterile environments. “Afraid of getting her hands dirty,” Janice had said. She’d offered once for Grace to have a go at sorting. The girl had only lasted half an hour before saying the smelly socks and smudged picture frames were pushing it but finding someone had donated a used toothbrush sealed the deal for her, and back to tidying and dusting she went.Eileen quickly identified the ‘scribble’ as the author’s signature, wondering what they were teaching in higher education if Grace hadn’t been able to see that. She laughed to herself while unlocking the cabinet they put the more valuable items on display in and finding a nook for the book in amongst the exquisitely beautiful rings and old cameras.The funny-looking, slightly dog-eared book sold three days later, to a buyer saying they should have been asking for more. He’d slipped an extra fiver into the box on the till.A fortnight later, the now less mysterious man (now identified as award-winning author, John Glass) came back to the shop, entering with more of a stride than a shuffle this time. Grace, recognising him (she read a lot of crime books and was attuned to registering distinguishing features in case she was ever called to give a statement), assumed he was now feeling more confident in his surroundings, having scoped out the scene and left his mark. After a time spent flicking through an aeronautical tome, John cleared his throat and approached Grace at the desk, where she was pricing up bags of buttons.“Hello,” she said, with a shy closed lipped smile. She had dazzlingly white teeth and usually afraid to let people know it, so what was happening to her? Had she become a little star-struck? Over this man she hadn’t know from Adam until a mere couple of weeks ago? “If it’s buttons you’ve come for, you’re in luck,” she announced, waving a little plastic bag of them.Grace mentally kicked herself. Who says such things? If they had been chocolate buttons, it might have been a touch more understandable. She tested one by bending it. Definitely plastic.Fortunately John smiled back at her instead of running for the hills.“Bit old for her, isn’t he?” commented Janice, from where she was hiding out the back with Eileen. Both occupied, but keeping one eye on the proceedings. It wasn’t every day they had visits from esteemed writers.“Oi, weren’t there fifteen years between you and your Paul?” queried Eileen, who was trying to untangle a bunch of necklaces and only succeeding in making it worse. Defeated, she put them in a basket and decided to sell them as a job lot.“Fourteen, actually,” said Janice, her hand automatically drifting to the locket she wore. Eileen knew it contained a picture of Janice’s husband and an ultrasound scan photo of her son, Peter.Eileen looked back at the counter, where some sort of information exchange was in process. Grace had brought out the notepad they used for when the till was playing up, and Mr Glass was brandishing his controversial pen again.“Is he signing her a personal poem do you think?” asked Janice, in what she considered to be a whisper.Eileen was fretting. What if somehow he hadn’t meant for the book to be sold? Was he registering a complaint? Well if so, Janice would have to step up and deal with it. The assistant manager may have a dutiful nature, but she drew the line at –Grace had rushed over even before the shop’s bell had finished its goodbye serenade.“You’ll never guess!” she squealed, flapping the bit of paper around like a bird that had alighted upon her hand and wouldn’t get the hint to leave.“Dinner reservation/complaint”, said Janice and Eileen in unison, which threw Grace for a moment, who ceased her pirouetting.“I got chatting to the man who signs his own books…”Janice nodded impatiently, causing her laser blue frames to almost bounce off the tip of her nose.“…and he was telling me all about his new book. It’s set in the head office of a nature reserve, he says…”“That’s quite a change of scene for him, isn’t it?” Eileen interrupted.“I expect something peculiarly wild happens in it, but I said ‘no spoilers’ please. Anyway – he’s offering to do a signing here. He said his agent could take care of the marketing and it would bring a load of new people into the shop.” The famed white teeth were flashing now.“What about refreshments?” asked Eileen.“You’re too practical for your own good at times,” remarked Janice. “Continue, Grace.”“He said the agent would sort all of that as well. Oh, I could get my housemates involved too – Sara makes her own elderflower cordial and Angelique bakes a scrumptious carrot cake.”Eileen was showing signs of warming to the idea; her forehead displaying fewer crinkles.Janice was almost bouncing off the walls. “We could certainly use the custom. Let’s ring him up and say yes, shall we? C’mon Eileen.”“Now don’t you start singing that song at me again, you know it makes me –”“Agree to anything I say? Yes, that’s why I do it.”Eileen scowled as she watched as her colleagues crumpled into heaps of laughter at her expense. “Fine, but you’ll be the one calling.” Eileen took the scrap of paper from Grace’s quivering hands and passed it to Janice, who pinned it to her noticeboard. Grace was called away by the door again and the three once again returned to their usual routine, only all lighter in heart in that moment.*The book signing event seemed to roll around in no time. It was to start at 6:30pm, giving the women time after closing to clear what space they could and to lay out rows of chairs (some of which were kindly on loan from Ari’s, the Greek café down the street). The publisher’s team were busy pouring out cups of wine and orange juice that completely covered a trestle table that was normally reserved for housing stationery in the back office. Janice had covered it beforehand with a large shawl that was woven with glinting gold thread.“Looks fit for a king,” remarked Grace’s housemate Angelique, who was cutting a large cake into dainty slices. She had been hearing a lot about the author over the past few weeks. She had to hide a smile when her comment resulted in Grace going over to the table to flatten down a wrinkle.Eileen was occupied in pinning donated curtains over the wall displays, to give the evening a clearer backdrop. The agent from the book company looked particularly relieved when the novels by other authors had been hidden from view. Janice had wanted to hang up a string of fairy lights shaped like flying saucers in the area from which John Glass would be doing his reading, until Eileen pointed out they had not been tested by a qualified electrician, as was business practice. Janice clucked, but complied. The agent sounded relieved by this also, saying it wasn’t in keeping with the new image they were trying to project for the author. The agent spotted a spinning display of nature-related birthday cards and wheeled it towards where John’s chair awaited him.“Who does she think she is, coming in here and rearranging the furniture,” hissed Janice.“Hush, will you,” said Eileen. “We might end up selling some cards tonight.”“I thought you’d already cashed up for the night?”But Eileen was two steps ahead. She turned around and dove into a box, bringing out a donation tin patterned with bees and their hives. “I’m giving these out to the volunteers, with instructions to mingle after the Q&A.”Janice squeezed Eileen’s arm. “You’re brilliant, you are.”Eileen blushed under the extra make up she had treated herself to for the evening. She noticed Grace’s eyelashes also appeared to have doubled in size, plus she was wearing an elegant blue dress spotted with tiny white butterflies she hadn’t seen on her before, which fitted her lean form like a glove.By 6:45, all the seats were occupied, a few other interested parties even standing at the back.“If only we could always be this busy,” murmured Eileen.“Be careful what you wish for,” warned Janice. “We wouldn’t even be able to get to the stock to replenish it.”“Shush, it’s starting!”Sure enough, John’s agent had become the welcoming intro. Everybody listened enraptured after the introduction while John read extracts from his new book, aware they were the first members of the public to be hearing the words. John began quietly and some struggled to hear. He was clearly more accustomed to writing instead of talking, but the applause he received bolstered both his confidence and the volume of his speech.When the evening drew to a close, Eileen and Janice collected the tins from the volunteers, joyful at finding them all a lot heavier than when they had initially been distributed.Many customers, clutching freshly signed first editions, remarked that they would be returning soon to see the mysteries that lay behind all the curtains. Soon, all who were left were the managers, the agent, the star volunteer, and the author. All were tired, but happy.John was signing the last book of the batch to Grace, after waving her money away.“Perhaps he’ll include dinner details this time,” Eileen said hopefully.“No. He’s probably writing a complaint.”Eileen looked at Janice.Janice look at Eileen.Then exploded into cackles, causing the agent to almost upset her orange juice.“Only kidding,” said Janice. “Oh, you should see your face. Priceless.” Then she nodded toward Grace and John. “I bet their story has only just begun.” 
","August 11, 2023 16:41","[[{'Harry Taverner': 'A very nice slice of life! Excellent characterisations, I felt there. Though I think maybe a line or two about how Grace sees John slightly differently the second time round could bring the romance aspect together nicely. Her first impression was pasty-faced, so maybe she could see some more positive attributes apart from his increased confidence when he returns to the shop. I don´t read much of this style so it´s just a thought', 'time': '10:50 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Karen McDermott': ""Thank you for reading, and for the feedback. This was my first time attempting a cosy style like this (wish I'd known in advance what this week's prompts were going to be...)"", 'time': '11:47 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Karen McDermott': ""Thank you for reading, and for the feedback. This was my first time attempting a cosy style like this (wish I'd known in advance what this week's prompts were going to be...)"", 'time': '11:47 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'This was a fun read, a meet-cute that had some strong characters in it. I loved that an author came in and signed his own book in a charity shop. Very cool. I once met Larry McMurtry in an old bookstore and was so star struck that I could barely get a word out. This tale reminded me of that splendid event in my life.\n\nI noticed this:\n""Save for an extended field trip to an art gallery in Edinburgh but then she’d come back laden with so much shortbread to divvy up amongst the staff that the managers, bellies straining, told her she would have ...', 'time': '12:08 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Karen McDermott': ""Thanks for reading, I'm glad my attempt at Happily Ever After paid off. And triggered a cool memory! I met Neil Gaiman but that was at a signing, so I had already expected to stammer nonsense at him. \n\nHave tweaked the sentence to hopefully make more sense now, thanks for highlighting it. \n\nI must go over to read one of your fine tales again soon."", 'time': '18:19 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Karen McDermott': ""Thanks for reading, I'm glad my attempt at Happily Ever After paid off. And triggered a cool memory! I met Neil Gaiman but that was at a signing, so I had already expected to stammer nonsense at him. \n\nHave tweaked the sentence to hopefully make more sense now, thanks for highlighting it. \n\nI must go over to read one of your fine tales again soon."", 'time': '18:19 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Read this before bed last night and what a nice relaxing little read it was! I got fully immersed in that world! Nice to read something warm and fuzzy. Thank you for that!\n\n(I noticed a couple of typos, the ones I remember are borrower is spelt borrorer and cards spelt cars - hope that helps!)', 'time': '09:21 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Karen McDermott': ""It does suit bedtime reading doesn't it? I figured I'd write something a little cheesier than my usual fare, glad it went down well for ya. Also thanks for the heads up re the typos, now hopefully fixed."", 'time': '18:13 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Karen McDermott': ""It does suit bedtime reading doesn't it? I figured I'd write something a little cheesier than my usual fare, glad it went down well for ya. Also thanks for the heads up re the typos, now hopefully fixed."", 'time': '18:13 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,5q8z05,Blue,Lila U,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/5q8z05/,/short-story/5q8z05/,Mystery,0,"['Sad', 'Friendship', 'Historical Fiction']",8 likes,"
BlueContains mention of war and hints of sexual abuse, domestic violence, and death.Fictional letters being sent between Darfur, Sudan and New York City, US 2003March 12Dear Amir,You’re so lucky. What’s it like? Do you have new friends? Don’t replace me. Amir, please wear blue. Amir, I like blue. It’s my favorite color. Please wear blue, Amir. Please.Your friend,LualMarch 23Dear Lual,It’s, like, always bright. And it smells of metal. When are you coming? Your friend,AmirApril 10Dear Amir,It’s going to be harder to send letters now. It might be a bit before you get this. Mama is listed because of the baby, but Papa has to fight in the war. I want to come, too, but they said I can’t until I’m ten. I’m turning eight in one week, but I have to pretend I’m six, because I’m small enough, and because if I don’t, I will have to fight, too. Remember to wear blue.Your friend,LualMay 15Dear Lual,What baby? And what do you mean, wear blue?Your friend,AmirMay 31Dear Amir,Mama has a baby in her tummy called Akanni, and if the baby doesn’t die, I can have a baby sister or a baby brother. Will you promise to wear blue? I can’t say anything right now. Mama will be too sad if she hears me. Also, the camp is dry and hot, but someone might come to teach me how to read and do maths and maybe even how to fly a plane to get to America! Don’t forget to wear blue.Your best friend,LualJune 20Dear Lual,Maybe when you learn how to fly a plane, we can fly away together, and we can take your Mama, and Papa, and the baby, and we can go somewhere where there’s no war. Lual, why do you want me to wear blue? Please tell me. Why will it make your Mama sad?Your best friend,AmirJuly 29Dear Lual,Will it take a long time for your next letter to come? It feels like a billion million trillion years. Is the baby born yet? When is your Mama coming? Maybe when she comes, can I live with her? I don’t like my new foster family. The Mama is loud, and the Papa is mean, and sometimes he hits me, and I don’t like it. When you come, can I be your brother? I think Mama and Papa will be okay with that since they know your parents. Lual, you still didn’t explain to me why I must wear blue. What’s happening?Your best friend,AmirAugust 12Dear Lual,Where did you go?Your best friend,AmirDecember 31Dear Lual,Happy New Year. Are you dead? When are you coming?Your best friend,Amir2004May 23Dear Lual,I’m wearing blue today. A sweater and jeans. Blue is your favorite color. Happy birthday, friend.Your friend,AmirSeptember 11Dear Lual,Something terrible happened three years ago today, right here in New York. We learned it in school. Did something terrible happen to you? I’m waiting for your letter. Please tell me why I should wear blue. I try to wear my sweater every day, but sometimes I have to wear the red one or the purple one because we have to wash the clothes. I have a new foster family. They are nicer. I think that when you come to America, you should come to my house and eat some spaghetti. It’s delicious. Your friend,AmirDecember 31Dear Lual,Please tell me where you are. Happy New Year.Your best friend,Amir2005February 18Dear Amir,I can’t fight in the war anymore because I don’t have my legs anymore. I’m eight now, but the American man who wants to teach the children at the refugee camp said maybe I can go to America because of my legs. He brought me a rolling chair so I can walk again. But Papa died. Please wear a blue shirt for him. Mama might not be able to come to America because the baby died while it was being born and Mama is sad. She says she needs to die where her true loves died to honor them. Your very best friend,LualMarch 30Dear Lual,I am crying.Your very best friend,AmirJuly 13Dear Amir,A man from America brought a book to the refugee camp called The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He read it to the children and I was listening in my new rolling chair. Yesterday, I went for a trip through some other parts of the camp with my new rolling chair to find my new friend, Fatimah, because she went missing a few weeks ago, and I thought maybe she got lost, but some kids beat me up and took my shirt. Do you still have your blue shirt?Your very best friend,LualAugust 31Dear Lual,Please tell me why I need to wear blue.Your very best friend,AmirOctober 12Dear Amir,We found Fatimah. Nobody believes her, but I believe her. Someone hurt from the war like me took her and didn’t let her go home. He has his legs, but his brain is messed up so they won’t let him fight because he might start shooting up the people on his own side. She won’t walk or eat or drink or talk to anyone but me. She said the man with the messed up brain did terrible things to her and she wants to go to America so the protection people who helped you can protect her from the man who touched her and hurt her in terrible ways. Please wear blue for her.Your very bestest friend,LualDecember 1Dear Lual,When will you and Fatimah come to America? I have a lovely new family. I want to stay here forever. You can be my brother and Fatimah can be my sister and we can be happy. I am wearing my blue shirt. Please tell me why I should wear blue.Your bestest friend,AmirDecember 31Dear Lual,Happy New Year. I love you.Your best friend,Amir2006January 14Dear Amir,Fatimah got listed! She’s coming to the place called New York City! Wear blue for Mama.Your very bestest friend,LualSeptember 17Dear Lual,Today I went to the airport with my favorite family to pick up Fatimah. I am no longer a foster child. I have found my family and now I have a sister and I might get a baby. What does the color blue mean to you? It seems to be more than just a favorite color.Your friend,AmirDecember 31Dear Lual,Please answer my blue question. Happy New Year.From,Amir2007May 23Dear Lual,The baby was born today. She is a girl and her name is Akanni Lual Cooper. Happy birthday my dear, dear friend. Where are you? We are wearing blue.Your best friends,Amir and FatimahJune 15Dear Lual,Where are you?From,Amir and FatimahJuly 24Dear Lual,Where are you?From,Amir and FatimahAugust 31Dear Lual,Where are you?From,Amir and FatimahSeptember 18Dear Lual,Where are you?From,Amir and FatimahNovember 14Dear Lual,Where are you?From,Amir and FatimahDecember 31Dear Lual,I miss you. Please come to America. Please be my brother. Please be alive, please, please. Please be alive, Lual. Please be alive. Please write back.From,Amir2008Amir put his pen down as the clock struck 12:00. Another year, gone. Another year without Lual. The door to his shared room with Fatimah creaked open. His adoptive mother poked her head inside. When his eyes met her, he saw her tear streaked face and stood up. “What’s wrong?”“We got some news. From Lual.”“Lual! Is he coming here! Is he coming to be my brother?”“He got listed to come here.”“My brother, my brother…” Amir sniffled as tears squeezed out of his closed eyes. “My brother.”“Amir.” His mother sat down on the bottom bunk bed and motioned for him to come over. He sat down beside her. “When is he coming?”His mother wiped her eyes. “He’s not.”“Why? You said he got listed. Is it because of his legs? Does the plane have a special rolling chair for him? Is he—”“He passed away, Amir. A fight broke out in the refugee camp and someone had a gun and—”Amir stopped breathing. No.“What about his Mama?”“She’s dead, honey.”“But, what about Lual? Will I get to say goodbye?”“In a letter he never sent to you, he said he wanted you to wear blue instead of black to his funeral.”“But where will we bury him?”“We can’t. But we will honor his life as a family. And we’ll all wear blue.”Blue for Lual.January 1Dear Lual,Does dying hurt? I wanted to know what the blue meant. But not like this. I love you, my friend. Forever. Your very bestest friend,AmirToday he would wear blue. Blue for his Mama, and Papa, and Akanni, and Lual’s Mama, and his Papa, too, and Fatimah and Lual. Today he would wear blue for Lual.
","August 08, 2023 00:24","[[{'Lila U': ""This fictional story takes place during the ethnic war in the Darfur region of Sudan. Over 300,000 people died and about 2.7 million people were displaced. Blue tells the story of two boys, Amir and Lual, through their long distance letters about love, loss, and the tragedies of war. My heart goes out to anyone who has experienced something as heartbreaking as the experiences of Amir, Lual, or Fatimah. I hope you enjoyed the story, and I'm open to any feedback. This is my first time sharing my writing online, so I don't really know what to e..."", 'time': '03:42 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,hcby79,We were so stupid.,Julian Fel,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hcby79/,/short-story/hcby79/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Horror', 'Mystery']",8 likes,"
I warned them. I warned them all.
But nobody listened.
For centuries, our species, no matter if religious or not, had debated about our creators. Congresses, palaces, and whole circles of the most educated and the most wise had debated if we were created at all, or if we were merely a whim of nature.
And yet, we found no answers.
We fought wars about the thesis of creators. Of the interpretation of their will. We killed for it. We bled for it.
And as the few remaining groups dominated, we waged war for other things. Against us. Against nature.
The oceans. The climate. Our atmosphere. We ruined it all.
When we received their message, we rejoiced. 
But we knew we weren't alone anymore. We could get help... right?
So, we reached out.
But we were so naive. 
As we ruined our planet, bled it dry for resources, and crushed its' skin to amass our wealth, others would do too. And maybe, they had gone too far already.
We were predators, after all. Why should they not be? 
We evolved with killing as every predator did. But we became arrogant. In our superiority, at some point, we did not kill for food anymore. For fun. For war. War was in our very substance; if it wasn't against each other, it was against our planet. If our creators made us this way, they must have been cruel.
If we had evolved this way, nature lost its grasp of self-regulation a long, long time ago.
We built cities of stone and steel and concrete where people starved on land that could have kept them fed.
But we were so stupid.
When our leaders finally confessed that they had made successful contact, the people split up once again.
Some wanted to act according to their nature.
Others wanted to act according to reason.
There weren't many who wanted them to help.
No. Most of them wanted us to take what is theirs.
That's when the resistance formed.
We weren't many, but we were determined. Not just to protect them, but also to protect us.
If they arrived first it meant their technology was superior to ours.
If we arrived first we couldn't be sure that they did not just hold back.
And so, we began to sabotage them. The many, many companies who built spaceships. Those who dared to look into the stars, to try to communicate.
If we stay silent, we hoped, they would maybe just give up.
We could send false messages, that war broke out and we are on the brink of destruction.
We tried to petition our leaders.
But they did not want to listen.
We were so stupid.
Six years after the first contact, we started our ships. Ten arks, full of people, of resources. Colonists, scientists, politicians. Hidden soldiers. Over twenty thousand people.
And they did theirs, our scientists told us. They told them. I do not know how. I do not understand it.
They had calculated the exact date the ark fleets would be close enough to meet. The real, actual first contact. A few pods shot over to the others. A few weeks of quarantine, then our arks would bring the other specimen home with them. Already learned speech. Culture. Working on a mutual, beneficial pact.
We were so stupid.
And then, we found out about you.
You were different. But you were oddly similar. One of our arks found your probe.
It had a disk on it, with a drawing. A drawing of us. Some of us. But it wasn't us.
It was a drawing of you and your home.
When our scientists got the news, they searched space for signals. And they found them. One after another. We just tried to listen to it in the wrong way before. And I also became a scientist. Late, with 205 solar cycles, but I managed to do it.
We deciphered your data. Reconstructed them. We even saw pictures. Pictures of you. And therefore, pictures of us.
We were the same, barely different. Our leaders met that day. Xenolife was a sensation in its own way. But Xenolife looking like we did. Spoke a dead language of ours, long forgotten already... 
They consulted our best scientists and those they had called fools before. Those who spoke of our creators of ancient myths and times. 
We prepared many messages.
But something happened. Again.
Those who were not willing to get in touch with the first species we encountered were too angry.
Because we had received a message, two days before we wanted to contact you. 
Our other contact did not send arks. They sent ships to take over our planet.
And our arks were gone. All of them. Destroyed by missiles, if we got the last reading right.
The antixenoist pact, as they called themself, had enough. Bombs with such devastating energies that they eradicated whole countries were hurled into the sky and rained down upon the globe. They were aimed at the countries who had pushed for the contact. They defended themselves.
It was mutual destruction before anyone else could destroy us.
Barely anyone of us survived. But I was one of them. Only because I was in space, in the orbital station where the research center is. To catch the messages you send into the whole galaxy. For every single species out there to hear. Maybe there are more than us? More ""humans"", as you call yourself. And us. Or more like them...
They will be here sooner. At least I think so. Their speed enhanced greatly since they had destroyed our arks. I think they only wanted to ensure that we sent the right location of our homeworld. 
The invasion will begin. The invasion of a dead planet. 
I do not have much time. I have to get into my escape pod. I will send this message to you, as a recording like you did, even though I doubt it will reach you at all, and I will take one with me in my pod. Perhaps you shall find it.
I hope our creators will forgive us one day for what we did to our species.
We hope that you will not repeat our mistakes.
It would have been an honor to know you, humans. I am sorry and I pray to the creators that they will not intercept this message.
We were so stupid.
 
Ten hours. Ten hours Dr. Hawforth had needed to decipher the message completely. She had hoped after every single word it was a mere jest. A mistake, a prank. Nothing else. 
But it wasn't. The dreadful truth slowly crept upon her. They weren't just not alone in the universe. Whoever had tried to warn humanity knew everything about us. While mankind had searched for extraterrestrial life, we were found already. And worse; their enemies were on the way. It was merely a question of time until they knew where Earth was too.
""Hawforth, I'm getting a coffee, want one t-... What's wrong?"", Dr. Richter had stuck his bald head into the room and looked concerned. He observed the monitors as he entered, one by one. With every word he read, his face became paler and paler.
Hawforth's tongue was cramped. She couldn't bring a single word out. 
""This... w-where is it.. from?"", Richter stuttered in disbelief.
"".. from the direction of Scutum. The plaque.. is the pioneer plaque. Supposedly... Pioneer 11.""
""But that's impossible, Pioneer 11 is in dark space, we lost contact years ago. I-In.. 1995! How cou-"", Then, Richter widened his eyes. ""No.""
"".. yes. It means there has to be something.. closer.. to us.. than we know. Than.. should be. We should have seen, it must be... something impossible for us.. to see.."", Hawforth swallowed heavily, her hands shaking on the keyboard. "".. except..""
Richter gasped. "".. except someone... something.. did not want us to see.""
""Yes.. we.. possibly were.. cheated.. by someone far, far superior to us.."", Hawforth spoke absently.
Gritting his teeth, hoping the answer wouldn't be what he feared, Richter spoke slowly as he asked. ""Do you know... when.. it was sent?
""No.. but if they caught Pioneer.. it could be a few decades... That doesn't explain why it arrives now..""
Again, Richter's eyes focused on her monitors. He narrowed them as he looked at the last phrases. ""The pod? Maybe?""
""This just can't be real."", Hawforth snorted and shook her head. ""It's impossible, damn it. It shouldn't be possible. Scientifically. Logically, even. It is nonsense. It..""
Richter crossed his arms and gnawed on his fingernails, too nervous to stop it. ""You did decipher it and you calculated the distance. Right?""
""Yes. I did."", she answered.
""And you are sure you made no mistakes?"", Richter asked.
Again, a nod. ""I checked it. Six times. Both. It's correct by all rules of mathematics. Physics. Everything. I made no mistake, I swear. I wish I had..""
""Then there's a.. menacing.. possibility.."", Richter spoke with a menacing, low voice.
""And which?"", Hawforth perked her brow, visibly afraid to ask.
""Everything we worked with was a lie. Whatever is out there, it's impossible to comprehend. We were way too arrogant.. we aren't the technologically most advanced species of our galaxy, Hawforth. That's not why we heard no one else for so long. We are nothing but animals in a pen, with the illusion of freedom, prepared to get butchered."" Richter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Never before had Hawforth heard so much resentment and fear in his voice. It sent a shudder down her spine. 
 
""We were so stupid.."" 
","August 08, 2023 22:57","[[{'Jonathan Page': ""Really great stuff!  I like the way the message reads like poetry almost with the repetition of 'we were so stupid' and how you pull it together at the end with the Earth scientists, Haworth and Richter."", 'time': '15:20 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,9ifn0q,Just A Memory,Isla Stark,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9ifn0q/,/short-story/9ifn0q/,Mystery,0,"['Suspense', 'Mystery', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
Sally grimaces as the wall comes crashing down, the edges of the room disappearing in a thick cloud of dust. There’s no turning back now. The old house needs a lot of work and she would have to roll her sleeves up and do some of it herself if she was going to have it finished before winter. Beggars can’t be choosers. She tucks a strand of short red hair behind her ear and begins to shift the rubble.
	“Hello? Anybody home?” comes a voice from the front passageway.
	“Back here!” Sally calls.
	The shape of a tall, stocky figure appears in the kitchen doorway. She squints at his silhouette through the dust and feels a flicker of dismay. I must look a right state.
	“Hello, can I help you?”
	“Hi! I’m Mike, I live next door, I just thought I should pop in and say hi to my new neighbours!” He said, raising one hand in a half wave from across the room.
	Sally gets a better view as he moves closer and she notices the crisp black and white uniform of the local police force. His dark hair was swept back roughly, and he stood with one hand tucked into his belt loop with an intrigued smile on his face.
	“Hi I’m Sally”
	“Great to meet you, it looks like you’re making yourself right at home! Is your husband not helping out with this kind of thing?”
	“Ah well, I'm divorced so now it’s just me and my trusty sledge hammer,” Sally smiled.
	“I’m sorry, that was dumb of me.”
	Mike shifts from one foot to another, stuffing his hands deep into his trouser pockets.
	“Have you lived here long?” Sally breaks the silence.
	“Oh I’ve lived here all my life, my parents still live just at the other end of the village. I moved in next door when I became a PC, longer ago than I would like to admit!” Mike’s eyes smiled warmly. “What brings you out to this neck of the woods? Do you know the village?”
	“Oh I'm not from around here. I bought this place at auction a few weeks ago, just looking for a fresh start really. I loved the look of the village and this was all that was in my price range. Good thing I'm not afraid of a challenge!”
	Mike chuckled. “Well you’ll certainly have one of those with this place! It’s been empty for a few years since old Mr Mackenzie moved into Cedar View. I don’t think he had done any work on the place in my lifetime.”
	“Yeah I'm getting that impression,” Sally said, eyeing the crumbling section of stud wall now strewn about the kitchen floor. “I might have bitten off more than I can chew, there’s so much to do before the builders come!”
	“Well I’m just next door if you ever need anything,” Mike coughs and swats at the dust in front of his face.
	“Thanks Mike, I guess I’ll see you around.”
	Mike picks his way carefully back into the passageway and disappears from sight. It took Sally a moment to realise she was still standing in the same spot, a goofy smile on her face, and she shook herself out of it and picked up the sledge hammer.
 
By that evening Sally was exhausted, every muscle in her body ached as she hoisted herself up the stairs and into the small decrepit bedroom overlooking the back garden. The house had two larger bedrooms, but this one was in the best state for now. At least the floorboards were intact and the windows closed properly. She undressed and climbed into the sleeping bag on the narrow camp bed, ready for her first night in the new house. Sleep came in an instant.
 
A flash of white catches Sally’s eye, and she follows it up the stairs to the top floor of the house, hands feeling her way along the dark uneven stairway. Pushing open the attic door she sees a young woman shrouded in white gazing down into the garden, her profile illuminated by the pale moon. Her face is partially hidden by her long red hair, it catches the light as she stands transfixed by the view of the garden, her face unreadable. Sally starts as she hears a woman’s voice fill her head. I am here. The woman turns from the window and moves noiselessly towards the far side of the attic, navigating the stacks of boxes and broken furniture, her white nightgown shrouding her feet and ankles making her seem as if she were floating. She comes to a standstill in front of a large dust-sheet and her piercing eyes meet Sally’s expectantly. Sally is transfixed by the woman’s ashen complexion, the deep-set green eyes envelop Sally in their melancholy. The woman points with one alabaster hand to the shape beneath the sheet and Sally lifts it for her, unspeaking. The woman runs her hand slowly along the surface of the desk, making no imprint in the dust. Her hand continues along the ornately carved oak leaves at the desk’s corner, and then pauses. With a barely perceptible click, the oak leaves part as a concealed drawer slides forward. As the woman reaches in, Sally again hears the voice fill her head. I am here.
 
Sally wakes with a jolt. Her eyes comb the unfamiliar room until she is satisfied that she is alone. She flops back onto the pillow with a sigh, tugging the sleeping bag back under her chin and closing her eyes. A few moments pass. “Nope!” she calls out, heaving her aching body out of bed and fumbling on the floor for the torch she heads for the attic. She pauses in front of the draped sheet, the light from the torch casting strange shadows as she pulls the sheet aside. She feels herself holding her breath.
	The carving makes Sally’s heart quicken as she traces her fingers over the oak leaves and acorns. She doesn’t react at the quiet click from the drawer. A small leather-bound book is all that Sally can see inside, and she removes it carefully. As she opens the front cover the torch begins to flicker and die and she carries the book downstairs to the back bedroom, closing the door behind her.
	Sally is still wide awake at five a.m. the diary sprawled open in her lap. She is fixated on passages, turning them over in her mind, ‘I’ve lost all sense of time’... ‘Listening to the sounds of Annie playing down below’... ‘Refuses to let me see her’...  and the phrase that Sally can’t stop repeating to herself ‘no-one knows I’m here.’ Halfway through the book, the entries stop. Sally flicks through the blank pages, hoping to reveal some kind of answer and finally lets the book fall shut.
 
 “Hi, I'm sorry to bother you,” Sally smiles as Mike opens the door, squinting into the daylight.
	“What time is it?”
	“Oh, gosh i’m sorry, it’s not even eight o’clock yet, I didn’t realise, I’ll come back another time,” Sally cringes, turning to go.
	“No, wait, please. Is everything okay?”
	Sally pauses, unsure where to start. “This might sound like an odd question, but did you know the people who used to live in my house?”
	“Um, no not really, they kept themselves to themselves. There used to be a lot of gossip about the Mackenzies but it was all idle stuff really.”
	“What do you mean?”
	Mike swallows. “Well there was a missing persons case at the time, I remember my Mum telling me about it. Mrs Mackenzie ran off one day and never came back. Everyone knew that old Mr Mackenzie was a bit of a bully, probably knocked her about a bit, it wasn’t really talked about back in those days. And then one day she and the girl were just gone.”
	“What girl?”
	“The Mackenzie’s had a daughter, I don’t really remember her much. She was about ten years old when she left. Mr Mackenzie reported it to the police but nothing ever came of it. He sort of withdrew after that, nobody saw much of him.”
	“Annie,” Sally breathed.
	“What was that?”
	“The little girl - is her name Annie?”
	“Err, yeah, how do you know that?” Mike looks at her quizzically.
	“I need to show you something,” said Sally, holding out the diary.
 
Mike closes the diary gently, and takes a sip of his now-cold coffee. Sally feels hoarse, having recounted her dream and finding the diary. 
	“The whole thing was bizarre, the dream was so vivid it was as if it were really happening. When I woke up I was freaked out, but I had this urge to go and look for myself, I just couldn’t ignore it.”
	“What do you think it all means?”
	“I don’t know. I just can’t get her out of my head. What kind of life did they have? What was going on in that house?  And how did she bring up her little girl like that? The diary isn’t really that long, how much time do you think it covers?”
	“It’s not clear,” Mike sighed, “it’s all written in the same ink, the handwriting doesn’t change much, but there are no clues in the entries on what date they were written. What do you want to do with it?”
	“What can I do with it? I guess this explains why she left, and what kind of life she had with old Mr Mackenzie, but what good will that do to share it? Most people won’t remember her. She’s just a figment of history now.”
	“Maybe you could send it in to one of the newspapers, they might do a feature on it? Maybe she’s still around and might read it?”
	“Yeah that might not be a bad idea. I’ll think about it. I haven’t cleared out the stuff  in the attic yet, there might be something up there that will tell us more.”
	“Us?” Mike locks eyes with her over his coffee.
	“Well, I only mean that…” Sally trails off, “You seem just as interested in this stuff as I do. Anyway, I need to be getting on, I’m behind on the demolition work,” Sally stands to go, fumbling over her coffee cup, the diary and nearly dropping both.
	“Let me know what you find. Here is my number in case you need anything,” Mike holds on to the slip of paper as he meets her gaze, “Why don’t you swing by again tomorrow?”
 
Back in the kitchen Sally tries to continue where she left off but can’t stop thinking about the diary. The image of the woman in white, shut up in the house while life goes on below makes her stomach turn. She wonders how old Annie would be now, and if she remembers the house, wonders what her mother told her about their life here. Sally lets the sledgehammer fall, and trudges back up to the attic. She combs through the boxes, suitcases and looks under all the dust sheets, moving methodically from one end to another. As night falls, she comes to a stop at the oak desk and places the few things she has found gently on its surface. Some children’s books and toys, a gilt edged hand mirror, cracked and worn. And a blanket, well used and frayed at the edges, the blood-stain clearly visible within its knitted folds. Sally switches off the attic light, and goes to bed.
 
“No!” She screams. Sally feels herself being dragged downstairs, strong arms crushing the breath from her as she kicks and squirms. A rush of freezing air hits her bare skin as she is bundled through the kitchen door. Her kitchen door. She is silenced by the force of a fist making contact with her abdomen. Her view is clearer as she is hauled across the garden, a hand covering her mouth now. Her white flowing nightgown sticks to her as the rain lashes her skin. The stable door crashes open as she is manhandled inside, into the recesses of the stable. Her breath catches as the figure carrying her pauses, and she begins to scream again. She screams louder as she feels herself falling.
 
Sally sits bolt upright in bed, her body drenched in sweat and struggling to catch her breath. Throwing off the sleeping bag she jumps out of bed and grabs the torch. She takes the stairs two at a time and throws open the back door. Casting the torch across the garden she reaches the door to the stable and drags it open, straining against the force of the years of weeds, damp and decay. The dark stable is empty apart from the large workbench in the far corner. Sally circles the bench, scanning the torch beam over the uneven floor until she sees it. The trapdoor is partly concealed by one end of the bench and it takes her a few minutes to shift the weight of it until the brass handle comes into view. It takes all of her strength to lift the stone cover. The smell of damp earth and something putrid hits Sally as she shines the torch down into the void. The well is at least fifteen feet deep, the bottom barely visible. Sally lays down on the floor and extends the torch at arms length, the light now catching the reflection of the water at its base. Two skeletons lay partially submerged, their limbs entwined. The smaller one, clutched in her mother’s arms. Sally closes her eyes. “I’m here,” she sobs.
 
“Come quick,” Sally blurts into the phone, “I’ve found them, they were here all along.”
","August 10, 2023 16:33",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,0cqa7e,The Gate,Jed Cope,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0cqa7e/,/short-story/0cqa7e/,Mystery,0,"['Adventure', 'Funny', 'Mystery']",8 likes,"
“What does it mean?” asked Trent.
 
“How the hell should I know?!” growled Blaine.
 
Trent looked at his friend, he wanted to say more, that much was clear. But he knew to do so would be folly. When Blaine was in this mood he was a dangerous sort. It was Blaine who had received the message though, so as far as Trent was concerned, it was up to Blaine to decipher it.
 
“Tell me again what the message said,” Trent asked instead.
 
You are the keeper of the gate.
 
Trent had hoped that with a repetition of the words, all would become clear, but this was as clear as swamp water and just as palatable. He’d had more useful messages in fortune cookies. He may as well consult his horoscope for all that it was worth.
 
He shuddered.
 
“What is it?” asked Blaine upon seeing Trent shiver uncomfortably.
 
“Found myself thinking of bloody astrologists,” Trent chuckled dryly.
 
“Yeah,” Blaine smiled, “not all that appropriate these days is it?”
 
These days.
 
There hadn’t been all that many of these days, but already it seemed an age. A new age. An unexpected age. The age of the Squatters. Unwelcome visitors that were outstaying their welcome from the moment they arrived. No one knew what the aliens called themselves because they’d never told anyone, so the aliens had earned themselves a number of nicknames. Trent and Blaine liked to call them Squatters. They didn’t belong here and they needed to be gone as far as both of them were concerned.
 
That though, was easier said than done.
 
Aliens were supposed to be, well they were supposed to be alien. Giant slugs from Mars would have made it all a damn sight easier and more straightforward as far as Trent was concerned and Blaine wasn’t too far behind that particular curve. Insects was where it was at. Know your enemy was a thing, Trent hadn’t quite got why it was a thing, but then it was a struggle to know your enemy when the enemy in question was a lot like you. Very like you. So like you that telling friend and foe apart was a full time occupation that didn’t pay very well. It was like them there pronouns that seemed to have gone on holiday once the Squatters came to town. A guy was on a hiding to nothing because he didn’t have a clue. Maybe that was a prelude or a warning. A gentle introduction to sweet alien chaos. Not knowing where you were until you were up to your neck in trouble.
 
Then there was that message of Blaine’s. Since the Squatters had landed, brains were doing strange things. It were as though these visitors from outer space had ramped up the signals that brains both responded to and sent messages out on. There was a hell of a lot more going on between people’s ears these days and that was a shock to a lot of folks. Thinking had gone out of fashion a long time ago, but now it was doing unpaid overtime.
 
Trent pulled his phone out of his pocket and fired it up.
 
Gatekeeper.
 
“What you doin’?” asked Blaine.
 
“Lookin’ up gatekeeper,” Trent told him.
 
“Is that wise?” asked his friend.
 
Blaine was right to be wary. Everyone was on their guard. The Squatters knew stuff. Of course they did. They might look like people, but they’d come from a place so far away that the original inhabitants of Earth couldn’t see it and if they couldn’t see it, then they darn sure weren’t going to comprehend it. There were still conspiracists holding onto their beliefs that man had never made it to the moon, not to mention the flat-earthers. In fact, conspiracies were very much in vogue and no wonder, when there were people who weren’t people who knew stuff that made them dangerous. Just knowing what they knew would make a person alien, but Blaine stopped short of considering that because it made him feel sick and dizzy. So he circled back around to Trent and his phone. The suspicion there was that they monitored that sort of thing. That Alexa and her kind were collaborating with the Squatters and intent on selling humankind out. 
 
Trent shrugged, “it’s important.”
 
Blaine, put a finger to his lips, begging his friend for silence. The effect was charmingly comical.
 
Trent laughed.
 
Blaine pouted and then he swiped the phone from Trent’s grasp.
 
“Hey! What are you doing!?” Trent protested.
 
Blaine kept the phone away from Trent’s grabbing fingers, “don’t look it up!”
 
Trent lowered his hand, “OK, I won’t.”
 
“Promise,” it wasn’t a question.
 
“Promise,” said Trent.
 
“Good,” Blaine said, handing the phone back to Trent, “besides, we know what a gatekeeper is, don’t we?”
 
“Do we?” asked Trent.
 
“I reckon so,” confirmed Blaine.
 
“A person who stands at a gate and stops people going through it?” ventured Trent.
 
“At first,” agreed Blaine, “maybe.”
 
“Maybe?” said Trent.
 
“Yeah,” said Blaine, “I mean, what’s the point of a gate if you can’t go through it?”
 
“I suppose,” said Trent.
 
“You’d just padlock it and leave it be, if you wanted it permanently closed,” reasoned Blaine.
 
Trent nodded, that made sense, “so the person at the gate susses people out and decides who comes in and who doesn’t?”
 
“Yeah,” agreed Blaine, “like at a festival where you need a ticket to get in.”
 
“So,” said Trent, “you’re the collector of the tickets?”
 
Blaine sighed and gave Trent a dark look which was, he knew, unfair. He’d seen this assumption of Trent’s coming. Maybe a little too late did he see it. It was a natural assumption, but Blaine reckoned it was wrong, “I think I’m… we’re supposed to make sense of my role as a keeper of the gate and tickets don’t make sense to me.”
 
“Maybe they will in time,” Trent said hopefully.
 
But Blaine was shaking his head, “I think it’s more straightforward than that, and I think I’m already supposed to know what I’m supposed to do. There’s no pending great reveal. The message was the great reveal.”
 
“How about we get out of this place and go for a drink?” suggested Trent.
 
Blaine smiled, “now you’re talking! I could murder a drink. Eat it alive and ignore the screaming while I do so!”
 
Trent chuckled, “remind me that I’m not having whatever you’re having!”
 
At the pub, Blaine had a revelation of sorts. 
 
“Two lime and sodas,” he said to the barman.
 
The barman scowled at him, not at all happy that Blaine had confounded his expectations. Blaine felt a similar look from his friend, but he did not validate it with even a sideways glance. He handed his friend his share of the spoils from the bar and lead the way to a corner table. A table that was not entirely away from the clientele of the pub, and a seat that afforded a view of the whole bar.
 
“We’re not alone,” muttered Blaine.
 
Trent’s face creased up into a scowl of incomprehension, then the clouds of ignorance cleared and his face beamed with a warm smile, “oh,” he said.
 
Blaine nodded and looked meaningfully at his drink, “I think they come here for something like entertainment. Alcohol lowers inhibitions after all.”
 
“Oh!” said Trent more meaningfully.
 
They carefully went about their drinking. The intent to think more freely stifled by the prospect of prying minds prying into the lad’s minds.
 
“Tricky isn’t it?” said Trent.
 
“It is that,” agreed Blaine sadly, “but we’re here and we should make the most of it.”
 
They sat quietly, trying to make the most of it.
 
“It’s not the same,” said Blaine.
 
“It really isn’t,” said Trent morosely as he eyed the mostly undrunk contents of his glass.
 
“No, not that you eejit!” Blaine hissed, “have you not noticed your surroundings?”
 
Trent shrugged, “I generally don’t in a pub such as this.”
 
“Whyever not?” asked Blaine.
 
Trent looked at his friend as though he had taken leave of his senses, “there is a predominance of blokes in a pub such as this. To take an interest in them would lead to all manner of funny business, none of which I would be a willing participant of.”
 
Blaine was shaking his head, “it’s quiet, mate. Too quiet.”
 
“Pubs can be…” Trent began, and then he noticed. There was none of the hubbub that a pub should contain, booze being a social lubricant and pubs being places that brought people together with two aims in mind, to drink and to be social, and in being social drink some more.
 
“Let us attend to this unusual state of affairs,” said Blaine to his friend.
 
His friend looked askance at both the meaning of Blaine’s words, but also the use of those words in that particular order.
 
“My gran sometimes used to flourish words in a manner such as this,” Blaine explained.
 
“Do you think that maybe the pressure is getting to you?” Trent asked.
 
“The pressure?” asked Blaine.
 
“Of you know what,” Trent told him.
 
“Ah,” said Blaine, then for wont of anything else to do, he finished his drink and stood up, “another?”
 
“I’d rather not,” Trent told him.
 
Blaine sighed, there was something sacrilegious about this whole charade. A pub was holy ground. This was a place of sanctuary, “to hell with it, beers it is!” he cried. Quietly, so as not to alert any of the interlopers. How effective he was being on this front was anyone’s guess, and that was part of what was getting to him.
 
At the bar he ordered two pints of the black stuff and the barman eyed recriminations in his general direction in an attempt to ensure he never lose his way again. The bar visit was of a sufficient length, the black stuff requiring some effort to encourage it to calm sufficiently and become as sultry and drinkable as it was possible for a pint of anything to be. The fine bubbles danced in murmurations of joy, entrancing Blaine as he awaited the moment that the pints would be handed over into his ownership.
 
Returning to the table, he leaned in, “only the one, mind.” 
 
Trent was aghast, “we have never had just the one.”
 
Blaine nodded, not even in the most dire of situations would he resort to only the one pint, but today might be of that magnitude of dire. 
 
“I just wish…” he said aloud, too loud as far as he was concerned. He’d barely begun on his pint and already he was opening up and projecting not just one wish, but a whole host of them. His hopes and fears, the whole box of wish fairies was open and he was exposed and vulnerable, and really quite sad.
 
Then, as he tried to take it back.
 
Then, as his friend began to agree with him and follow suit with a heartfelt response, old Bill piped up, breaking the spell by way of an unprovoked and unexpected distraction.
 
You’re not my father!
 
The words cascaded around the confines of the pub and created shockwaves in their wake. There was something momentous about this moment. The pub had been out of kilter and almost broken by the presence of the Squatters. Those words of the old timer spoke of that, but in them there was the promise of a reset.
 
Blaine saw what had been hidden in plain sight in that very moment. Time slowed and afforded him a proper good look at the current proceedings. He saw it all and then some. 
 
Then he downed his pint.
 
“Another?” he asked his friend.
 
Trent smiled a smile that he hadn’t smiled in such a very long time. This was more like it. Times, they were a-changing and Trent would willingly drink to that, “does the Pope…” 
 
Blaine nodded grimly, “I have heard tell that he may well do.”
 
There was something of the Dunkirk spirit within Blaine as he strode forth, which was a turn out for the books for he was an objector of the slack kind, never having put the effort to be conscientious. He did not walk to the bar though and this perturbed Trent, the promise of a second pint and the semblance of an evening denied him for too long seemed to be striding away from the bar, not towards it. 
 
Trent and his vested interest watched Blaine approach a respectable middle-aged couple. He leaned down and said something quietly. They were getting up to leave before he had straightened, and as they did, Trent saw that they were quite, quite different to the image he had originally had of them. 
 
How had he not seen this before?
 
Now Blaine was walking toward a man who looked like he may once have been in the army. An officer and a gentleman. The sort to wear a stiff upper lip over his cravat. Blaine’s quiet chat with the man was much shorter and yet it yielded much the same result. The man’s veneer of respectability slipped and that upper lip of his wobbled. It actually wobbled.
 
As Blaine approached a third table, the young, studious man who had been sat nonchalantly minding his own business got up, and nodded as Blaine thumbed the direction of the pub’s exit.
 
It was when Blaine then turned to old Bill that Trent began to harbour more worrisome thoughts, but Blaine extended his hand and shook the old bloke’s hand in his, “what are you drinking, sir?” he asked the man with the rheumy eyes.
 
“I’ll have a pint of that black stuff,” said the grey haired old warrior, “I seem to have a wee thirst on this night.”
 
“And no wonder,” said Blaine, “you saved the day just now.”
 
“I did?” said Bill.
 
“You did,” confirmed Blaine, before heading to the bar to secure three of the finest pints to be found in the verdant lands of this blue planet.
 
Upon his return to their table, Blaine allowed himself a wry smile.
 
“What just happened?” asked Trent.
 
“I had an epiphany of sorts, courtesy of the old geezer across the way,” he raised his glass to Bill and the old man returned the gesture and grinned, “alright?” asked Blaine.
 
“I am now!” he replied.
 
“And of course he is,” Blaine said to Trent.
 
“I still don’t know what happened?” said Trent, obviously struggling to wrap his head around recent developments.
 
“Bill’s outburst made it all clear,” Blaine told him.
 
“And?” said Trent.
 
“We are all gatekeepers,” Blaine told him.
 
“Meaning?” asked Trent, beginning to get a little annoyed at the fog that continued to befuddle him.
 
Blaine drank some of his pint, “you are not my father. Often, people say that to someone who is far more than a bloke who slept with their mother.”
 
Trent looked none-the-wiser. 
 
“Don’t you see?” grinned Blaine.
 
Trent did not see.
 
“We are all the gatekeepers. We are the prime gatekeepers. Never mind the ticket collector, we decide whether we ever even go to the gate. We have the ultimate control, but this is easily forgotten. Bill reminded me of that with his outburst. An outburst prompted by his mind being invaded by those things that are not people at all.”
 
Trent was nodding, he got some of it now, “but what did you say to the Squatters, mate?”
 
“Simple,” said Blaine, “I told them they were barred and they left.”
 
Trent was grinning now, “is it really that simple?”
 
Blaine finished the rest of his pint, “most things are. We go around overcomplicating them.”
 
Trent bought another pint, happy in the buying of it and in being in a place that was familiar to him. As the boys settled into their next drink, Bill shuffled over, “I’ll be saying night then, lads.”
 
Both lads turned to the old man and bade him farewell. “Good night, Bill.”
 
A few steps towards his destination he turned to them both, “I was a wrong ‘un when I was a lad. Never listened to the man who would be my father. We’re built wrong you know. Own worst enemies.”
 
“There are no enemies here though,” Blaine reassured him, “only friends.”
 
Bill nodded, his eyes far away in a time long gone, then he came back to himself, “did you see those odd people earlier? Strange sorts. Glad they left if I’m honest.”
 
“They won’t be bothering us again,” Blaine told him.
 
“Good,” Bill nodded before turning back for home, “I like it here. Don’t want anyone ruining it.”
 
The lads watched him go.
 
After a time Trent turned to his friend, “what now?”
 
Blaine shrugged, “don’t let them in.”
 
“And that’s it?” asked Trent.
 
Blaine nodded, “we’re the gatekeepers. They cannot go where they are not invited.”
 
“But…” began Trent, so many questions fighting their way to the forefront of his beleaguered brain.
 
“They relied upon our confusion and our inaction. Maybe even our indifference,” Blaine leaned in, “tell me something, do you feel different?”
 
Trent nodded, “like I felt before the Squatters appeared.”
 
Blaine grinned, “and did you see them for what they were?”
 
Trent nodded, his face now grimly set.
 
“They don’t like that, they really don’t.”
 
“All of a sudden,” Trent said, “it feels like they weren’t aliens after all.”
 
Blaine’s brow creased, “maybe they weren’t, but there was something alien about them all the same, and now we see them for what they are, they are no longer a problem.”
 
“You really think so?” asked Trent, hoping that his friend was right.
 
“Yeah,” said Blaine, “it stands to reason.”
 
All the same, Trent thought it a good idea to have another drink for the road. He wasn’t entirely convinced that the road ahead was free from unexplained foreign obstacles and it didn’t bear thinking about what the implications were if Blaine was wrong.
","August 10, 2023 23:32","[[{'LeeAnn Hively-Insalaco': 'You, sir, are a natural born storyteller, and I would like to buy you a beer.', 'time': '20:25 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jed Cope': 'Thank you - that is praise indeed! I will raise my next beer to you. The use of beer as a currency of positivity is severely underrated.', 'time': '11:46 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jed Cope': 'Thank you - that is praise indeed! I will raise my next beer to you. The use of beer as a currency of positivity is severely underrated.', 'time': '11:46 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Aliens are all in your mind, don't let them in.🤔"", 'time': '04:43 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jed Cope': 'Or are they...?', 'time': '09:13 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jed Cope': 'Or are they...?', 'time': '09:13 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,w4gasv,Celestial Whispers: An Extraordinary Love Bridging the Celestial Expanse,Reenie Z,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/w4gasv/,/short-story/w4gasv/,Mystery,0,"['Historical Fiction', 'Mystery', 'Romance']",8 likes,"
Chapter 1: A Fateful Encounter 
In the beguiling landscapes of 19th-century
England, an enchanting tale of love and wonder unfolds amidst the beauty, destiny conspired to bring together two souls certain to occur for an out of this world kind of love. Lady Isabella Thornton, a headstrong and compassionate thirty-five year old beautiful woman, unexpectedly came across Captain Alexander Westwood, an intrepid and magnetic forty-year old handsome officer,
returned triumphantly from a perilous and daring expedition. From
the moment their eyes met, an unexplainable, fiery connection ignited passionately between them, hinting at a profound
destiny that awaited.
Chapter 2: A Mysterious Arrival
On a moonlit night, when the night sky was like a painting,
beautiful and full of colour against the inky, black abyss, as Isabella took a leisurely walk through the moon-kissed gardens of her ancestral estate, she stumbled upon a peculiar object hidden among the roses. Unfolding the parchment concealed within, she discovered cryptic symbols etched across its surface. The
message was an enigmatic invitation from an alien civilization dwelling in the far reaches of the cosmos. Intrigued and with her heart alight with curiosity, Isabella embarked on a journey that would forever alter her life.
Chapter 3: Forbidden Longings
As Isabella grappled with her desire to share the mysterious
message with Captain Westwood, she knew the chasm between their worlds was vast. Her aristocratic family's expectations loomed over her, and their disapproval stemmed from her association with
a mere military officer, leaving them in staunch opposition to their love. The weight of this secret threatened to unravel the fragile threads of their burgeoning romance.
Chapter 4: Pursuit of the Unexplained 
Unbeknownst to Isabella, a clandestine society of scholars, known as the Cosmic Seekers, had dedicated themselves to unravelling the secrets of extraterrestrial communications. Among them was the brilliant forty-four year old Dr. Nathaniel Sinclair, whose life's pursuit was to figure out the mysteries of the universe. When rumours of Isabella's discovery reached his ears, with determination, he embarked on unravelling the cosmic invitation, piecing together its celestial mysteries.
Chapter 5: Getting To The Bottom Of The Celestial Script
As news of the message's existence spread,
reaching the ears of the Cosmic Seekers, sparking their intrigue and curiosity, they marshalled their resources to make sense of its meaning. Driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge, Dr. Sinclair set his sights on uncovering the cosmic enigma, unaware of the romantic entanglements surrounding the mysterious message.
Chapter 6: A Love Tested
Isabella and Captain Westwood's love blossomed against the
backdrop of uncertainty and danger. As they embarked on a perilous journey, they found themselves pursued by those who sought the secrets hidden within the alien message. Their love was tested as they navigated treacherous waters to protect the enigmatic knowledge.
Chapter 7: Cosmic Whispers
Isabella and Captain Westwood's quest led them to an ancient
observatory shrouded in secrecy and hidden deep within the English countryside. Within its time-worn chambers, delving deeper, they uncovered the full extent and profound implications of the alien civilization's cryptic message. The cosmic revelations
transcended the boundaries of their comprehension, making known the wonders of the universe in awe-inspiring splendour. 
Chapter 8: The Ambition of the Cosmic Seeker
As Dr. Sinclair inched closer to making tail of the alien
message, his insatiable thirst for knowledge threatened to consume him. Blinded by ambition, he failed to see the potential
consequences entwined within the enigmatic message's power, both benevolent and malevolent. In his relentless pursuit of truth, he became susceptible to manipulation by those seeking to exploit the extraterrestrial wisdom for personal gain. 
Chapter 9: Betrayal and Redemption
Isabella and Captain Westwood's valiant efforts to protect the
message collided with the relentless pursuit of the Cosmic Seekers. In the middle of the chaos, loyalties were tested, and betrayals
emerged, shattering trust and igniting tumultuous consequences.
Ultimately, Dr. Sinclair faced a moral reckoning that forced him to choose between his obsession and the greater good.
Chapter 10: An Unearthly Connection  
In their darkest hour, Isabella and Captain Westwood found solace in the heart-warming and unbreakable bond of their love, a connection that transcended the boundaries of Earth. United against a common foe, they resolved to prevent the alien message from falling into the wrong hands, even if it meant making the ultimate sacrifice… they were willing to make it, regardless of the costs it might entail or the pain endured.
Chapter 11: Cosmic Revelations
As the Cosmic Seekers closed in on the ancient observatory,
Isabella and Captain Westwood made a very important and fateful decision. Activating the observatory's mysterious mechanism, they broadcast the alien message far into the cosmos. Their hope was that benevolent beings behind the cosmic invitation would intervene, guiding humanity toward a brighter future.
Chapter 12: Love's Resilience
In the aftermath of their daring act, Isabella and Captain Westwood's love endured with unwavering strength
and loyalty. The experience left
an eternal impact, transforming them completely, leaving an indelible mark on their souls. Despite enduring trials that would have shattered lesser bonds, their love blossomed, emerging even
stronger from the trials they faced together… it grew deeper, and
more profound than ever before.
Chapter 13: A Celestial Legacy 
The repercussions of Isabella and Captain Westwood's actions reverberated across the ages. The mysterious message from the stars ignited humanity's curiosity, leading to an era of unprecedented discovery and exploration. The Cosmic Seekers, having learned from their past mistakes, became guardians of knowledge, devoted to the preservation of wisdom.
Epilogue: Love Across the Stars
In the middle of the infinite expanse of the cosmos, Isabella
and Captain Westwood's love story rose above the barriers of time and space, turning into a celestial legend whispered through the stars. Their names were etched in the annals of history, a testament to the enduring power of love and the indomitable spirit of humanity. The mysterious message from the stars remained
an eternal enigma, forever sparking wonder and igniting the flame of curiosity within the hearts of humankind. And so, their eternal
love endured, timeless and unyielding, an ethereal thread connecting their souls across the vastness of the universe.
 
","August 06, 2023 14:12","[[{'Mike Rush': ""Hi Maureen,\n\nBravo! Thirteen chapters and an epilogue of pure fantasy. A sweet mixture of love and science fiction.\n\nI loved your word choices:\nethereal\nenigma\nindomitable\ncelestial\ntumultuous\nmalevolent\ninsatiable\nclandestine\nburgeoning\n\nWhat a vocabulary you must have!\n\nSpeaking of word choices. The human brain becomes bored so quickly. The word enigma or enigmatic appears 5 times in just 1016 words. It' s just something to watch. Reading out loud to yourself will help you catch things like that.\n\nThat aside, I thoroughly enjoyed reading a..."", 'time': '01:35 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Reenie Z': ""Hi Mike! \nThank you so much, and I'm glad that you enjoyed reading my story. I appreciate you bringing that to my attention, and I'll make sure to focus on reducing word repetition."", 'time': '20:11 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Reenie Z': ""Hi Mike! \nThank you so much, and I'm glad that you enjoyed reading my story. I appreciate you bringing that to my attention, and I'll make sure to focus on reducing word repetition."", 'time': '20:11 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,ek4hvv,The experiment,Jim Cowles,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ek4hvv/,/short-story/ek4hvv/,Mystery,0,['Fiction'],7 likes,"
 
    Three years down and the days have flown; I wonder if we’re any closer to our goal than when we first started? How could we know? Do we each have a separate goal, is there a collective goal, or what? They keep us separated, so it’s hard to tell if we’ve made any kind of progress. They said it was important to work separately, but maybe that's changed by now. I sure hope so.
    I think I’ll have a word with Ron, and ask him if he thinks it would be a good idea to come together, you know, as a team, and maybe we could compare notes. I think we might be able to help each other. If nothing else, it would help me overcome this damned feeling of being alone. I don’t think we say over three words to each other during the day, and they keep us apart every night. That’s just not normal. I don’t remember when all this first hit me, but I’m no different than anyone in the lab, so are others having the same feelings? What a shame. All this time, and I still don’t really know my colleagues. In the beginning, all I could think about was the unbelievable pay. The kind of money anyone would jump at; but now? Well now I'm weary of all the secrecy.
    I’m a team player. I know Ron said there is an important reason for each of us to work alone, but he didn’t tell us what it is. I’m going to have to know, or I may just have to resign and get the hell out of here, before I go crazy. Don’t get me wrong, I respect the need for scientists to work separately, I mean, I know that’s how some great discoveries are made. But, at some point, it would seem, sharing our knowledge would become more important than individual success. I think it would be beneficial, and I want to know if we’ve actually had any success. Are we succeeding?
    I remember when I joined the Army, and I know how I learned the importance of teamwork in a big hurry. It builds trust and I need that right now. I mean, I know each of us are supposedly focused on a different part of the specimen they've given us, but I’m not sure I can learn anything more without being able to discuss my findings with fellow professionals. Ron has got to see that, at least I hope so. They call him the team leader, but I don’t see any leadership, or teamwork. Hell, he has never even asked me how I’m doing, what I’ve learned, how I feel, if I’m bored, nothing. He is different from any leader I’ve ever known. Well, okay, hang on to your hat, here goes nothing...
 
    “Ron, may I have a word with you?” 
    “What about, John?” 
    “Well, is it okay if we go to your office?” 
    “Why, John? We don’t have any secrets here. Go ahead, shoot; what’s your question?” 
    “Ron, I, I, well, I think…. Uh, or rather, don’t you think, I mean, wouldn’t it be a good idea for us all... Uh, look, Ron. We’ve been at this for almost three years, coming in here every day, doing our separate thing, researching our assignment, and having zero conversation with anyone about the papers we’re supposed to be writing. How can this be a good way to do research? Even Alexander Bell had an assistant, didn’t he? Shouldn’t we be sharing our findings with each other? Don’t you think it’s time we discussed our experiments? Wouldn’t that help us? At the very least, you should let us get together socially, at night. We could talk then. What do you think?”
    “John, we’ve asked each of you to work separately for an important reason, and I’m going to have to insist you continue working alone.” 
    “Ron, I obviously cannot speak for anyone else here, but I want to know the reason for that rule?”
    “John, listen, this is a 5-year project and of course, you are free to pack up and leave at any time, but remember, in the beginning we told everyone they would be required to work separately, and each one of you accepted the job on that basis. I might reiterate, that it is an important part of the job and why we place such a high value on the process. I’m going to say this only once, then I’ll ask that you either go back to your area and continue your work, or leave and never come back into this facility. Sorry to be so blunt, but that's the way it is. Now do you understand? I mean, here is the bottom line. We pay each of you one million dollars per year to follow the assigned process. At the end of the process, we are going to pay each of you another five million. You’ve already earned almost three million. Here's a question for you. Do you want to give up the other seven million, with only two years left in the program?
    “Ron, I do not know how to answer that, because it brings up another question I’ve been wondering about. Why are we paid so much?” 
    “John, I’d like for you to stay, but that is obviously up to you. No more questions. Please make your decision, and I might add, that goes for everyone here. If any of you have had second thoughts, you may leave with John, that is, if he chooses to leave. What are you going to do, John?”
    “Okay, Ron. you win for now. I’ll stay, but will you answer just one question?” 
    “No! No, I won’t!” 
    “Ron, Ron, why won’t you? I think we’d all like to know, are we in any danger? Ron? Ron? Okay, you can go back to your office, but this isn’t over. Do you hear me, Ron? Why doesn’t anyone else speak up? What’s the matter with all of you? Don’t you want to know what the hell we’re dealing with here? Jim, how about you?” 
    “Ron, go on back to your lab and let it go, man. Where else can any of us earn this kind of money? If you’re so worried, just keep your mask on while you’re working. They told us we’d be completely safe if we follow protocol. Just leave all of us be, and go back to work.” 
     “Jim, you’re a fool, and that goes for the rest of you! You are idiots, all of you.”
 
    Well, that didn’t end well. I’ve already earned three million, and most of it is in the bank, but of course, Uncle takes almost half of it. Maybe I was asleep when they told us about the five mil at the end, but I don’t think so. I thought they said we’d earn a bonus based on our findings. 
    So, I guess I’ll do it for a while longer. I could use that extra five mil, for sure. It would be nice to be financially independent, even if I never really retire. At least I’ve gotten my concern on the record. This damn mask drives me nuts, but I guess I’d better start wearing it again. Shit. Speaking of that, they are all chicken shits here, every one of them. They may be sorry. Hell, we may all be sorry.
 
    “Ron, Mr. Craddock would like to see you in his office.” 
    “Thank you, Margie. Tell him I’ll need about five minutes, okay?” 
    “Ron, he said he would like to see you now; immediately.” 
    “Okay, okay, Marge. Tell him I’m on my way.”
 
    “Hi, Margie.” 
    “Hi, Ron. You can go on in, and good luck.” 
    “Whoa! Do I need luck, Marge? Tell me what’s going on, do you know?
    “Ron, you’ll need to find out from him, I’d rather not speculate.” 
    “That is not very reassuring, but I guess it’s not fair of me to involve you, is it? Huh? What do you say, Marge? Don’t look so serious! Come on Marge, tell me, is this about John?” 
    “Ron, you know he doesn’t always tell me everything. Just go on in there, okay?” 
    “Okay. Thanks, Marge.”
 
    “Knock, knock, sir!” 
    “Come in, Ron.” 
    “Mr. Craddock, you wanted to see me?” 
“Yes, sit down, Ron. I hear you’ve been talking with John, is that right?” 
    “Yes sir, I sure have.” 
    “I also hear your conversation with him took place in the lab, in front of everyone, is that correct?” 
    “Well, yes sir, is that a problem?” 
    “What do you think, Ron?” 
    “Well, I just told him there were no secrets and asked him to speak up in front of everybody. I thought others might have the same questions, so, yeah, I guess it was kind of an open discussion.” 
    “Well, Ron, tell me, did John want to meet in your office?” 
    “Yes sir, he asked if we could, but……” 
    “But what, Ron? You thought it would be better to involve everyone, even when the project rule is to keep each participant separate? What the hell were you thinking? Look Ron, I’m aware of the entire conversation, and you clearly blew it, man. Not only did you have a public meeting, you told everyone they were going to receive another five million at the end of the five years. Ron, there’s no guarantee of that. There never was.” 
    “Sir, I, I, well…. What can I say?”
    “Ron, I am really sorry about this. I like you, but I’m going to have to end your term on this project. 
    “Sir, I, I...”
    “No, no, Ron. Just listen! No more talk is necessary. I’ll ask you to clean out your desk and office, get all of your personal items when you leave, understand? There will be an escort in your office when you get there, and you’ll need to leave right away, so make it quick with your clean up. Also, I must warn you. You were chosen for this role because of your past service and your ability to process and keep top secret projects to yourself. You will receive a visit from CIA operatives in the next few days, Ron, but I feel I owe it to you to give you an advance warning. Anything you’ve learned these last few years is of course, Top Secret. If you tell anyone, the Service will see to it you will never tell another soul. You know I’m a pretty blunt guy, Ron, always have been. Heed this one, please. The service will have to terminate you and your entire family for any indiscretion, and that includes even your close friends. Sorry to be so blunt, Ron, but you will be hearing the same from the CIA in a day or two, and I thought it would be a little better coming from me. Take it as a caution, not a threat. Oh, and one last thing. The service has implanted a device in your brain which will allow us to understand what you are thinking, and it will not only record what you say and who you say it too, it will also notify us of any indiscretion. Sorry, and good luck, Ron. There will be other projects for you, I’m sure, so take heart.”
     “Margie. Would you step in here please?”
    “Marge, please escort Ron to his office and hand him over to Andy, then return to my office.” 
    “Yes sir.” 
    “Thank you, Marge.”
 
     I wonder what’s going on. My god, they’re escorting Ron out of here. I wonder what he did? Damn, this is some serious shit. Is he crying? Oh man, I think he is. Looks like they’re taking him out of here abruptly; him and all of his shit. Everyone looks shocked. Damn, look at their faces. Holy shit! Oh, here comes Craddock. He’s going to Ron’s office. I wonder if he’s going to take over this project? Why else would he go in there? I can’t imagi……. 
 
    “John, Mr. Craddock would like to see you in the team office.” 
    “Well, hello Margie. How are you, girl?” 
    “I’m fine, John. How have you been?” 
    “Well, if you really want to know; not worth a damn. What the hell is happening here, Marge, do you know?” 
    “Yeah, I know, but I can’t say. You are about to find out, though. Mr. Craddock’s waiting for you in Ron’s old office. You need to get moving, and now.” 
    “Okay, Margie, but I was just started enjoying your company. Do I have to go?” 
    “John, you are a charmer, but yes, I suggest you get moving. Go, go.” 
    “Margie, you are the charmer, not me. I’ll go, if you promise you’ll come visit me again real soon. Will you, Margie?” 
    “John, get going and I mean it. You are gonna get me in trouble if you don’t go, and right now. I’m serious!”
    “Okay, Marge, I’m going, I’m going!
 
    “Mr. Craddock, you wanted to see me, sir?” 
    “Yes, I did John. Please shut the door and come sit down over here, John. Now, I’m a plain-spoken guy. I have to be, especially in this kind of business. I have an offer for you. Please allow me to make it as simple as possible. John. I just fired Ron. He screwed up when he allowed you to ask your questions in front of the others, then told everyone they would receive five million dollars at the end of five years. He invited you to leave, and everyone with you. What a way to ruin the project.”
    John, I don’t have a lot of time, so here it is. I of course didn’t tell you, but I hired you as a backup to Ron, simply because after watching him for a few weeks, I wasn’t at all sure he could cut it. I’m surprised he made it as long as he did, but in a sense, that's on you. Frankly, I was really expecting you to have questions much sooner, but I was not going to make changes as long as you quietly continued your research. Asking questions is good, John. It means you are truly interested and vested in our process.”
    “Ron’s total salary was fifty million dollars, for the full five years. Here is my offer; I’m prepared to pay you an additional fifteen million dollars right now, then ten million for each of the next two years. If you say you are interested, you will be given a twenty-day preparatory seminar, and both I, and it, will blow your mind. Remember, I’m plain spoken, so here it is. First, you will learn what you have been working on here this past three years, and why. All I can promise you is; you are going to have a million questions about the universe. ‘Who we are?’ ‘Where we come from?’ ‘How we got here? and much, much more.’ We will answer every one of those questions, most right away, the rest, over time, of course. Now here’s the kicker, John. You’ll meet inhabitants from other planets. 
 
    Yes, that’s what I said, John; and you will even travel to many of those planets: the ones assigned to you. It’s the chance of a lifetime, but there are a few risks. They are minimal, but they are very, very serious.”
    “John, I’ll outline the risks if you accept. Now, are you interested? It’s either yes, or no. What do you say, John?......    John.......? 
 
    The End 
    (Or, perhaps only the beginning) 
","August 04, 2023 18:36","[[{'Eric Lizotte': 'Hi Jim overall a good story. I think people repeated the name of who they were talking with a bit too often. Also there seems to be a mistake in the math in the original conversation about what they were to be paid. Outside of that, really nice.', 'time': '02:37 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Wow, Jim!  Very well done.  I like the twists and turns and the use of the office environment vibe to sell the story.  Felt like reading a Stephen King story with the way it developed and each character had their specific motivations and role.  Really engaging!  Keep up the good work!', 'time': '15:08 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,nv7d7w,Not A Simple Case,M B,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nv7d7w/,/short-story/nv7d7w/,Mystery,0,"['Mystery', 'Science Fiction', 'Suspense']",7 likes,"
Skreet Snickertooth - rat private eye - almost stepped on the envelope left under his door as he began his workday. Looking to the left and right and seeing nothing but his neighbors - an accountant’s and lawyer’s office respectively - he bent down and closed his door behind him.
 
Skreet walked over to his desk and hung up his wet raincoat, careful to not get the envelope wet. It felt very light as he flung it onto his pile of bills and notes. He turned and noticed some dust on one of the windowsills had been disturbed, but didn’t consider it for the time being.
 
No return address, no “To Mr. Snickertooth” on the front... nothing. He opened it with slight trepidation traveling up his spine. It was still raining, then sun not making much of an effort to break through. The record player in the front office still dribbled out the waning notes of a jazz record he had picked up a decade ago.
 
He flipped the envelope over and over, looking for any clues before he ran his letter opener over the top of it. When he dumped the contents - a single black and white photograph - on the table, his trepidation turned into shivers, making the hackles on his back rise.
 
He picked the photo up in his trembling claws.
 
“Who are you?” He whispered to no one as the rain dripped onto his office window.
 
Skreet Snickertooth, the rat private eye, stood up in his dimly lit office - the rain tapping an irregular rhythm on the windowpane. From the angle of the photo, Skreet could tell it was of the alley on the other side of the street, taken from his office.
 
“I need new locks, apparently,” Skreet shuddered. The figure in the photo was not in the middle, but it was obvious that they were the focus of the picture. They were walking toward the photographer in the alley across the street, and they were strange as well: a tall figure in a fedora and long coat with... brightly shining eyes? 
 
Perhaps the moon or a streetlight was reflecting off a puddle into the mysterious figure’s tapetum lucidum, making them a canine or feline of some kind.
 
Skreet checked around his office, trying to see if anything was missing - from the obvious to his best hiding places... But everything was where it should have been. 
 
The rat’s whiskers twitched as an idea came to him.
 
He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a magnifying glass. It was a finicky thing on the best of days, but when it worked it performed wonders. With it, Skreet could see echoes of the past or future, but not necessarily what he wanted to see.
 
Looking through the glass, Skreet’s ears flattened. He saw himself at the window a week ago. That wasn’t useful. 
 
Just what was the purpose behind the envelope he had been left with? A threat? A clue? He shook it, cursing whatever entity made it, and looked again. 
 
“This is damn peculiar,” Skreet grunted. 
 
An idea struck him, and he knew it was a longshot. Rummaging through the desk he found a lighter that a client had left behind long ago. His claw flicked the flint and the flame ignited. 
 
Carefully, Skreet held the flame below the photo avoiding setting the thing on fire. Slowly the rat waved the flame back and forth. His whiskers twitched as his muzzle formed a smile. 
 
“Ahhh, but why did you do that? I could have never realized this.”
 
A message had been written on the back of the photo in invisible ink. 
 
“Dear Mr. Snickertooth: If you found my message then you are smart and resourceful enough to helo me find this… mistake. 
 
-A new client. 
 
The message ended with a phone number to call.
 
Skreet ran a claw along his muzzle as he listened to the rain pelting against his window. His eyes fell on the ‘Tribune’ newspaper as he picked up the receiver of his phone.
 
‘Fifteen slain near warehouse district, following suspected arson. - Story by Amber Zazuetta.’ 
 
Skreet dialed the number from the mysterious message. As he heard the ringtone, he muttered to himself.
 
“I swear: this better not be another of those pranks…” 
 
A female voice answered on the other end of the phone. “Hello?” 
 
“Yes, ma’am did you send me a strange photograph?”
 
A pause on the other end followed by a timid, “Yes.”
 
“Why don’t you stop by my office? Seems you have something of a problem.” 
 
“O-Only if you agree to see me late,” she replied. 
 
Skreet sighed, his whiskers twitching. “Sure, I sort of live in this place anyway.” 
 
The rat made himself some coffee and waited for his strange new client to show up, keeping his snubnose within reach. 
 
Being cautious kept one alive.
 
Skreet slowly crept off to sleep as the record and the rain lulled him into a calm state of mind. Suddenly, around eight, a rapping came at the frosted glass on his office door.
 
The rat almost collapsed out of his chair and looked at the window to see the form.
 
Long ears: A rabbit or hare.
 
Skreet got his snubnose handy and slowly and silently made his way to the locked door when suddenly - after a spark on the other side - it opened on its own. Faced with a very pretty - but startled - female hare with little glasses on her snout, Skreet slowly put his snubnose away.
 
“Maybe I should hire you as my locksmith,” Skreet said, unamused as the light from the hallway flooded into his office.
 
The hare scientist had a strange screwdriver-like apparatus in her paw and let out a scream when she saw that the office was not uninhabited like she thought. Skreet ran forward and caught her as she fainted. She was limp in his grasp and dropped her tool to the ground. Quickly, he brought her and her weird thing inside, gently putting her on the couch in his office.
 
Skreet took the opportunity to examine the hare’s strange device. He’d never seen anything quite like it before. There was something of note that he did recognize about it.
 
“HARPA labs.” That name was significant. 
 
A government funded research lab: always popping up in some nutcase’s paranoid rant.  
 
There was a soft moan as the hare came to. 
 
“Oh,” she said softly. “What happened?”  The hare’s left arm started reaching for her nonexistent glasses.
 
“What- What’s happening?” She said, more confused now that she couldn’t see. Realization hit her, even though she couldn’t really see where she was.
 
“Apple juice miss?” the rat asked, offering her a glass and her fallen glasses.
 
A short gasp as she put the glasses back onto her deep brown eyes. She gulped as she beheld the tall rat detective offering her juice, 
 
“I, I, suppose,” the hare scientist said as she took the offered beverage. 
 
“So what’s a smart dame like you doing breaking into offices and leaving cryptic notes in invisible ink?” 
 
The hare, still on the couch, blushed under her fur and adjusted her glasses. “I... I’ve heard of you, Detective Snickertooth. I wasn’t sure of your credentials, so I decided to test you.”
 
Skreet chuckled, “Hell of a way to go about it. Most detectives would probably not think to check for invisible ink.”
 
“That’s why you’re the rat to hire.”
 
The rat held up his paw, “Woah there sister. Let’s talk a bit more about this case. Starting with this.” 
 
Skreet handed her the photo. 
 
The hare sat a little up in the couch as she held the photo, then threw it to the bourbon-soaked floor. “What do you want me to say, detective? Do you want me to say I made a mistake? Do you want me to say I have a problem that only you can solve?”
 
Skreet smiled and sat down, “I’d like to know what you’re wanting me to sink my paws into. Would it happen to coincide with this?” 
 
Skreet had what was now yesterday’s paper in paw. 
 
The beautiful hare scientist barely saw the headline before she sank backward into the couch again.
 
“You’re too smart to play games with, Mr. Snickertooth,” she said, exhausted. “My experiment... he’s loose in the town.”
 
Skreet ran a paw along his muzzle. “I made the connection when I saw that screwdriver of yours and the location of the warehouses. Your experiment… you want me to help find it before it causes more trouble.”
 
“Find it, stop it... all without implicating me or my corporation. All without letting that Zazueta journalist know what is going on. We’re willing to pay anything... If you succeed.”
 
Skreet cracked his neck, “Well I guess that’s the real trick. Amber’s a good journalist. So we’d best get moving on this case. Time to show your cards.”
 
The hare wobbled to her feet and pointed to the strange tool she had brought with her. Dutifully, Skreet handed it to her. The rat detective steadied her to her feet as she stroked the strange object, completely calm in Skreet’s half-embrace.
 
“This is the only thing that can stop him. He is... The experiment is... It isn’t of this world.”
 
Skreet’s tail twitched: 
 
Not one of those cases. 
 
“Are we talking about planets, or dimensions here? Dr… what am I calling you?”  
 
The hare, still a little woozy, looked up into the rat’s snoot. “Dr. L would do nicely,” she said calmly. 
 
Why couldn’t it be a nice murder or insurance fraud, Skreet? He asked himself. His heart rate medication would have to be upped after this one. Dr. L continued.
 
“And I think he’s - its - headed to the ports. Dock sixteen as a matter of fact.”
 
Skreet’s tail twitched and his ears flattened, “I see. Yeah, that place hasn’t been the same since the war.” 
 
Dr. L paused for a moment, then gently slapped Skreet’s chest as he held her. “Well? Come on!”
 
That’s when Skreet focused on the ambient noises around him: sirens and screams. He took a glance out the window and saw fires and lightning erupting downtown... and in an unmistakable direction.
 
Skreet donned his hat and coat, “Your company is going to be getting one hell of a bill from me… if we survive that is.” 
 
","August 12, 2023 01:41","[[{'𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇': 'Great cliffhanger ending', 'time': '16:06 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'M B': 'Thanks you!', 'time': '18:59 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'M B': 'Thanks you!', 'time': '18:59 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,rq9kgq,The Old Masters,Beatrice Gomes,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rq9kgq/,/short-story/rq9kgq/,Mystery,0,"['Adventure', 'Historical Fiction', 'Speculative']",7 likes,"
The ancient Pyramids of Giza are said to have been built over four thousand years ago. They tower over the Egyptian sands, the Great Pyramid taller than a thirty-floor building and nearly twice as wide. The pyramids are a massive necropolis where the old pharaohs were laid to eternal rest alongside their devotees with the expectation of becoming gods. They were constructed with great effort and care, each stone block weighing between two and thirty tons. Our best and brightest still haven’t been able to figure out how the ancient Egyptians were able to move these blocks, much less to stack them perfectly to form a grand pyramid. 
 
Dr. Cleo Helena wrote each note down carefully in her field journal as the wagon full of researchers approached the excavation site. Writing things down allowed her to make room for all the new bits of information she was about to cram into her mind. The carriage finally stopped at the base of the pyramid. Cleo realized she had been holding her breath as she took in the sight. It was truly even more spectacular in person. She was fortunate enough to be one of the first people to go through this newly-discovered entrance to the pyramid in thousands of years. She had to pinch herself to remember that she wasn’t dreaming. 
 
This was Cleo’s first exhibition since she had visited Teotihuacan last year. A member of her team had uncovered a compartment lining one of the pyramids with liquid mercury. While everyone was busy theorizing about its purpose, Cleo had dug into the volcanic rock and found a collection of strange, golden orbs. She picked one up with wide, hungry eyes. It opened to reveal that its core was empty, perhaps meant to hold something in place long ago. She put one in her pocket before alerting the group to the rest of the orbs in the ground. 
 
Today, she carried that golden orb in her pocket. She slipped her hand in her pocket and squeezed it tightly for good luck before stepping into the chamber. A slight breeze swirled the golden sands around her ankles as she walked in. She took a deep breath as she took in the view. This was her favorite part: the moment when her eyes finally fell on the art and inscriptions on the interior walls. She imagined ancient Egyptians walking through these corridors and chiseling entire life stories into the walls. 
 
If she squinted, the reflection of her flashlight on the walls made the pictographs look like they were dancing. The careful lines of paint and mosaics of precious gems almost appeared to sparkle. Cleo could have sworn that she really did see some of them sparkle out of the corner of her eye. She could barely take her eyes off the artworks spanning from floor to ceiling. 
 
The sparkle in the corner of her eye got brighter. She turned to find a faint glowing light blinking under a thin sheet of sand. The rest of the group had advanced deeper into the corridors while Cleo had been admiring the beauty of the walls in front of her. She could hear the light tapping of hammers on chisels and sneezes from the ancient clouds of dust in the next chamber. She spun her head around to confirm that she was alone before bending down to inspect it. Her hands brushed away the layer of sand to find what appeared to be a glowing crystal. Its purple light pulsed and brightened as she approached it. 
 
She grabbed it with wide eyes and a growing list of questions about how this crystal was possibly being powered. Humans would not harness the power of electricity for thousands of years after this tomb was sealed. She shook her head. It was a common human fault to only consider a single line of technological evolution, the one that led to the technology we have today. It’s hard for most people to think of other paths to the future than the ones paved right in front of them, but Cleo hadn’t really felt like most people since Teotihuacan. 
 
She carefully held the crystal in her left hand as she probed it with her right hand. This was unlike anything she had ever seen. She must have been staring at it for a few minutes when she heard a chorus of shouts in the next chamber. She could hear the sound of sandals slapping on the ground toward her, but she wasn’t ready to share her discovery with the group. She tried hiding the crystal in her pocket, but the glow was impossible to cover even through her thick khaki pants. 
 
She had a crazy, desperate thought. She took the golden orb out of her pocket and pried it open. Its empty core seemed to be about the size of the crystal. She shoved the crystal into the orb and silently cheered when it managed to close. She managed to slip the orb with its new, glowing, crystal into her pocket right as her colleague came barging in. He took a minute to catch his breath despite the short jog over.
 
“Cleo—phew, give me a second. Okay. We found some kind of door, at least, that’s what we think it is. It looks like it has been sealed since this tomb was completed. But—well, just come with me. It’s easier if you just see it for yourself.”
 
She followed the young man through the winding corridors and into the chamber where the rest of the team was waiting. They were all crowded around the door. It had to be at least twice as large as the biggest blocks at the base of the pyramid. A linguist broke from the crowd and approached her.
 
“I just needed another set of trained eyes to confirm for us all that the inscription on this door is in modern Egyptian Arabic.”
 
Cleo furrowed her brow. She must have heard that incorrectly. This tomb was thousands of years old, so old that Queen Cleopatra herself would have considered it ancient. Surely this was graffiti from some young locals who had discovered the tomb on their own — but this tomb was sealed. There were ancient traps found undisturbed and a complete lack of flora or fauna inside it. They were the first living beings to walk these halls since they were built. 
 
The crowd of researchers parted like the Red Sea to reveal the inscription carved into the enormous block of limestone. Cleo was a bit rusty with her Arabic, but the message was clear. The characters carved into the door read: “Arrive, build, repeat.”
 
She stepped forward to inspect it more closely. She could see the ancient chisel marks that created these characters over two thousand years before humans first put them to use. How could this be? She looked incredulously at the linguist. He could only nod back at her in bewildered agreement. The orb felt like it was getting hotter in her pocket, but she figured she was just imagining things. It was probably a weird manifestation of guilt for not sharing the crystal with the team. It started burning hotter, enough that she could no longer ignore it. She yelped as the orb burnt a hole through her pocket and landed on the ground in the middle of the circle of researchers. Their jaws hung open at the sight of the now glowing, golden relic. 
 
When Cleo bent down to grab the orb, it flew up and zipped toward the door. It slowed to a stop and gently landed on the last word. The glow appeared to pour out from the crystal to fill the carvings on the door like purple rivers. The ceiling above the group started to tremble and rain dust on their heads as the stone door shifted itself back and away into the darkness. They stepped in as the ceiling began to glow purple, illuminating what they could now see was an impossibly large chamber. It simply didn’t make sense according to the scans done and measurements taken of the pyramid.
 
The purple glow above reflected off of hundreds, if not thousands, of sarcophagi carefully laid out on various surfaces around the room. An old woman wearing small, circular eyeglasses was less concerned with the technological mystery overhead than with the countless relics in front of them. She stepped away from the others, still frozen in place, to inspect the coffins and asked the linguist to help her read the hieroglyphs, which were interlaced with those same Arabic characters: “Arrive, build, repeat.” He got quite excited once he had a chance to squint over the pictographs. 
 
“These are telling elaborate stories about how the pyramids were built, in greater detail than we’ve ever been able to find,” he gasped.
 
The old woman asserted that this was a tomb for the pyramid workers, just like others they had found in the past, and the group quickly agreed. It was easier than admitting they had stumbled upon something truly unexplainable. She slid the cover off of a sarcophagus with a grunt and shone her flashlight inside. She stared inside with widening eyes. She was mesmerized by whatever was inside and impervious to the questions being yelled at her from twenty feet away. Cleo ran over and looked in. She screamed.
 
Inside lay a skeleton. Not a human skeleton, but a, well, they didn’t really know. It had limbs twice as long as they should be and its bones — if you can call them that — looked to be held together with a webbed connective tissue made of the same material. Cleo hoped they would find a well-preserved, mummified form of whatever this was so she could do some anatomical studies, but even these dusty remains threatened everything they knew and believed in.
 
This warped skeletal formation could only be described as truly grotesque. The oddest part about it was the skull, though. It was shaped just like their own human skulls, though significantly larger, but was made of pure crystal. Cleo could hear it hum when the group’s chatter finally stopped. The humming turned into a low voice that whispered hello and the researchers jumped. 
 
The old woman frowned. Her back hurt and she had been expecting to be back in her cot by now. She called out impatiently, “Who’s there?”
 
“What really matters is that you are here,” a disembodied voice responded calmly. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Everyone jumped. Half the researchers screamed.
 
“You are here,” the voice continued, “but I am not. I am sure you have no idea how this is possible given your primitive civilization. First, thank you for reactivating one of our Central Devices.”
 
The crowd looked at Cleo. She could only look at them blankly and shrug. She just wanted a chance to figure out the artifacts alone before weighing herself down with the curiosity of others. She wasn’t trying to open some sort of extraterrestrial connection. 
 
It continued, “Congratulations, you were the first of your species here on this planet to make contact with us despite several millennia of coordinating your societal development.”
 
The researchers all looked at each other with confused faces. The old woman piped up first. She asked again, more impatiently now, who was speaking. 
 
The voice replied, “I am Osiris, one of the Masters. Our kind keeps your kind on track to hit all of your societal milestones. We are caretakers for humanity to make sure it develops and progresses in the way it needs to in order to support life.”
 
The voice jumped to the sarcophagus they had opened. “I have ascended after giving my life to construct this monument for your kind. We have always stepped in where your undeveloped species could not, though even now you lack the ability to comprehend the idea of a universal network outside your own planet. Your culture relies on the success and longevity of previous cultures to learn from. Art and culture are what keep your kind progressing forward for so long. You would rip each other to pieces without it.”
 
A new voice now boomed throughout the room. “As the discovery was made today in celestial year 4.6B, our calculations have been proven to be correct. We have finally enabled you to build your own forms of our language and have equipped you with our tools — at least the ones we felt you were able to handle. Humanity must sustain itself from now on. It is time to shift focus onto the next planet where your kind is just starting to blossom.”
 
The first voice returned by Cleo’s head next to the open sarcophagus. “We have arrived and built for the last time on your world. You shall not expect a return.”  
 
“Goodbye,” the voices whispered in unison. 
 
The silence pierced the air until all anyone could hear was the low hum of the otherworldly crystals. Cleo remembered how she felt standing in Teotihuacan with the orb in her pocket. It’s how she felt now: deeply uncertain of whatever the universe had in store for her next. The orb made her question what else was out there. The crystal taught her to question who else was out there. 
 
Now, she was the harbinger of the potential downfall of humanity. Certainly, no one in this room would ever bet on humanity in the race to eternity. There must be an error in the Masters’ calculations. Surely, they would return. They need to return. We have too many unanswered questions in this half-baked civilization we call Earth for them to simply leave. Who else was out there? Are we really not only not alone, but actually mere parsecs away from our own kin in parallel worlds?
 
Cleo’s head hurt from all the questions. She slumped down against the open sarcophagus and felt the humming get louder between her ears. It soothed her like a familiar lullaby. Maybe they would be okay after all. Or maybe this was the beginning of the end. Who knew? She sure didn’t. She couldn’t even tell what tomorrow had in store for her, much less for the fate of humanity. 
 
She opened her notebook and started writing down everything she could remember from the past few hours. She furiously scribbled words onto the page like they were about to disappear forever. The humming in her head got louder as she filled the pages. With her thoughts dumped into her journal, she finally felt ready to walk out of the chamber. Walking outside meant facing tomorrow. It meant a new world order for humanity to sculpt on its own. 
","August 09, 2023 16:23","[[{'LeeAnn Hively-Insalaco': ""You've hit on two of my favorite things, ancient civilizations (anthropological and archeological studies) and aliens. I am going to need you to turn this into a full series, please and thank you."", 'time': '20:18 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Catalina Andronache': ""This was such a cool story to read!\n\nIt was exciting enough after the first two paragraphs, which I did think were a little bit on the drier side. But then you went and unveiled the mystery of the pyramid quite beautifully. I think maybe keep an eye on repetitive words and phrases such as: 'Today, she carried that golden orb in her pocket. She slipped her hand in her pocket and...'\nAgain, really enjoyed reading this, and would buy if in printable format."", 'time': '08:18 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,e5s486,Truth or Lie,Suzanne Gonsalves,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/e5s486/,/short-story/e5s486/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Asian American', 'Friendship']",7 likes,"
	“We have splashdown for the capsule,” Mission control reported.
	“Copy that,” Mary said, looking out the earth-side window as if her former station-mates’ splashing into the ocean could be visible from orbit. She whispered, “Why do I always do that?” to her remaining companion in the International Space Station. 
	“I too look each time,” Vlad whispered back. 
	“You’re cleared for R&R.”
	“KHARA-show!” exclaimed Vlad. 
	Mary clicked the speaker to confirm and begin their rest and relaxation. “What shall we play?”
	“As usual,” Vlad said. “You first.”
	Mary floating a minute, thinking, then said, “Favorite actor?”
	Vlad flashed a roguish smile and flexed his arm, answering, “Dwayne, The Rock, Johnson.”
	“He’s my cousin.” Mary flashed her own smile back. 
	“No!”
	“Final answer?” 
	Vlad shook his finger at Mary. “Tricky tricky, comradine. Not my answer.”
	Mary raised her brows and tapped the window behind her. “Can’t see us from space, but Guam packs a pop-culture punch.” She bent toward him so their noses were mere centimeters apart. “Dwayne Johnson is my cousin.”
	They stared each other down, revolving like a floating sculpture of Vishnu, their bent arms and legs arching a corona over their locked eyes. 
	“I lie?” Vlad taunted. 
	“You want me to say you are.”
	He cocked his head. 
	“Am I a liar?” Mary batted her eyes. 
	Vlad grabbed a bar to stop rotating around her. He wrapped his legs around it and crossed his arms, examining her. “You lie well. I always supposing Americans to be shit liars.”
	“I’m not American.”
	“You are.”
	“Maybe three-fifths of one, but that’s a failing grade.” 
	Vlad glanced at the closest microphone. 
	“What are they gonna do?” Mary scanned Vlad’s body: eyes to knees and back again. “I think you’re telling the truth.”
	“Derm!” he exhaled in defeat.
	“Everyone loves The Rock. He’s adorable.” Mary held out her hand for the reward. 
	“Too hasty, comradine. I am not already answering.” 
	Mary hooked her legs to sit opposite him. She crossed her arms too. “Well?”
	“You say he is cousin. Is he cousin on you mother’s side or fahzzas.”
	“I love your accent.”
	“Answer, please.”
	“No.”
	“No?”
	“No. The game is Truth or Lie, not 20 questions.”
	Vlad hmph’d his displeasure and released himself to float around her. “You have face of Siberian but skin of Maori.”
	Mary rolled her eyes. 
	“You from same region as Rock, but same island?”
	Mary glanced at the digital clock over his shoulder. “Twenty seconds.”
	“Ok ok.” In an effort to look suave, he crossed his legs and tapped his chin. But, unmoored, bumped into the space station’s frame. “Oo!”
	Mary chuckled. “Ten”
	“No ask me how I am?”
	She counted down in Russian, “Pyetz, chteerie…”
	Vlad pointed at her, “Lie!”
	Mary shook his hand. “Well played, friend.” 
	“Tank you,” Vlad said. 
	As he pulled her into a collegial hug, his eye was distracted by the view of earth behind her. He released her as his mouth fell open. 
	“What?” Mary turned. 
	They were over the South Pacific. An orange dot was growing in the vast expanse of blue. 
	Mary accepted his arms around her as she watched Guam vaporize beneath them.  Her tears floated into his face. 
	Alarms went off. An order was coming in on both of their private coms. 
	Vlad silenced the station’s alarm and held her closer. “I am not wanting to know this order,” he said. 
	“Fuck the order,” Mary said. “Fuck all of them!” 
	As they orbited across the beginning of the war, the cities of the world burst into orange dots: Tokyo, Hong Kong, Jakarta, Mumbai, Riyadh, Paris…
	Mary buried her face in Vlad’s chest. 
	He had closed his eyes after Hong Kong and hadn’t strained to see if Moscow was over the horizon. He rested his chin on her soft hair and prayed for the back of his eyelids to stop glowing from the orange blasts far below. 
	“What are we gonna do?” she said. 
	He shook his head and held her. “What is there to do?” He cupped the back of her head. “May I closing this shade?” he asked. 
	“Pah-JHA-lsta,” she said. 
	Vlad covered the window so their only view was the other window: deep, black, star-spangled space. 
	No earth noise reached them. No more alarms sounded. No more messages were sent. After hours of stories and embrace, they fell asleep. 
	“Vlad,” Mary whispered, nudging him. “You’re laying on the wrong thing.” She pulled him away from the control panel he’d drifted into. 
	Vlad woke. “I had bad dream,” he said. He looked around, dismayed. “How I sleep here?” 
	Mary envied his amnesia. But it only lasted a moment. When he saw her face and the message notice still blinking on the console, any hint of a good morning left him. 
	“Do you want breakfast?” she asked. “Or do you want to keep playing?”
	“DOH-bre OOT-ruh,” he said, hooking his legs to sit. “We play.” 
	Mary resumed game position. “I’m gonna brush my teeth. Don’t wanna win with morning breath.” She smiled, taking her oral hygiene kit from its compartment. 
	“Ok,” he said. “I go first.” He glanced at the shaded window. “When this open, what we see?”
	Mary swirled the brush across her teeth and nodded acceptance of his challenge. With her elbow, she indicated that he should answer first. 
	“I tink band of ash. Poles white.” 
	Mary bobbed her head as if to say, “good guess,” and spat into the recycling tube. “Not yet. I think it’s all grey down there. No time for the dust to settle into a band.” She began to stow her dental kit. 
	“Final answer?”
	Mary clicked the compartment shut. “Yup.” 
	Vlad motioned for her to lift the shade.
	Mary hesitated. 
	“Is not useful being ignorant,” Vlad said. He held out his hand. “I am here.”
	Mary took his hand with one of her own and lifted the shade.
	They gasped.
	Vlad crossed himself three times in the Russian way. 
	Mary pushed herself into the mess hall, returning with a silver food packet which she floated to Vlad. “You win the round.”
	“Tank you,” he said. 
	Mary nodded. “My turn.” 
	Vlad stowed his booty and nodded for her question. 
	Mary turned toward the blinking message light. She looked at Vlad. “What’s the last order?”
	“What does it matter, my friend?”
	“Because it’s our game. We are playing a game.”
	Vlad pointed to the earthside window. “And our games are more important than theirs?”
	Mary opened her hand to him. “Now they are.” 
","August 09, 2023 23:39","[[{'Marty B': ""I didn't quite get the story. You did a great job with the dialogue, showing each characters perspective and nuances of how they spoke."", 'time': '22:18 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Deborah Gold': ""Oh my Gd!!\nWow\nNever thought about what we look like 'from' space."", 'time': '19:47 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Suzanne Gonsalves': ""Thanks for reading my story. I'm glad it increased your perspective."", 'time': '22:05 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Suzanne Gonsalves': ""Thanks for reading my story. I'm glad it increased your perspective."", 'time': '22:05 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,anzsl9,Messages in the Sand,Joy Allen,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/anzsl9/,/short-story/anzsl9/,Mystery,0,['Fiction'],7 likes,"
During her morning walk on the beach, Erin came across a message inscribed in the sand. Positioned on an angle a few feet from the ocean’s ruffled hem, it read simply, “GOOD MORNING!”
 
“How nice,” thought Erin and she tried to imagine the sort of person who created this friendly greeting for random strangers to see.
 
“A woman no doubt,” she figured, for starters. “An architect, maybe.”
The carefully constructed, perfectly proportioned letters reminded her of her ex’s handwriting. An architect, her former partner Rory never used cursive, but always printed in capital letters. Her
signature was the only exception. It consisted of a series of scrolls and cross-hatchings that bore absolutely no resemblance to her name or even any of the letters in it. She called it her trademark.
 
In terms of personality, Erin conjured the image of someone like her massage therapist. Jana was the most consistently positive, upbeat person Erin had ever met. She had a smile as warm as a
thousand candles and she lit it generously. Making people feel good seemed to be her M.O. – her life practice – and not just her profession.
 
The next day, Erin discovered another message in roughly the same area. The precision of the lettering left no doubt that the same person had written it. It said, “HAPPY SUNDAY!”
 
Erin decided to reply with a “Thanks!” which she etched into the sand with her index finger. Hopefully, the mystery writer would see Erin’s response and know that at least one person had
appreciated her gesture.
 
The following day, Erin walked deliberately to the spot where she had seen the previous two messages and sure enough, she found a third installment which said, “HAVE A GREAT DAY!” Beneath it,
Erin wrote “You too!” and continued on her stroll.
 
In the days that ensued, subsequent messages said, “ENJOY!”, “PEACE”, CHOOSE JOY!” and “LOVE.” Erin responded with, “Will do!”, a lopsided peace sign, “OK!” and the outline of a heart.
 
Erin took a couple of days off from walking, and when she returned to the beach, she was glad to see that the messaging continued. She read the words, “WISH YOU WERE HERE” and realized with a
twinge of regret that the author intended them for a specific person. She felt momentarily foolish and slightly embarrassed for the delight the previous writings had inspired in her.
 
The messages grew increasingly personal: “MISS YOU,” “BE MINE” followed by a question mark and a smiley face, the letters “I” and “U” framing the sketch of a heart, “LOVE YOU”, and “CRAZY ABOUT
YOU” with an exclamation mark. Erin came to understand that she was witnessing a courtship. This challenged her preconceived ideas about the messenger. Could it be a man, after all? A man in love, a
romantic man?
 
She envied the intended recipient. It hurt her to imagine the joy, the excitement these notes in the sand must have incited when received. The breakup of her relationship with Rory had occurred
only three months prior and the wound from being dumped remained raw. Tears of grief or anger lingered at all times behind her eyes, ready to spill at the slightest provocation.
 
She had trouble sleeping. She would wake in the middle of the night and torture herself with questions. Why? What had she, Erin, done wrong? What could she have done differently to save the
relationship? Was she so awful? Some nights she would cry herself back to sleep. When anger dominated her emotions, she tossed and turned. Some such nights she felt compelled to get out of bed
and pace the floor. Once, she had stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a plate and smashed it on the tile floor. It felt so good, she did it again, but while cleaning up her mess, she began to sob.
 
One morning, she awoke in the wee hours and made herself miserable until 5:00 a.m. She decided to head to the beach early and catch the sunrise over the Atlantic. 
 
When she arrived at the beach, she noticed several people milling about. A couple of surfers and a paddle-boarder entered the water. A photographer was positioning his tripod in the tide in
readiness for the sun’s rising. Others had their smart phones in hand and some were already snapping pictures of the florid, pre-dawn sky. “Good idea,” she thought, reaching into her pocket for her iPhone.
 
Further up the shore a couple walked hand in hand. Beyond them, a lone figure crouched in the sand. Could this be the mystery writer, she wondered, noting the person was indeed in the right
location and appeared to be moving his or her arm.
 
She couldn’t tell if the person was male or female. Against the backlighting of the sky, the figure appeared absolutely black and featureless. Erin began to walk quickly towards the person, wanting to get a glimpse of him or her. The figure rose from its squatting position, took a few paces backwards and held up a smart phone to take a picture. At that moment, the sun began to peek up over the
horizon – a curved band of flaming orange. Erin stopped in her tracks to witness the spectacle and take photos. Every time she blinked it seemed the sun edged its way up higher until at last, it sat
momentarily just above the ocean, a complete circle of molten color.
 
Meanwhile Erin’s suspect had taken off and was jogging up the beach. “Shucks,” Erin said aloud. 
 
At least now, she had a good hunch how the messages had been conveyed. The writer photographed them with the sun rising in the background and most likely sent them in a text. She proceeded to the location where she had observed this hypothetical scene  and was not in the least surprised to find a fresh message in the sand. She smiled as she approached. “I was right.”
 
Standing over the message and reading it, she felt like she might vomit up her heart. Beautifully, tidily printed in the sand was the name, MARIE, a plus sign and Rory’s unmistakable
trademark.
","August 11, 2023 02:04","[[{'Trish Krulin': 'Very well written.  Intriguing premise - so many questions!  Did Rory do this as an intentional act of cruelty?  Why did Erin think it would be a romantic man instead of a woman once she realized the messages were part of a courtship? I loved it!', 'time': '02:08 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you for your encouraging comments. I’m glad the story made you think.', 'time': '12:19 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you for your encouraging comments. I’m glad the story made you think.', 'time': '12:19 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Harini Leninraj': 'The idea really inspired me. Great job on writing this amazing story!', 'time': '06:06 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you for your encouraging feedback. In what way did it inspire you?', 'time': '12:56 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Harini Leninraj': 'I really liked the idea of messages in the sand. It was an interesting way to write a story.', 'time': '22:37 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you for your encouraging feedback. In what way did it inspire you?', 'time': '12:56 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Harini Leninraj': 'I really liked the idea of messages in the sand. It was an interesting way to write a story.', 'time': '22:37 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Harini Leninraj': 'I really liked the idea of messages in the sand. It was an interesting way to write a story.', 'time': '22:37 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,eeb26k,Mystery of Unabis,Lucía Llavero,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/eeb26k/,/short-story/eeb26k/,Mystery,0,"['Mystery', 'Fantasy']",6 likes,"
A tempest threatened the island the moment Liliana landed at the airport. Her first impression was a chaotic and unbridled scenery of people running back and forth. Every electronic device announced the same communication: ""A storm is coming to Sheol Island. Declared 1st category hurricane by our experts. It will reach the shore around six in the afternoon and endure until morning. ""She requested a taxi and indicated the direction of her new residency: a small house which mediated between the beach and the rainforest, built with autochthonous wood and forged underlying of concrete, painted with a bluish green colour that could either mimic whichever ecosystems emerging from the dichotomy of the place.– It is some deserted place, lady, and far away from the centre of the island.– That is fine, I was looking for a quiet and peaceful place.The driver briefly looked at her through the interior mirror, he was curious about the young lady he was taking to the most ancient and desolated part of the island, a mysterious young lady, with long, lavish and rubicund hair. When she gazed at him he could appreciate the look of dark eyes like lake water sheltered in a decisive and transcendent look.By the time she arrived the tempest had already started. She left the baggage on the floor and checked the fridge -empty-, then looked in the pantry and it was also empty. -They notified a duration of at least ten hours. - she remembered. She was leading to the neighbouring house when someone knocked on the door.– Lady Nephalem? I am the officer’s son. I came with supplies. It is my understanding that you just arrived.Liliana opened the door and spotted something on the floor. It was a wet and grey envelope. She took it and dried it with her sleeve.– Call me Liliana, I beg you, there is no need for formalities. By the way, you dropped this here.– Nice to meet you, Liliana, I am Adan. That envelope is not mine, I think someone left it for you.– How is that? I don’t know anyone here yet. – Liliana exclaimed, observing the envelope with confusion.She opened it and took out a paper folded in four parts, unfolded and straightened it on the kitchen counter. Both started reading carefully its content:"" Never the moon was able to shine as the night it will, because that night every object capable of boosting its light will be conspired to enhance it, and the chosen night, it will pity the canid who will be concealed of its light in the depths of eternity. ""Adan and Liliana looked at each other with opened eyes, surprised by the kabbalistic meaning of that piece of paper. – I need coffee. – Liliana said, waiting for Adan to give her some capsule from the bag of supplies.– Here you have it …Liliana, what the hell does this mean?– It means that I came here looking for peace and calm, but instead I find an upcoming storm a few minutes after my arrival and an enigmatic message on a soaked envelope that could have perfectly ended up in the sea if you don’t come knocking on my door. – She said while making two coffees using a coffee machine covered in dust.Adan remained in the same position, with his eyes aiming at the piece of paper, stunned.– So, why did you come to the island in the first place? – He inquired, without tearing his eyes away from the paper.– I never knew anything about my family, that is why I have come to this place, because among the few belongings of my parents there was a postcard from this island, in it they were carrying out a baby and on its back you could read: “Lilith, our magical gift”.– Lilith?– That is my real name, at least that is what I deduce from the postcard, the nuns of the orphanage changed it to Liliana and I got used to it.A rumble was heard and then an ulterior shine illuminated the entrance of the house, discovering a corpulent shadow through the side windows of the door.– For the love of Lucifer! Have you seen that thing, Liliana? – Adan exclaimed, suddenly incorporating.– Relax, it might have been just an illusion produced by the storm and the shadows movement. It’s hard to believe you are native of this island. – She said, offering him a cup of coffee while taking a sip from hers.They spent the rest of the afternoon speculating about the paper’s message, with long periods of reflection and energetic moments of exchanging ideas. It was twelve at night and both were exhausted. Adan laid on the bed with the paper in his hand. Liliana was sitting on the ground next to a wall. She stood up, served herself a cup of coffee and started walking around the living room.– If we assume the moon as the satellite and not symbolically, then the moment it alludes to is some day from the days of the full moon. By natural derivation of the first supposition, the only thing required for the moon to be “bright” is darkness, but the moon disposes of it every night, therefore it must be referring to a singular night …I get it! It is about the longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice, if there is the casualty of having a full moon …I believe we can assert it.– My father told me during the Winter Solstice this year the sea will be wild and the waves will force the beach to close to the surfists. – “Every object capable of boosting its light will be conspired to enhance it”. Sure! The light of the moon is reflected on the water, acting the sea as an amplifier. If there are lots of waves it can mean it as the sea trying to reflect its brightness in all its points. It could also be the sea that it refers to when talking about depths …Yet I can’t seem to find a meaning to what or who that “canid” is.Three hours later and another cup of coffee, Liliana decided to leave the investigation there and sleep for a few hours. The storm subsided and Adan led home. Someone knocked on the door.– Adan?A tuff and deep voice was heard from the other side of the door.– I am not Adan. I live in the neighbouring house.Liliana opened the door and discovered a tall and corpulent figure wearing a coat and a hat covering most of his face, what she could see partially was covered with facial hair.– I am Liliana, it’s nice meeting you. If you don’t mind, the last hours have been exhausting and I was about to sleep. – She said as she was closing the door.The man on the threshold stopped the door from closing with an abnormal size foot.– Liliana …interesting. Wonderful name, although it is not the original. I was passing by just to welcome you to the island. I let you rest now.After sleeping until ten in the morning, Liliana went to the kitchen to make some coffee when the phone started to ring.– Who is it?– Liliana, It’s Adan. How are you? I have been thinking about the message and I consider the best to tell my father and let him arrange an exploration group on the beach the night of the solstice.– No. Don’t tell him or the person who left the message will know it, and we will never know what it means. By the way, an old man came to my house earlier, I think is him who you were afraid of yesterday.– Oh, sure. That is the old man of the island, Unabis. Everyone knows who he is, even the people who have been here the longest, and the parents of their parents. Lots of legends are told about him, some say he was the first to arrive at this island when nobody was here.– What stupid stories you guys have on this island. – Liliana said, carelessly.The night of the 21st of December had arrived. Adan and Liliana met at the back of her house, where some shrubs separated them from the sand esplanade of the beach. They stayed there several minutes when a figure approached, it was Unabis, he went to the shore and entered the sea, until no part of him was visible on the surface …and he concealed in the depths of eternity.Adan and Liliana approached where the man disappeared. There was no sight of him. The mainstream carried to Liliana’s feet an object. It was apparently made out of a mineral similar to obsidian.
","August 07, 2023 16:15",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,vm9vfb,Letter Treasure,Frank Chirico,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vm9vfb/,/short-story/vm9vfb/,Mystery,0,"['Mystery', 'Drama']",6 likes,"
Max Evans tugged on his blanket falling off his shoulder, and pulled it closer. He sat in front of his laptop like he did most Saturday mornings – writing and working on his book, trying like hell to get out of the funk he was in; grunting through trying to find the right words. 
 
He stopped, put his head in his hands and sighed. He turned around to look out the window of his sixth-floor apartment behind him, watching those in the courtyard: a couple walking hand in hand, an elderly man feeding pigeons, and kids playing in the park. People seemed happy even in the cold fall weather; anything that would jar a thought, image, and something to get him out of the writer’s cramp he had been feeling for two weeks. He turned to take a drink of his coffee when he looked across the room; an envelope slipped under the front door, followed by the shadow of feet left behind by the one who left the inquiry.  
 
He paused mid-sip and then eased his mug on the desk. He leaned forward so as to not make a sound. He got up and walked over carefully, wondering if the person who just slipped it under was still there. He gently pressed his ear to the door, only to hear the elevator bell ring, and the doors close. An uninvited guest was something Maxx wasn’t in the mood for, but figured if things were going to get weird, it would have happened by now. 
 
He reached down to pick it up. It was a perfectly square and rigid envelope, like an invitation or thank-you size. He walked it back to the desk and opened it up with his pocket knife; sliding out a card with the initials JH on the front, a medium thin black border all around the front of the card. Max opened it up and started reading the rough and jagged letters. 
 
My dearest Maxwell, 
It has been a long time since I last saw you, well, since you last saw me. I remembered you as a child, before you would even have any recollection of me. In fact, I am quite positive that your father has never mentioned me, and in many ways, I fear that you don’t even know I exist. I attended his viewing and funeral, but kept to the shadows, so as to not disturb your mother. Let’s just say your mother never really liked me; I don’t blame her, didn’t like me either. 
 
But I have been watching you from your window from time to time. Oh, no need to close those curtains now. For when you have received this, I have probably been deceased for several days. But I digress. I have noticed some things about you that frankly worry me.  
 
I know that I, though dead, can help you and enrich your life in some way. To show you things, magical things that may benefit you in your future. Why, you may ask? Because no matter how many times you get kicked down, you always get up. You try, despite all of your failures; and I admire that. You remind me of my younger self – not attempting to scare you the most, doesn’t it? 
 
I know that you are struggling with that book of yours. I have read much of it, and it has promise and I like the story; especially the line, “As for me, I am plagued with a great many distant things; to ride the hidden lands from coast to coast.” Which sounds eerily similar to Moby Dick, so you might consider revisions. I’m sure prison doesn’t suit you, and you’re too poor to survive the legalities. 
 
I possess a large inheritance that I have no one to give to. And it can all be yours. But there is one catch. You have to complete a task for me, after which you will be given a key, along with the address to my flat. Fail, and we both lose. But I am confident you will make the right choice. 
Sincerely, 
“Uncle Jim” 
 
He sat there, really not knowing what to say. Who is this guy, and why now after all these years? How did he read my book since it’s not even written yet with the exception of a few chapters? 
 
He picked up the phone and called his mom. No answer. Just her chipper voice on the other end, embedded in silicon. He called again; then a third time. No answer. Max slammed the phone down, grabbed the card and flipped it over. 
 
 
“Father knows best.
And it’s best to bring lilies.”
Joshua 6:4
 
 
Max read it over and over trying to make sense of this clue. After frantically searching for the bible his father gave him years ago, he dusted it off to find Joshua 6 verse 4, hoping that another clue would be in the pages. But, when he thumbed through it, it read: 
 
“And seven priests shall bear seven trumpets of rams’ horns before the ark. But the seventh day, you shall march around the city seven times, and the priests shall blow the trumpets.”
 
He sat back at his desk and scratched his head, picking up pieces in this mysterious note. About a half hour went by, and realized that it was Saturday, which would be the seventh day. So, whatever he had to do was today. He could tell time was running short. Lilies were a popular funeral flower, and it was pointed out that father knows best, not the show in particular, but… then it hit him. He had to go see his father, visit his grave. 
–---
It’s been a long time since he visited his dad’s grave on the other side of town. But, if nothing came of it, it would not be a loss at all. On the way to the cemetery, he picked up some lilies at the local flower shop along the way, the whole time thinking about what type of things “Uncle Jim” had said he needed to learn.
 
Max sighed and stepped out of his truck with flowers in hand; gritting his teeth as the wind and cold air whipped him in the face. The cemetery was empty and quiet except for the occasional crunch of the fallen leaves below his feet from the few trees still left on the property. His father’s grave was in the back away from others, just sitting there alone, and cold. 
 
The stone was covered in moss and dirt. He hung his head; sorry that he never came out to clean it. A flood of emotions ran through his mind, and even thinking that, as weird as this note was, that his dad would meet him there alive and well. But that wasn’t the case. He stood at the foot of the plot. A tear began to form, and then traveling halfway down, he brushed it aside. It made his heart glad to bring flowers; something he would have never thought to do on his own. Max stooped down and placed the flowers in the metal vase; the lilies tilted at all angles, one falling out. Annoyed, he took the flowers out and tried again. He removed the cylinder. What in the world must be stuck inside? He turned the vase over and smacked the bottom to jar whatever was in there, loose. Out came a roll of bills. He gasped and fell backwards; his widened eyes staring at it on the ground. Max got up slowly and looked around, to make sure no one was watching. He looked inside the vase and found a second, and third wad, just like the first; all one-hundred-dollar bills. He took the money in his hand and thumbed through it; which he could only guess was about $7,000. His heart beat heavy, and thought of the bills he could pay off, and get the bill collectors off his back, not to mention heat in the apartment would be nice too.  
 
He started to whisk back to the truck, then halted halfway. Something’s not right, he thought, and reached into his pocket to view the bible verse he jotted down on the card. He sat there, thinking for a minute. “Walk around seven times,” he said to himself. “Around the gravesite, or the cemetery?” Turning around he slowly walked back to his father and walked around his grave.  
There it was, taped to the back of the stone, was a note in a plastic Ziploc®. With hesitation, he removed it, and read the note. 
 
 
Dearest Max, 
I assume if you are reading this, you found the small fortune. If not, it’s obvious you didn’t buy flowers. It makes my heart glad to see that you received it. 
 
But, don’t thank me just yet, for you may hate me; but this money is not for you. I need you to do something for me. I need you to give this away. All of it. But my instruction is clear—give no less than $100 and no more than $1000 to a single individual. The choice is yours to whom you bless. But all I ask is that you pray, and use wisdom as to whom you should receive. 
Sincerely, 
“Uncle Jim”
 
 
Max’ heart shrunk, and he felt deflated, and almost light-headed as he collapsed onto the ground beside his dad. He felt just as cold, but then hot as his blood boiled, face flushed. He turned the note over and over, with no other instructions, he crushed it in his fist and threw it at his father’s stone. 
 
“Screw that! I’ve had enough,” Max yelled. “No, not doing it. I’ve spent much of my life helping others and look where it got me. Nowhere!” 
 
He jammed the money in his coat, got up and started walking away. But he could feel the tug on his heart, and looking back at his dad, his head sunk. “What would you do, old man?!” he yelled at his father. “Think, think, think,” he said squinting his eyes and tapping his head with one of the wads. A few minutes later he grimaced, “You’re right. Go for it. You always said to go for broke.” 
Max walked back to his truck, got in and laid his head on the steering wheel and sighed. He looked down at his watch; 4:20 pm. Too late to do anything about it now. And so, he went home. 
 
––---
 
Over the next several days, Max gave away all the money. To some he only gave a hundred. To others he gave more, according to each his or her need. Many times, he found himself listening to people’s conversations so as to glean information to see if they would be a good match. Even that woman who was mean to the clerk of the grocery store when her card wouldn’t work and it changed her tone completely.  
 
But with each person he gave, he took the time to learn more about their story. He talked with them, and spent some time listening to their problems, their dreams, and how many of them really prayed for help. With each one he gave, his heart grew warmer and less heavy, not thinking about his own problems, but considering others for once. He never was a people person before; hiding in his loft looking down at the world. But now he sat in the park, watching people closer. He smiled listening to conversations, and prayed silently to himself that God would help them. 
––---
Several weeks had passed since he gave the last of his newfound treasure away. He had no regrets, and agreed with his soul that it was better to give than it was to receive. He walked to the park from his loft and sat down at the usual spot. Bethany, and her little girl, Ashley, walked over towards him, shortly after sitting down. 
 
“Hi, Max,” said Bethany. “An elderly man asked me to give this to you.” Little Ashley made eye contact with Max and reached out her hands and held an envelope – quite like the others. 
 
“Why, thank you. I had been expecting this for a few days now. I’m glad you found me,” as he smiled and accepted the envelope from the child. He stared at the envelope and a flood of emotions came to him. But it wasn’t the usual anger that he felt, but more relief. He smiled sheepishly, for part of him wanted to read it; the other wanted to burn it. 
 
“Everything ok?” Bethany tapped him on the leg to wake him from the trance. 
 
“Oh, sorry. Everything is good. If you will excuse me, I should probably read this in private. It could be bad news.” He got up and started to walk across the soccer field, the crunch of the frozen grass beneath his feet. 
 
 
Dear Mr. Evans, 
Mr. Hothorne regrets not being able to write this last note. He suffered much in his last days. But he wanted me to give you this among other things. 
 
I have been watching you closely, and I know Mr. Hothorne would have been proud of you. Please come to his flat as soon as possible, because I am in the middle of packing and will be moving soon. 
 
The address is easy. It’s directly above yours. 
 
See you shortly, 
 
Mr. Hawthorne’s Nurse, Robert.
 
 
Max paused and stood in the middle of the playground, looked down, around, and down again, and smiled. Emotions came in like a flood. He didn’t know what to think, but no matter what crossed his mind, they all led him to go immediately to meet Robert. He turned around to walk towards the direction of his condo, when he saw a flash of him through the window, staring down at him, and walked away. He hurried up his pace, having so many questions, he wanted them all answered. Would he know the answers to the questions—especially the “Uncle” one. 
 
As the elevator went up, so did his excitement. The doors opened, and it was like being on his floor, without the Christmas decorations on the doors of Mrs. Beachwood and Mr. Hamm. He walked over to the door that he would normally go to one floor below, and by mistake, tried to turn the handle. “Ugh, not your apartment dummy.” He realized now that he was on the other side of the door, casting the shadow into their living room, with the one inside wondering who it could be. But he knows, for he summoned him, through letters left unfinished. 
 
The door opened. A slender older gentleman answered.
“Robert, I presume?” Max asked.
 
“Hello Max. I already know who you are,” Robert said with a smile. “I’m sure you have many questions; come inside,” and he motioned Max to do so. 
 
He walked through the entryway, and the inside was beautiful—nothing like his condo below. Every wall that would have been bare in the rooms below were taken up by bookshelves full of books. The entire place looked like a library on the inside. To the furthest part of the room, where his desk would be, was a desk much nicer than his. As cluttered as this dwelling was, it was tidy, and clean. 
 
“I have a few questions,” Max said. “For starters, who is Jim Maxwell?” 
 
“He was a good friend of your father’s from prep school,” Robert said with a smile on his face. “Your dad was a good man. I liked him.”  
 
“I was wondering. I don’t remember my mother ever mentioning him before.” 
 
“Well, they had a falling out several years prior to your dad’s passing,” Robert, folding his arms, rocking back and forth. 
 
“O.K., but how…”
 
“Did he read your book?” Robert laughed with a huge smile. He pointed towards the desk near the window. Leaning against the corner looked like a long tube. “I almost don’t want to give that away. But it was easy. It's a periscope. He used it to observe you. But then when he wanted to read your writing; it's how he was able to get your passwords. I admit, it's as creepy as it sounds. But he really did like your writing. That's what drew him to you."" 
 
Max folded his arms and stepped back, rolling his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. He looked around and gave the room another once-over. In the center, on the dining room table, there was an open-faced note with a key on top; two chairs pulled out. 
 
“These are for you,” Robert said, as he slid the note and key to Max. He picked up the letter and read on:
 
 
My Dearest Max, 
I wish I could be there to give this to you in person. But I’m sure Robert will tell you about all that you need to know. Since you received this, I am pleased to let you know that this entire place is yours, and will be transferred to your name shortly. Robert is a very good judge of character, and a good man himself. You did what you were supposed to do, giving all the money away, without leaving any for yourself. You make an old man very proud. 
 
How do you feel? I can imagine you quite elated. My fortune is not of monetary value, for that will be given to Robert. It’s not much, but he deserves it for taking such good care of me the last few years. The cancer treatments took most of my wealth away. But the fortune for you is: this flat, which is paid for; every book, furniture, and piece of clothing, and jewelry. It’s all yours. 
 
Now you are a complete man—for the reason was this: there are just some things you can’t learn from a book. Humility, integrity, and love for others. Those are the greatest treasures of all.  
 
Sincerely, 
Uncle Jim
 
","August 09, 2023 17:53",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,rdmhez,The Ascending Spacemen,Sudarshan Varadhan,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rdmhez/,/short-story/rdmhez/,Mystery,0,"['Speculative', 'Science Fiction', 'Adventure']",6 likes,"
The airlock of the space habitat swung open, revealing the two fully-suited spacemen. Their costumes were dull white, along with tinted blue helmets and golden reflective visors. The two spacemen stepped out onto the gray alien planet, retrieved their long probes, and prodded the surroundings around them. Their equipment beeped and notified them of the collection of data.
The mounds of grayish-blue sand camouflaged the space habitat along with the gray mountain ranges behind it. The spacemen's shoes crunched in the planet’s stillness. The crepuscular rays beaming from the dense clouds above them and the dazzling blue light filtering through the dark, dense clouds resembled a Renaissance painting of a divine figure coming down to earth.
For the past three months, an abhorrent storm has obscured the entire sky. The nightmarish winds had descended on the exoplanet habitat of planet Duern Q861. Its wrath reverberated upon the habitat like thunder, with large stones crashing upon it. Everything had become pitch black outside the planet’s habitat, and the connections to Earth were lost during this brief period. With the passing days, the Spacemen’s supplies depleted, and without communication, the mission was at risk of failure.
After three months, the storm's ferocity had diminished to nearly nothing. It took days before anything moved around the Space Habitat, Duern Q861A, while the structure remained in the heaps of grey dust settled upon it. After several weeks, there was some movement around the space habitat. The habitat airlocks opened, and three white drones flew out to scout the surroundings, gliding and sailing in three different directions before disappearing into the distance to collect samples. Following the drones, came out the spacemen with their equipment, analyzing the surroundings thoroughly and observing the readings until midday. The spaceman looked to his left; the dark clouds were thundering along the horizon, but their crackling was vibrating the ground beneath them. Then the spacemen opened the larger airlock, boarded the big carrier rover, and drove toward the small habitat located a mile away from the big habitat.
The dust rose behind the spacemen when the carrier rover drove through the barren, gray desert. Ahead of these minuscule spacemen, gray and white sands stretched until the mountain range extended into the horizon. The dull-white mountains looked like raging ocean tides at sea, captured and frozen in time. These gigantic mountains witnessed the spacemen, the habitat, and everything below as they stood arrogant and untouched by the ferocious storm. Within the valleys of these mountains, enormous caverns and craters existed, which sometimes resembled a dragon’s lair from fairy tales.
Despite the rover reaching the location of the small habitat, the enormous building was not visible. The two spacemen got down from their rover and began walking to the habitat. The building was oddly missing from their view, and they searched around, their eyes scanning the location. Soon they began noticing metals, glass, and many open electrical wires crackling. The entire small habitat was in ruins and under dunes of dust. They stood on the ruins of the habitat. It surprised them to see the broken pieces of the small habitat buried in the sand. They built these structures specifically to resist heavy storm winds and the impacts of earthquakes. But now standing on its destroyed remains is grave news.
The two spacemen stood there in dismay and shock. The winds wailed in the distance, and the dust from the dunes flew along with the passing breeze. In the deep silence, their pacing heartbeats were audible. Their visors were fogging because of their wheezing and warm breath. The spacewoman saw the spaceman’s face twist with shock and bewilderment.
After a moment, his face turned stern, and he spoke in his microphone, ""The storm has destroyed the small habitat, Duern Q861B. And based on the settlement of dust remains, we cannot estimate when this happened. We hope to retrieve our data soon.""
""Yeah. I agree, but we need to dig and find the system data. Maybe our samples might still be undamaged,"" replied the spacewoman over her microphone.
""We must terminate our mission if it is compromised,"" said the spaceman. The spacewoman kneeled on the soft gray dirt. But she widened her eyes and blinked hard, struggling not to cry. Crying is uncomfortable in a spacesuit.
The spaceman agreed and began looking through the crumbled remains of the habitat to detect the samples through the metal and glass. He also hoped the sample would be all right, but he felt his heart palpitating under the thick suit, and a panic attack missed him by inches. He stood tall and practiced a few breathing techniques before starting his excavation work. Soon they were walking among the ruins and moving the metal and glass with their shovels, looking for their samples. Their precious samples.
They spent over twenty minutes digging into the sand and shoving away the heavy metals. As they kept working, they found the shards of reinforced glass in the habitat. The Spaceman kept pushing the gray sand aside, and the planet was turning colder by the minute. Then, underneath one of the broken green glasses, he found the samples. They found several broken black boxes, and the Spaceman reached inside one of them and pulled some dried leaves out. It was a small leaf, almost as small and circular as the size of a bottle cap, and brownish-orange as an autumn leaf. It is the first plant cultivated on this distant, dusty planet. Out of the sixty different plant species sent with these spacemen, only this plant thrived on this terrain because of its ability to burst its pollens for extensive ranges, and they also have a longer life span.
But now the last of those plants was also dead. With the entire habitat sinking into the gray sand, the plant samples crumbled under its collapsing weight. Along with it, the spacemen’s remaining hope The spaceman picked up the dead plant and displayed it to the spacewoman. She was still digging the ground and halted when she saw it. She came close and examined it before putting it in one of her spacesuit compartments. They both took another black box and safeguarded it in the carrier rover’s portable cryogenic chamber.
The spaceman clicked the radio button on the side of his helmet as his hands felt sweaty under those thick gloves. His hands trembled, and he felt the nerve on his temples pump and feel pain. With a big, deep breath, the spaceman recorded into his AV radio that their mission was a failure. Although there was no voice from the other side, only static radio buzzing, he recorded the situation on his radio.
He noticed the spacewoman in his peripheral vision. She had fallen on her knees and began whispering prayers to her gods. He didn’t feel like summoning the gods because they already knew his plight and yet watched him without mercy. The spacemen had made detailed plans to save their dying planet and terraform Duern Q861. But they realized their plan had led to an imminent and predetermined defeat. It felt like a tragic destiny, a cruel ploy to humiliate them and give them hope only to crush it. The spacemen whispered his father’s words, ""For they sculpted the fire, and it burned them.""
The spaceman loosened his shoulder and looked up at the dark sky for some hope or some answers. He stared at all the million lights above, shining and flickering. Amongst those stars in the sky, the spaceman saw a small, distant blue dot. He stared at it for a while, squinting his eyes. Just for a moment, his mind traveled to that planet. The elated people, the green grass, the rainy days with the hot coffees, a cold bed on a summer night, and the warm smooch of the sun on the face The toxicity of breathing air, decomposed food, loss of peaceful sleep, and pain of crumbling starvation in the midriff He tried to forget the sound of the horrible war cries and the deafening roar of the bombs and gunfire. He tried to shake the memory of holding his family in his arms while hiding in the wardrobe, waiting for the screams to settle. It all ended with the high-pitched whistling of the rocket engine.
The spaceman coughed, and his knees trembled. Within moments, his legs gave up, and he fell to the ground on his knees as well, trying hard to breathe. He tried pulling his thoughts off of it, but it was futile. He saw the blood, the bodies, the wails, and the orphans. He kept fighting his thoughts, which spiraled painfully within his mind. With a deep breath, he summoned his inner voice to convince himself of the reality: ""Gone is everything; gone before you knew, gone before you left. Gone before you hoped. Gone far, far away amidst the storm.""
The loud alarm beeped, and his pocket vibrated, rescuing him from his thoughts. The spacewoman pulled out her electronic monitoring tablet and clicked some buttons. Then she hurried to the carrier rover and viewed the message through the built-in emergency systems. With panic and confusion sweating from her face, the spaceman heard her through the intercom: ""The drones have found something in the eastern valley!""
""We’ll see what it is. Come"", the spaceman said and ran over to the rover, but the spacewoman stood motionless and hesitant.
""What happened?"" he asked, confused.
""What if it comes back?"" asked the spacewoman, putting her device inside her suit’s compartment. The spaceman nodded, and she said, ""The storm might swirl again. It’s better; we must go back to the habitat now.""
""No… We need to see what the drones have found,"" the spaceman protested. ""What if it is some help or supplies? Maybe someone else landed here. Maybe a rescue team! I think it is a rescue team,"" said the spaceman as the spacewoman shook her head in disagreement. ""Maybe the war is over and they have come for us. We need to check this out.""
""There is no help, Manuel!"" snapped the Spacewoman as she pleaded into the microphone. ""If they cared, they would contact us, but no! They have left us here to die on this planet! This is the reality. Get this in your head!""
The spaceman stared at her, his fury rising with his excitement. ""I still hope otherwise; I feel it. Just think, what if?""
The spacewoman scoffed and yelled, ""But what if there is no rescue? What if the storm returns and carries us away with it?""
""I don’t mind!"" sneered the spaceman, swinging his arms around the rover and climbing over it. ""We either die out here or rot in that damned habitat all alone. I don’t want to go back. It smells like death and blood in there. Wherever the drones are and whatever they have found, I’m going there. If it is death, so be it. All I’m asking you now is..."" He paused, holding back his tears. ""Are you coming with me?""
The spacewoman stared through her golden visor for a minute, gaited to the rover, and told it, ""It will take at least 6 hours to reach there. Buckle up then,"" and so they buckled to the rover and drove the rover at its maximum speed, about 20km/hr. This rover was the fastest ever built to overcome obstacles and the uneven alien terrain with its large tires and fantastic suspension systems.
The journey took a long time since the eastern valley was several miles away. The tired spacemen knew the travel would be more tiring, but it didn’t matter to them. After hours upon hours of steering through the dusty mountain path, they arrived at the eastern valley and spotted the drone flying high above the location, which hovered just for the spacemen’s reference. While the other two were scanning the environment. It took another hour to drive through the steep grounds to the drone location. They stopped the carrier rover several feet before a large cavern opening.
The two spacemen unbuckled themselves and trod towards the cavern’s opening. They saw an exposed cavern with a wide opening—a gigantic crater. The crater was as massive as a hundred football fields. The crater was so gigantic that these two spacemen were almost the size of bugs in front of it.
Both the spacemen were dumbfounded and confused by their very own sight. Their eyes didn’t blink, their bodies had stopped sweating, their jaws were wide open, and they drew their breaths in. The enormous crater was bleeding vivid red and orange. Out of the crater, many red and orange circular particles ascended. The floating particles were as small as bottle caps. The beautiful pollens sailed in the wind like dandelion seeds while the red leaves of the plant brushed one another.
The entire opening had become a garden spread out in the wild environment. Throughout the crater, for miles, the flowers had flourished, and the plants brushed against one another, rustling. The crater’s inclined plane curled down, and in the middle of the crater, they noticed something transparent reflecting the bluish-gray hue of the sky. The most fundamental source of life is liquid water.
The spacemen knew that the water could have come from the underground water source of this planet. Perhaps an asteroid struck this planet centuries ago, and this has brought the underground liquid water gushing to the bottom of this crater. The strong winds had brought the plant’s pollen from the ruins of the small habitat to this crater several miles away. The pollens could have settled down in this crater by the large lake glimmering in the semi-darkness. With water and the crater protecting the plants from the storm, plant life has thrived here.
""Look! An alien!"" A man’s voice echoed from behind the two spacemen, pointing at the crater’s garden. The spaceman turned around and saw five other spacemen standing behind him. The joke had cracked them all up. The spaceman couldn’t see their faces clearly through their visors, but he remembered their faces and their codenames. There were Green, Zweig, Signature, Trident, and Clicky. All of them were in their spacesuits, with their actual names labeled on their chests. He looked at them in surprise, and his eyes couldn’t avert from them.
The five laughed, and the spaceman watching them heard their hysterical laughter through his intercom. On the paceman’s face, a smile developed, and he began snorting and chuckling. He looked at Clicky leaning on the rover and laughing at his terrible joke, and the spaceman predicted Zweig would smile under his visor, guessing by his rigid body language. The other three were giggling more at Clicky’s uncontrollable laughter than at his joke. Signature turned to the spaceman and shook his head in agreement. The orange and red pollen flew across them all, and the planet’s home star began rising in the west, behind the five other spacemen. The scene was exquisite yet quite disturbing.
The spaceman looked at them and reluctantly blinked, unwilling to let go of what he was witnessing. When he opened his eyes, as he had expected, the five spacemen had disappeared into the weak breeze. His eyes teared up as his visors fogged, and he heard his breath in the pressurizing silence. He closed his eyes once again, this time tightly shutting them so as not to let his tears out. Crying is uncomfortable in the spacesuit.
He knew the other spacemen were resting peacefully in the underground cryogenic chamber inside the big habitat. They were drifting in their dreams in a world far away, or maybe they were back on earth, reliving an alternate yet happier reality. If a rescue team comes to find them or accidentally stumbles upon this planet, they will find the well-preserved corpses of these spacemen.
He again reopened his eyes once more to revisit the figment. He saw the vast expanse of the dusty terrain. His throat narrowed, and his nose was cramping. But his palpitating heart had oddly calmed, and the trembling finger became still and numb. He couldn’t decide whether to be glad or glum while both blew his way.
The spaceman then turned to look beside him at the spacewoman. She, too, had vanished with the others without a trace. He sighed and gulped heavily as his eyes scanned the large valley of the vivid red and orange plant. He raised his hands and touched the floating seed. Although he couldn’t feel it through his spacesuit, he still felt the wind, and a tickling sensation ran down his arm. He smiled, and with a breath drawn in, he began chuckling and then laughing. The drones were still collecting samples and buzzing around like children in a park. The pleasantly delighted spaceman’s smile never left. He sighed with relief and closed his eyes, relishing in the present moment. They have accomplished the mission despite the absolute hurdles.
He gazed at the dancing alien plant field on this strange planet far from Earth. He thought of the divine play portrayed ahead of him and the absurdity of the entire ordeal. He laughed hysterically, as though he had found unintelligible humor in it, as his feet rose in the air and he ascended. With grace, his entire body floated up into the sky like an air balloon as the light brushed through his golden visor and into his face. Amongst the endless stars filling the sky above, a brilliant blue dot twinkled brighter than ever.
The spaceman, just like his other crew members, disappeared into the breeze without a trace. His laughter still echoed and haunted the wind until it faded. The red and orange fields rustled in the weak wind, glimmering in the light of the new dawn. The passing wind blew from the distance as it buried the footprints under the gray layers of sand. Duern Q861 became silent, its gray dust settled, and life began thriving again.
","August 10, 2023 13:54","[[{'Marty B': ""He found peace at least, even if was not reality.\n\nI liked this line-\n'Crying is uncomfortable in the spacesuit.'"", 'time': '23:10 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,lrqad0,An Ode to Ramblin Bill,Larry Litton,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lrqad0/,/short-story/lrqad0/,Mystery,0,"['Drama', 'Mystery', 'Sad']",6 likes,"
I was seventeen years old when my father, the man known as ‘Ramblin Bill, bought his ticket to the forever box. I don’t think of him as ‘dad’ or as ‘father’, because he wasn’t much of either one of those. Stomach cancer is one mean bitch and I watched him waste away from a jovial two hundred pounds down to a buck twenty in less than three months. Of course, that didn’t stop him from drinking and smoking while he spiraled down the drain. In those final days he often said, “I ain’t no damned quitter. Give me another smoke boy.” I’m not sure whether he wound up in heaven or hell, I just hope they have cigarettes and beer or else there will be some miserable dead people having to listen to him bitch and moan for the rest of eternity.  God himself may go looking for a gun just to get a bit of peace and quiet. I don’t miss him. It’s not that he abused me, or beat me, or anything like that, he’d have to be around some to be able to do that. It’s more like he just forgot that I existed. He was a rodeo cowboy, and he spent about fifty weeks a year on the road leaving me and momma behind in our little trailer house. He did send money to keep the rent paid and food on the table, but that was about it. All the kids at school seemed to know ole Ramblin Bill better than I did because they read all the stories about him and his exploits in the local papers. There was hardly a week that went by when he wasn’t featured in the paper for either winning another bull riding event or for getting arrested in another bar fight in the company of a hooker or three. So, when the day of his death came and he called me into his room and tried to impart some final wisdom, I really didn’t pay much attention and to this day I can’t really remember what it was he said. Mom forgave him I guess because she always let him come back home and I was a little sad about him dying, but the man that was laying before me was just some guy I barely knew. Mom and I buried him two days later and we never talked about him again and I didn’t really think about him much for the better part of a year. So how surprised do you think I was when on my eighteenth birthday the following year I got a message from Ole Ramblin Bill? I know what you’re thinking, but no, he didn’t write to me from the other side.  Ole Ramblin bill wrote this letter in the days before he died. Dear Billy Jr.,Happy birthday Billy. I hope you’re having a good one, and while I’m thinking about it, seeing that you’ll be reading this after I’ve been planted, I hope I’m having a good day too!I was a lousy father. I never gave you and your momma much of me and I followed my own demons and selfishness around this world and ultimately right into the grave. You both deserved a lot more than that. I’ve been thinking for weeks how to best share some things with you that might help you along the way. So, I’m going to tell you a story, and maybe there’s a nugget or two of wisdom that will benefit you and maybe you’ll get to know me a little better which just might help you know yourself a bit more. So here goes:As a ten year old boy, Ramblin Bill was better known as Stuttering Bill and most of the kids thought he was feeble minded and needless to say there wasn’t a line of friends lining up at his door. He kept mostly to himself, walked home alone from school, and that just about broke his momma’s heart because Stuttering Bill just always looked so sad and lonely. So, one day she surprises him with an Australian Shepherd puppy. She was a red-tri with the happiest looking brown eyes you ever saw and that dog and Stuttering Bill fell in love with each other almost immediately. He named her Dora and they spent just about every waking second together. The dog waited for him everyday right outside the doors of the school and she would jump on him and lick his face and they would walk home together. He would tell her about his day as they walked home, and she’d look at him the way dogs do with her head cocked to the side like she understood what he was saying. It went on that way for about a year and then one day around mid-day during class Bill could hear a dog barking like crazy outside. He immediately recognized it as Dora. He raised his hand and asked if he could go to the bathroom and the teacher gave him a hall pass and he headed straight out the school door. Dora sees him and runs to him barking like hell.“What is it girl?”She barked again and starts head towards the road that would take them home. She stops and looks back and barks again.“Is something wrong at home?” he asks.Dora barks. Bill and Dora began to run the four blocks home and when they get there, Bill can see the front door is open. He rushes into the house, and he finds his mother on the floor, bleeding from her head and he sees a spot of blood on the side of the coffee table. She’s breathing, but it’s shallow.“Mom,” Bill shakes her and she mumbles something he can barely hear. “Did you forget your insulin today.”I’m going to stop there for now Billy. This is gonna be a four year story because I’m thinking maybe it’ll stick with you better over time. So, for the next three years on your birthday, you’ll get another installment. Adios till next year Billy!DadMy initial reaction upon reading the letter was that ole Ramblin Bill was losing his mind at the end. But over the ensuing days I came to realize there was a sweetness to it in that he was trying in his way to leave me something. I put it in my desk drawer and I don’t think about it again for the next year. Then the following year on my 19th birthday, I got the next letter. Happy 19th birthday Billy!It’s been a year and I’m sure you haven’t thought much about the story I started. But now I’ll continue.Dora saved Bill’s mom’s life that day. Bill was able to call the ambulance and his mom ended up just fine.  Bill’s mom began to recognize just how special Dora was and when she got back from the hospital, she cooked that dog a steak dinner fit for king. Over the next year or so things began to go a little better for stuttering Bill. Believe it or not, his stuttering began to improve a little bit, his mom thought that was because he’d spent so much time talking to Dora he was feeling more confident and the words just came out more clear and succinct with nary a stammer. Bill even started to make a few human friends. On most afternoons after school Bill would toss the frisbee to Dora and she would catch it while doing spins and flips and all the kids would watch in wonder and soon Bill started having an audience and he became known as the kid with the circus dog and before he knew it dozens of kids were walking home with Bill and Dora and Dora basked in the attention grinning all the while. But that didn’t stop Bill from having his daily talks with her. He told her everything. He told her about the girl named Lucy from his class that looked at him a certain way and he would feel a little flutter in stomach. He told her about the time he cheated in science class and how guilty he felt about it. He told her about the way felt about the man his mom had been talking to from church and how there was just something about him that Bill didn’t like. The man smiled a lot, but Bill didn’t trust that smile. He wanted Dora to meet him – that would tell him everything he needed to know.That’s it for this year Billy. See you next year. Happy birthday!After reading the latest installment, I held it for a minute realizing that my dad had never spoken of his childhood to me when he was alive and for the first time, I was starting to get an idea that there was more to him than just drinking and whoring. I put the letter in the same place as the first one, but I have to admit, I thought about it a little bit more for the next few weeks and then, it went towards the back of my mind. By the time my birthday rolled around the next year, I was actually looking forward to getting the next letter. Happy 20th birthday Billy! I hope you’re enjoying the story – I know how much it meant to me to write it down so I’m hoping you see some value in it.So, his mom decides it’s time to actually go out on a date with the churchman she’d been speaking to. His name was Harvey and Bill met him a couple times at church and although he always smiled and said nice things to Bill, there was just something in his eyes he didn’t like at all. His eyes were cold and dark, and they led to things Harvey kept secreted deep inside himself. Harvey comes to the door on the night of their first date and he’s wearing this awful gray suit that’s about two sizes too big and when he comes inside Dora immediately starts to growl at him. She’d never done that before. Bill’s Mom scolded her and acted embarrassed, but Harvey could see Bill’s reaction to Dora’s growl and he knew that he sensed something was off with him. Harvey tried to play it off and came over to pet Dora but Dora growled at him again, so Bill grabbed her collar and took her into the other room. That night after they got home from their date, Harvey came into the living room where Bill was watching TV.“I get the feeling you don’t like me much,” Harvey says.“I don’t know you,” Bill says.“It’s important you and I have an understanding,” Harvey says, his voice low. “I like your mom and she likes me. I’d like to be around here more often but it’s important you and I don’t have a problem.”He spoke to Bill the way a principal scolding a student would. Harvey slightly bows his head while looking up at Bill in a stern way which induced Bill to nod meekly.“I expect you and I to become real pals,” he says. “Understood? Your mom don’t need problems from you. Deal?”Harvey extended his hand and Bill just looked at it. “You shake a man’s hand when you make a deal,” Harvey says. Harvey grabs Bill’s hand and they shake and Harvey’s grip is like a vice and those cold, dead eyes of his stared into Bill.Sure enough, Harvey started hanging around more often and although Dora still didn’t like him, she at least started to tolerate him. Within a year, Harvey marries Bill’s mom and he moved into their house. Bill always wondered why they didn’t go to Harvey’s house but his mom never said. But by the following year, the year Bill turned thirteen years old, he figured out what it was.Happy birthday Billy! See ya next year.For the next year I thought about my father quite often, wondering what was wrong with Harvey. I thought about sharing the letters with mom, but it somehow felt like I’d be betraying something my father was sharing privately with me. It didn’t feel right. I kept it to myself, and over the next year I dreamt of my father often. On the day of my 21st birthday, I rushed to the mailbox to get his next letter and for some reason I had the feeling it wasn’t going to be there. But when I opened the box, it was right there. Happy birthday 21st birthday Billy! This is a big one – you can drink legal now, but be careful. Harvey ended up being a pretty bad guy. Bill came home from school one day and he hears this sound coming from his mom’s bedroom and Harvey comes out, clothes hastily thrown on and his hair disheveled. Over his shoulder Bill can see a woman buttoning her blouse, it wasn’t his mom. He’s about fourteen years at this time and he had a pretty good idea what was going on in there. “Who’s that?” Bill asked him.“Interior decorator,” Harvey says. “I’m surprising your mom by redoing the house. I don’t want to spoil the surprise so make sure you don’t say anything to her.”“That’s no decorator,” Bill says.Harvey sighs and glares at Bill. Dora begins to growl, sensing the anger building in Harvey. The woman finishes dressing and steps out of the room and she blushes as Harvey escorts her out the door. He closes the door and he turns to Bill.“Listen to me boy,” Harvey says. “I don’t know what you think you saw. But that was a decorator, and I don’t want to hear another word from you about it. Got it?”“Get out of my house,” Bill says. “My mom may not realize yet that you’re a piece of shit, but I do.”Harvey’s face goes a beet red and he balls his fists up and he screams like a wild Indian and charges Bill but before he can take a step, Dora pounces on him and she sinks her teeth into his arm and Bill can hear the flesh tearing and now Harvey’s screams are of pain and fear for the dog. Harvey starts cursing at the dog and he falls to the ground and now the dog is attacking his legs and she’s biting him and Harvey tries to kick her off. She starts to attack Harvey’s groin and now his cries are of pure terror, and he reaches into his pocket and takes out a large pocket knife. Bill sees this and he screams at Dora to stop. Harvey fumbles with the catch on the knife, blood covers his hands and arms, and Bill takes two steps in an effort to pull Dora away but just as he gets there Harvey plunges the knife into Dora’s side and she yelps but continues to bite him so he stabs her again and now the dog backs away, blood pouring from her side. Bill bends to pick Dora up and he holds her and she licks his face but he could see her eyes dimming as her life bled away.I stopped reading for a moment, wiping a tear from my eye. I think I hated Harvey more than my father ever could  at that moment.  Why would I make you sit through four years of this story you might ask? Because you need to know that life will be filled with heart aches and loss. Sooner or later we’re all baptized in grief and pain and it’s how we respond that determines where we go. Even though Harvey got what he deserved and Mom kicked him out, Dora died and a big part of me died with her that day. I held her in my arms and prayed for God to bring her back.  The ambulance techs had to pry her away from me.  I never got over it and because of that I never let anyone get close to me again. How’s that for a self-diagnosis? It really is true that when the horse bucks you off, you have to get right back on. I never did that in the parts of my life that truly mattered. And I regret that. I love you Billy, and I hope to see you on the other side.I didn’t fold that letter and put it away in the desk drawer. I folded it neatly and placed it in my wallet. And there’s hardly a day that goes by where I don’t take it and read it at least once. Ole Ramblin Bill became my father, and I’ll forever miss him.I
","August 10, 2023 21:31",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,rrcger,The Gardeners,J Tucker,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rrcger/,/short-story/rrcger/,Mystery,0,"['Friendship', 'Science Fiction', 'Inspirational']",5 likes,"
""You're not allowed in here."" The white-coated intern placed the palm of her hand on the tall, hoodied intruder's shoulder and turned him toward the door. ""You will go now, and enjoy your day.""
 
Her smirking lab partner was incredulous. The door closed and the two high-fived. ""I didn't know you were skilled in the art of Jedi Mind Tricks.""
 
""Just communicating expectations and conveying authority."" She quickly locked the door latch. ""This is my lab. And I will defend it!"" She struck a Wonder Woman pose. The poster behind her was of a same-posed Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman circa 1976.  
 
Dr. Benjamin Sukai Walker was in the next room meditating, as he did every Monday from 11:30 am to 2:00 pm. Isolated from the sights and sounds just witnessed, he was connected to an EEG harness that measured his brainwaves. The interns, Dante and Irma, knew that any disturbance would have meant the loss of the day's data and catastrophic delay. They were relieved. They didn't have time to make sense of what had happened. Checked it off as random happenings on a university campus.
 
Behind the door, Dr. Walker was sitting still, experiencing a wild stream of unusual encephalograph changes -- something Dante quickly noted and shared with Irma. ""Thetas to alphas here and here. Sawtoothing."" Nods.
 
It was about a month ago that ""Ben"", as Dr. Walker was known at home, dropped his pot habit. He credited his wife and her idea that ""intoxicants muddle the third eye,"" but there could have been something else... He'd done it. It wasn't that difficult after a few days, and here he was, feeling a little too lucid in the lab. Something was truly amiss. He was trying to settle himself, carefully examining feelings and thoughts, and letting them pass.
 
It was almost not working, which was unusual...
 
And then it snapped.
 
""We are together,"" a voice said.
 
--
 
Dr. Walker didn't try to determine a source. He let that go. ""We are together,"" he repeated slowly and deliberately, allowing all possible consequences -- including that he was suffering hallucinations -- to be appreciated without judgement.
 
""Yes, we are from far away,"" was the answer to a question he had merely felt. ""We are present here, many, together.""
 
And then very suddenly, the bowl gong sounded. The end of the session.
 
Dante slowly undimmed the lights in the lab, Dr. Walker opened his eyes and calmly took a deep breath. Irma depressed a red button, ""Dr. Walker, please remain seated and do not remove the harness. We had some anomalous activity and I'd like to check the connections.""
 
--
 
On the bike ride home, he noted the sounds of migrating geese, the first fadings of the maple leaves that lined the road, a thin cool breeze -- Fall was near. A student noticed his signature propeller helmet and waved. He wasn't going to think about what happened in the lab, if the data was now a problem, or something more serious. He would enjoy the ride. 
 
As he always had, smiling.
 
--
 
Ben was breathing hard on the overlook trail when he asked, ""Raj, how was quitting grass for you?"" 
 
""'Grass', is that a Cheech and Chong term? You're 35 not 65. Ha! You mean when I cut out weed, did I rage at my pass/fail NS 5 students or kick my dogs? No way, man. Warrior pose!"" Raj, hopped on the trail to assume a deep, thigh-straining Warrior 2 position and beaming white smile. ""You have to completely change the settings associated with smoking. I painted some rooms, redecorated, new patterns... You know this. Easy."" He explained with choppy hands. ""And the new yoga habit, a welcome change!""
 
""Awesome. So no dizziness, hallucinations, painful urination, muscle aches, mental fog, alien visitations, vomiting... anything?"" Ben asked, winded.
 
""Have you hit a rough patch? I'm sorry, my friend. How can I help?""
 
""Raj, thanks for your concern. I appreciate it."" Ben's friendship with Raj went back decades to when they met as incoming freshmen. ""I'll be fine. I just thought I'd be done with this by now. Maybe I already am?""
 
""Done with it? You did it, Ben!"" Raj signaled a toast with his homemade rose water kombucha. Like a gameshow model he presented a majestic view of the Pacific Ocean. ""You can't do this with troubled lungs.""
 
""Glorious!"" Ben sampled from the bottle Raj had poured for him down at his garage. Cool, refreshing, floral aromas, gentle lactic bite... ""You should sell this stuff, Raj, seriously. It's amazing.""
 
""Ahh, but I've done the math... The university isn't a bad gig."" Raj laughed at his subtext. Ben did too. 
 
""You're an amazing man, Raj!""
 
""You definitely are too, Ben! So true. So glad we're friends!""
 
--
 
""Mara, this tea is so good. What it is?""
 
""Oooh isn't it goood?! Oregon hemp, tulsi, lavender, chamomile!"" Mara was excitable when it came to tea. ""They call it Slumber Jack over at Fanteastic. They gave me a little sample, I bought 4 ounces. Glad you like it."" They were nearing the bottom of the pot. ""Did you want more?""
 
""No, the company is delightful but I'd like to sit a few minutes, outside. It's so nice. And moonless."" Ben opened the back door to feel the evening air. Not too wet. Not too cool.
 
""Alright then, it's solo popcorn and an old movie for me then?"" Mara kissed Ben and exited into the kitchen.
 
""I won't be long."" Ben shuffled out to the large covered daybed at the edge of the yard, the flowing drapes all tied to their posts, overlooking town below. 
 
It never took him long to reach a deep state of meditation. He bypassed any breath focus or letting go of thoughts. He just slipped right into it.
 
Again. This was unexpected.
 
""We're here."" 
 
""We're here,"" Ben repeated. 
 
Ben let the questions arise naturally. Was this real? Who were they? Why were they contacting him? Did they have a message?
 
""Of course this is real. You know this. You're of perfectly sound mind, which is why we chose you. Who we are is a difficult question. We understand that levels of awareness as we observe them in ourselves, animals, plants, fungi, bacteria can vary considerably. We can imagine that humans are not at the extreme terminal end of this level of awareness, if you can also imagine the broad array of life in the universe. We understand that humans may appear at the level of bacteria to other beings, sufficiently advanced.""
 
None of this was challenging to Ben. He remembered brewing beer in his late teens and marvelling at the colonies of visibly expanding life. How might these yeasts perceive him, if they could? Was he a giant or a god? He felt sad to see millions of dead yeast bodies collecting at the bottom of his carboy.
 
""So, this went well. We're communicating. You're receiving. We will return."" And everything vanished into a pinpoint.
 
His eyes were open. It was late, and chilly. The night was beautiful and more stars shone in the darker sky. As he entered the sliding back door, he saw a gift -- a small covered bowl of popcorn left for him. The lights were out. Mara had gone off to sleep long ago.
 
Ben wasn't hungry but he spent more than a small moment regarding the bowl with a smile. He never tired of these little gestures of love and caring. He felt he had accepted his childhood as simply being different from this. Mara's love and caring filled a hole in Ben's heart she could never fully imagine.
 
--
 
Cora wore the shaved head and flowing robes of a monk. She was Ben's longtime coach and mentor. She normally paced around her expansive office waiting for Ben's questions, and then again pausing to answer. 
 
""Of course hallucinations are possible with meditation, Ben. In some traditions, such as Tibetan Buddhism, they're very well described. Nimitta, a sign, often lights. Some practitioners are tasked with generating them, often with the help of prolonged sensory deprivation. Visions, voices, gods. This is all quite... expected.""
 
""Expected. I definitely wasn't expecting this. I know the mind will fabricate what's it's missing, filling in gaps, jumping to conclusions, or misfiring out of sheer boredom, but these couple events have been quite vivid. Something different.""
 
Ben stopped. And it felt like withholding. He was sure Cora assumed he was protecting himself. Now the pause. 
 
""You shouldn't be worried...""
 
""I'm not worried."" He hadn't let her speak completely, and he was embarrassed. She allowed a long pause for him to consider himself. 
 
Ben discovered he was a bit more fearful of schizophrenia or a psychotic break than he believed he was. He was afraid of what she might have asked. And then she spoke.
 
""You shouldn't be if these are artifacts of meditation - explainable, nothing to be afraid of."" Cora put her fingers together and slowly drew her hands to her chest. ""How do you feel about them?""
 
Ben thought, sighed, shook his head. ""I don't know.""
 
""And that's okay."" It was Cora's leitmotif. ""You may benefit from additional time spent sitting.""
 
Ben repeated the Zen saying, ""'You should sit in meditation about ten minutes per day. Except when you're busy, in which case you should sit for an hour.' I'm not busy, and I don't feel nervous, but I agree. I'll be sitting more. Certainly."" 
--
He'd spent his commute following his headlight, riding the regular route, happy, unconcerned, and easing the urgency he felt after waking to establish contact again. 
 
""Good morning, Dr Walker."" Ivan was the old security officer at the Neuroscience building who'd just buzzed him in. The actual morning wouldn't be for another hour. Dr Walker hurried to the elevators. He had some time before others arrived. As he walked down the hall to his office, he soon arrived at a purpose. He didn't want to be wanting contact. It was about creating his availability. Letting it happen. He was fulfilling a responsibility to follow these events wherever they took him -- without fear or desire to make anything happen.
 
It took longer than usual to settle. Ben took a few long, deep breaths. He felt some beginnings of a deep meditative state, but going deeper was feeling elusive. Something wasn't right. 
 
This happens. A perfect time for a pause, before starting again.
 
He grabbed his matcha from his desk, hot water from the break room, and then off to his favorite morning place in the nearby garden. There was something particularly wonderful about an early morning green tea. Both stimulating and calming. And before his first sip, he felt his place in the natural tea of the morning dew, steeping the fallen needles and leaves in the nearby forest. Why not here?
 
""Why not here?"" A voice repeated. 
 
Ben was already sunk deep in samadhi. Answers were arriving in a single but paradoxical voice of what felt like everyone's.
 
""No, we aren't from another planet. But you might say we're from another world.""
 
""No, we are not gods, though it might feel that way to some humans. We are not something you would understand, but the nearest idea... might be to think of us as gardeners.""
 
""We have a close attachment to your mitochondria which are the alien DNA that supply energy for all plant and animal cells on Earth. We work with chordates, primarily. And fungi.""
 
""We're contacting, intervening to adjust the care of earth.""
 
""We've contacted many others. Most won't answer the call. We're working together. We're all here. It's going to take effort and coordination. We are optimistic.""
 
""Adjustments. We don't control, merely adjust conditions. Adjustments will be how we all bring Earth into balance.""
 
The bowl gong sounded. His timer. But he was slow in coming back, opening his eyes. Very slow. It was a lot to process.
 
--
 
Ben was going to be a minute late to a faculty meeting on the other side of campus. And in came a long text from Mara, while he hustled out to his bike. 
 
""Hey Miel,"" Mara would call him 'honey' in French, ""I'm filling out these medical insurance forms and I'm sorry to bring this up. They're asking for an age of onset for your mother's disease."" The ""disease"" was schizophrenia. Mara was always gentle with him about it.
 
""I was eight years old. Third grade. So she was 33."" Send. Ben observed that there always seemed to be computations. 
 
The soft whir of his bike helmet propeller was slightly louder, slightly higher pitched. But he never rode hard enough to break a sweat around campus. Although he could. He smiled. Eight minutes of ride time.
 
As he snapped his u-lock in place and looked up, he knew something was a little off. As he headed to the Jacobsen glass doors, he noticed more cars in the lot. The doors were closed, instead of propped open as he pushed his way through. A silver-bearded man dressed in an over-sized brown suit greeted him as headed for the door. ""Sir, you're not allowed in there.""
 
""What?"" Ben placed his hand on the door. ""Neuroscience faculty meeting?"" 
 
""It's been canceled, sir. The governor is visiting. You should have received an email,"" the man explained. Ben dropped his hand from the door. The man was quickly joined by another and was slide-stepping in closer to ensure Ben was on his way.
 
""Yeah, sorr--""
 
""Ben!"" It was Raj moving too quickly down the hall. ""You got a few minutes?""
 
""Yea, it looks like I do, Raj. What's up?"" Oversized-suit whispered into his lapel and the other man vanished.
 
""Late summer pruning.""
 
Raj grew too many fruit trees and vines for his busy schedule, but he did his best to care for them. ""Raj, I would love to. You know I love working your orchard. I've just had a mildly chaotic morning and need a little break.""
 
""Lunch at Greens?"" Raj was always there to talk it out. 
 
Ben knew Mara wasn't expecting him, and being with himself was what he needed a break from. ""Yeah, let's roll.""
 
--
 
Ben really did love Raj's orchards. Maybe even more than Raj, because he really cared about them. Raj had the technical know-how, the desire for impressive fruits. Ben had the love. He noticed when a tree was looking ""sad"", and felt when pruning was enough, or too much. Pointing out the differing sizes of several trees and vines, he got Raj to consider a drip irrigation system. 
 
--
 
On his way to Greens, interrupting the delight of Raj fake-seriously pretending to race him, Dr. Benjamin Sukai Walker, suddenly woke up.
 
--
 
At lunch, Raj was there. ""Ben, talk to me. What's been troubling you?"" Raj had a ""comfortably concerned"" pose that was stock photo quality. 
 
""Raj, I was going to engage you in a thrilling story of beings from another dimension and their chordate mitochondria. I'm sure you would have humored me. You're a wonderful friend."" Ben paused and smiled long enough for Raj to chuckle. ""But you know, my mom and my relationship was complicated.""
 
""Understatement. My friend, you've been through a lot. I know your childhood was hard.""
 
Ben smiled. ""My dad helped me through so much. He helped me understand and accept my mom for who she was, even when it was scary or embarrassing. He taught me to never look away from pain or sorrow. That just amplifies it.""
 
""Losing the closeness, caring, and support of your mom at age 8 was hard.""
 
Ben smiled again, the kind with bits of pain on the edges. ""Yes, indeed. It took many years to feel that out. Mara has been so good at helping me through whatever would arise.""
 
""Mara is a saint!"" Raj raised his turmeric and carrot juice in a toast. ""So what about you? How are you feeling?""
 
""I guess I've been worried about myself. My schizophrenia risk was about 10 percent from my mom having it. I quit pot to reduce my odds by half.""
 
Raj knew a fair bit about the topic from his years as a clinician. ""You're well past the typical age of onset in males, and your chances fade every year.""  
 
""I was worried. I have a healthier concern now, I feel. I mean just now. Like 20 minutes ago when you were racing me."" Ben was great at conveying conviction with his hands. ""It was a fear I didn't know I had because I had conditioned myself not to look. It was all wrapped up with the pain associated with my mother's illness and our relationship. Tucked away without my knowing. But now, chorus of angels..."", pointed at Raj.
 
Raj whole-heartedly obliged, ""AAAAHHHHH...,"" hitting a seraphic register.
 
""I can see it!"" Ben shouted, a lot too loudly, in a public place. ""And can accept it if it happens to me! I'm certainly okay if it doesn't! I can help adjust the outcome probabilities, but ultimately, the future is beyond my control. So I do my best with what I can, make adjustments, and let the rest play out as it may.""
 
Raj looked a lot more relaxed. ""My friend. I don't know how you do this. You're incredible. I love you.""
 
""Thank you, Raj. I love you too. And in the meantime, any moment I spent worrying about what happens in the future is senseless and just detracts from the finite time I can enjoy with all the people I love and enjoy."" Ben raised his second wheat grass shot. ""To life, my friend!""
 
""To life!"" 
 
","August 08, 2023 02:24",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,d13ir6,Project Un: The Whisper of the Stars,Samuel Bowen,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/d13ir6/,/short-story/d13ir6/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fantasy']",5 likes,"
	“There are whispers in the stars; A prophecy of things unknown. For the observer, it is chance and circumstance, but to the believer… to the fanatic, it is truth.” - Captain’s log, R. Gunson, Paradigm Prime
 
	Sebi, Daughter of Medai, Daughter of Shura, did not like the desert. Of all the many complaints one could have of the wasteland devoid of pleasantries, Sebi disliked only the solitude. Discomfort, hardship, and danger, these things are unavoidable, but solitude is not. If one is alone, they can find companionship in animals. One can find a strained kinship in the caring of plants if animals cannot be found. It is pathetic to some, but comforting to the one who is avoiding solitude. But there is no life in the desert of Sha-Dy. No beast, no plant, nor even an insect dares to make its presence known in a place like this. A true wasteland of shifting sand. Not even rocks to shelter from the ever changing landscape. 
	The wind sent patterns in the sand like serpents forming runes. Nonsense to any learned Shu-Tal, Sebi thought. Only the fool would attempt to read the sands. A gust of wind pushed the cloth off her face. The desert itself laughed at her, for this was indeed her task. Sent by Shal Ey, Son of Terren, Voice of Heavens to read the words written by no hand. She adjusted the scarf around her neck, feeling the grains of hot sand trickle down her back. She grimaced. Those would leave burns. Yet there was nothing to do about it now. Sebi pulled a thin addition to the scarf over her eyes. The veil blocked the sand, allowing her to try and interpret what she was to learn. 
	Sebi crouched low on the dune overlooking a shifting valley of particles. The moving sand had more of an appearance of an ocean rather than dry land. Sebi strained her focus on the patterns in the sand. Yet nothing made sense. Strains shifted this way and that like a weaver uncertain of what to make. With a grunt of frustration, Sebi turned away and drank from her water skin. Her supply of water was nearly as hot as the day itself, not to mention half gone. She had very little time left to stare at sand before she would have to be concerned about returning home. 
	With the determination of a mother giving birth, she turned and faced the meaningless sand yet again. The sands wandered this way and that, but with a squinted eye they seemed to be moving in unison. Is there meaning in that? Sebi wondered. As she pondered, the strands of sand began to intertwine. Questionable at first, but yes, unmistakable now. Sebi felt heat rise to her face even in the burning rays of the white sun. Her skepticism was replaced by bashful shame at doubting Shal Ey. Perhaps the sands did speak. 
	The strands separated in three segments as if lines on paper. An east wind blew, forming divisions of the segments. Then a south wind blew, brushing strokes upward like peaks of mountains. The east wind carved those peaks into separate shapes. Like shapes of a kaleidoscope made by a child attempting to replicate language, the things did not make sense. Sebi leaned forward, feeling heat rise at her fingertips as she pressed them into the dune. 
	The shapes flickered with each gust of wind, and Sebi did not understand. Until at last, a pattern came to her. She saw a shape and it seemed to her that she had seen it before. Then again. It seemed as if the sand formed into a crudely shaped bird. Wings out and head tilted to its side, the bird kept its beak low. Then the wind came from the south and distorted the image to that of a rune. Like that of a snake with pointed turns, Sebi read in the sands the rune of Un. Her heart jumped and she felt the rush of battle come upon her. Un was a dangerous omen.
	Sebi fought the urge to look away. But the shapes flickered more and more to the rune of Un. The sands spiraled like a tornado intertwining along the ground. Yet countless runes seemed to appear. All the same. Un. Un. Un. They aligned like a constellation. Sebi could feel her wisdom pleading to look away and leave this place, but her loyalty begged her to stay a moment longer. The sands shifted and the constellation formed that of a woman. Not simply any woman. The sand runes spoke of a mother ready for birth. The runes shifted and the mother lost her image and a thing appeared in her arms. This mother held a mountain in her arms. Sebi did not know what this meant, but seared the image in her memory so she could speak of it later. 
	The runes shifted and became the image of a bird. The wings lost it’s feathers and the bird shifted into the image of a warrior. A man with a blade, but no head. The sands shifted and the man’s blade was in his neck. He had wings of a bird and above him formed his head. Slowly it came into being. But at last his head was indeed a skull. Then the sands shifted and became like serpents again. The sands slithered and became as they were before. Disturbed and uncertain, Sebi looked around her and found nothing. 
	“I think,” she said to the desert. “It is time I deliver your message.”
 
	***
 
	Shal Ey sat half undressed by a campfire. He was not intending to be indecent, nor had he forgotten to fully dress himself. Shal Ey may have been unfathomably old, but he was not senile. No, only duty could call him to be as he was; bare chested and painted in tar. Cool air of the evening forced the tar patterns to cling tighter to his loose skin. He would be dead soon, if Sebi did not return. And that thought did not bother him. Shal Ey was old enough to have seen the last of the Unbirthed. Ancient and nearly lost to legend they were. Shal Ey, son of Terren, they called him. The Voice of Heavens, the last speaker to have seen the last Unbirthed. If he was to die, he would do so with honor. 
	Yet the great Shal Ey did worry. He did not mind the thought of death nor of the loss he would be to the stories of the Shu-Tal. Shal Ey worried for the young mother he had sent to consult the sands. It had to be done, he thought. Un-written words to guide us. They had sent the warrior Kela, Son of Gaeth to the Springs of Whispers, yet he brought back nothing. They had sent the young mother Nara, daughter of Fai, to Starpoint, but she spoke of only cloudy skies. Young warrior Hirah, Son of Dak, found the Twisted Tree silent, and so they had sent young mother Sebi, Daughter of Medai to the Valley of Runes. If there was no word from the Desert, then perhaps Shal Ey’s tellings had failed. 
 It was in but a dream, Shal Ey thought, A dream of an old man. At that thought, Shal Ey looked up from the twisting flames of the fire. Sebi stood before him, bowing as all did before the Voice of Heavens. 
	“Voice of Heavens,” Sebi said. “Shal Ey, Son of Terren, I have returned.”
	He gestured for her to sit. She did so.
	“What has Sebi, Daughter of Medai, Daughter of Shura seen from the Valley of Runes?” he said. 
	“I have seen words, Voice of Heavens,” Sebi said. Shal Ey perked up with an eagerness of one glad to be proven wrong.
	“Unwritten words, spoken in images in sand,” She continued. “But I do not know what they mean.”
	Sebi recounted all that she saw. He asked many questions while she spoke and then sat silent taking in the things she had seen. 
	“Shal Ey, Son of Terren,” Sebi said. “What do these mean?”
	Shal Ey smiled. It was a kind smile as he was accustomed to being asked to interpret. Sebi at once relaxed at his smile. She would have her answers.
	“We will have visitors,” he said. “A mother unlike any mother we have met. She will be unexpected and dangerous. And to us, she will be the mother of metal”
	Concern crossed the face of young mother Sebi. 
	“This is what I mean,” Shal Ey said. “You saw a mother formed of runes. yes?”
	Sebi nodded.
	“Un. The rune of that which we do not know and do not understand,” Shal Ey said. “She will be strange to us. She held a mountain in her arms, yes? What do we take from mountains?”
	“Metal?” Sebi guessed.
	Shal Ey nodded. “She will be the mother of metal. What this means, I do not know. The whisper of the stars spoke of the mother of metal and now the sands say she will come.”
	“How do you know this?” Sebi asked, before holding a hand to her mouth. 
	“It is alright, Sebi, Daughter of Medai,” Shal Ey said. “You have questions. It is alright to question.”
	Sebi relaxed again and so Shal Ey continued. “There was a rune you did not know. Ris. The crude bird you described. It is a rune spoken of in many ways, but most commonly to mean guest.”
	A look of understanding passed over Sebi’s face.
	“Yes, A guest will come and it will be this mother who gives birth to metal.” Shal Ey said. “She will not be alone, there was another you saw. A faceless warrior. Of this man I do not know his fate.”
	Sebi frowned. “Is it not death that will come to him?”
	“Perhaps,” Shal Ey said. “But the images in the runes you saw relate to two names within the whisper of the stars. There is the faceless knight who could be your headless warrior. And either he is a guest among death, a traveler among the dead or something else I do not know. Yet the image of neck slain warrior with wings could relate to the other name. The ever dying angel. Perhaps they are the same or perhaps not. I do not know.” 
	Sebi shifted uncomfortably.
	“Yes,” he said. “Even Shal Ey does not understand. But I will say this. The image of the mother was made of Un before and after birth. Perhaps many strange things will happen before she arrives or perhaps she is very strange to us. I do not know. There will also be a faceless knight, what significance is he I do not know. There will be death and a warrior who brings it. Will he bring death for others or for himself I do not know.”
	Sebi was nearly shaking. Was it in fear, anticipation, or anger?
	“What we do know is this. The whisper is coming. There will be many strange things. There will be a mother of metal, a faceless knight, and an ever dying angel. Who they are and what they do is uncertain, but they will come.” 
	“And what are we to do?” Sebi said. Shal Ey smiled another kind smile.
	“We do as the faithful have done before us,” Shal Ey said. “We wait.”
 
","August 08, 2023 21:55",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,jhj8qj,Master of None,Rewa Anand,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/jhj8qj/,/short-story/jhj8qj/,Mystery,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Inspirational', 'Fiction']",5 likes,"
The story began with the first of the messages that Amruta received. It came printed on a crisp, white square of paper, in a crisp, white envelope that bore no clue as to who had sent it in the first place. The print read simply Amruta Jadhav will never be the best at anything she does. At this point, Amruta was only a young girl of twelve. In a small town that had had its fair share of inexplicable events and random instances of magic, the message was taken with the utmost solemnity and was believed without question. And that was before all the other messages. They didn’t always come through the same channels – sometimes they came in the form of a text from an unknown number, or through an anonymous speaker on the radio, and sometimes they were in the form of a fortune teller’s predictions at the town carnival, or though a mysterious call on the large and ancient telephone in the foyer, that no one remembered still worked.
 
But what all the messages had in common was that they were always untraceable and they always carried the same words: Amruta Jadhav will never be the best at anything she does. Navigating her way around the weighty prediction would prove to be tricky in the days to come – at school, half her classmates would take great joy in teasing her, while the other half would offer her their sincere condolences, teachers and trainers would be wary about choosing her first for any competitions or parts, and in little and large ways her life would change, as it is wont to do. 
 
But at age twelve, a bold and bright Amruta treated the whole affair with a great deal of scorn, and took it to be an obvious challenge. “Look,” she said to her family, at the breakfast table, “if there’s one thing that all the books I’ve read and all the movies I’ve watched have taught me, it’s that predictions like this are meant to be thwarted.” She took a thoughtful sip of her berries milkshake and then went on, “I’m going to prove it wrong. I’m going to find something that I can do better than anyone else, and then I’m going to perfect it.” With that firm declaration, she began the first part of her newly changed life. 
 
The first activity that caught Amruta’s interest was dancing. Her school had started a dance club for all its students just that year, and most of her classmates had already signed up for it. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to pick up and hone a new skill, and so, with that motive in mind, Amruta joined the club alongside all her friends. The young girl started her lessons with high hopes and an innate love for learning new things, and her first few sessions went exceedingly well. Amruta would spend the evenings dancing to all her favorite songs with her best friends, feeling happy, and energized, and positively brimming with enthusiasm. But it became clear to her a few months into the lessons that dancing simply wasn’t something that she would ever master. She knew that her honest enjoyment came out in the way she moved, turning it into something lively and open, but despite her best efforts, she just wasn’t able to refine the steps to any of her dance sequences. 
 
This meant that while Amruta had turned out to be quite a good dancer, she would never be the best in her batch, and so she immediately and abruptly gave the skill up. After some consideration, she decided to turn her attention to badminton next. Every weekend without fail she would sling her racquet over her shoulder, and set off for the town club with her dad, where they would then proceed to play for hours together. This went on for a good few months, and Amruta even chose badminton to be her extracurricular activity at school, so that she could work on all the techniques that she hadn’t yet picked up. But, somewhere along the line, she began to feel certain that the sport wasn’t meant to be a talent by which she could be known. This suspicion was proven correct just a few weeks later, by the mini advertisement printed on the box of cereal that her mum bought for her. In eye-catching, multicolored letters it said, Amruta Jadhav will never be the best at anything she does. 
 
Over the course of the next few years, Amruta tried her hand at every sport, skill and art form she could think of. She learned chess at thirteen, she learned to swim at fourteen, and at fifteen she learned to crochet, and at sixteen she tried her luck with drama, but none of it stuck. Every time she would start something new, hopeful and determined, she would realize that while she was passably good at it, she would never be the absolute best. And what good was that? Amruta longed to be someone, to be known for something – she wanted to be the best artist in her class, or to win awards in story writing, or to be a champion footballer, and she just couldn’t see the point in continuing with anything when she felt certain that it couldn’t carry her all the way to the finish line. And so she kept trying one thing after another, with an increasing sense of desperation and a need to prove all the numerous messages wrong. 
 
Finally, in the months leading up to her seventeenth birthday, Amruta began to wonder, with a sense of great horror at the prospect, if it was simply the time to give up. Her birthday, when it dawned, turned out to be an exceptionally bright and sunny day in an obvious nod to the irony of her life. After spending most of the morning avoiding people and sulking in quiet, unobtrusive corners of the house, Amruta made her way to her mother’s room, in search of some company. “Hi, sweetheart,” her mum greeted her, looking up from the screen of her laptop and dimpling her cheeks, “what brings you here?” Amruta flung herself into a chair near her mother’s own and groaned. “Oh, not having a very good day, then?” Her mother asked, furrowing her brows in concern. Amruta straightened up and shook her head, “Of course not! I mean, did you see what the icing on my birthday cake spelled out?” 
 
Her mother gave a wry smile, “That prediction, yes. And after your baba spent so much time trying to get the people at the bakery to spell your name right.” That made Amruta crack a smile, but it slipped quickly off her face as she prepared herself for her next words. “Do you think I should stop trying so hard to fight this prophecy?” She asked, finally. Her mother’s eyes widened in surprise, “What? Why do you want to stop?” Amruta gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know,” she said, “It just feels like none of it is helping. Over the last five years, I’ve tried so many different things, I’ve been to so many different classes. I’ve played football, and squash, I’ve learned to skate and I’ve learned how to sketch, I’ve tried acting and I’ve tried singing too, and I’m just not the best at any of them!” She paused to take a breath. “So, what’s the point?” she concluded, feeling miserable. 
 
Her mother didn’t say anything for a moment, and then she put aside her laptop. “Sweetheart,” she said and then stopped to shake her head. “You know, if you were anyone else I would have told you that the whole point is just to have fun. To enjoy what you do and to make that your whole reason for doing it. But I know that you do have fun doing almost everything you do, and that that’s still not enough. Am I right?” Amruta nodded in agreement. Her mother smiled and leaned forward to take both her hands in her own. “So, what does someone like you do, when they can’t be the best at anything?” Amruta just stared at her in incomprehension. Her mother laughed, “They get really good at everything! Amruta, I’ve been watching your progress over these past few years, and sweetheart you have learned so many new things! You just said it, didn’t you? Badminton, and singing, and dancing, and crochet; so much. And you’ve got so good at so many of these things because you’ve just been trying so hard.” She grinned, “So, who cares if you’re not the best at any one of these skills, when you’re the best at just knowing so many!” 
 
Amruta realized that she was smiling too, in relief and a different, hopeful kind of happiness. It felt like she had been looking at everything wrong for such a long time, and her worldview had suddenly and dramatically been changed in the course of just one conversation. “Thank you,” She managed, “You’re right.” She shook her head in realization. “Wow. I have picked up quite a few skills in just five years, huh?” She said with a laugh. “Yes, well, don’t let it get to your head!” Her mother teased, smiling back at her. Her phone buzzed, and Amruta plucked it out of her pocket and unlocked it. It was a notification from her weather app: Amruta Jadhav will never be the best at anything she does, against the background of a sunny, blue sky. It didn’t feel like a challenge anymore, it felt like a win. “And so I’ll just get really good at everything.” She said, and that’s how Amruta’s story changed once more, and this time on her terms. 
","August 09, 2023 13:07",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,okc3pw,Live-Stream ,Paris Rome,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/okc3pw/,/short-story/okc3pw/,Mystery,0,"['Thriller', 'Suspense']",5 likes,"
	Arabella tapped her keyboard, her computer screen lighting up as she plopped in her chair. “Another long streaming night…” She muttered under her breath, opening Discord and Twitch. She clicked on her microphone, “Hey guys, welcome back to my stream. Today we’ll just be chilling and doing random things today.” She’d shrug, smiling as she joined a Discord Call. Her gaze would glance over to her comments every once in awhile, seeing stuff such as:
 
@blueskys: These streams are always so relaxing! 🥰
@panda954: since when was ur hair blu?
@arabellafan4life: ily arabella! I’ll never miss 1 of ur streams, i’m ur biggest fan 4everrrrrr❤️
	She’d snicker a bit, turning back to her call as the green rings around her friends’ profile pictures lit up and then disappeared. “Hey Ara, can you send me the link to the Minecraft server again? My computer keeps deleting words…” Arabella sighed, “Y’know T- you should probably get a new computer. If you keep that another year, allllll your info will probably be leaked.” She crossed her arms, leaning back in her navy blue office chair. A loud beep came from her computer, making Arabella jump. “Who could be messaging me now-” She read an anonymous message saying “check ur stream chat.”
@sk8trboy: this stream is so boring- unsubbing.
@arabellafan4life: don't be talking like that to her you emo
@panda954: guys this stream is meant to be chill cut it out
sk8trboy has left the stream
[host] @ara_bella: stop bullying people out of stream, not cool chat
	Arabella sighed, looking over to her phone, seeing it vibrate from a call. “One sec chat.” She clicked her microphone off, muting herself and turning her video off. “Hello?” She put her phone to her ear. 
“Hello.” A filtered voice spoke. “Is this by any chance, Arabella Silvam?”
	Arabella quickly hung up, “Probably just a spam call..” She turned her microphone and camera back on. “I’m back chat!” She smiled, playing with stuff on her desk. 
@arabellafan4life: r u alright? those hckers better 👀out
	Arabella would read the comment quickly, then noticing a donation pop up on her screen.
$5 DONATION: @rolls_roice: hey I rcntly got COVID-19 and lost my taste, so i can watch ur streams!
	She looked confused at first, then realizing what the person meant. “Uh- okay?” She laughed awkwardly, turning to a knock she heard on her window. “One sec again chat...” Arabella got up, climbing onto her bed to look out the window. “Phew..” She’d sigh out of relief, walking back to her chair and plopping down. 
@rolls_roice: hey ngl it looked like someone was hiding by the side…😥
@panda954: not 2 side with ppl but yea, i totes agree
@arabellafan4life: omg make sure your doors are locked omg omg 😭😭😭
@rolls_roice: calm down 
@arabellafan4life: afk guys
	Arabella let out a shaky breath, getting up and locking her bedroom door. “I can’t be disturbing anyone, it’s like midnight here...” She sat back down in her chair, tucking her knees to her chest. “I’ll be fine guys, trust.” She wrapped one finger around the other. “Besides- I have a pocket-knife right here.” She picked it up, waving it around slightly. “Hey Terrance, whatcha wanna do?” Arabella leaned back in her chair.  Terrance said in a slight singing tone, “I am so bored I could try to recode Tetris...” Terrance groaned, the sound of his chair squeaking as he spun in circles. Arabella raised an eyebrow, “I thought the saying was ‘I’m so bored, I could watch paint dry,’ or is that an American thing?” “I’m not sur-” Terrance would be cut off. “Hey, I gotta take this call really quick.” Arabella answered the call, muting herself and turning her camera off. 
	“Is this the Arabella Silvam I was speaking to before? I’m at your front door. Answer me.” The filtered voice would speak again, making Arabella freeze. She hung up, throwing her phone onto her bed quickly, as she ran to lock everything possible, also shutting every blind she could find. “Okay- chat, I need you to leave the stream if you see someone that isn’t me-walk around my room. Got it?” She clicked her microphone on.  Terrance suddenly spoke, “Hey Ara, I gotta go eat breakfast-I have an early shift at Starbucks. See ya.” A beep blasted as he left.
 
	A loud CLASH came from outside of her door, making Arabella visibly jump. “Chat- chat, don’t do anything stupid.” She turned her microphone off, and what she believed was her video. Arabella got up with her pocket-knife, switching the blade out as she huddled in the corner of her room, preparing to fight for her life. A hard hit shook her door, making Arabella quiver. Loud bangs hit her door over and over, finally cracking the wood of her door onto the floor.  “Arabella!” A tall, yet skinny boy crawled through the crack in her door, singing her name. “Guess who’s here!” The boy smiled, turning to her in the corner. “Who…are…you?” Arabella would shake but grip her knife tightly. The boy’s eye twitched. “You don’t remember me? Well, of course you don't. You’ve never actually talked to me, or, in my case, acknowledged me.” The boy narrowed his eyes, walking closer.  “It’s me, from fourth period? Quinn?” Arabella grimaced, ready to throw hands- or in this case- throw knives.
 
	 “Come on…just come with me and we’ll talk about this. I won’t hurt you unless I have to.” “No!” Arabella swung her knife, jumping out of the way. “Don’t come any closer!” She walked into her bed. “Arabella, don’t make this difficult.” The boy narrowed his eyes. “Don’t talk to me like I know you! Ugh!” She swung her knife repeatedly, then feeling a sudden jolt. Arabella had stabbed him, but he took her knife out of him, using it. “Quinn, I- I’m so sorry…” She watched as Quinn readied the knife, but couldn’t move any closer. “Arabella…how could you..” He whispered as he fell to her floor. 
 
		Arabella panicked, wanting to scream for help. She then glanced at her computer screen, seeing her camera was on. “Chat…I didn’t-” She glanced at the comments.
 
@panda594: WHO WAS THAT!? OMG ARE YOU OKAY!?
@rolls_roice: what the actual hell 👀
@sk8trboy: i left for thirty minutes and came back to find this? -
@panda594: GUYS SEND HELP THERE! SHE COULD BE HURT!!!! 
 
	“I-” Arabella scrambled for her phone, ending the stream. 
	“911, what is your emergency?” An operator spoke calmly.
	“I didn’t mean to- I swear.”
 
","August 11, 2023 00:07",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,0oxk5z,The Sound of Light,Eric Schrag,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0oxk5z/,/short-story/0oxk5z/,Mystery,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Christian', 'Speculative']",5 likes,"
THE SOUND OF LIGHT
by: Eric Schrag
 
Part 1 – 
 
DO you remember the movie Contact? I owe a lot to Carl for writing that story. It’s all because of the leading star (pun intended), Ellie, that I became a radio astronomer.
The movie came out around the time I was a teenager, and I had better things to do than watch a sci-fi drama. It looked like it was going to be a slow and boring love story with a little outer space sprinkled in. But my girlfriend at the time was obsessed with Matthew McConaughey, so she dragged me to the theater to see it on the big screen.
I am so glad she did though. It changed my life!
Like I said, I was a teenager. And like most teenagers, I had no idea what job I wanted to do when I graduated. But as soon as that movie ended, I knew what I was going to be.
As I walked her home after our evening movie date, I told Theresa my big plans to study astronomy. She just chuckled warmly and reminded me that I said the same thing after we watched Karate Kid together as children.
Yes, we’ve known each other that long… and yes, I did end up studying karate, thank you very much. But so did she; and she turned out to be way better at it than me... mostly because she stuck with it, while I quit after the first few lessons. I jokingly called her “Danielle San” one time… and only one time. When I made the wisecrack, she hadn’t quite learned the discipline involved in the art yet. I thought it was clever, but she smarted me but good for it!
Theresa and I had been neighbors since elementary school, and our parents took turns babysitting each other’s kids every now and then. Whenever we ended up at my house, I chose the movies. The good ones.
As we moseyed along the old fashioned, lamp lit, cobblestone street leading into our cul-de-sac, reminiscing the nostalgia of the good old days, Theresa went on to recall how I wanted to be an archaeologist after seeing Indiana Jones for the first time, then a paleontologist when Jurassic Park came out a few years before the conversation we were having right then.
“I’m serious this time Theresa,” I persuaded, “This isn’t one of those childish fantasies. I’m determined this time. I am going to be a radio astronomer!”
“Okay, okay,” she relented. “It certainly would be a fitting occupation for you, considering your name.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused. “I was named after a Roman god… or a Greek one… one of those anyway.”
“Most of the heavenly bodies were named after myths and lore in some form or another. Perseus is also the name of a group of stars. It’s actually one of my favorites,” she turned her head and smirked at my reaction. “Not because it’s your name, but because of how the constellation looks… to me anyway. Come on. I’ll show you.”
She cradled my arm tightly in hers and pulled me through the row of trees that lined the sidewalk and we strolled into the empty field to our right. Each step took us farther from the streetlights and further into the darkness. During the day, the park is bustling with activity: ultimate Frisbee, soccer, baseball, football, picnickers; but our neighborhood is relatively quiet and peaceful, so no one really goes there after dark to cause trouble or do things that other people might do in the dark.
“Why haven’t we ever come here at night before?” I asked. And, although the darkness hid my mischievous grin, I knew she caught my drift. I also knew that I would never get that lucky because Theresa was a Christian and was ‘saving herself’ for marriage. But that made her all the more appealing to me, and I was willing to respect her wishes because I was planning to be that guy.
“Get your mind out of the gutter!” she exclaimed in mock disgust, then pointed directly overhead. “You see that kind of hook right there? And the trapezoid-looking body? And the arch coming out of the back?”
The way she described it was so apt that I immediately found was she was pointing at. “I do see it! Wow! That’s me?” I jested.
“That’s Perseus,” she confirmed, ignoring my vanity. “It’s supposed to look like the hero who lopped off the head of Medusa, but to me it looks more like a winged horse flying in that direction,” she motioned with her hand, “In my opinion, it actually looks more like Pegasus than that square there,” she nonchalantly pointed a little lower down in the western sky. “Do you see what I’m talking about?”
I verified that I did, in fact, see what she was implying. And from that point on, I was unable to picture anything else. Perseus was forever cemented in my brain as a flying horse galloping toward the east.
She continued her impromptu lesson on the constellations, but I was transfixed. The last thing I heard of the conversation was her almost whispering in a soft, awed voice, “God sure is amazing to have created all this for us.”
 
Part 2 – 
 
YOU know what the craziest thing is? That was the last thing I ever heard her say. She literally died the next day in a freak car accident, and her words have haunted me to this day, “God sure is amazing…” Yeah right. If He was so amazing, why did He let her die? Out of all the people in the world, why’d He have to take her? I can’t believe in a God like that.
But I digress. You wanted to know how I ended up here at this tedious job working at the ‘Square Kilometer Array’ listening for little green men. Well, that’s how it happened. I was just one of the fortunate few who were chosen to man this monster of a radio telescope.
“That’s… quite a story,” my intern for the evening, Suugii remarked, finally breaking the silence—both from the lull in my monologue and the telescope speakers, “I’m sorry to hear that. She sounded like a really nice girl.”
 Sugawari was usually the chatterbox of the bunch. I think she was fluent in about ten different languages, and could converse with anyone in our close-knit group, in their own native tongue. But tonight, she let me do the talking. And, since it was just the two of us left in the building, I poured my heart out. It was the first time I’d done that in I don’t know how long. It was somewhat therapeutic to get it all off my chest. And, I have to admit, for as much talking as Suugii normally does, I was rather impressed with her attentive listening skills. I guess it comes with the territory.
As far as interns go, Sugawari was top of the line. I barely had to teach her anything. She effortlessly slid into the position and hardly needed any oversight. But since tonight seemed to be slow and uneventful, I gave her the option to leave early. She jumped at the opportunity, and was out the door before I could even look up from changing frequencies on the modulator.
Now that I was alone with my thoughts of bygone days—or more accurately, nights—I adjusted the coordinates so the array would point toward my namesake. As I waited for the excessively long period of time it takes for a kilometer’s-worth of telescopic antennae to turn, I went outside to enjoy the crisp evening air.
The humming of the servos spinning on their axes filled the otherwise peaceful expanse around me. I gazed up, instantly spotting the winged horse leaping across the southeastern sky, and my mind drifted to what could have been, what might have been, if things were different.
God sure is amazing to have created all this for us. The soft words replayed in my mind.
“Please,” I harrumphed, and stormed back inside expecting my footsteps on the tile floor to be the only sound I would hear. But they weren’t.
There was a low, oscillating tone reverberating from the speakers. It gradually rose in pitch, then fell abruptly, then slowly rose again in a slightly different tone. The sequence repeated three times before it completely faded out and the room went deathly silent.
I dashed over to the phone and dialed Suugii’s number. Hopefully, she hadn’t gotten too far yet… and still had cell service. This was big! I needed someone else here to verify these findings.
 
Part 3 – 
 
“BELIEVE me, I’m just as stunned as you are. What do you think it could be? A pulsar?” Sugawari admitted as we played back the sequence for the umpteenth time.
“Not a pulsar. The pitch is too low, and the duration is too drawn out. Maybe radio waves?” I responded skeptically.
 
“It’s coming from too far away to be anything sent from Earth. Could it be CBR?” she asked, but before I could reply, she corrected herself, “No. Cosmic Background Radiation would sound more like static, wouldn’t it? From the images I’ve seen, that’s what it looks like it would sound like.”
“Perhaps they’re radio waves coming from another planet? An alien world? Could you imagine? We’d be the first people to hear a message from another intelligent species,” I wondered aloud.
We brainstormed for the next few minutes, and I began taking notes on the facts of the matter.
 
1) Low pitch
2) Long duration
3) Triple sequence of varying tones
4) Too far to have from Earth
 
“Doppler effect!” Suugii cried out, startling me into streaking my pencil across the paper. “It’s far away right? Well, the farther away it is the more the bandwidth would be stretched. So the tones would be longer and lower than they normally should be.”
“Good thinking. You’re right! Let’s speed up the playback and see if that does anything,” I said excitedly, mind racing as I prepared myself for what we might hear next.
Hhhooo Eeee Hhhiiiiiaaayyyaaaavvv
The enigmatic tones exuded from the speakers, bounced off the walls, and echoed back to our ears. It was such an eerie sound that I was reluctant to play it again, but I knew I had to.
Hhhooo Eeee Hhhiiiiiaaayyyaaaavvv
“Maybe that’s ‘Hello’ in some alien language?! You know a bunch of languages, don’t you Suugii? Does that sound familiar to you?” I joke.
After a long pause, she made a statement that completely caught me off guard. “Actually… it does sound like a language I’ve heard. But it sounds like it’s back masked.”
“Say what now?”
“Back masked, like it’s being played in reverse.”
“I know what back masking is. There were a couple songs I’ve heard when I was a kid that did that. There were random bits in the song that, if you played them backwards, would have some sort of subliminal message hidden in them.”
“Well, perhaps that’s what this is. Maybe the aliens are transmitting subliminal messages to us while we sleep?” Sugawari said, tongue in cheek.
I set up the playback so the output would be in reverse and pressed enter.
Vvvaaaayyyiiiiiaaahh eeee ooohhh
“Can you clean up the distortion a bit more?” she asked.
I did so, and replayed the audio.
Vaya He Oh
“Via… he… oh?” I attempted to repeat what I just heard, baffled.
“That can’t be right,” Suugii commented. “Play it again… please.”
Vaya He Oh
Sugawari just sat there, dumbstruck. “Again!”
Vaya He Oh
“What is it? Do you know what it says?” I enquired, almost impatiently.
“I know what language this is,” she said somberly.
I can’t contain myself anymore. “Well? What language is it? Can you translate it?”
“It really is the strangest thing. The language is… Hebrew!”
“Okay?! And…?”
“It says…, ‘Let there be light!’”
","August 11, 2023 12:12","[[{'Harini Leninraj': 'I love the up mood in this story. Never got bored until the end. Great job!', 'time': '06:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Eric Schrag': ""Thank you Harini. I'm glad you enjoyed The Sound of Light :-) I had a fun time writing it."", 'time': '01:19 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Eric Schrag': ""Thank you Harini. I'm glad you enjoyed The Sound of Light :-) I had a fun time writing it."", 'time': '01:19 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,oxahdv,The Lost Message,Henrry Peinella,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/oxahdv/,/short-story/oxahdv/,Mystery,0,['Science Fiction'],5 likes,"
Albert and I have been thinking, researching, and experimenting with the strange artifact in the laboratory.  I am starting to feel tired of this place. We’re still stuck on the problem and while we've deciphered most of it, this particular part seems to be crucial in understanding the entire thing. Suddenly, an alarm goes off.
 
 
“What is that?” I ask. I’ve never heard that alarm before–I didn’t even know we had one.
“Ah, ignore it,” responds Albert in his characteristic way.
“And that buzz?”
“Don’t know. Ignore it.”
I do and continue typing on my computer. After some time, the alarm stops for a moment and then goes off again. I wake up immediately.
 
 
The clock on the wall marks 3:34 a.m. The transmitter is buzzing. I look at it, and though the brightness of the screen makes me squint, I can see it’s Albert who’s calling. He said he would not call unless something very important happened, so I snap to my senses right away. At this point, I am a bit distraught. “There’s no way,” I say in a half-asleep voice before picking up.
 
 
“Yes?”
“Bill, you gotta come right now.”
“Do you have it now?”
There is some silence. “I think I do.”
 
 
When I enter the room, I find Albert at his desk, frantically alternating between his computer and his notebook.
 
 
“Albert?” I exclaim.
He doesn’t turn. “All the AIs have thrown similar results. Take a look.”
“What are all those weird characters?”
“I’m guessing they’re numbers… maybe.”
“Numbers?”
“Yeah, numbers.”
“What if they’re dates?”
“Yeah, that’s a possibility. We’ll have to wait.”
“Did you feed the machines with them?”
“I did, and maybe we’ll get an answer in a couple of hours.” He stands up and starts wandering around the room. “Oh my God, Bill. I can’t wait!” It’s very unusual to see him this excited. In fact, I have never seen him like this before. “I cannot believe humanity waited all this long to get this thing deciphered. Bill, do you get how fortunate we are? No one, absolutely no one has ever been able to figure this out.”
 
 
 
 
***
 
 
 
 
The Lost Message, as it’s been referred to throughout the years, resembles a sleek, metallic slab. Its surface emits a subtle glow and displays an intricate language or code that lacks a clear structure or pattern. It has a unique texture; upon touch, you can feel an odd mixture of smoothness and subtle ridge. Its exact dimensions are 8.2 inches x 5.6 inches x 0.923 inches. It’s a very light object, weighing 0.356 pounds.
It was discovered thousands of years ago by the first human beings to ever walk on this planet. Nevertheless, the exact date of its appearance and origins remain completely unknown. Throughout history, this object has been mentioned in the writings, books, and documents of the greatest philosophers and scientists. Furthermore, it has been depicted in cave paintings in various parts of the world. Yet, it remains uncertain whether there are multiple replicas or parts belonging to it. Despite extensive research and expeditions, no other similar objects or related pieces have been found. Hence, it is widely assumed that this enigmatic artifact, referred to by many cultures throughout history, is a single, one-of-a-kind object.
Experts from diverse fields have tirelessly attempted to unravel its mysteries but to no avail. Entire schools have been dedicated to this peculiar artifact. The Romans, in particular, were consumed by their obsession with it. When the object fell into their territory, they became determined to learn more about its origins and significance. They allocated a substantial portion of their entire funding during a significant part of their reign to explore its secrets. Additionally, a considerable part of their budget was allocated to safeguarding it from potential theft. It was considered sacred to them.
During the Inquisition, the Catholic Church tried everything to disappear this object, as rumors of its connection to the devil began to circulate. However, they were futile attempts since, even to this day, the object seems to be indestructible. In desperation, the Church decided to cast it away, placing it on one of the embarks heading to Asia, with the hope of removing it from Europe entirely. From that point on, the object wandered from place to place across the globe until it eventually found its way to the Americas. Here, it has become the focus of extensive research and examination in some of the largest universities and scientific institutions across the United States.
 
 
 
 
***
 
 
 
 
“What if it is a message from God?”
“Well, we’re about to find out.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Why would I be?”
“What if it is something bad?”
“Whatever it is we won’t back out now, Bill. It’s us who have discovered the last piece of the puzzle. It’s us, who will see the mysteries this thing holds before anyone else. I don’t care about anything else.” He finishes writing something down. “Come on, let’s get a coffee and clear our minds for a bit until it’s done.”
 
 
 
 
***
 
 
 
 
Upon our return, a message has been produced, but it is not what we expected, but even after some analysis we could not find a failure or malfunction in the algorithms.
“What if it’s not the real message?”
“No, no, no. It is. It has to.” Albert’s mood is distressed. After a pause he continues, “It is. It didn’t throw gibberish. The message makes perfect sense, and, if you asked me, coming from this thing, I think it makes perfect sense…. And even if it wasn’t, what are we supposed to do now? Try to decode this shit from the beginning and flush thousands of years of research right down the toilet? Not happening. This is what it is, and we are the first to know. Period.”
 
 
There is no doubt about what the message states because what Albert says is right; it didn’t produce a nonsense combination of letters. Everything is perfectly readable. How can that be a mistake?
 
 
“What do we do now? Do I call the general director so he can contact the government and arrange the release?”
Albert sighs. He looks tired, worried, and anxious.“Yes. Let everyone know about it.”
 
 
 
 
***
 
 
 
 
The room has been properly set up for the occasion. Several lines of chairs are arranged in rows, distributed in two columns. The big screen at the front displays the company logo. The President, James K. Patterson, enters the room accompanied by other two men whom I presume are members of his Cabinet; they are then followed by other important people. The President seems happy, eager to know about what might be the unraveling of the biggest mystery in history. He greets Mark Tarasov, the CEO. They exchange a few words and then he is invited to have a seat in the first row of chairs, right at the front. More people start to fill the room. Albert and I are in the front, waiting for everybody to settle in so we can begin the disclosure. Everybody looks very happy and excited. I am nervous. Albert, on the other hand, looks calm, and thoughtful, with his eyes fixed straight ahead, and his hands behind his lower back.
 
 
Mr. Tarasov begins with a brief speech and then indicates for us to continue with the information. Albert takes over.
 
 
“Thank you, everyone, for gathering here today. At Athemis Corp we are incredibly proud of…”
 
 
The room falls into complete silence, and eager smiles spread across the faces of the audience.
 
 
""As you know, this is a collective effort of humanity. It doesn’t solely belong to us…""
 
 
Some in the audience lean forward, their eyes wide with curiosity.
 
 
“Einstein, one of the greatest geniuses the world has ever seen, he alone was able to…”
 
 
Their faces animated with a mix of wonder and anticipation.
 
 
“Thousands of years of relentless research, but now, finally…”
 
 
Smiles adorn their lips, revealing a great sense of excitement. Their gaze shift between the two of us and the screen.
 
 
""Before we proceed, I want to give you a heads-up that this might not unfold as we expected. We are already re-running another interaction, however…""
 
 
You could notice the enthusiasm in their corporal language and facial expressions.
 
 
Finally, a three-paragraph message is displayed on the screen. I could see the drastic change on their faces as the smiles begin to fade. Concentration turns into confusion, excitement into worry, and silence into mumbling and muttering as they start speaking to one another in clear uneasiness. As expected, there are lots of questions and comments on this.
 
 
“Is this true? Why are we supposed to believe this?”
“So it means it’s over?”
“What if the machine is wrong?”
“We are hundreds of years behind, how is that possible?”
“What is the source of this then?”
“Aren’t there any more pieces? What about on other planets?”
“With all due respect, I think this is total bullshit, and I am going to wait until the second iteration confirms that.”
“If it’s real, we’re doomed.”
""Not everyone will be able to escape, and those who do will eventually die in space.""
“Do you guys have an idea of the panic this will cause in the public?”
 
 
 
 
***
 
 
 
 
5 years later.
 
 
There is chaos. People doing riots. People attacking other people. Nothin’ matters now, you could hear them saying. I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like. We all are going to die anyways.
Children crying. People committing suicide. Others praying. Others cursing heavily at God.
Towns near special centers beholding hundreds of space shuttles taking off to space to never come back; saying goodbye to what was once their home.
 
 
 
 
***
 
 
 
 
2 months later.
 
 
A massive spaceship approaches Earth. It’s so immense–half the size of Earth–that the blue color of the sky is replaced by the black-silver of the spaceship, and the daylight becomes dimmer. The colossal presence can be felt in the air as the wind suddenly surges in intensity. However, the spaceship remains floating in space, very close to the Exosphere. Whatever or whoever may come out of that spaceship will find only destruction and remnants of what was once a naive civilization that believed themselves to be advanced, but in reality were thousands of years behind and poorly prepared for what they should have been prepared for a long long time ago.
 
","August 07, 2023 05:55","[[{'Ken Cartisano': 'Good story. Well written.', 'time': '05:46 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,bvltmt,AN EMBROIDERY FROM THE STARS,Mara Masolini,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bvltmt/,/short-story/bvltmt/,Mystery,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Science Fiction']",4 likes,"
 AN EMBROIDERY FROM THE STARS
 
 
Greta had a quiet, serene, and rather lonely life. She lived alone after having married twice and been divorced as many. Her three children were now adults and lived in other cities. Marisa, the youngest, had been living abroad for years.
Since she had retired ___he had been a  music teacher in a high school____ Greta devoted herself to gardening ___her oriental roses were a rarity, and, of course, to music. She played the piano and the violin.
 Greta loved walking at night, especially in the summer in her town ) park, which had the name of a Goddess, Minerva. It was an August night, Greta, while was walking in the park she found herself immersed in the glitter of the rain of shooting stars. What joy, what peace, what splendor! “ When you see a shooting star, MAKE A WISH, and your wish will come true” they had always told her. Oh, but she was now seeing so many shooting stars and she was having trouble making a wish for every star she saw falling.” And yet, come on, you had to make ( to express) at least one wish, “ she said herself. It was then that she began to feel light touches on her back.  They were light taps that followed thickly on the center of her back and that caused her a tingling. The touches looked like taps made with a point of a pin. Greta dazed, touched her back and she felt light stings, almost caresses, on her hand. “ Is it possible that the shooting stars are falling on me?” she wandered a little afraid but also delighted. 
Then she felt a heavier ( stronger) blow on her back and she fell to the ground. The tapping stopped and she saw a red arrow appear in the sky pointing northwest, towards the bright kite of stars with glittering ( dazzling) Arturo. It appeared to her as if in a flash and vanished at once. Greta felt an itch on her hands but in the moonlight, she could see no nick, no mark on them. 
It was only when she was home and she was getting ready for bed that she had the surprise. What a surprise! Incredible! On the back of her blouse, there was a kind of embroidery made of very tiny holes. With the tiny holes were drawn a triangle, a stylized rose, and a vertical line that ended with a question mark. Who, what had drawn that sort of riddle on her blouse? Might it have been shooting stars? Greta remembered the red arrow that had appeared in the sky for a moment when the tapping  had stopped and she was lying on the ground .
“ This is A MESSAGE” her friend Peter, to whom she showed it, said to her.
“ A message FROM WHOM? You don’t want to start talking about extraterrestrials now, do you?”
 “ My dear, the universe is infinite. It is not possible that we are the only inhabitants of the universe” said Peter.
“ I think this too. But even admitting the existence of other inhabitants of the universe, can you tell me WHY they would have chosen me to send what you call A MESSAGE?”
“ Maybe because you were walking in the park at night”
“ I saw that there were other people in the park. WHY ME?”
“Maybe they chose you because you are a musician. They could have listened to you while you played piano or violin…Look that I think and many like me that music is also capable of communicating with the other unknown inhabitants of the universe”
“ Of course, music is so subtle, ethereal that…it can reach the stars. It makes me think that while I was listening to it or playing it my music could have reached other unknown inhabitants of the universe” Greta was fascinated by that possibility.
“ WHY NOT? It is possible” Peter said “ But THEY sent you a drawn message that looks like an embroidery made with very small holes….it is a matter of deciphering it”
“ Oh, what a feat! I’m not capable of it. For me it remains AN ENIGMA” said Greta who, however, came to think of Schumann’s The Pilgrimage of the Rose….The rose that asks to become a girl to know the love and then dies to become a rose again….
Peter strongly believed not only in the existence of other intelligent beings in the universe but was also sure that they had already made contact with humans. He showed the drawing or embroidery on Greta’s blouse to circles of Astronomy enthusiasts and ufologists. The photo of the drawing was also published on the first page of newspapers and shown on television. The extraterrestrials had made contact with humans! Interpretations or rather attempts to decipher THE MESSAGE were unleashed. There were those who said the triangle indicated GOD, LORD OF THE WHOLE UNIVERSE, who even said that its vertex to the North indicated the presence of God in the universe ( the place WHERE God was in the universe), who said that it indicated an OTHER GOD than that of humans, God of whom had sent the message, and then who said that instead, it indicated the planet or star where the message came from, and who said that the triangle indicated the human beings to whom the message, ending with a question mark, was addressed. WHAT WAS THE QUESTION that those unknown inhabitants of the universe addressed to the humans?
Under the triangle was THE ROSE…..and there was an avalanche of interpretations also about the rose. Sure, the many meanings of THE ROSE to humans were known, but what did the rose mean to the extraterrestrials? What did they mean or ask by sending the guilted drawing of a rose?
“ Think, it is possible there is another planet, who knows how far away from us, where roses bloom like on Earth”, Peter said enraptured.
“ I prefer ( would like) to think of a small planet where ONLY ONE ROSE booms ( exists), like that of The Little Prince” Greta said, with a dreaming look. ( looking dreamily at the sky).
“ Yes, and that single rose is very important for the care it had required from the Little Prince,” said Peter chanting as if to make fun of her.
Among all the interpretations that were given of the rose Greta liked to imagine a planet, big or small, where roses grew with difficulty, and for this very reason they had great importance and value. And that the inhabitants of that unknown and very distant planet with their message had wanted to signify their FRIENDSHIP towards the humans and ask humans to reciprocate their friendship. 
Greta’s oriental roses were also a rarity. They didn’t grow in every garden and needed a lot of care. They were magnificent, with white petals mottled with blue and embellished with a golden border. She gave them, her priceless roses, only to her true friends.
One night after playing Chopin’s Nocturnes Greta was walking in the park holding one of her oriental roses in her hands and singing: “ With a rose you came to find me/ with a rose I come to you…..
And the rose from her hands flew into the sky advancing into the infinite space.
 
 
 
","August 12, 2023 03:28",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,8jpvyy,Violation,Retro Bolic,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8jpvyy/,/short-story/8jpvyy/,Mystery,0,"['Mystery', 'Funny']",4 likes,"
“You have seven days.”
 
Scratched onto a stone cube, seven of them dropped off on every continent (it took a while for people to find the one in Antarctica).
 
“You have seven days.”
 
Naturally, humans immediately took to fear. The messages were written in human language, but the material of the stone was alien.
 
“It’s clearly a threat!” yelled a scientist, one of the best in the world. More specifically, she was good with astrophysics, not stone cubes.
 
“Who knows? Could it be a hoax?” asked a military man, who had never once dealt with curiosity in his life. 
 
This was one of dozens of professional meetings happening worldwide, and there were millions of amateur comparisons. There was really nothing else to talk about now that people knew there were aliens. Some people were even crazy enough to skip work. Most, but not all, of these discussions came to the same conclusion, something along the lines of:
 
“Who cares if it could be a hoax? I don’t want to die!”
 
And so the humans, nearly eight billion in number, subtracting a fraction for the infants, entered a frenzy. What did they do, exactly? On the first day, the rich searched for ways to flee into space, and the rest searched for the safest place on Earth. It was only when they thought, even for a second, that they realized that it might not matter where they go. One woman, Alessia, became famous for her videos explaining the logic. By her conclusions, people should give up. And so, many adopted the philosophy of nihilism. 
 
On the second day, people realized that they had much more time. They were still sleeping and waking up to an intact world. They got hungry, they ate. Even the snow that blocked their driveways was still there, and the aliens weren’t coming around quite yet, so it was still annoying. As a result, most abandoned nihilism. It turned out they weren’t devoted enough. 
 
“Wait, seven days from which timezone?”
 
This question was asked by a hard-working mathematician, who would go down in the history books for this simple question instead of any of his official work. Well, it would have, but people weren’t really writing history books anymore. Not when they were all staring at the sky like it was a childhood bully. 
 
“We have heard your questions regarding the exact time,” read an explanation from the CWG, or the Coalition of World Governments. “And we have two responses. First, seeing as the stones hit Earth at the same time at 6:43 UCT. Therefore, we expect it to be exactly seven days from then, at 6:43 UCT this sunday. Secondly, we have to ask you all in return: does it matter? Seriously, god.”
 
This statement from the CWG caused an immediate revolt and disbanding, leaving the storied history of the organization at one day old. Truly, if anyone was still writing, it could have filled a whole page. But no one did, and instead many took to reading, or watching movies and shows. Such behavior was surprising to those who cared about surviving, or those who at least had the decency to be constantly frightened. They often asked these people, who appeared just to want to be entertained, what they were thinking.
 
“What else can we do?” 
 
They usually said something like that, and then patted a spot next to them on their couch or bed or cold hard ground on which they could stare at the stars. Such a simple argument convinced many. What else could they do, indeed.
 
On the third day—oh, where are my manners? There was a woman, that same woman as from before! The scientist! What was her name? I suppose I forgot to say, but just so you know, it was Vivian. She didn’t lay down for all this time, no no no. Vivian, or Viv as her friends often called her, was busy staring off into space until her eyes hurt from lack of blinking. 
 
“I can blink when I’m dead,” she repeated to herself. She said it without any prompting, so the people around her thought it was quite strange, but Viv didn’t really care, and neither did they, because they were too worried about aliens. 
 
Now Viv—Vivian the astrophysicist—was having quite a difficult time seeing all the space she wanted to see. It was true that the universe was mostly vacuum, and so it might seem trivial to find something non-vacuum. The issue was—well, here’s what Viv had to say.
 
“Too much junk!” she screamed. “I can’t detect much of anything with all these broken satellites!”
 
Her coworkers couldn’t help her, because they didn’t put the junk up in space, and they definitely didn’t know more than she did. Even with the world about to end, no one wanted to argue with Viv. 
 
Now that we know what Viv was doing, we can move on to the third day. The destruction of monuments, the rising of tides, the final sprint towards a hedonistic death—are all things one might expect to happen, but did not. Instead, many people became distinctly religious, which was like the initial phase of nihilism but slightly more popular. It stemmed primarily from what was written, for humans apparently considered seven a magical number in any context. Still, for however many began devoutly worshiping something, others fell into a deep depression. It was no longer fear that determined their days, but the meaningless of living at all. Some ceased eating, others avoided sleep, and many cried and cried until their tears stained the floors.
 
Interestingly, or however interesting something can be when compared to everything else, there were some people who decided that now was the time to make money. They sold all sorts of things: guns, drugs, even basic internet plans to people desperate for an escape. At first, they made a killing. But then, there was a revelation.
 
“Why don’t I just take it?”
 
So theft became common, and the entrepreneurs did die quite often. High risk, high reward.
 
On the fourth day, not much happened. Yes, many people died, and some even tunneled underground to start a new society, but nothing that out of the ordinary. It was, however, the day the first book on the stones was released. The author, H. Scott Willabee, quickly surpassed the bible in total readers. What he revealed in his book, titled ‘Feeling Stoned? A Guide to the End’, was that accepting death was a crucial part of life, and at that point, a lot of people stopped reading.
 
On the fifth—oh, look at me go again! There was something else on the fourth day. A movement, led by that one Alessia from before, arose out of her fanbase. Their premise was simple:
 
“The aliens want our world leaders! They’re to blame!” 
 
And so her and her Alessialites marched and recorded their marches and sent their recordings everywhere they could, because nothing was a potent strategy for change than marching. 
 
“We only have three days left! When they arrive, give yourselves up!”
 
On her website, Alessia revealed her logic: ‘Why would the aliens have told us ahead of time they were going to destroy us anyway? There must be a solution!’ 
 
Many Alessialites were tear gassed.
 
On the fifth day, the horror. Who would have guessed people were so prone to arson. They say that you see someone’s soul when they set a building aflame, and the souls of the populace were crazed. What caused it, who can say. A collective feverish desire to control. As one blogger put it:
 
“We’ll destroy Earth first!!!!”
 
But as with all things, people gave up. They couldn’t figure out how to destroy some buildings, and they didn’t want to sail or fly to some island just to light it up in a grand gesture of Promethean insanity. By the end of the day, most people just wanted to sleep, to eat, to do what they did any normal day. Except they knew that when they awoke, it would be…
 
The sixth day. For some, this was the reckoning. The rich, oddly quiet this whole time, revealed to the world that they had been collecting their resources for one last effort to flee the planet. It was true, they said, that aliens might hunt them down anyway. But they weren’t going to stay on Earth.
 
“Thank you all for your moneys,” said the rich, in one way or another. They launched into the skies in their ships, smiling and shaking, and were soon out of sight. For most, that is. Not Vivian the astrophysicist, who was worried about one thing in particular. 
 
“They’re going to create even more junk!” she screamed to an empty room. Her coworkers were off on their own, tending to their lives. Caring for their families, maybe. She didn’t know. “Oh, well that’s not good,” she mumbled.
 
In the distance, on the border of where space meets Earth, Vivian spotted a burst of fire and colors. Purple, red, orange, red, yellow, orange. The colors began to repeat, which made the purple all the more strange. They were exploding, the space vessels. Too hastily made. 
 
“Idiots,” Vivian said to herself. She may have been a keen observer of all things space, but she was not polite.
 
The not-so-rich mounted a last-ditch attempt to flee in their own way. Taking inspiration from an ancient tale, they crowded onto the island of Manhattan and, wearing heavy-duty fully covered suits, jumped at the same time.
 
“It’s sinking! One, two, three!” And they all hopped again. Smiles on their faces, hope in their hearts. “One, two, three!” 
 
It wasn’t until an hour later that they learned they could not, in fact, create their own Atlantis. 
 
On the seventh day, no one rested. Well, there was one man named Sangwoo who actually did sleep. In fact, in a bizarre turn of events, Sangwoo entered a state similar to what grizzly bears do in winter. If everyone hadn’t been so busy, they surely would have named such a phenomenon. Maybe they would have called it human hibernation. 
 
Other than that, no one rested. They couldn’t, really. They stared up at the sky, whether it be blue or grey, dark or bright, hot or cold. They awaited the arrival of their alien overlords.
 
“Everyone, gather your most valuable items!” screamed the Galiolites, who had succeeded the Alessialites when Alessia decided being tear-gassed wasn’t worth it. “The aliens want what we have to offer. Paintings, technology, anything worth having! Be prepared!”
 
Considering all that there was to consider, which was surprisingly little, most people did exactly as the Galiolites declared. There were those who denied anything was happening at all, but even those people were persuaded to give up their possessions. Generally, they were persuaded by the use of force, which was a much more common tactic on the seventh day.
 
The people of Earth witnessed the sky turn purple, and then green, and then a dark shade of blue. They all waited, waited, waited. 
 
“Attention, everyone,” said Vivian through the livestream by the Galiolites. “I am here to inform you that the aliens are arriving, and they have many ships. Watch out for their landing areas.”
 
The reaction of the populace was muted, if not downright stoic. What fright they had left had been drained from a week of sleep deprivation and partial arson. Now they could hardly think or talk. All they had left was to stare at the sky.
 
Near the end of the seventh day, right around 6:34 UTC, just as predicted, the aliens landed in their tetrahedron spaceships. Lights blared from the ships, and within minutes, the aliens disembarked. Their appearance shocked the humans, many of whom tucked away their drawings. Most had put their money on blocky creatures. Instead, they saw aliens that appeared quite similar to a common crab, albeit a hundred times the size.
 
“Humans!” screeched the crab aliens. The humans bowed their heads, or fell fully onto the ground, and listened. “You have been found to have multiple parking violations on multiple planets in this solar system. Your failure to appear in court has warranted us coming down here in person. Bring us your representative, or if you’d prefer, we can house all of you.”
 
The humans stared first at the crab creatures, and then at each other.
 
“How many do you have?” asked the aliens. “Half a trillion?”
 
The humans explained, and the aliens laughed. 
 
“Eight billion? That’s nothing. Get in.”
 
And so the humans got into the alien vehicles, and were briskly flown off to galactic court, where they now sit, in a few thousand of millions of rows. 
 
***
 
“Thank you for your testimony, Mr. Alethia. You may be seated.”
 
“My pleasure, your honor. And may I say, it was quite fun observing the humans this past week.”
 
“Noted, Mr. Alethia.”
 
Alethia scuttled to his seat, and a suspender-wearing crab approached the front.
 
“Your honor, it is clear from Mr. Alethia’s testimony, which we can have no doubt is true, that the humans did not make any effort to rectify their parking tickets. They even sent an unmanned probe in the carpool lane of their solar system! And to top it all off, they resisted appearing in court. I recommend the full fine, your honor.”
 
“You may be seated,” replied the judge, who looked closer to a lobster than a crab. “I have reached a verdict. May I see the one known as Viv? Vivian, to her non friends?”
 
A prolonged sound of shoes hitting wood echoed in the hall as Vivian walked toward the front. At least ten minutes passed until she was close enough for the judge to see. “Yes, your honor?” she asked, her voice quiet.
 
“I have chosen you as Earth’s representative. It is your duty to ensure they pay their collective fine.”
 
“Fine, your honor?”
 
“Yes,” answered the judge crab. “Your fine, for both parking violations and negligence, along with littering of your own atmosphere, is…”
 
Vivian bit her tongue. Humanity held their breath.
 
“One thousand kilograms of algae!” 
 
","August 12, 2023 03:57","[[{'Leland Mesford': 'Ok', 'time': '02:17 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,wz9pel,The Mysterious Way of The Dove,Jaida Porcha,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/wz9pel/,/short-story/wz9pel/,Mystery,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Christian']",4 likes,"
	Sunita always walked alone. It was her favorite thing to do. No matter what chaos another day working in her mother’s bakery brought her, she could always walk through the woods outside of her small village to clear her mind. And that’s exactly what she was doing when something from the trees above landed in front of her. It was a piece of paper, which she picked up and read aloud.
	“The knife will be sharpened, the dove will land, and the reaper will claim the souls it has lost. And a knife through the heart of the dove will send the reaper to the cross.” Below the words was a crude drawing of a blood-stained knife.
	She frowned in confusion and stared into the thick leaves above her. There was no sound or movement in them, not even a rustle. Although she didn’t understand the note, she was quite fond of poetry, so she stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans and kept walking.
	That’s when the air began to change. The sky above her became nearly black with clouds, although sunset was not for another few hours. She shivered as the sky roared with thunder, wishing that she’d brought her sweater.
	“Excuse me! Miss!”
	She turned to see a young man running towards her. He was handsome, and she could see that his eyes were gray as he stopped in front of her and looked at the sky.
	“You shouldn’t be out in this weather. It’s going to storm very soon.”
	“I’ll be fine,” she replied. “I’m not far from home. In fact, I’m heading there right now.”
	At that moment she faced the path she’d just walked and realized that the landscape was completely unfamiliar to her. Where there was once a large forest there were now only empty fields of green for miles. She shook her head in disbelief and turned to the man.
	“Where’s the woods that I just came out of?”
	He frowned. “What woods? There’s no forests here. There aren’t any trees at all, really.” He gazed at her. “Say, where are you from?”
	She continued to look around. “A very small village. You wouldn’t know it.”
	“And there’s a forest by your village?”
	She nodded. “Yes. It surrounds it for miles.”
	He scratched his head. “Well, I would offer to help you, but I have no idea where to start. As I said, there are no trees out here.” He held out his hand. “I’m Mao.”
	Hesitantly, she shook it. “Nice to meet you, Mao. I’m Sunita.”
	He pointed at the sky. “We should find shelter before it’s too late.”
	All Sunita wanted was to go back home, but she knew that she’d have even less of a chance at finding home if she went searching in the middle of a storm.
	“Good idea,” she sighed. “Do you live around here?”
	He shrugged. “I don’t really live anywhere. I’m kind of a wanderer.”
	“I’ve always wanted to be a wanderer, but there’s no escaping that village. Or my mother.”
	He chuckled. “What’s so bad about your mother?”
	She raised her hand to touch the necklace her mother had given her. A blue butterfly with one tattered wing. “She wants me to be just like her, but I’m nothing like her at all. I suppose I’m more like my dad.”
	“And where’s he?”
	She shrugged. “Who knows? Dead or somewhere far away, I guess.”
	“Do you miss him?”
	She was silent for a few moments. “You know, no one’s asked me that before. They only ever tell me to not be like him, to never leave my mother’s side.” She glanced at him. “And, what about you? Why are you a wanderer?”
	“Well although I wander now, my goal is to find a home.”
	“You’ve never come across a place that you never wanted to leave? Or a person?”
	He shook his head. “Nope. No one, nothing, nowhere.”
	“That must be lonely.”
	He glanced at her with a small smile on his face. “About as lonely as a girl who’s trapped in a town that she’s dying to leave.”
	“So you’re the wanderer who wants a home, and I’m the town prisoner hungry for escape. Interesting pair, huh?”
	He stopped walking and pointed east. In the distance, there was a tall rock with a giant opening. “There’s a cave there. We can wait out the storm.”
	Upon approaching the cave, they noticed a faint orange glow. Sunita grabbed Mao’s arm.
	“We shouldn’t go,” she whispered. “Someone’s in there. They could be dangerous.”
	He opened the satchel on his shoulder and revealed a knife. It was stained with what appeared to be dry blood. The shape of the knife—the way the blade curved in and out at the tip—seemed familiar to Sunita, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen it.
	“Don’t worry. They can’t be more dangerous than me.”
	Cautiously, Mao stepped inside, and Sunita stayed close behind him. As they walked further into the cave, the orange glow became brighter, and a human silhouette danced in the light of a fire. Mao held out his arm and stopped.
	“You go in first,” he whispered. “Let him believe you’re alone and seeking shelter. Once his guard is down, I’ll sneak up. Got it?”
	She nodded and noticed that the orange glow of the flames reflecting in the grayish silver of his eyes looked exactly like the bloodstained knife he held in his hand. Dull and lifeless, yet sharp and bright. This should have made her afraid, but she wasn’t. On the other hand, she didn’t feel entirely safe, either. She decided that she would try and protect the man on the other side of the flames from harm. She stepped into his view and he immediately picked up a bow and arrow.
	“Who are you?”
	She held her hands up. “I’m just looking for shelter until the storm clears.”
	He glared at her. “Find another place. There’s only room for one here.”
	She took off her necklace. “Take this. It’s not worth much, but it should earn me a night of shelter.”
	“Toss it over.”
	She tossed it and it landed at his feet. After examining the necklace, his frown faded and he motioned for her to sit down. As she sat down, she glanced over to where Mao was hiding and shook her head slightly, hoping he’d get the message and stand down for a few more moments.
	“Thank you, but I’m not traveling alone. Could my companion come in, too?”
	He shook his head. “No. Only you.”
	“Why?”
	“Because you’ve earned your place here.”
	“And I haven’t?” Mao asked, stepping out of the shadows with his knife. The man reached for his weapons but Mao kicked them away.
	The man raised his hands slowly. “If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t be doing this.”
	Mao laughed. “I don’t think you’re as important as you believe you are.”
	“Mao,” Sunita said. “Don’t. Let him stay.”
	“Why should I?”
	“Because he hasn’t hurt us.” She stood and grabbed his bow and arrow. “Let him stay.”
	The man stared at her. “What is your name, girl?”
	“Sunita.”
	He smiled slightly. “Of course it is.” He turned to Mao. “I have no intention of harming you, as long as you mean me no harm.”
	“Stand up,” Mao commanded. The man stood, and Mao patted him down for weapons. It only took a few seconds, but the man kept his eyes on Sunita the entire time. Strangely, he looked disappointed.
	“He’s clean. Check his bag for weapons.”
	Slowly, Sunita reached for the bag. Inside was a long black overcoat, black gloves, and a black hat. No food, no water, and no weapons.
	“It’s clean.”
	The three of them sat around the fire in silence. It had begun to rain outside, and the sound of it was like a hurricane. Cold wind and sprays of water blew into the cave often, making Sunita shiver.
	The man pointed to his bag, which was at her feet. “You can wear the coat that’s in there. If you’re cold.” Mao glared at him.
	“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the coat. “What’s your name?”
	“Arius.” He stood and walked over to her. She could see him better now. His young and handsome face betrayed his elder-like demeanor, and his eyes were as dark as the clouds that had formed while she’d been walking alone.
	He sat down and placed her necklace in her lap. “Keep it.”
	She grabbed it and put it in the pocket of his coat. “Why?”
	He stared at her intently. “Because light has no business colluding with the dark.”
	Eventually, Sunita laid down on the floor and fell asleep, the coat wrapped tightly around her. When she woke it was still dark outside, but the storm had stopped. The flame was dimmer than before, and she saw that there was only one person with her in the cave. His back was turned to her.
	“Who’s there?” she called out.
	He turned to her and she saw that it was Arius. “You weren’t supposed to wake until morning,” he mumbled, almost as if he were talking to himself and not to her.
	“Where’s Mao?”
	He sat down next to her. “Sharpening his knife.”
	As soon as he said the words, she thought of the note that had fallen in front of her in the woods. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the paper. She read the words again and then handed it to Arius.
	“What does this mean?” She didn’t know why, but she felt that he might be able to help her.
	He scanned the note and looked up at her with wide eyes. “How long have you had this? And did you read this aloud?”
	“Yeah, I read it aloud. And it landed in front of me yesterday. Just before I met Mao. Why?”
	He shook his head and stood up. “You need to go. Now.”
	She stood and snatched the note from him. “Do you know what this means or not?”
	“There’s no time. You need to leave before Mao comes back.”
	“Why? Is he dangerous?” she asked. Mao did tell her this himself, after all. But what reason would he have to hurt her?
	“Just go! Take my bag and leave.”
	She grabbed the bag and ran for the cave entrance, but she was stopped in her tracks when she saw Mao standing in the entrance. He had his knife in his hand, and at that moment she realized that his knife looked the same as the one drawn in the note. She dropped the bag and held her hands up.
	“Mao…I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m going home. Whatever business you and Arius have has nothing to do with me.”
	“But it has everything to do with you, Sunita.” His voice sounded different. Almost inhuman. Slowly, he stepped closer to her.
	“Leave her, Mao.” Arius stepped between them.
	“You know I can’t do that,” Mao replied. “This is what I do. Steal, kill, destroy.”
	Sunita had no idea what was going on, but she didn’t want to stick around and find out. She made a run for the cave entrance. Suddenly, black tendrils of smoke wrapped around her ankles and pulled her to the ground.
	She looked up and saw that Arius’s hands were glowing white, lighting up the cave. As his light traveled to her, the black tendrils disappeared and she ran outside. It was still dark out, but she was now back in the woods. She hid behind a tree and waited, listening to the sounds of Mao and Arius in combat. Every now and then, the cave glowed white.
	After what seemed to be an eternity, Arius stumbled out. She almost ran to him, but then he fell to the ground, unconscious. Mao came out behind him with glowing red eyes. He looked around and until his gaze fell on Sunita. As soon as they made eye contact, she felt an unknown force come upon her and draw her to him. She tried to fight it, but her legs walked right over to him anyway. Arius was still on the ground, but he was slowly regaining consciousness.
	“Why are you doing this?” she cried, staring into Mao’s eyes. “I don’t even know who you are.”
	“Oh, you know me, Sunita. Just as surely as you know yourself.”
	He raised his knife to stab her, but before he could, she heard Arius yell something to her.
	“Sunita! The necklace!”
	She took it out of her pocket and pressed it firmly into Mao’s cheek. He growled in pain and dropped the knife. Smoke emanated from the wound in his cheek, and he clutched his face as the necklace fell to the ground. Sunita ran over to Arius and helped him up.
	“Are you okay?” she asked.
	“I’ll be fine. I always am. But you need to save yourself.” He clutched her arms and gazed into her eyes. To her surprise, his eyes were gone. Two hollowed-out sockets bored into her, making her shiver with fear. “Run. Far and fast.”
	“Too late for that,” she heard Mao say behind her. As she turned to him, she felt a sharp pain in her chest. She looked down and saw that his knife was buried there. She fell onto her knees and she looked over at Arius. He was now on his feet, and he placed his black hat on his head. She fell to the ground just as a bright light claimed her vision.
	The two beings stood over her body. One was grinning, and the other held his head down in shame.
	“Why are you upset? I brought her back to you.”
	“She seemed different somehow. I thought she was the one.”
	The other one laughed. “Haven’t you heard, reaper? There is no such thing as ‘the one.’”
	They both went their separate ways. One into the woods and one into the cave. Unbeknownst to them, Sunita’s necklace glowed with a light as bright as the sun. This light became an animated butterfly that flew up and above the rainclouds.
	Sunita was not a tragedy. Although she died, Arius and Mao were the ones who walked alone. She was the only one who learned to fly.
","August 10, 2023 20:32",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,vwqxoo,the arrival,James Mckinley,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vwqxoo/,/short-story/vwqxoo/,Mystery,0,['Fiction'],4 likes,"
The Arrival
 
The Earth, a blue jewel sitting in a precarious position near a Yellow Sun. A planet with so many questions and struggling for answers. Through wars, political upheavals and disasters both manmade and natural, there was always a hope that someone or something would save us from ourselves, unfortunately that never materialized. For the first part of the 21st century, humanity struggled with the same old familiar problems, then in 2030 there was finally a breaking point. The breaking point was both in scientific advancement and civil discourse. Scientist in the West and the East almost simultaneously made breakthrough in energy, communications and other areas of science through intellectual cooperation outside of normal governmental channels. At the same time, the poorer nations of the earth had become frustrated with what they felt were colonial powers taking advantage of them and their resources. So, in a act of defiance and frustration, several of the poorer countries engaged in using bio terrorism. A plague was set loose on the earth that would test the resolve of humanity, cost millions of lives and set the world on a 10-year journey. After the worldwide purge was over, 900 million people were dead in both the East and the West, governments had been reformed and ideological walls had collapsed forcing old enemies to openly work together. By 2041 a new world cooperative government had formed giving everyone a voice. This was humanities darkest hour, but also the moment that some of our most unanswered questions would be put to bed. For in the wake of the manmade cataclysm, unity had been found and in one moment of clarity we reached out beyond ourselves and began to truly explore. Working together humanity began to fix our planet and began to reach out to our nearest celestial neighbors. The Moon was colonized and then Mars. We began to look beyond the limits of our petty squabbles and to seek to broaden our horizons. By 2070 our planet was a pristine jewel that it had once been and we had established ourselves in our own right as an extra planetary species, at least in our backyard. As satisfying as this was, many still wondered if there was more than what we were. We would soon find out the answer to that question as well.
In the year 2073 a group of amateur astronomers and scientist working on a private space platform just beyond the Asteroid belt began to detect certain spatial anomalies that couldn't be explained. With great care and wanting to be sure before they decided to report their findings, a probe was launched to get a closer look at the astrological phenomena. 9 months after the probe was first launched, data came back that confirmed what the team on what would come to be known as platform one for it was the first place that any hope of leaving our solar system was found. The probe identified spatial anomalies that scientist on earth confirmed were naturally occurring worm holes. In one instant humanity and science was polarized. If these were actually doors to other places in our universe, then we had to find out how they worked and if we could use them to move beyond our own solar system and possibly find other intelligent life in the universe. With the confirmed discovery of jump points from our solar system to other locations in the universe, all of Earth's scientist and government organizations devoted to space exploration and colonization began to focus their efforts on sending a team to the location of the wormholes. In the earth year 2078, the mission was launched. Using Platform one as the jumping off point, the ship was built on the moon and sent to Platform for final outfitting and checkup before heading out into the vastness of space. The ship dubbed simply EE or Earth Explorer was a culmination of combined scientific ingenuity and engineering prowess never before seen on earth. A crew of 52 members of humanities best and brightest from various nations were placed on the ship. It took nearly a year for it to finish its final phase of deployment. When it reached the location where the probe first confirmed the existence of wormholes in our solar system, they began deployment of an orbital platform. The assembly of the per-constructed structure took over a month. It was then that the real work of observation and examining the phenomena was undertaken. All the while, a second autonomous craft had left earth via Platform one to bring new supplies to the Earth Explorer project. The plan was for the crew to be out there for at least 4 years with a possible crew change after that. Humanity waited with bated breath as we began to probe the universe beyond our own doorstep. How we could not imagine what would happen and how it would forever change what we believe and how we thought of ourselves.
It was July 2083 on earth and the scientist and engineers on EE had been busily analyzing data from the anomalies known as wormholes at the outer reaches of our solar system. Using the most advanced detection technology and actually sending probes through the wormholes, we soon discovered that there was a pattern to each wormhole's appearance and the stability of how it functioned. Some were very stable and appeared with regular intervals while others were unstable and would appear and collapse not to reappear or would not open to the same place twice. From the probes that were able to transmit back information, new planets were discovered and for the first time, we confirmed that planets existed beyond our own that could possibly sustain life. The revelation that we could possibly leave the celestial cradle and voyage beyond our own world to set foot on an alien planet shook the very fabric of humanity, but in a positive way. A new sense of hope seemed to resonate with all of the earth. Not since the great catastrophe that took so many lives had we felt this hopeful.
It was January 2084 when the station known as EE was engaged in routine monitoring of the wormhole anomalies. The station was in the throes of preparing for the arrival of a new crew and transition to a more permanent and stable situation. A new ship with upgraded facilities and equipment designed to be added to the old platform were only a few weeks away and the people who had been so far away from home for so long were looking forward to getting back to earth. Then it happened, the unthinkable, the improbable, but it happened! One of the wormholes that we had sent a probe through began to give off strange energy reading, then in one moment, it blossomed like a new flower and out came the answer, the answer to the question are we alone. It was a spherical object approximately the size of a tanker truck. At first it moved in a sluggish manner, and it was thought to simply be some kind of space debris or unusual asteroid. The the object suddenly began to change shape, then it started broadcasting a signal. The whole station panicked but was excitedly curious but with a cautious optimism. At first the team of Earth Explorer couldn't make heads or tails of the information being sent. Then they relayed it back to earth via a series of communications arrays station throughout the solar system to allow for quicker transition of data. After a few days and two of humanities most powerful supercomputers, the message was translated. It was simply scientific problems, base mathematics and chemistry but in an unfinished form. Humanity had been given a homework assignment. After a few more days of processing, the problems were solved, and a quantitative set of answers was formulated and sent back. Then material data was then sent back to the alien probe that was now in a geosynchronous orbit with EE station. Upon receiving the message, the probe closed up and went back the wormhole it had come from. Suddenly our anticipation changed to bewilderment, what had we done wrong. Had we made our visitor from another part of the universe angry. All humanity could do is wait.
As humanity waited for further contact from our extraterrestrial visitor, the business of changing out the crew of EE was underway. The new modules were being added and the new crew were being brought up to speed on everything they had been studying about. New equipment was being tested and more advanced probes were being prepared to go through the wormholes. It was nearly a year before the old crew departed back to earth and the new one was fully integrated into the new station. It seemed as if we had forgotten about our visitor, but on earth that was anything but the case. Plans had been enacted from day one surrounding the fact that we were no longer alone in the universe. The earth unified government was engaged in both scientific, philosophical and yes military discussion about what first contact with a new species could mean. Some of the old fears and biases that had almost led to humanities undoing earlier in the 21st century began to rear their ugly heads, but they were quickly quashed by higher reason and diplomacy. Despite this, apprehension and a certain uneasiness abound on earth. On EE, people were simply waiting for the next event.
On February 3rd, 2086, the wormhole now known as Gateway 1 began to flutter again. After a about one earth hour, it blossomed again and the spherical object that had previously emerged seemed to reappear, however, this time it wasn't alone. It was accompanied by several smaller spheres and once it was in near proximity to EE, meaning a paltry 4 million kilometers, it began to change. The spheres began to shift their shape and interconnect. When finished, they looked something akin to a spider's web with a indention at the center. The object then moved slightly to align itself with EE and began to broadcast a message. At first the computers on the upgraded space station were overloaded. The amount of data coming in was more than they could process. When the alien object was done transmitting, the data nearly took up all of the available space in the station's computers. The data could only be measure in Tera flops and it was found that the data was in blocks but was still encoded. So, while some of the data was fed into a new supercomputer on EE, other parts were transmitted back to earth for decryption. After nearly a week of work on both earth and EE, a picture began to form. The object had basically sent out a alien version of an encyclopedia. It was simply basic message of hello this is who we are. It contained biological science data, historical data, and reams of other material related to the alien societies existence. It was carefully analyzed and after nearly 6 months a response was formulated and sent back to EE. From there it was put back into the original formatted encoded language which we could now readily decipher with the help of modern AI systems. Then it was transmitted back to the array. As quickly as we sent the response, a signal went out from the array into the wormhole. Then silence, for several weeks in fact. Then all of a sudden, another message came back. This time it wasn't encoded in the alien language that we had previously had to decode, but it was formatted in our own language(s) . It was to show us that they understood us. That they could relate to us. It was both exciting and terrifying at the same time, with reluctant anticipation humanity began to accept the new reality of talking to another race of beings.
The long-distance communication project went on for several more months. Eventually humans built a communications array of their own and sent it through the wormhole. It was designed around the linguistic principals of the new alien language. Message were now being sent approximately every 7 earth days. We figured out that our near-earth neighbors had at first sent the probe out through another wormhole and it had encountered one of our probes and reported back what it had found. As best as humans could figure, this was some kind of safety net. Send out a probe but don't let the other planet know exactly where it came from. We found out from the exchange of ideas, that the other race lived on a similar world to ours but that their environment was vastly different being highly nitrogen enriched. They looked similar to humans in basic physiology, but with distinct difference in their ability to use nitrogen and process other elements that would be toxic to us. We thought that perhaps that all we would ever do was exchange ideas, but then it happened. We received a message that was very clear, they wanted to meet us. The very fact that they now felt comfortable enough to meet us was to say the least unsettling. There were so many things to work out, so many details. Luckily for humanity, our near-earth neighbors only 300 light years away were happy to help out with this.
It took a few years to build, a habitat on earth, but one built to specifications of an alien race. It was unlike anything that humanity had ever undertaken. Our celestial neighbors had sent us biological samples of plants from their world. They gave us the technological specifications to build an ecosystem conducive to their survival. Based on the mathematics, it would take them approximately 5 earth months to circumnavigate a few wormholes to reach our solar system. We as humans still had some of the old proclivities of who will do what and how, but one mutual consensus was reached, the first person(s) to greet our near-earth neighbors shouldn't be either politicians or military. It was elected that certain scientist would be the welcoming party. A cross section of representatives from among the best and brightest minds on earth. They would be our representatives.
The earth year is 2091 and on earth as well as EE and the rest of the solar system we have inhabited, a still silence has taken hold. A message was received two days earlier giving a precise time for the arrival. Humanity will finally know life beyond our own. What this means is any one's guess, but with great care we have waited for this moment and as the wormhole blossoms and all of mankind views, the moment of destiny is finally here, they have arrived.
 
","August 10, 2023 21:33",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,rmn84d,The Games Kids Play,Sydney Crago,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rmn84d/,/short-story/rmn84d/,Mystery,0,"['Crime', 'Fiction', 'Mystery']",4 likes,"
74631283Too many digits for a local phone number, not enough to include the area code. Not enough for a bank account or a credit card. One digit shy of being a social security number. Too long to be a house number, too short for a Zip code +4. Laurel tapped her finger against the desk. For nearly 25 years, these numbers had stared detectives in the face, taunting them. Now they were leaving her sleepless and scrolling the internet.It was only a fluke that she even knew them. The secretary at the station had forgotten to redact the final line on a page of AIM instant messages. The last known communication from Angie Stanton.The phone on Laurel’s desk chimed, alerting her of the incoming text message. She jumped, scared free from the spiral of thought she was falling into. She reached for it he device flipping it screen-side up reveal the notification.Sara: See you in 30 minutes, right?Laurel flicked her eyes to the corner of the computer screen. The time, 4:32, shone back at her. She sighed, turned her attention back to the phone, and typed out a response: Leaving in 10. Then, she let the phone slid back across her desk strewn with open file folders of glossy photographs of footprints and empty construction sites half covered by the aged pages of yellow of legal pads scrawled with notes. She cupped her face with both hands, let her head fall backward over the headrest of her chair, and groaned.It was precisely 34 minutes later when she swung open the door of her sister’s house. From somewhere inside, the family’s golden retriever barked, setting off a chain reaction: the squeal of her niece, the pounding footsteps of her nephew charging down the stairs, the yell of her older sister bouncing off the walls: “Laurel? Is that you?”“Just a burglar!” Laurel called back as she lifted her tote bag onto the kitchen’s island. She rolled her shoulder, willing away the memory of its weight. Her fingers reached up to kneed the divot the straps had left behind. “You’re not a burglar!” He nephew laughed as he peered around the corner, into the kitchen. “You caught me.” Laurel threw her hands up in a gesture of innocence. The boy rounded the corner and strode over to his aunt, wrapping her lower half in a hug. Laurel reached down to stroke his auburn hair. As she did, she asked, “Have you and Gwen eaten dinner yet?” He released her and took a step back. “Mom said we could order pizza.” His eyes were wide with hope as he looked up at her, flashing a smile, a blend of adult and baby teeth that reminded her how much he’d grown in just the last few months. Ten years old: Hard to believe she’d been an aunt for that long already.“I said no such thing!” Sara said, striding into the kitchen. She clasped a gold hoop earring in one hand, sliding its rod through her ear lobe and fastening its clip. “You’ve already had a hot dog and Mac and cheese.” “What if we get one with vegetables on top?” The boy grinned at his mother, testing the potential new loophole. “Nice try.” She shook her head, tossing her fresh-from-the-curling-iron hairstyle. “You would just pick them off like the last time.”“Would not.” He crossed his arms in protest. Sara chose to ignore him, turning instead to her sister and then letting her eyes fall to the tote bag atop her counter spilling its contents of paper, charging cords, and pens marred by teeth marks. “Henry, go play with your sister. I’m going to tell Aunt Laurel the rules for tonight.”Henry groaned, but obeyed his mother. Sara waited until he was out of ear shot, confirmed by the murmured conversation between the two children wafting up the basement stairs. Laurel slid a notebook and a pen out from the tote bag and hoisted herself onto one of the bar stools that lined the kitchen island. “Do you really need to take notes on this?” Sara rolled her eyes as she scraped the remaining few bites of Kraft Mac and Cheese from the faded Paw Patrol plate and into the countertop compost bin. “You going on the record with these rules?” Laurel teased. Sara set the plate in the kitchen sink, turned on the kitchen sink and ran her freshly manicured hands through the water. As she did, Sara her cast a glance to her sister just in time for Laurel to catch the eye roll. Laurel continued, “Something tells me Henry is going to insist on breaking a few of these tonight, and what kind of reporter would I be if I didn’t get the quotes right from the source.” She laughed. “So, consider me your kitchen stenographer.”Sara cracked a grin and laughed. “God, could that be your permanent position? I swear that child would need to have the transcript read back to him daily.” She turned off the kitchen faucet and dried her hands on the tea towel that hung through one of the cabinets’ handles. “Okay, here are the rules for the kids,” Sara held out finger, as she said, “One, bed by 8:30.” She whispered the next part, “This is off the record, but you can be the cool Aunt and actually let them stay up until 9:00.”Laurel laughed, “noted.” Sara continued, now holding up a second finger, “Two: no ice cream. They can each have a cookie, if they ask for dessert, but I’m so tired of half melted bowls of ice cream and cleaning up drips of chocolate that I’m banning ice cream for the next two weeks.”“Fair,” Laurel nodded as she wrote, No ice cream, only cookies, next to the number two on the list.“Three,” Sara continued counting with her fingers, as if she might forget what number she was on otherwise. “They both have to brush their teeth before bed. Gwen, has been fighting that lately, so you may have to strike some kind of deal with her to get it done.”“What are my bargaining chips?” Laurel asked.Sara sighed, “So far, a dollar has worked. So has pancakes for breakfast the next day and the right to pick the movie for movie night.” She shook her head, “but maybe leave the pancakes off the table for tomorrow. I have a feeling Jeff and I will not be in the mood to make anything.”Laurel laughed, remembering the last time her sister had had more than a single glass of wine and complained about the headache for days. “Is he meeting you at the restaurant?”“Actually,” Sara glanced through the window that hung over the kitchen sink, looking out to the driveway. “He should be here to pick me up any minute.”“Hard to believe it’s been 11 years already. Seems like just yesterday I was giving the best maid of honor speech in history.” Laurel teased. Sara ignored her sister’s brag and flicked her eyes to the tote bag, still laid across the counter. “Oh, I’m not done with the rules yet.” Laurel sat up straighter, the image of an ideal student hanging on her teacher’s every word. Sara looked her sister in the eye, “And these rules are for you.” Laurel raised her eye brows as Sara continued speaking, “No case files out until the kids are in bed AND asleep. No discussing the case on the phone while they’re in ear shot. Any crime scene photos in this bag, need to go back out to your car now.”Laurel sighed, “I didn’t bring any photos, Sara. Not that this case has anything more than PG rated in them. I do know what snoops kids can be.”Sara nodded, “Good.” She cast a quick glance at the clock that hung on the wall and then to the window. The driveway remained empty. She turned her attention back to her sister. “So what case is it?” Laurel smiled, “Do you remember the disappearance of Angie Stanton?”Sara’s eyes grew wide. “No way! Is there news? Are you working with the detectives on a new theory? Did they get a break in the case?”Laurel shook her head, “No, unfortunately nothing like that.” Sara frowned as Laurel spoke, “Next month is the 25th anniversary of her disappearance, so I’m working on an article that’s half memorial and half deep dive into the investigation.”Sara looked up to the ceiling recalling a different time, “I can’t believe it’s been that long. I remember when she went missing. It was all my friends and I talked about in school for months.” She looked to her little sister. “Do you remember much about it?” “No really,” Laurel shrugged. “I was only seven. I mostly remember that mom wouldn’t let me walk down the block to my friend’s house for a while and that we had a police officer come in to ask if anyone of us had seen Angie lately. No one had and the boys in my class just wanted to ask him about sirens and car chases.” She paused for a moment, then let the words that were swimming around her brain tumble out of her mouth, “You never talked to her on AIM, back then, did you?”“AIM? No, I didn’t.” Sara shook her head and narrowed her eyes at her sister. “I was thirteen, when she went missing, we didn’t even have a home computer back then, even though I begged Mom for one every day.” She rolled her eyes, remembering the plight of her teenage self before continuing, “Angie was two grades above me. The rumor was always that since she’d gone to meet someone in the woods behind the school and something happened there, but it wouldn’t surprise me if AIM was a part of it somehow. It was very cool at the time.”Sara stared her sister down, waiting for Laurel’s face to reveal more than she was willing to say so far. The sisters were interrupted by the sound of a car horn coming from the driveway. “Sounds like your ride is here.” Laurel tilted her head to look out the window. “Right!” Sara stood up straight, rising from her lean on the kitchen island, and grabbed the purse from its hook near the door frame. “8:30, no ice cream, no crime investigating while the kids are still up.” She reminded her sister as she slung the purse’s strap onto her shoulder. “Roger that,” Laurel gave her sister a mock salute, but Sara was already closing the door behind her. As soon as the coast was clear, Laurel cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled to her niece and nephew, “Who wants a cookie?”*	*	*“I want to play the telephone game.” Henry pleaded. Laurel looked down at him, at the hint of toothpaste that clung to the corner of her mouth. His little body pressed against the family’s golden retriever as they laid together on the living room rug. The princess on the television screen sang a song behind him.“We can’t play telephone,” she whispered, trying not to disturb Gwen, who lay curled up on the couch cushion next to her, fast asleep. “We only have two people.”Henry’s brow knit together, “No, you only need two people. You just have to make up the code, and then I figure out the answer.”“But you’re just going to know what the code is when I whisper it to you.” Now it was Laurel’s turn to look confused.Henry shook his head, “Aunt Laurel, you do it on paper. Then, I figure out what the numbers mean.”“The numbers?” She swallowed. “What numbers?” Her brain was already reciting them again: 74631283. Eight digits: the possible key to 25 years, the first new information the police had released, albeit accidentally, to a journalist in at least ten years. They had known there was instant messages from back then. That had come out in the very beginning. But the screen names and the message contents had always been a tightly guarded secret. Now she knew why: it was undeciphered. No one had come forward to say they sent it. No one had a clue what it meant. That was more than clear from the call she’d made to the retired detective, the one who had first been assigned to the case.“The secret’s in the damn numbers.” He’d told her when she called this afternoon to ask what he thought about the AIM messages. “Only God knows what they mean though. Just a whole slew of ‘em we could never crack.”She turned over the phrase, “a whole slew” in her head again. She had only one piece of the puzzle, one chance to crack the code. Her eyes had glazed over as she found herself falling back into the investigation spiral, a pit she would have certainly tumbled into, were it not for Henry dropped a notebook and a brain teaser handout in her lap. “See Aunt Laurel,” he said. “You make up a code, and I figure it out. That’s how we play.” He jammed his finger onto the page. The illustration showed a key pad of an old, landline phone. Each button had a number and the corresponding letters underneath. The example to the right showed how the code was done. H = 4, O=6, M=6, E=3, so the code 4663 spelled HOME.“Henry,” Laurel’s voice was barely a whisper, as if she was closer to holding her breath than talking. “Where did you learn this game?” Henry smiled, “Mom taught me! She plays with me all the time.”Laurel nodded. Her sister’s voice sounded in her head: No investigating while the kids are still up. She looked at the page again. “Do you always figure the puzzle out?” Henry pursed his lips, “Sometimes they are really hard, and mom helps me a little bit.”Laurel flicked her wrist, turning the screen of her watch toward her. It read 9:02. “I’ll make you a deal, Henry.” The boy sat up, ramrod straight, fingers laced together in front of him, as if ready to beg. She went on, “I’m going to give you one puzzle, and you have ten minutes to solve it while I carry Gwen to bed.” Henry looked to his sleeping sister and then back to his aunt. “Make it 15,” he said.Laurel stuck her hand out, “Deal!” She smiled as Henry took it and gave it two giant pumps up and down, like someone who’d learned to shake hands from a Loony Tunes episode. When he released her hand, she pointed toward the notebook and pencil Henry had set on the coffee table. “Can you hand me that so I can write the code?”“You know it already?” He asked, passing the requested materials to her. “Mom takes forever to make them up.” With the pencil, Laurel wrote out the numbers big and bold, taking up two lines of the page’s rule for each, like a kindergarten teacher determined to show every nuance of the way the number is formed: 74631283.Henry sat cross-legged on the floor with the notebook on the coffee table and the pencil poised his hand as Laurel lifted the sleeping six year old from her spot on the couch and carried her down the hall to her room.Laurel sat with her laptop open to a Word document, typing ferociously on the keys when she sister and brother-in-law giggled their way through the kitchen and into the living room two and a half hours later. “What happened in here?” Jeff asked, arm slung around his wife’s waist. He stared down at the family’s couch strewn with pages of police reports and scrawled notes. Laurel looked up at the couple and, ignoring Jeff’s question, asked her sister, “Where did you learn the game telephone?”Sara rolled her eyes, “Henry’s been obsessed with secret codes and spies lately. I take it he made you play?’Laurel looked to her sister, “Sara,” her voice was pleading. “Where did you learn how to play telephone?”“In school,” she shrugged. “Mrs. Hempstead taught us all in language arts. We used to use it to send messages in code when we passed notes to each other.” A look of confusion passed over Sara’s features. “Don’t you remember playing it?”“Mrs. Hempstead retired the year before I had her.” Laurel shook her head. “What do the ones mean in telephone?” Sara sighed, “They’re spaces.” She lifted a stack of papers from the cushion next to her sister and took a seat. “Why does this matter right now?” Laurel passed her sister the paper with the numbers and the message decoded: 74631283 = PINE AVE.“Does Pine Avenue mean anything to you?” Laurel asked, and then corrected herself. “Would it have meant anything to Angie back then?”Sara propped her feet up on the coffee table and leaned back into the embrace of the couch. She let a long slow breath escape her lips. “I think that’s what we called the strip of pine trees between the football field and the new subdivision they were building back then. It was quite the make-out spot, but the trees were all cut down before i was ever old enough to go there myself.” Sara sighed.Laurel felt the threat of tears at the corner of her eyes. Sara glanced at her sister, “What?” She asked. “What did I say?”“Exactly the right thing.” Laurel shook her head and pulled her sister into a hug, letting her laptop slide off of her thighs and onto the couch beside her. Two weeks later, the front cover of every major newspaper in the country read, Body of Angie Stanton Found: Suspect in Custody.
","August 11, 2023 13:19",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,6h6zhg,Be Someone ,Parul Shah,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6h6zhg/,/short-story/6h6zhg/,Mystery,0,"['Drama', 'Inspirational']",3 likes,"
In the front cab of a Ford F150, Betty McMiller lies sideways, blood trickling from her forehead. From the shattered windshield of a Range Rover EX, Dr. Hetal Sanghavi sees the side panel of the Chevrolet sedan lying on her hood. The babies, she cries, and then turns to see her own son still buckled in his seat but leaning forward limply, the formerly spacious rear trunk now smashed into a two-foot metal and plastic sandwich. In the backseat of a Chrysler sedan, an infant and a preschooler wail mightily, but to no avail. Their mother will not wake up. ****She eyes the Range Rover getting ever closer to her rear bumper, or at least the last time she checked the bumper was still there–but just barely. What? WHAT, goddamnit, do you want? YEAH I’ve got a fake temporary paper license plate, n corrosion is gnawin up the edges of the lower side panels and I can only go 50 miles an hour, tops, which is a hell of a lot faster than my other option which is to walk. I’m in the damn rightmost lane. Isn’t that enough? Or do you need to still judge me for riding in this damn heat with my windows down, my two kids screamin their heads off and if I was to guess, snot rolling down their faces? Do you think I’m just another young single mom with not enough sense to roll the damn windows up and turn on the AC? I guess you got all the money in the world for gas and AC. But then again, pretty girl like you don’t need gas in your pretty little electric Range Rover do you? Yeah, just pass on by, BITCH! Don’t let nobody like me hold you up. “Bubba! Bubba! Shh! Look! Look here! Here’s your sippy cup! See Momma shaking it?! Junior, I’m gonna reach back there and hand it to you. Can you give it to your Bubba? No-no-no-no-no-no-no! Do NOT be throwing that at him, Junior, he’s already crying. Look, I’ve got Cheez-Its! Give Bubba the sippy cup and then I’ll pass you the Cheez-Its. That’s my baby boy, thank you Handsome. I know it’s hot."" Just a few more miles and we’ll be there and it’ll be nice ‘n cool inside, she sighs.“Junior, remember what I told you. Today’s Momma’s first day working at this daycare, they said both of you can stay too since I’m comin in as an Admin Assistant. Don’t be fussin and runnin around, I don’t want no trouble outta you. I don’t want them thinkin I don’t know how to raise my own kids. This is a nice place with real nice toys, real clean, and they’re gonna feed y’all breakfast and lunch. “Junior, Junior, Junior, why you crying now, boy? Don’t you want to move into our own apartment? You n Bubba can have your own room! ‘N we can get rid of this nasty-ass car and get something with AC! Junior, stop that hollerin! Look! Look at that sign! What does it say? Sesame Street Live coming this September! Ohhhh! N what about that one? Look! It says Downtown Houston 2 miles. Can you see the number 2? Oh man, Junior, look at that, someone done painted letters across that bridge. It says BE SOMEONE.” She snorts at this. Now how am I supposed to do that? Being someone is for people with money, people with fancy cars carrying their fancy kids to their fancy daycares so folks like me can change their diapers and teach ‘em their A-B-C’s so they can grow up n drive electric Range Rovers and whizz past me like I’m nobody. N I can’t even ask for more than $18 an hour because I’m supposed to be there because I LOOOOVE the kids, like I don’t have bills? Hey, how about BE NOONE? I’m doing REAL good at that! Her racing mind comes to an abrupt stop as she finds herself suddenly too close to the Camry in front of her going even slower than her. How is that even possible? Her own speedometer swings back, back, back, 50 mph, 43 mph, 38 mph, oh jeez. The kids wail in the back as the hot wind blasting in from the windows has been replaced by a stagnant, clawing heat. At this rate, she’s going to be late and the kids’ new daycare teachers are going to judge her for their nasty sweat soaked diapers and clothes. How is a woman even supposed to get ahead when everyone and everything is getting in her way? She pounds on her horn and decides to break out of the right lane into the fast lane. As she passes the Camry, she sees it’s one of those maid service company vehicles with two Hispanic women inside. The driver is an older woman, the passenger is a pretty, much younger woman. She’d heard that when they don’t have papers they drive extra carefully so as to avoid being pulled over. Well, at least I’m ahead of somebody, she thinks. She sees the Range Rover again, in front of her of course. A grey pickup truck with flags all blazing patriotism, honks something like an air raid siren before overtaking her. The alarmed reaction of the kids in the back seat is even louder.*********Why? Why? Why? Why are you calling me again? She jabs the ACCEPT button on the screen. He wants something, he always wants something, everyone always wants something. Where is the dog’s medication? That’s a great question Samir, why the hell are you asking ME when you’re the one who’s been alone with the dog for the last 36 hours and the meds are supposed to be given every TWELVE hours? She tells him they’re about forty-five minutes from home, she’ll look for them when they get home, she’s gotta go now, Mahir is asking her something. “Why’d you say that? I’m not even talking to you.”“Because it’s not enough in this family to just say I don’t feel like dealing with this. I have to be doing something else for someone else to excuse myself. Anyway. So now that we’re talking again, you want to tell me why I drove you halfway across the state to compete in a competition you clearly didn’t even practice for? It’s really disrespectful Mahir, not to mention reckless. This was supposed to be the cherry on top for your college applications. What the HELL are you thinking?”He roll s his eyes. Silence. Again. “TALK TO ME!”More silence. “You don’t pull this not talking BULLSHIT with your dad. Why am I so special? What makes you think it’s ok to treat ME like this?”Persistent, militant, silence. She glares at him as if to burn off his defense shield with her laser focus but it doesn’t work, it never does. She sees from his passenger side window a slow slung sedan, two little kids in the back, both crying. The poor mother is pleading with them to calm down as she reaches for something in a diaper bag beside her. The familiar downtown skyline looms ahead just past a bridge. The bridge is graffiti tagged with the words BE SOMEONE.  She eyes the young black mother once more through her rear view mirror. Now that’s a woman who’s going to be respected. Black mothers are respected, it’s a fact. That woman is no doubt busting her butt for her kids and her kids know it, everyone knows it. They’ll grow up one day and thank their mother for all her sacrifices. She will die knowing she made a difference, that she was appreciated, if the basketball star biographies her husband and sons were fond of watching were any indication. There was always a strong mother figure, sainted by all who knew her story of sacrifice and hard work. As for herself, sure, she had a medical degree which she paid for herself, a successful practice, killer backhand stroke, pretty good skin for a 48 year old, and a nice car to let the world know she was #winning. But there was the fellowship in pediatric cardiology she didn’t take because being a mom was more important so she was just a pediatrician in a boring suburban clinic, and she was always running late and therefore disliked by her tennis team because she had to make dinner after getting back from the clinic and before heading out to the courts, and she looked good (“beige don’t age!”) but needed to lose about fifteen pounds, and her car wasn’t her choice because it was unapologetically expensive (apologizing was more her personal comfort zone) but it was her husband’s choice and since he made more money, it was only fair to give him the deciding vote. If anyone were to make a biographical documentary about her boys, she’d be a side note, another rich, brown, doctor-type. Nothing heroic or saintly about paying your bills, doing your job, staying in your lane.  A massive pickup truck with US flags flanking both ends of the passenger cab appears out of nowhere, it is suddenly just behind her and getting uncomfortably close. She reaches to signal right, she intends to move into the right lane and let the woman pass, but reconsiders. She eases her foot onto the brake, just a touch, just for a moment, an anti-apology for not driving fast enough, an assertion of her right to be just as she is. She taps the brake ever so lightly, as if to be someone who mattered.*******On the radio, they’re talking about Critical Race Theory being taught to second graders. Second graders! She nearly turns the radio off, she is so disgusted. The rearview mirror is angled so she could keep an eye on the stacked flats of Vincas, Pentas, Salvia, and Mexican Heather filling the bed of the pickup. Gone were the days when she could grow Hydrangea and Irises, Calla Lillies and Gladiolas. Between the heat, drought, flooding and freezing, her garden had to shed all its finery until it was down to the robust regulars. Nothing was the same any more, the world had changed too much for her taste. The last freeze wiped out every flowering plant in Houston, causing a run on supplies of new stock in the nurseries. The newbies in the neighborhood, the Californians and the immigrants, didn’t know about the wholesale nursery at the edge of town. That was the problem with those people, they had money and thought that qualified for sense. Let the interlopers get robbed at the local garden center, serves them right, Betty McMiller was done sharing.When the first Indian family had moved into the neighborhood twenty years ago, Betty didn’t think twice about it. It was an affluent neighborhood, meaning you had to earn your way there, the good old American way. Plus, they were the kind that did normal things like join the neighborhood Christmas display contest, though theirs was never very good. Still, they made the effort to belong. But then came another, and another, and another. Hell, she wasn’t quite sure if they were all Indian or maybe some were Pakistani or Bangladeshi or Sri Lankan or Arab and heck, some of them might be Hispanic for all she knew but they sure weren’t Americans. And how did all those people make so much money by the time they were in their 30’s and 40’s when her own adult children were barely getting by? The nation had gone too soft on immigrants who only helped themselves and their own kind.  Betty went all out with thoughtful, artistic lawn decor including a nativity scene, reindeer artfully crafted from wooden twigs, and a large wooden cutout of the words “Jesus is the Reason for the Season” all tastefully lit with twinkling lights, most of the neighborhood contributed nothing more than LED lights around the outline of their remodeled homes. The interlopers had their homes lit up and festooned as they wished, when they wished, with no regard for neighborly tradition. Some had lights strung for Diwali, others for Eid, and still others for Lunar New Year. Where once Betty’s yard was part of a holly-jolly magical Christmas wonderland, now it was a lonely oasis for the long-gone spirit of Christmas.  With no comedic Santa on the neighbor’s rooftops, the neighbors had room to install solar panels as if the world was going to end unless they stopped burning gas. These people were killing the lifeblood of the Texas economy. Betty worried profoundly for her grandchildren’s futures with the way things were going. She herself felt so very lost in her own country where everyone just did what they wanted without a care for customs or consequences.As she nears the Crockett Street bridge, she sees the bold white spray painted letters across the span spelling the words BE SOMEONE. She’d heard it was a Mexican guy who’d tagged the bridge and the police weren’t doing anything about it. Apparently, breaking the law by vandalizing property made you someone these days. The speed limit was 55, but all around her cars whizzed past her going 70, 80 miles per hour. Being a law abiding, legal citizen didn’t matter anymore, she might as well be invisible. It hurt like hell to see her children and grandchildren passed up in the very country for which their forefathers had fought in two world wars. It took bravery and leadership to save the world like we did, but now we’re told to be nice, don’t speak your mind, cooperate, move over and make room for others. She purses her lips, shakes her head, and makes a split second decision. She revs the made in America Ford F150 engine and jerks the pickup into the left lane, blaring her horn as she narrowly squeezes between a shiny white electric Range Rover and some ratty old sedan but hey, at least it’s American made. She gets a good look at the Range Rover in front of her. Imported electric vehicle huh? Figures. She rolls her eyes and taps the accelerator a smidge more, not a lot, just enough to stake a claim to her rightful share of the road.****The first people to run out of their car to help are two Hispanic women. They look nervously over their shoulders even as they attempt to open the smashed doors of the sedan. They should get out of there before the police come and ask for ID, they know this. But despite the fact that they are nobodies with no money, home, nor country, suddenly they feel in this moment somos importante, we matter. And these poor people smashed into their cars, ellas son alguien tambien, they are somebody also.
","August 12, 2023 01:16",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,m8gpwx,Faith,Harini Leninraj,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/m8gpwx/,/short-story/m8gpwx/,Mystery,0,"['Christian', 'Mystery', 'Suspense']",3 likes,"
""Just hand me the damn crucifix!"" Heimileria urged me. 
""I'm sorry! Here, take it. Hurry!"" I yelped, scared.
 
10:28 PM - realisation
Jack found the lock pick from a precarious pile of junk and frantically ran up to the door with it; he picked out the lock in a flash. The ominous, unholy breaths surrounding me made my stomach churn in a knot. Heimileria stared at me. As white as a ghost. She groaned as her skin began to wrinkle unpleasantly. I was stunned at what I was witnessing; the hotel was filled with eeriness. Was there anyone out here? Is something possessing Heimileria? I apprehensively gaped at Jack straight away. He expressed a worried look on his face. Heimileria fell down to the ground and started wheezing. She continued to develop wrinkles all over her body. Heimileria’s beautiful blue eyes turned into a blood red shine. Her soft small hands tightened into powerful fists. She continued to huff and puff. Somehow, the breath sounded so familiar. Wait… 
 
 9:00 PM - FLASHBACK 
Heimileria could hear it too. The shallow panting of something unknown. Jack gave us a vexed look. The next door had an almost illegible piece of writing on it. I just managed to make out what it said: UNHOLY CREATURES ARE THINGS YOU WILL PERCEIVE. A PLACE EVEN WORSE THAN WHAT YOU CAN BELIEVE. YOU CANNOT TRUST ANYONE FROM THIS DOOR. IF YOU’RE TOGETHER YOU CREATE WAR. YOU DARE TO STAY. KEEP YOUR CHOICES AT BAY. SEEK NORTH. HAVE FAITH.  Stavrós…
The breaths kept getting more tumultuous. My heartbeat was the only thing I could hear apart from it. Some omniscient thing could hear us, see us, feel us in this desolate place. Whatever this nightmare was, I couldn't figure out what to do. I glanced at the word Stavrós. The words together obtained a cruel feeling to it. The door swung wide open and showed us 3 pathways. I looked at my mates. Jack pushed Heimileria into the first one and the magical pathway fades its entrance into nothing. I looked at Jack and he nodded. I nodded.
 
10:37 PM - possessed 
Jack took cover in a wardrobe. I ducked under the bed and breathed as quietly as possible. The pitch black darkness lured into my brain. My ears were my only sane sense. Heimileria, or should I say ‘the apparition’, sluggishly moved around the room with an appalling dark face and neon red eyes. Dun, dun, dun. My heartbeat reached 200pm, and I started hallucinating. Get out, get out, GET OUT! Blood red words in my head. Dun, dun. Dun, dun. Is it my heartbeat or Heimileria? I moved my head as slow as a sloth waking up from its nap. Unfortunately, my skull cracked from the air compressing and I immediately stopped. Heimileria turned around with her petrifying face. My brain went numb. She stepped to the cart of the bed. I saw her wonky legs bending down. Her eyes haunted me with its evil red colour. She smiled with her crooked teeth and I felt her hand grab at me. 
 
11 o’clock PM - death
Jack hung next to me on a strong elastic band. His leg bled as a huge nail pierced it through the wall. His arm red from the elastic band, blocking his blood circulation. The ghastly Heimileria stood in front of him and said, “Stavrós… Crux… Cruce. Kill… kill.” Heimileria leaped onto Jack and bit his neck. 
Jack screamed in agony as he tried to fight her off. But Heimiler wasn’t a normal person anymore. It was susceptible to an unholy ghost that had taken control of her. It was hell in a handbasket. Seeing this before my eyes was even worse than a train crash. Before Jack’s soul left his body, I saw him word out something with his lips. Cruelscifc? I wasn’t able to understand what he tried to say. Before I could reply, the only thing that remained was his pierced leg on the wall. I got ready for a similar faith. I thought about a solution that I could’ve tried to escape this horrid destiny. Cruelscifc, Jack had given me another hint. That vexed look. How do I figure this out? Curelvex, crooked. Stavrós… a German word. Crucifix. I looked up with my weak and dazed head and discerned out a cross. I cascaded my eyes to Heimileria. She looked perfectly fine now. I wasn’t dead! The only difference I saw on me was a deep laceration on my arm.
“What are you doing up there?” she asked me.
“Just waiting to die,” I said back. 
She gave me a bewildered look and set me free. 
“W..w..where’s Jack?” Heimileria stuttered. 
“In a safer world…” I mumbled.
A moment of silence rose upon us. We shared our condolences for Jack's faith and made up a quick encomium for him. I explained to Heimileria what we had to do.
 
11:11 PM - optimistic hope
I grabbed the holy spirit. Then, we vacated the room and ventured forth. The predominant plan was to find an exit from this hell. Heimileria took the lead and kept a maternal eye on me. All of a sudden, a glow disturbed the peace we had. And it followed us. I began to get worried. Then the worst happened, a shallow pant was heard. Then a deeper one. Heimileria	 and I dashed forward as fast as we could. The hype music filled my head. It was a do or die situation. My head was filled with thousands of thoughts that I nearly bashed into a closed door. I had to be cautious. Crazy enough though, we came across an elevator. This unique elevator had a familiar symbol. Jesus Christ. 
""Hand me the crucifix,"" Heimileria told me.
“No, I’ll do it. I know what to say,” I replied back.
“So do I! You can do the last part,” she screamed. 
""Ok I trust you, take it. Hurry!"" I yelped, scared.
She chanted a saying:
‘Stavrós, by holy Jesus, I beg you to take forth. Give us a way and show us north. I hereby ask you to take our anxiety away; as you care about us. All our faith relies thus. I hope you grant us and show us the light. And show us peace and adequate daylight. 
The crucifix lit up and elegantly rose high. It moved back and created a force shield. 
“Oh, evil spirits go away! Unholy spirits stop your way. By our own wounds, we grow strong and heal. This bloody scare is now covered with seal,” I strongly address. 
 
Safe - 12:00 AM
Heimileria looked at me. I looked back at her.
“Hold up. How did we get there again?” she cheerfully asked.
I laughed. It was a time to celebrate; however, despite being safe and having broken loose from our haunted adventure, it devastated us that Jack wasn’t here with us. Even though I didn’t tell Heimileria how he passed away, I could tell by her face that she already knew. 
“Well, faith couldn’t save all of us. Jack will still be close to us,” I comforted.
“Thanks Prudence,” she smiled.
“How did you have knowledge of the chant?” I questioned inquisitively.
“Remember when I was acting like a monster? I still had my actual soul stuck in it. I tried to fight it, but the haunted thing pushed me back. While I was waiting for it to leave. I also tried to work out that difficult problem, looks like we both got the same answer!” Heimileria replied.
“I knew you were my friend,” I laughed.
Heimileria gave me a grin and hugged me. What a thrill. Life is really an quest with grief and delight. 
 
","August 11, 2023 09:23",[]
prompt_0027,Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.,ei1d5h,Who's Left Behind?,Asa P,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ei1d5h/,/short-story/ei1d5h/,Mystery,0,"['Mystery', 'Thriller', 'Suspense']",2 likes,"
YOU MURDERED METhe words were big enough for a blind man to see but some foreign church must've left it. Before he could get out his phone to open Papago to translate the strange note that had been slid under his door while he was away, the middle aged office worker was blinded by a flash of white light and then inky blackness. When he awoke he had the worst migraine ever yet his skull simultaneously felt thick. He was bound at the ankles, elbows, and wrists naturally. A strip of duct tape sealed his eyes. The source of the accent eluded him, but by the bass in the voice, he knew the intruder to be male and on the younger end of the spectrum. The words he spoke shot pangs of ice through his heart.“Tell the truth, you sonuvabitch, and you might get out of here alive.”“Please, my family….” The older man tried to plead. “Who would want to marry a potbellied greasy haired murderer like you?” The unseeable intruder snapped.Immediately his abdomen exploded in pain and he cried out.The younger man’s next words were equally chilling. “Scream all you want. Nobody’s gonna hear you in here, see you either.” He said casually knowing well the insult of informal speech. Ignoring his reflex instinct to swear he said instead, “ You do not know me. You are a foreigner. That’s why you speak slowly like that with that strange accent. And I have no foreign friends!”It was beginning to dawn on him now that his surroundings did not have the scents of his own home and first tingles of true terror set in. “Yeah, and you’re a murderer, M-U-R-D-E-R-E-R. And I definitely don’t hang out with murderers!” The response was followed by another gut blow from the blunt object. “And….”From how his assailant materialized at his side in a mere two second pause, he knew that he must be rather tall, striding lengths like a model on the runway. A foot to the sternum and blow on the collarbone intended, without a doubt, to shatter it. “You’re the worst of the worst, the lowest of the lowest kind of murderer.”“What kind, you psycho?” He almost choked on his own scream.A second blow did what the first could not and stole his breath away.“I’ll ask the questions here and remember my first words….tell three lies to me and I will make sure that the next one to your head sends you straight to hell where you belong.” The same slow deliberate way of speaking was no less effective with the words being spoken.In that moment, he truly felt like he would leave the room only in a body bag.“My first question for Surname Park and don’t ask how I know your name…... it’s what they’re going to call you in the media due to the stupid defamation and privacy laws in this country. Question one now. What are the names of all the cities and towns in those cities that you have lived in since 2000?”Surname Park hesitated.The blunt object smashed down on his right hand with enough force to cripple him for years if not life. It was an extrajudicial sentence of chronic unemployment in a country which reportedly had the world's lowest rate of left- handedness. ""Nowon, Seoul. Songdo, Incheon. Bucheon-si, Godeung, Suwon…..please my head hurts so badly that I cannot think!"" Surname Park gasped. Porridge thick tension filled seconds went by.""Alright, fine…."" Sighed the MC of this horribly twisted nightmare kidnap concept survival show. ""You passed question one, but now it is time for question two. Again remember my first words of warning and please know that there will be a record of your words. Are you ready?""Was Surname Park being filmed? He almost immediately realized that was indeed a stupid question in a country with a CCTV camera in every single corner.""Nae…"" He surrendered. Yes""Question two now. Are you 금수저 or 흨수저?"" The MC asked sternly. Are you a geumsujeo or huksujeo?The child of a rich family or a poor family?""You made a mistake. You must be a foreigner."" Surname Park pointed out. The penalty was an agonizingly painful blow to his crotch. ""Worry less about my nationality and language skills. Worry much more about the person that you killed and whether or not you're getting out of here while you're still breathing, Surname Park!"" The slow monotonous voice kept its even pitch.""I'm a golden spoon, a rich kid despite the Asian Financial Crisis in 1997. My parents were loaded even then."" Surname Park admitted.""Better. Much better. I think you might actually understand now…..concealing your past and lying will not serve or save you in any way now."" MC Mysterious quipped. ""You might have gotten away with it back then but now only the truth and every God in the universe can save you now.""""Question three now, please."" Surname Park was careful to make a statement rather than ask a question. His life depended on his humbleness and abandonment of all culturally instilled social rules regarding seniority.""What is your date of birth?"" The question was puzzlingly simple.""07 December 1984."" Surname Park responded.""I was also born in December."" MC Mysterious mused after a minute or so. ""The last possible day to be a liner of that year and with quite annoyed and disappointed too young parents.""For just a moment there seemed to be a bit of humanity in the voice.""What is question four?"" ""I said already that I'm asking the questions here!"" MC Mysterious snapped.The blunt object crashed down on Surname Park's left ankle.There was no way to survive. The assailant was clearly hellbent. Only ways to prolong the inevitable. ""What kind of foods do you like to eat? What's your favorite?"" came question four.""I love 깐풍새우 and dumplings."" Surname Park admitted. The Chinese style shrimp and dumplings. 'You were there…."" His captor declared.""왜?"" Surname Park made the mistake that 100% of his own people had made at least a few times. (Wae) Why? Meant to seek clarification by any ordinary fellow countryman brought only more pain to Surname Park. It took the form of a brutal blow to his right kneecap with the unseen blunt object.Question five, please! I will tell you all of the truth!"" Surname Park wailed beside himself in pain, his undergarments and pants soiled while he struggled to maintain his consciousness. ""Where were you exactly on 10 August 2003 and what were you doing?"" was question five.Surname Park didn't dare hesitate although he could barely recall his own name at this point.""Probably with friends eating and drinking in order to enjoy at the Chinese restaurant."" He offered weakly as a response.""You actually told the truth, the whole truth for a change, so now I have only one question left. Congratulations….you're still alive."" MC Mysterious chuckled for a few seconds before his voice became steely.""Did you see her face?"" Again Surname Park broke the rules set by his captor.""뭐?"" He asked. Mwo, (what)?""Did you see the slightly too short t-shirt, too long boy sized shorts and attached to suspenders, and popsicle hair clips? Did you see who she truly was? Did you glimpse the trickling discharge from her nose and unnaturally sprawled limbs?"" The two children were semi running and semi tumbling down the hilly road without sidewalks, at dusk on a lazy summer's evening. The girl was in front, her mid back length normally unruly jet black curls partitioned into three plaits with flyaways dealt with by clips, betraying her complicated genetic history. Another child, slightly taller with short neatly trimmed wavy dark hair, rounded glasses, and a red and blue jersey. He alternatively skipped, jumped, and barreled down the narrow hillside street.It was when that child had stopped due to a rock in his sandal, pressed himself against the wall of a building to get it out, that the headlights illuminated them. The taillights had twice repelled him from continuing forward against all of his instincts to run to the limp form on the coarse uneven stone. In less than two minutes what once was breath had become only air scented by burnt rubber. The blood congealed to the same color of the track marks.Then all of a sudden, it clicked for Surname Park. "" Yes, the little girl that you backed over not once but twice to avoid liability although your parents were admittedly loaded…..the young boy who was distraught in the middle of the street as you and your buddies sped off? You knew that if she was still breathing then her family could've asked for major bank in compensation for her injury and perhaps your father's company would have been made public knowledge,but if she was dead and nobody saw it..... Your family's good name was protected and your parents didn't even know that their son was a drunk driving moron. Well,the little girl had one older brother. They were returning from the convenience store to their grandmother's shop."" MC Mysterious said gravely.Surname Park was barely conscious.""And he kept his promise to his little sister. Did you really think you would get away with it forever? Answer me! """"I barely saw her, because she fell down so quick……""Could these be the last words?""My mother always said that every dog has his day and everybody has to pay for the wrong that they do before they leave this Earth….Time is up, Park A-Hwi. You didn't pay down here in this lifetime, but you're damned sure gonna pay in the next lifetime!"" MC Mysterious declared. ""There should be a little girl so kind and much missed, who deserves to be 29 years old soon. But she's been dead for 20 years …she was killed two decades ago when laws were quite different. But it ultimately matters little now."" It played on all of the media outlets, initially domestic and soon internationally, reported on almost globally from every angle and perspective possible. ""This bastard can't rot in jail by law, but he's about to burn in hell for all eternity.""""That night….."" Surname Park mumbled weakly as he faded away.""That night…an innocent 8 year old child lost her life to a privileged irresponsible troublemaker. "" The MC countered. ""Do you have any idea how challenging the life that you cut short was? Did your liquor soaked brain think you'd just run over some stray dog or cat instead of an actual child? Do you know what she meant and how her presence held a weak defenseless little boy's life together? And did you ever think about who exactly is left behind and who has to deal with your irresponsibility and selfishness?""""Yes, it was just a kid, just some girl running in the streets….."" Surname Park somehow managed to stammer.""Just a little girl who had already been through so much. Just a little girl who faced every day with resilience and maintained her naturally empathetic and caretaking characteristics. Just a little girl who deserves to turn 29 years old in a few weeks, but she didn't even get to blow out nine candles…."" MC Mysterious reflected ominously with utmost seriousness. ""In the rear view mirror when I saw the little boy dash back out into the road without any concern for personal safety ….I never thought….."" Surname Park slurred.""That one day he would grow up, become a man, and keep his promise to his little sister who he could never remember life without? The sole witness is silent no more…Ready to go meet your maker?"" All went black and the question unanswered. Doctors say there is very little of recovery for the man found bloodied and virtually unrecognizable on the side of a road in Mapo-gu. Police are still searching for the scene and reviewing all of the case files in all of the relevant cities mentioned for the referenced date in the video….. He heard the news on TV mounted opposite the studio's mixing board, as he put all of his 70 kilograms behind a stiff bristled brush and scrubbed the floor like his life depended on it. His livelihood and reputation did at least. No need for his prodigies to notice the rust colored specks. Many late night sessions often led to tensions and even tears, so no need to add anything more upsetting to the setting. He mopped his sweaty brow and swept back the bangs he had allowed to become long in adulthood with tattooed pianist-long fingers. Every now and then he would adopt the push up position to crack his stiff back and stretch out his legs. Less than one year of being 30 and he already felt old. ""Good morning, Producer D!"" A trio of voices chirped as they opened the door and half bowed. Before he could stand and respond, their noses curled at the overwhelming smell of chlorine bleach.“The worst of the worst, the lowest of the low, scum of the Earth are the baby killers. And still there are even worse….the ones that murder children and think the child’s voice dies with them.”
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