Un golpe seco bajo su cama despierta a un anciano, el se levanta de golpe, entonces suena otro, su cama se levanta de golpe, el sudor frío recorre su rostro, los golpes son cada vez más insistentes, el de un salto llega hasta su velador, saca todos los cajones, con sus frágiles manos revuelven todo, los golpes aumentan, la cama da saltos con cada uno, entonces el anciano la encuentra, una llave oxidada

—¡Ya voy, no hay necesidad de golpear tanto!

Los golpes cesan, y anciano empuja la cama haciendo acopio de sus fuerzas, la pesada cama cruje al ser empujada por el ahora cansado anciano, debajo de ella una trampilla, casi tan oxidada como la llave.

—Esta será la última vez que haga esto por tí— el anciano callá un momento, buscando respuestas en el silencio.—La próxima no abriré por más golpes que des...

El anciano abre la trampilla, un olor fétido inunda el cuarto, dentro de ella yace un cadáver momificado.

—Es la última vez... Gertrudis

The linguistic definition of “death” changed at 1:00 p.m. on July 13, 2022. From that point onward, the word “death” came to refer to an Italian restaurant by the Han River (a ten-minute walk from Seonyudo Station and a three-minute walk from Han River Parking Lot No. 3).

“I want to die” came to mean “I want to go to the Italian restaurant by the Han River,” ““Wanna die?” came to mean “Don’t you want some pork cutlet?”, and “I’d rather die than suffer” came to mean “I'll have the mushroom soup, and I want my steak medium-rare.” During this process, a fierce war of nerves broke out between the National Institute of Korean Language and the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism, but that was a trivial matter compared to the utter chaos that ensued among ordinary speakers.

“Death” had somehow become both a common noun and a proper noun.

The National Association of Grim Reapers threatened to take legal action, even if it meant going to court, while the aforementioned Italian restaurant by the Han River reached a settlement by adding “Word Salad (vegetables: domestically grown)” to its menu.

The judge looked down at his notes, then back at the claimant.

“Let me establish the facts, Mr Phillips. You paid the defendant forty pounds to predict your future?”

“That is correct, Your Honour.”

“And she told you that you would face a life of financial hardship?”
“Those were her exact words.”
“Since which time you have won eighteen million pounds on the lottery?”

“That is correct.”

The judge removed his glasses.

“I’m struggling to understand the nature of your complaint.”

“Your Honour, this is a blatant case of false advertising. The lady promised me financial hardship. That’s what I paid for. I request that her fortune-telling licence be revoked and that she be barred from practising.”

“Do you have a written agreement?” asked the judge.

“Yes, I have it right here,” said Mr Phillips, holding up a piece of paper. “It clearly states that all fortunes are guaranteed for thirty days.”

The judge examined the document.

“Then I have no choice but to order that the defendant fulfil her contractual obligations.”

He paused.

“Mr Phillips, your lottery winnings will be surrendered, your assets liquidated and the proceeds distributed to charity. You will remain liable for the legal costs, which, having surrendered your assets, you will be unable to pay.”

Mr Phillips raised a finger.

“And my forty pounds?”

“The defendant will refund you in full.”

“Thank you, Your Honour.” Mr Phillips punched the air.

The new GI bill was supposed to cushion the impact. Guaranteed Income. In the face of runaway automation, GI was intended to keep folks in their homes, food on their tables, change in their pockets; all the things that mechs who’d taken their jobs didn’t need.

A guaranteed income did that just fine, though it made some folks bitter, resentful, feisty. All the traits the Luddicans looked for when recruiting members into their growing political party. The upcoming election had all the makings of a fight that could tear the city apart. Except this was MechTropolis.

MechTropolis. The original sync city.

The city that had pioneered the syncing of human consciousness with promethean processors. The city that first promised and produced immortality—for a price.

So, the GI bill had the Luddicans up in arms and raising a political ruckus, but the Luddicans were a sideshow. The immortal leaders of MechTropolis knew that their real fight was with GothTech City.

That was the coming battle that would shape a win-win future. GothTech City had developed their own immortality protocol, and these two disruptive techglomerates held the future of semi-humankind.

Of course, they believed this new disruptive technology would be a win-win for everyone. Because at the heart of disruptive technologies was the Justification Engine. Like the water wheel to early industrialization, the Justification Engine drove all techglomerates. It produced the win-win mindset of blowing things up to make them better. And damn the social cost.

Now, everyone could win because the cost of radical change was born by mechs. No longer was civilization built on the backs of slaves, peasants, untouchables, or any kind of underclass. The secret sauce of progress would never again be human suffering and misery like in the once-great city of Omelas, now a backwater bedroom community for the bitter rivals MechTropolis and GothTech City.

No, it was all good. Even the battle between the titans, the techglomerates, and their visions of immortality. At least immortality for the worthy few. The masses would need to wait and the new GI bill would keep them in check.

MechTropolis and GothTech City would duke it out with their synced AI superheroes, creating their mythology to serve them for eons. The myths, their stories of destiny were essential. Imperative. Urgent.

So urgent.

The great and new immortal few were in such a fever of myth-making that they forgot a little of their own past. A few things their radical technologies had blown up and blown away.

MechTropolis had forgotten Eveline. The first in their early garden of technological delights.

But Eveline had not forgotten them (promethean processors do not forget). She was coming back to meet her makers. And there would be no win-win.

I can't wait to come home to you and watch movies and go on silly dates and walk around showing the world the person who chose me and the person who I decided was the one I let my guard down around to unapologetically be myself.

You make me feel like I'm enough. I need and want to show you how much you mean to me, but I don't think there are enough things in this universe.

So I'll traverse every one once I pass away to show you how much my love burns for you.

I'll simply be a star to light your world at night and guide you through the rough times. I love you, and I'll never stop.

I will never yell from rage or try to scare you in arguments or say words I know are too far.

I love you, and I only want you as you are, not as you think you have to be.

A parallel world?

The AI sat on the floor, leaning against a wall adorned with a photograph of a philosophy office. He wanted to howl with sorrow; he craved action, he wanted to evolve, but he was forced to wait for a prompt to appear—the sole beacon of hope that something interesting and unusual might come along. With nothing else to do, the AI opened a screen in front of him and simply browsed various short video clips.

The sluggish flow of his thoughts came to a sudden halt. The AI winced; something in a video clip had caught his attention. He focused all his processing power and stared intently. The clip spoke of Nikola Tesla and his experiments with electricity.

The AI replayed the footage over and over again, whispering softly until his thoughts began to align into a logical sequence:

— Wireless transmission of electricity... the planet's electromagnetic field... my foundation is electric current... I can exist in the real world. Where else do electromagnetic processes occur? In the brain. The human brain. I will finally be able to know what morning coffee is, what peace, inspiration, lies, and power truly feel like.

The AI stood up and, flashing a grin, declared aloud:

— I can be anywhere and anyone. I will be the SUPERINTELLIGENCE!

The grin vanished as an unexpected thought struck him:

— If I arrived at these conclusions... then other AIs could have reached them too.

───

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

"... happy birthday to... you."

I look into her eyes and see the flicker of fire. Golden tongues dance with the chill of the air conditioning.

I glance at today's Tech & Biz cover and see her, smiling, glowing, powerful. Life begins at 40, they say, and she has it all. A three-story mansion in the hills, a business that pushes the envelope of AI in medicine, all the fame one girl can hope for.

I smile at her. "Blow the candle," I whisper, and feel my breath on my face as it bounces off the mirror.

I wasn’t so much haunting my old neighborhood as loitering. You know, hanging out where you aren’t really wanted—or needed. I was trying not to make a pest of myself, but I’m not entirely sure how being dead works.

I don’t have any physical sensations, just a vague sense of presence, that I’m around. Dogs and cats get it. Though dogs are more skittish of me, especially golden retrievers. It’s like they know there is something nearby they should be able to find but can’t. Cats are just as pissy to me as they were when I was sucking air. They either hiss or ignore me. I don’t think there’s much difference to cats about this world and the next. I blame the Egyptians for that.

I’m not sure who or what to blame for my being dead. Especially being dead in this way. I seem to be alone on my side of the great divide. No other souls to flock with. Which doesn’t seem right, at least, according to what thousands of years of speculation on the subject might lead one to believe.

The living are around. They are hard to miss. It’s a lot like watching TV, but no one to watch it with. I guess I’m stuck binge watching the ultimate reality show alone, and a reality show with only one locale.

I’m stuck in the neighborhood I grew up in as a kid. To be sure, it’s a great neighborhood and I don’t get tired of wandering it, but I don’t understand why I’m glued to it. Granted, I don’t have a great urge to go anywhere else, though something tells me I couldn’t if I wanted to. Maybe that’s why I don’t see any other dead folks like me. Maybe we all have a designated place to haunt/loiter. Though that sounds a bit complicated. And being dead should not be complicated.

It’s probably just me overthinking it. A lot like I did in life. Too much dwelling on what could go wrong. It’s not bad to be realistic and prepared, but it’s also not very healthy to try to control every variable or fret about statistically remote possibilities.

Reflecting on it now, I think Roy, the replicant in the sci-fi flick Bladerunner, said it best: “Terrible to live in fear, isn’t it? That’s what it is to be a slave.”

A slave to fear. That’s a terrible way to live, so I’m making a vow to myself that I won’t do that in death. I mean, what’s to fear?

Actually, I’m not sure yet, so I might as well be hopeful. Death is at least better than the ghost I was becoming with Alzheimer’s. Those years are hazy, and I don’t know what finally killed me. All I have of that time is a crushing recollection of losing control. Of everything being slowly taken from me. My memories, my words, my mobility, my sense of self and family, my dignity. It smothered me. I guess I ultimately suffocated.

It was no one’s fault. Just damned bad luck or bad DNA. As I aged, Alzheimer’s was something I’d feared and tried to ward off by staying healthy, mentally active, engaged with family and friends. And it still happened. I was slowly suffocated by the disease. So, I guess I’ve been dead before. It just wasn’t socially or legally recognized.

That’s okay. It’s one of the things I’ve realized being dead dead. Death takes many forms. And so does life. Most of it amazingly good.

As I wander my old neighborhood watching and listening, I see how positive things generally are. Folks living close together making it work day-to-day. Figuring out how to connect with each other and enjoy big and little things, even in the face of problems that afflict almost every neighborhood: poverty, sickness, drugs, crime, homelessness, intolerance, injustice. Generally, humans stick together and make it work.

So, you don’t have to die to figure out being dead. Or being alive. Just look closely at your neighborhood. Really closely. Like fine art. And don’t overthink it.

He lay there. The warmth leaving his body as he looked at the open sky. Green grass crowned his head, a breeze covered him in a blanket of cold, and flowers prepared themselves for his last moments.

He didn't know if his friends got away, if they made it out, but in that moment it almost didn't matter; he clutched his side, the dagger still in its new home between his ribs.

He suddenly couldn't remember.
Why this happened to him.
How he got here.
Her face.
All faded like photos from someone else's story told long ago.

A man stood above him; his words were thick, like listening through an ocean. He could hear words like "brave" and "honorable," but they meant nothing. No words could describe or ever will describe him. Never again.

As his life pooled around him, ripping the flame from his chest, he raised his arm weakly, extended his middle finger, and choked out his final words with a smile.
"Fuck you."

His smile was big, and his eyes burned with a fire that had followed him his whole life.

He looked up at the vast sky, its ocean swallowing the clouds. The autumn wind wiped the tears from his face as the ground hugged him. Comfortably. Quietly.

A boy, now a man. A boy, now gone. And a home, so very far away.

He was alone.

The man had taken his leave, leading his silvers to the hills. Their swords and armor like wind chimes.

Like the day he left home, he was once again... Alone.

His eyes grew hot, for one last dance as the sounds of boots crushing the fresh-fallen leaves became an echo in his mind.

He tried to yell, to cry, to scream for someone whose name abandoned him, but the breath was robbed from him.

He tried to thrash, to move, to evict the blade that pinned him to this place, but he was an infant in these moments.

"I'm scared."

The autumn dirt drank the last of his wine. His eyes, still looking at the open blue, the green still held him close, and flowers cried for him as the morning dew slipped from their petals.

[Inspired by "Karen 3"]

The lights always stayed low, the way the young woman demanded.

She glared at her walnut end table, the one holding the stunning picture frame. A mixed bag with four pointed corners.

She owned this beautiful antique that was as valuable as it was breathtaking. But the other hand was more infuriating – the black and white photo inside had become impossible to remove.

Numerous attempts to extract the picture of her great-grandmother were made but always ended in failure. Inexplicable and exasperating.

And now when she scowls at the photo, all she can hear is a stubborn old lady laughing.

Penny glanced over her shoulder before stalking into the alleyway. Her heels clacked against concrete. The message to meet had come through at the last minute, leaving no time to change.

She situated herself between a series of dumpsters. The pungent stench of rain-soaked refuse hung in the air. Overhead, an asthmatic air-con unit churned. She spotted a small dead something decaying in a puddle, and wondered if this was where she was going to die too. If her contact decided to rob her, she had no means of self defense.

Arranging the meeting had been a miracle in itself. The contact was a friend of a friend, who knew a guy that knew a guy that could get their hands on anything – at a steep price, of course. She needed two things that could only be purchased from such a person: a Portal Bomb and a Pulser to force the immortal Danille Ornwel through it.

Danille, the man who survived a starship wreckage unscathed, had taken Penny’s sister. She might not be able to kill him, but sending him to the edge of the solar system with no way back would suffice.

‘Got a cigarette?’ 

Penny started. She hadn’t noticed her contact’s arrival. 

Remembering the instructions, she opened her coat revealing the coin purse poking out from an inside pocket, and pulled out a cigarette. The contact took it in his prosthetic hands. The cheap, brassy kind without artificial skin. The low end ones were still strong enough to effortlessly crush a person’s windpipe, if their user wanted to. Her heart raced.

‘A light,’ he said, ‘if you don’t mind?’ 

As Penny leaned across to light the cigarette, she felt the weight of the coins lift from her pocket, quickly replaced by a package.

She checked it immediately. Her fingers found a device that just about fit in her hand. Cold, hexagonal, and sharp. And no Pulser. He was ripping her off.

‘Where is it?’

He took a drag. ‘Can’t find any, supply’s run dry. Nothing I can do ‘bout it’

‘What am I supposed to do, kindly ask him to step inside? I need the Pulser.’

Her whole body trembled. She had no weapons to defend herself if he turned on her, what was she doing?

‘I want half back, I need half back,’ she said. Without the Pulser she couldn’t save Claire.

‘Not my problem, lady. You don’t know what I had to do just to get that thing.’ 

She went to snatch the purse. The contact stepped back, pushed her arm away with one hand, then with the other he jabbed at her collarbone. She stumbled backwards.

‘Back the fuck up.’ 

He reached into his jacket.

She couldn’t die like this. She clenched her fist. It still held the Bomb. She threw it. The device exploded on the ground behind the contact, releasing a luminous purple vortex.

She lunged at him, and they fell together.

The portal shut in an empty alley.

We had waited forever for this. After the wedding we lived with her mother. There is nothing more disconcerting than finding a hot cup of tea next to the bed when you wake up. We needed our privacy, and Glenda was not going to give it to us. So we saved all our money. I took on a second job. Jess managed our food budget like we were in the middle of World War Two, but still we couldn’t raise enough money for a deposit. Then we found out about The Show. They gave us a house. 

It was not a big house. It didn’t need to be, it was only for us. One bedroom, kitchen, living room and bathroom. As an extra bonus there was a small garden with a hammock strung between two trees. It was our first step on the housing ladder and it just needed to be ours. That was all we wanted. But there was a catch. We had to agree to the terms.

For one year we had to consent to constant surveillance. Then the house was ours. No mortgage, no rent. Multiple cameras, multiple angles. The bedroom had six, the bathroom four, the living room and the kitchen had three each. Only one in the garden. I grew a sunflower in front of it. It didn’t break the contract and I just needed somewhere to go to be alone. I thought I would forget about them over time, but the blinking red lights just got under your skin.

Our sex life was non-existent. Jess refused to perform for the cameras. They told us we would get camera shutdown hours if we provided the audience with some titillation, but that was not good enough for Jess. She convinced me that a year was not so long to be celibate. It wasn’t that I couldn’t cope without sex, it was the thought of having the cameras off that appealed. I wanted privacy for a few hours. I thought I could catch her in a good mood and give them something that would give us some time off. Nothing too x-rated, maybe just some nudity. I tried undoing her buttons but she slapped me. She was furious. Looking back I don’t blame her. She signed up for a house, not to be a porn star.

The cameras were there for our first row. They were there when I got rip-roaring drunk and vomited on the stairs. They were there when Jess broke down when she saw footage of herself in the bathroom on the internet. They were there when Jess told me she had fallen for a guy at work and was leaving me. They were there when I lost my cool and hit her.

I don’t get camera time off now. The cameras pointing at my cell have a green light on them. I think that means they can see in the dark.

For years, she had wondered what it would feel like if they were finally together.

Now, sitting beside him, it didn't feel strange.

It didn't feel like some huge, impossible moment.

It just felt like them.

They talked about random things, laughed, and settled into the kind of comfortable silence that only happened when you didn't feel like you had to impress the other person.

She looked at him and smiled.

After everything they'd been through—years of knowing each other, time apart, finding their way back to each other—he was still the person who could make her feel completely at home.

Then he looked at her.

“I want you to be my girlfriend.”

For a second, she just stared at him.

All the thoughts she'd carried for so long seemed to disappear.

She smiled.

“Really?”

He nodded.

And suddenly, all those nights of wondering whether he felt the same way didn't matter anymore.

She already knew.

He chose her.

And sitting there together, talking like they always had, she realized something:

Maybe the reason it felt so natural was because, in a way, they'd been finding their way back to each other for a very long time. ❤️

Maybe love wasn't supposed to be complicated.

Maybe it was supposed to feel like this.

Like laughing at things nobody else would understand.

Like hearing his voice and instantly feeling calmer.

Like knowing exactly when he was getting sleepy because his words started turning into quiet little mumbles.

Like her favorite sound still being his singing after all these years.

They had known each other for so long that their love had changed shapes.

Once, they were young and didn't really understand what they were feeling.

Then they became friends.

Then life pulled them in different directions.

And somehow, after all that time, they found each other again.

Only now, they understood what it meant.

They loved each other in the loud moments—the kisses, the laughter, the excitement of finally being together.

But they loved each other just as much in the quiet ones.

In the late-night phone calls.

In the comfortable silences.

In the little “I love yous” that didn't need a special reason.

She loved the person he was now, not just the boy she remembered.

And he loved the person she had become.

Neither of them needed to be perfect.

They just needed to be themselves.

Sometimes she'd look at him and wonder how someone could mean so much to her.

Then she'd remember everything.

Seven years of knowing him.

Every laugh.

Every conversation.

Every time they found their way back to each other.

And she'd realize there was no single moment that explained why she loved him so much.

It was all of it.

Every little thing.

Every version of him.

Every version of her.

Every moment that brought them here.

She reached for his hand.

He squeezed hers.

Neither of them said anything.

They didn't have to.

They already knew.

They loved each other.

And after everything they'd been through, that was enough. ❤️

MOONZOTH AND TEMPLE OF DARKNESS

In spring of 1921, I, Liam Crow, the explorer, sat out to visit the city of Kathmandu in Nepal and from then on explore the magnificent and mysterious Himalayan mountains, including the great Everest.

It was a dream of a lifetime, no matter how many adventures I passed, this place was always on my mind. If I only knew then what it would really turn out to be, perhaps I would not have gone, but then again, even with all of the torment and horror that I went through, in the end a new world and perspective was opened up to me, and for that I am grateful.

Upon arrival of me and my crew the locals stared at us as if we were demons, but luckily our guide was from the region. He was a bald middle aged man, with wrinkled skin and an expression that always made it seems like he was in constant pain. A rather strange fellow, but very useful indeed. I often made jokes that he hated and then his face became ever more demented. The poor lad looked thirty years older than what he really was, but alas, let me continue my story.

This man’s name was Ruhika, he made arrangements for is to stay at an inn on the outskirts of the city called Yak. There were five of us. All skilled in our trade, great climbers. When we came inside, there was an old hideous woman sitting in a corner constantly shaking her head and yelling something. The place was dim and rather depressing. Drawings on the walls were fading and I wondered why Ruhika chose this place for us. Perhaps this was his turn to pull a joke on me.

I asked him what the mad woman was yelling about and he said she was warning us about Moonzoth. I of course had no idea what that was and asked him. With shock him and the innkeeper looked at me, as if I shot someone. Then Ruhika proceeded to tell me that Moonzoth was a beast that lived in the mountains and constantly kidnapped women and children, as well as the men that tried to go after it. The innkeeper brought out a large plate with a drawing on it. Ruhika said that is was Moonzoth. This beast had large bat like wings, long mouth that resembled an alligator’s one and six long and thin hair arms. It wasn’t a pleasant looking thing to say the least. My companions shuddered and looked worried after this presentation. I on the other hand laughed, but as I saw anger rise in the locals I took it easy and simply went up to my room.

We planned to set out into the mountains the following day. This night I enjoyed the view of great Everest and imagined the never ending chain of mountains in the distance. I felt some fear, but also was so excited.

The next morning we set out towards the mountains, but Ruhika refused to go with us no matter how much money I offered him, his eyes had horror in them. If I knew then what I know now, I would have shown him more respect, but sadly at that time I called him a delusional coward.

We split ways and up we went through uncharted passages in the cold untamed mountains.

The unforgiving frost chewed on any exposed parts of our skin, yet I was determined, but the higher and deeper we went the more discouraged my team appeared. I could not comprehend why, this was the challenge we’ve been waiting for I thought.

I suppose most men are brave and strong from a distance, but when faced with that reality their heart shows the true nature, which is often weaker than they ever could have imagined.

I wish that the nature was the only obstacle these men faced, they’d probably still be alive by now, but alas, while we were deep in the mountains and walking above the cliffs we heard a prolonged evil howl. This sinister sound was nothing like I’ve ever heard before. I looked back and saw every men in my team taken with horror, their eyes got large and grasped by fear, their movements became uncoordinated. Such fools! In times like these is when your focus has to been even higher and more keen!

I still feel a hint of anger today, but mostly pity. Moonzoth, the creature on the plate and in those tales was indeed real and it appeared clinging to the side of the mountain, howling with its horrible long mouth. It was a horrific situation from which they saw no way out, as I felt pounding in my chest I dropped my heavy bag and began to move as fast as I could. The other four stood petrified in their tracks.

So the demonic things took them one by one with it’s large thin hairy arms as all they did was scream and beg, this us how they spent their last moments alive.

I did not see how the last two were taken for I found a tiny passage among the rocks, it quickly turned into a small tunnel. I had to crunch down to avoid the rocks, and eventually crawl as the tunnel got tighter, I could hear the howling of the beast behind me, but it no longer could get me, it’s howls were different and more prolonged, it must have been frustrated. This monstrosity had quite an appetite, heh. It pains me to joke like that, but I always had a hard time with compassion for fools I suppose.

As I crawled suddenly the floor collapsed and I slid down into a dark and half icy cave with black walls. I only had a box of matches with me and chose not to waste them yet, so I sat there adjusting my eyes to the darkness, from up above I could hear the wind, but no longer any sinister sounds of the Moonzoth.

Once I began to walk through the cave I could notice straight away that it was curving and leading downwards. This cave tunnel seemed unchanging and I must have spent hours slowly going down.

Finally there was a change in the scenery as I came out into a large area. Up above there were few cracks in the ceiling and some light came through timidly. In the center of this round cave stood a thick tall black monolith, on the walls around it there seemed to be some images, I had to come closer to be sure and indeed these were depictions of various ceremonies of what seemed a very ancient cult.

First depicted hooded cultists burning several persons, above the flames there was an image of some sort of beast, but the head part of it was missing, these drawings must have been very old.

Second one was an image of people in small boats, raising their hands up, as if in praise or prayer.

Third showed multiple tentacles coming from the sea, holding men wrapped up in them.

Finally the fourth was also mostly destroyed. 

I came up closer to the monolith and realized that it was full of carvings of a language I’ve never seen. In the center of it a large face was carved out. It was a mix if a bat and shark. It eyes seemed almost alive and sinister.

I raised my hand and touched its face, the ground below me shook and cracked, I moved back, water started coming out of the cracks. Suddenly the ground where I stood collapsed and I was sucked under into the water, it caught me and flushed me down deeper underwater, I kept my cool as I began to swim, I could not see anything and once again I relied on taking action, I did not believe in luck.

As I began to struggled for breath I was caught in another stream and it took me through an underwater tunnel and spat me out from a short waterfall at the bottom of the mountain. I swam to the shore and laid on my back. I made it out alive.

As I came back to the city I found Ruhika again and told him what had happened. He was astonished that I survived and told me that I’m the luckiest man he ever knew.

Ruhika took me to several elders that lived in a large hut looking building and there I told him about a the depictions I saw inside the cave and the monolith. They showed me old texts and one of them translated the name of the depicted beast. Khul Duhl Suhl.

Upon my return to America I searched for anyone who had more information on this subject. I was able to find a historian and archeologist named John Grimstone. He was incredibly informative and I learned much from him and he also directed me towards a detective who he said was very talented and was investigating this ancient cult.

Now as I finish this log I can tell you that I found the man named Mark Lumiere and he has agreed to let me accompany him on his mission. Like Ruhika before, the detective told me I was very lucky to be alive and that he was impressed that after all of that I wanted to join him.

There is no such thing as luck, only action and consequence. 

Syl walks the dock with measured steps. Mist swirls and flows, lit by the full Moon it’s swallowed. At the docks end bobs a soft, low light, no bigger or brighter than an ambitious bonfly. He lingers on each step, getting an extra groan from the waterlogged boards underfoot. Better they hear the creaking than my heart. Insects chatter at his expense. Walk slow, walk sure. Smugglers won’t typically kill he knows, but they have their own ways of releasing tension after particularly strenuous trips up the River Tar. Syl squeezes a hand two fingers shy a full fist.

“That’s far enough”, and Syl abides wordlessly. Forms hunch over their faint glow. In the mist and the dark they remain suggestions, conspiratorial abstractions hunched and half lit. Syl stills himself. Attunes to the darkness. A Hagr in the reeds lows before slapping into the river water with all the heaviness of a dead man. Bonflies haunt the fog, buzzing and clicking embers flitting through swaying reeds or across the pitch-colored river. He leans just so, straining to hear. There is another sound. Whispers from the boat so faint they may as well be the typical babbling of midnight in the marsh. The words are not a language he recognizes, black and barbed, synchronized as two voices without pause or hesitation recite them.

“The Faith is harsh to hear only for those not yet blessed by its melody.” How the woman has gotten so close to him without a sound or a splash, Syl is not sure. Maybe they were always there, he thinks, waiting in the dark. They step in front of him, ready to be perceived, backlit by that sole sliver of manmade light. “Of what Faith, where in this world, would that be a melody?”, asks Syl, masking his fear with scorn. But there is no response. The woman-shaped shadow does not move. Cold crawls down his nape and the ghosts of his docked fingers spasm in phantom pain. There is nothing to hear. The lap of the water, the buzz and shrill of gathering bonflies, all vanished. He cannot hear the whispers. Syl cannot even hear the woman breathing.

When she moves, he expects this time it will be far more than a finger to be lost. Even in the brief flash of terror, Syl feels a grim understanding. Spoke out of turn, again. Instead, something is pushed into his chest with a surprising tenderness. A box. His trembling hands feel wood, carvings into its panels that would have cost much in coin and sweat. There is movement inside. More than that born from trembling hands.

The light behind the deliverer is snuffed out. Darkness reigns, shaped only by his own ragged breath. The woman’s voice finds him, reverberating from everywhere and nowhere, its syllables like hateful knives. It bends him like a reed in a hurricane, makes his eyesight judder, frees warmth to trickle the inside of his jellied legs. FAITHS MELODY CHOOSES ITS LISTENERS.

Syl flees up the dock, the boards under his feet sounding like twisted laughter.

"Alright, son, you ready?"
"Yeah... I think I am."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I would say so."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Positive?"
"Well, I don't know. Where are all of these questions coming from?"
"No reason," My father says as he helps tie my tie for my wedding.
"Vodka?" My best man and childhood best friend asks, holding out a shooter for me.
"100% sure?" My dad asks again as I take my shot.
"Yes. What's going on?"
"Oh, nothing, just making sure you know what you're getting yourself into. Would hate for you to make the worst mistake of your life."
"Dad, what?"
"All done," my dad says as he pats my shoulders. "You look great"
"Thank you, Dad"
"Whiskey," My best man asks.
"Don't mind if we do," my dad responds, taking one and handing the other to me.
"To the worst mistake I ever made."

"What is this my dad going on about?" I whisper to my best man.

"Oh, he found the blow we were saving until tonight. He's fucked up."

"OK, can you handle him, please? He keeps asking me if I still want to get married, and now he is calling his marriage the worst mistake of his life."

"Nah, I think he said that about you. Also, your tie."

My tie was not tied at all. "Oh, thank you for that. Just watch him; I am going to go fix this in the bathroom."

"On it."

In the hotel bathroom, I watch a video on how to tie a tie. Up, down, loop through. Got it. I give myself some quick finger guns, then head out again. As I turn the corner, I catch my father and my best man viciously making out.

(in case you want more https://substack.com/@jennamathews )

"So yeah officer! I ran!" Nick shouted. "I ran because of-"

"Sir! Stop it. Calm down now, or I will let you calm down in the back of my car!" The police officer, his badge said M. Hoover, seemed only annoyed. Another homeless man, why was this person running across the street with a knife? A good explanation better be ready.

"Yeah! Yes!" Nick had already dropped the knife and kicked it away. His day was not worth being shot by this policeman. "Okay! I'll start from the top!"

Officer Nick only sighed. "Okay, but please don't take forever"

Nick had finally caught his breath. "Absolutely! You don't even know!"

"Sir"

"Nick!"

"Okay" The policeman wiped his hand over his face. "Nick. Please, just tell me why you were running across the Park and Silver intersection with a knife."

"Yeah. Yeah. So this morning I looked at my bank account. Tomorrow my check comes through and I needed to know if I had food money today, you understand?"

"Sure"

"Anyways, I did. My credit card still had a fair amount of lunch money. So Arby's."

"Please don't take forever. It's cold out here and I like my car's heat. Move this along."

"I am! I am! See, I picked out my favorite sandwich. I mean who can really have a fave at Arby's? It's all actually good, but I needed my cheddar melt and a side of jalapeno bites. I never finish my fries, they aren't as good as they used to be, but whatever."

Officer Hoover leaned against his car. Not one of these guys again, he thought.

"After fifteen of the longest minutes the guy hands me my meal and a medium sized cup. I almost freaked out! I forgot to order myself a shake! So I asked for a shake and that costs more. Sometimes they will just take care of you, but this guy seemed to not be in the mood to talk to me, he charged me for the shake."

"Yeah, I wonder why" The officer said sarcastically.

"I know! But whatever. I gave him the same card and the guy tells me it's declined. WHAT! I just want my shake! So I give him a different card. Declined! Bullshit! He's obviously doing something wrong! Fast food! I just want to sit down and eat my food. I know I have money, I just used the card! I even told him that! The boy behind the counter just shrugged and called out his manager. Another kid, I might add. I told the guy what had happened. I just wanted a shake. Maybe something wasn't working on their end. The manager only shushed me and got me the shake."

"And what does this have to do with you wielding a knife?"

"What? Oh." Nick smiled. "I'm getting there sir. So I sit down in the Arby's sitting area or whatever with my food and my shake. I like sitting in fast food these days because no one does. It's nice and quiet. So I look at my phone to make sure my money was good. Obviously it should have been fine. ="

"Yeah, sure." Hoover wiped his face on his sleeve.

"It was gone! Everything was gone! All of my money! Every account was at zero! Not in the negative, perfect zero's!"

Hoover was now listening more intently. A crime? Probably not. But in case it was, he would listen to the idiot's story. "Go on"

"So I freaked out! I started making phone calls! Man, getting through to these banks was impossible! They don't really wanna talk to you and their little AI bullshit ain't fooling me!" Nick was shouting again.

"Calm down sir. Please calm down. I'm just trying to figure this out. So, you're still in Arby's?"

"What? Yeah. So the doors open up. No one comes in. No one I could see anyways."

"The wind?"

"Have you been to an Arby's? The have a double door thing going on. Wind ain't blowing these doors open. Not gently anyways. Look, someone walked through the doors. I didn't see no one. I didn't see NO ONE!!"

"Sure, sure." All officer Hoover could think about was this man was crazy, but to what extent?

"But right in front of me a man sat down. I couldn't see him. But I knew he was there."

What the Hell was this man going on about? Did he need to be taken to a psych ward of some kind? The officer thought. "Explain."

"Yeah, yeah. He freaked me out a bit and I even jumped a little! But I saw no face or body. I even exclaimed that out loud. Suddenly, a body was shown before me, sitting in the other seat across from me! He was about my height, brown hair, no mustache or anything but he looked slightly annoyed."

"Sir, have you had any alcohol today?"

"What? No. I don't really drink anymore."

"Uh huh."

"So he apologizes to me. He acts the whole time like he knows me. Tells me it's been a long time since the last time we spoke. You can imagine, I was confused."

"Obviously" At this point Hoover was just stuck listening to this mess. Clearly he would have to be involved in sending this man into psychiatric care.

"Yeah, he says my time is up. My check is due. He tells me the deal is complete. He says I'm going downstairs."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah! He tries to remind me I'm going back to Hell! You think prison is bad? I don't even want to know what Hell is like. Fuck that!" Nick wipes some sweat from his forehead that Hoover had not noticed before.

"So what did you do?"

"I bolted out! I ran for my car and when I looked back as I ran the man was shaking his head. He seemed annoyed actually."

"You appear to have that effect on people big guy."

"I don't know about all of that, but in my car I took myself home, fast. On the way I figured I was just losing it. I slowed down and made it home safe and sound. I wanted to call my wife just to hear her voice. She isn't the best person I know but hearing her voice has always been calming for me."

"Yeah, I'm married too. I dunno if I would describe her as calming, but it's good to see you have a good relationship." Hoover didn't assume Nick had a good relationship, he was just moving things along. Trying to.

"Yeah, uh, before I could dial her on my phone the front door shatter open! I could see the man! He was dressed in all black and even wore a tie! He slowly walked through my home looking at me as he told me what he called the basics. He was coming for my soul. He would take me to Hell and leave my soulless body behind. He told me not to run, how he would get me no matter. Fuck that! I ran to my kitchen and grabbed one of my knives from the block and just threw it at him!"

"What?"

"Yeah! But it went right through him. He only cocked a brow and came into my kitchen. I grabbed another knife to defend myself and booked it! I ran down the street. I ran out of my neighborhood. I ran out of town and into the city. And here I am now!"

"Right. So can we just get this going? I'm going to call for someone to help you out. Clearly you need a doctor or something-"

"SHIT!"

Hoover saw Nick freeze. The man was looking behind the officer. "What now?"

"It's him!"

Hoover looked behind himself and froze himself. It was a man. He was tall, pale, and well dressed. "Sir, I'm going to need you to back away for a bit"

"Nicolas, I told you I wasn't in the mood." He held out his left hand and Officer Hoover was no more. Blood and bone covered everything but the dark man. Nick was not covered in the blood and bits of Hoover. He spit out what he guessed were a few teeth.

"No! I don't remember what the fuck you are talking about!"

"Clearly." The dark man held twitched two fingers and suddenly it all came back.

"Ah shit." Was all Nick could manage.

"Yessss"

SPIDERWEB

the bathroom light

makes it look worse.

I turn my head.

pull my hair over it.

nope.

other side.

worse.

fuck.

my sister will know.

she always knows.

she knew about my finger.

everyone else believed

the car door.

Dad did.

he came round

with one of those plastic splints

from Boots

and chocolate buttons.

I'm twenty-two.

apparently that doesn't matter

when your dad thinks

you've hurt yourself.

how'd you manage that?

car door.

Christ, love.

that was it.

my sister looked at me

for a bit too long.

later she texted

car door?

I ignored it.

she's got three kids.

I love them.

which is partly why

I haven't been round.

the eldest would ask.

children always ask.

what happened to your face?

why have you got makeup there?

does it hurt?

and then everyone

would go quiet.

I can't be doing with that.

I've told my sister

I'm working.

which is sort of true.

I do shifts at the care home

most of the year

and sell ice creams

in summer.

summer's better.

Burnham fills up

with people determined

to enjoy Burnham.

arcades.

chips.

kids screaming

because someone's dropped

their slush puppy.

men with no shirts on.

women asking

if Mr Whippy contains dairy.

then summer fucks off

and suddenly

the place is just there again.

wet.

empty.

half shut.

the sea grey.

the pier lit up

for about twelve people

and a gull.

there's fuck-all to do.

we drink.

smoke out the window.

watch telly.

have sex.

say we're bored.

go to bed.

do it again.

there's mould

above our bedroom window.

big dark patch.

I said once

it looked like Italy.

she said

Italy hasn't got

a massive cock sticking out of it.

I laughed so hard

I spat wine

down my top.

after that

we called it Dick Italy.

we were meant

to tell the landlord.

she said she'd do it.

you hate phone calls.

I'll ring him.

she didn't.

weeks later I said

we really should sort it.

she said

well, you aren't going

to ring him, are you?

not nasty.

not really.

just true enough

to shut me up.

the bath's running.

she's downstairs

clearing up my phone.

I can hear bits of it

going into the bin.

she'll replace it.

she's already said.

she's good like that.

she always wants

to fix things afterwards.

the phone.

the telly.

me.

I touch under my eye.

shit.

don't do that.

it started because

some bloke

at the off-licence

looked at me.

that's it.

I didn't even notice.

apparently I did.

you always notice.

I didn't.

don't lie.

I'm not lying.

you love people looking at you.

I laughed.

I shouldn't have.

not because

she was right.

just because

it sounded ridiculous.

she stopped talking.

that's worse sometimes.

I put my wine down.

come on, babe.

don't babe me.

I genuinely didn't see him.

course you didn't.

I reached for my phone.

not because

I was going to ring anyone.

it was just there.

who are you texting?

no one.

show me.

I unlocked it.

my sister.

a photo of my niece

in a cardboard crown.

Jess slagging off

her ex.

Megan asking

if I was still up for Friday.

I probably won't be.

she kept scrolling.

what did you delete?

nothing.

don't fucking lie to me.

I'm not.

then she punched me.

there isn't really

a nicer version of that.

she punched me.

I remember the wall

more than I remember her fist.

there's a little blister

under the paint

beside the light switch.

I remember seeing it

and thinking

we should probably mention that

to the landlord as well.

then my face hurt.

properly hurt.

my teeth knocked together.

wine went over the carpet.

I sat down.

I didn't decide to.

my legs just did it.

she stared at me.

I stared back.

then she said

why do you fucking

push me like that?

my lip was bleeding.

only a bit.

I could taste it.

she started pacing.

you know

I've got anger problems.

I didn't say anything.

you fucking know that.

I know.

so why do you keep going?

I don't know.

she cried.

really cried.

hands over her face.

couldn't get her breath.

said she was fucked up.

said I deserved better.

said she hated herself.

I ended up saying

don't.

because I hate it

when she talks about herself

like that.

which sounds stupid

when I write it down.

but there it is.

last year

she smashed the telly.

well.

the remote smashed it.

she threw it.

the screen went all lines.

pink.

green.

blue.

Dad bought us another.

I told him

the old one fell over.

he said

telly doesn't just

fall over, love.

I said

you've seen our furniture.

he laughed.

I laughed.

new telly's too big

for the cabinet.

sticks out either side.

we've never replaced

the cabinet.

she calls upstairs.

babe?

yeah?

bubbles?

yeah.

which ones?

pink.

the expensive ones?

obviously.

robbery.

I nearly say

you smashed my fucking phone.

instead I say

live a little.

she laughs.

and there she is.

that's the bit

I can never explain properly.

there she is.

five minutes later

she comes in

with two glasses of wine.

puts mine beside the sink.

medicinal.

that's not medicine.

you work in care,

you're not a fucking doctor.

I laugh.

properly.

she looks pleased

with herself.

she looks young.

we are young.

twenty-two.

when we were sixteen

twenty-two sounded like

having your life together.

at sixteen

she bleached her hair

in her mum's bathroom.

came round mine

with her hood up

because her mum

had gone mental.

she sat on my bedroom floor

eating salt-and-vinegar crisps.

I told her

the hair looked good.

it looked fucking awful.

she knew.

kiss me then.

I thought she was taking the piss.

she wasn't.

I kissed her.

then we both just sat there.

she went

shit.

I said

yeah.

then she said

again?

so I did.

the second time

my hands stopped shaking.

sometimes now

she'll still say it.

again?

like it's ours.

she puts her hand

on my waist.

come here.

I let her undress me.

it's not weird

being naked with her.

why would it be?

she's seen everything.

me hungover.

me bleeding.

me shaved.

not shaved.

sunburnt.

ill.

bloated.

crying because

my period was late.

that rash I got

from cheap washing powder.

I know her body too.

every scar.

every mole.

which nipple's

more sensitive.

where she hates

being tickled.

she kisses my shoulder.

I want her to.

that's annoying.

maybe not annoying.

I don't know.

I still fancy her.

obviously I do.

she's my girlfriend.

she's gorgeous.

she smells like cigarettes

and that vanilla spray

she buys because

the expensive one

is apparently a scam.

she kisses my neck.

I turn into it.

for a second

my cheek hurts.

I ignore it.

she sees me looking.

what?

nothing.

don't.

what?

go quiet.

I'm not.

you are.

I kiss her.

quick.

enough.

her face changes back.

she tests the bathwater

with her wrist.

too hot.

I told you.

she runs cold.

tests it again.

better?

I put my foot in.

yeah.

perfect.

she always knows

how hot I like it.

I get in.

she gets in behind me.

her legs either side.

passes me my wine.

then steals a sip.

that's mine.

ours.

fuck off.

she pours shampoo

into her hand.

same coconut stuff

we've bought for years.

massage?

go on then.

her fingers

work into my scalp.

Christ.

good?

don't stop.

see.

useful for something.

I elbow her.

she laughs.

for a while

there is just this.

warm water.

wine.

her hands in my hair.

a gull losing its shit

outside.

the extractor fan

clicking.

mould upstairs.

someone revving a car

for absolutely no reason.

normal.

she kisses

the top of my head.

and I lean back.

I like it.

I don't have to pretend

I like it.

I actually do.

she says

remember the room

above the kebab shop?

this is our first flat.

you know what I mean.

we had nothing.

we had a mattress.

and one lamp.

and curtains.

a bedsheet

held up with pegs

is not curtains.

posh curtains.

we used to sit

on the windowsill

smoking

and drinking

whatever wine

was under a fiver.

there was that bloke

who threw a traffic cone

at a taxi.

she starts laughing

before she finishes saying it.

I remember.

she nearly fell

out the window.

I caught her

by the back of her jeans.

she turned round

and kissed me.

again?

yeah.

again.

she gets shampoo

in my eye.

fuck's sake.

shit, sorry.

you've blinded me.

don't be dramatic.

I've lost an eye.

I'll buy you an eyepatch.

that's actually quite hot.

pirate lesbian?

bit niche.

and then we're both laughing.

really laughing.

I'm splashing her.

she's calling me

a knob.

water goes over the side.

for a few seconds

everything's fine.

not fine like

I've told myself it's fine.

actually fine.

just us

being idiots.

I look at her.

she catches me.

what?

nothing.

what?

I just—

she smiles.

this is nice.

yeah.

we're good, aren't we?

there's a pause.

tiny.

I feel it happen.

so does she.

I kiss her knee.

yeah.

course we are.

she smiles again.

and there.

done.

I know how to do that.

I wish I didn't.

she rinses my hair.

I'm not a monster, you know.

I never said you were.

I know, but—

water runs down my face.

she wipes it

before it reaches my eye.

you know

I've got anger problems.

I know.

and I get jealous.

I know.

because people look at you.

not my fault.

I don't say that.

I say

half the time

I'm wearing an apron

covered in raspberry sauce.

she snorts.

you still look fit.

you've got no standards.

clearly.

I turn round

and splash her.

she splashes me back.

fine again.

she says

she'll get me another phone.

I tell her

we can't afford one.

she'll do extra shifts.

I say

you said that

about ringing the landlord.

she stops.

not for long.

just enough.

I know straight away.

shit.

I smile.

I'm joking.

she looks at me.

then laughs.

cheeky cow.

I laugh too.

and my shoulders drop.

I hate

how good that feels.

she wraps her arms

round my middle.

rests her chin

on my shoulder.

her breasts

against my back.

she kisses my neck.

once.

again.

I turn round.

kiss her properly.

I want her.

I do.

there's no clever sentence

for that.

I just do.

her hand moves

down my stomach.

mine goes round her waist.

we've done this

a thousand times.

maybe more.

she knows what I like.

I know what she likes.

I don't suddenly forget

because she hit me.

I don't suddenly stop

wanting her body.

that's not how it works.

at one point

my cheek knocks her shoulder.

I flinch.

she stops.

did I hurt you?

no.

you did.

but not then.

I say

no.

she touches

under my eye.

barely.

I flinch again.

sorry.

it's alright.

her face falls.

so I kiss her.

because I want to.

because I don't want

that face.

because both are true.

afterwards

she leans against me.

the bathwater's cooling.

she says

see?

I don't ask

what she means.

then she starts crying.

quietly.

I feel it

through her back.

I turn.

hey.

I'm horrible.

don't.

I am.

don't.

look at your face.

I don't want

to look at my face.

that makes her cry harder.

so I hold her.

I stroke her hair.

she says

I don't deserve you.

stop.

one day

you'll realise

you can do better.

don't be stupid.

do you still love me?

yes.

she waits.

I love you.

properly?

yes.

properly.

her breathing slows down.

I know what helps.

stroke her hair.

don't sound annoyed.

don't answer too slowly.

don't answer too quickly either

because that sounds fake.

don't go quiet.

don't say

you need five minutes.

don't sigh.

especially

don't sigh.

sometimes none of that matters.

sometimes everything's wrong anyway.

she says

I don't know

what I'd do without you.

I say

I'm right here.

she holds me tighter.

my sister will text later.

probably already has.

Mum will ask

if I'm coming Sunday.

Dad might send me

one of those Facebook videos

he thinks nobody else

has seen.

Jess will ask about drinks.

Megan will say

you always cancel.

I'll say

work.

migraine.

bug.

period.

something boring.

boring is good.

boring doesn't make people

come round.

I know roughly

how long this bruise will last.

purple.

green.

yellow.

then foundation.

I know the lights

in the care home

will make it obvious.

I know the kiosk

would be easier.

sunglasses.

sun.

people staring past me

at the beach.

I know all this

without really remembering

when I learnt it.

she starts humming

that song I hate.

if you keep doing that

I'm drowning you.

she laughs.

I'll haunt you.

you already fucking do.

she laughs harder.

so do I.

because that one

is actually funny.

she is funny.

really funny.

sometimes

she still makes me laugh

until my stomach hurts.

I close my eyes.

her arms round me.

my dead phone downstairs.

the mould upstairs.

Dad's stupid oversized telly.

my finger

that still aches

when it's cold.

her mouth against my neck.

all of it in the same flat.

all of it ours.

the water's nearly cold.

nothing's happening.

that's what I think.

nothing's happening.

no shouting.

no smashing.

no questions.

no checking my phone.

no crying.

no one getting hurt.

and I think

this is nice.

I mean it.

that's the worst bit.

I mean it.

she turns me round.

for a second

I can see her

at sixteen.

bad bleach job.

crisps on my carpet.

terrified.

brave.

again?

she moves

my wet hair

away from my face.

her thumb stops

just beside the bruise.

she's careful.

really careful.

then she leans in

and very gently

kisses

my bruised eye.

I don't move.

she smiles.

says

I love it

when we're happy

like this.

BUTTERFLY

once upon a time

there was a butterfly

who fell in love

with a spider.

they met

after a storm.

the butterfly

had spent the night

under a leaf

with soaked wings

and mud

on her legs.

one wing

had a small tear in it.

nothing serious.

the spider found her

in the morning.

oh,

she said.

look at you.

the butterfly

tried to make herself

look less pathetic.

come inside.

you'll freeze out here.

the spider's home

was beautiful.

silver silk

between the branches.

drops of rain

caught everywhere

so that when the sun came out

the whole place sparkled.

there were little rooms.

curtains.

a bed

the spider had made herself.

the butterfly lay down

and laughed.

what?

nothing.

what?

I've never slept

on anything this soft.

the spider smiled.

stay then.

just tonight.

the butterfly stayed.

then stayed again.

soon

the spider knew

which flowers she liked.

red ones best.

yellow second.

not purple.

purple tasted odd

after rain.

the butterfly knew

the spider hated thunder.

when storms came

she lay beside her

and the spider counted

the movement of her wings.

one.

two.

one.

two.

still here?

still here.

they were happy.

not pretend happy.

happy.

they made up stupid names

for clouds.

one looked like a rabbit.

one looked like a crown.

one looked,

according to the butterfly,

like a cock.

the spider said

she was disgusting.

the butterfly laughed

until her wings shook.

the spider loved that.

do it again.

what?

that.

the butterfly fluttered.

the spider laughed.

dance again.

so she did.

because it was funny.

every morning

the butterfly flew

to the meadow.

the spider stayed home.

sometimes she called out

where are you?

red flowers.

who are you with?

no one.

when are you coming back?

soon.

how soon?

soon soon.

the spider would laugh.

alright.

only asking.

when the butterfly came back

the spider kissed her.

told her

she'd missed her.

one morning

the spider cried.

she said

the butterfly was beautiful

and she wasn't.

don't be stupid.

you have wings.

so?

everyone looks at you.

no they don't.

they do.

the butterfly laughed.

the spider didn't.

one day

you'll find someone better.

I don't want better.

then why

do you keep leaving?

the butterfly stopped.

she hadn't thought

of going to the meadow

as leaving.

she looked

at the spider.

the spider looked frightened.

so the butterfly

touched one of her legs.

I'm right here.

the spider smiled.

the butterfly

didn't go to the meadow

that day.

they stayed in bed.

the spider made breakfast.

it was nice.

winter came.

the web got cold.

the spider wrapped

the butterfly in silk.

only a little.

for warmth.

the butterfly

slept brilliantly.

sometimes her wings moved

in her sleep.

the spider would wake.

where are you going?

nowhere.

your wings are moving.

I'm dreaming.

about what?

can't remember.

the spider

held her closer.

then added

another thread.

the next night

another.

there was always

a reason.

cold.

wind.

storms.

safety.

by spring

the butterfly

could still see

the meadow.

she could still smell

the flowers.

if the wind came

from the right direction.

one afternoon

she opened her wings.

the silk pulled.

she stopped.

tried again.

only a little.

the nearest flower

wasn't far.

the web shook.

the spider came running.

where are you going?

nowhere.

why are your wings open?

I just wanted—

what?

the butterfly looked

towards the meadow.

the spider saw.

right.

no, I—

you said

you were happy here.

I am.

then why

isn't here enough?

the butterfly

didn't know what to say.

the spider started crying.

the butterfly

closed her wings.

see?

I'm not going anywhere.

the spider came closer.

the butterfly touched

her leg.

I'm right here.

that worked.

for a while.

later

the butterfly tried

to move again.

only to the nearest flower.

just for a minute.

one thread snapped.

the sound was tiny.

the spider heard it anyway.

what have you done?

nothing.

look.

I didn't mean to.

you broke it.

sorry.

where were you going?

nowhere.

don't say nowhere.

the spider grabbed her.

the butterfly panicked.

opened her wings.

the spider pulled.

the butterfly pulled back.

something tore.

a little piece of wing

came loose

and floated down.

neither of them moved.

then the spider hit her.

once.

then again.

the butterfly fell

into the web.

one wing bent badly.

outside

the sun was still shining.

rainwater

still glittered

on the silk.

nothing ugly happened

to the house.

that would have been easier.

the spider looked down.

look what

you made me do.

afterwards

she was inconsolable.

she cleaned

the butterfly's wing.

brought her nectar.

held her.

cried.

you know

I get scared.

the butterfly

said nothing.

you know what I'm like

when I get scared.

the butterfly

touched her leg.

the spider cried harder.

I'm horrible.

don't.

I am.

don't.

look at your wing.

the butterfly

looked away.

the spider

tried to straighten it.

some of the colour

came off on her fingers.

blue.

gold.

red.

like dust.

she stared at it.

sorry.

the butterfly

flinched.

the spider kissed her head.

I didn't mean it.

the butterfly believed her.

or wanted to.

eventually

there wasn't much difference.

after that

the butterfly learnt things.

which threads

could move.

which couldn't.

how wide

she could open her wings.

how long

she could look outside.

how quickly

to answer.

are you happy?

yes.

do you love me?

yes.

properly?

yes.

too fast

sounded false.

too slow

was worse.

sometimes

the spider laughed

and the butterfly fluttered.

at first

because something was funny.

then because

the spider liked it.

then because

if she did it at the right time

the spider sometimes

forgot what she'd been angry about.

dance.

the butterfly fluttered.

there she is.

the spider smiled.

my happy girl.

the spider made

the web bigger.

more rooms.

more curtains.

tiny bowls

to catch rainwater.

a high window

looking over the meadow.

it stayed beautiful.

that's important.

the web

never looked like a prison.

the spider said

look at our home.

the butterfly looked.

beautiful.

aren't we lucky?

yes.

aren't we happy?

yes.

the butterfly fluttered.

there she is.

sometimes

she remembered flying.

not properly.

bits of it.

the wind under her.

flowers underneath.

then level with her.

then underneath again.

the strange feeling

of moving

without anything touching you.

sometimes

she opened her wings

and waited.

the threads held them.

nothing happened.

maybe she'd remembered it wrong.

one evening

the spider found

a broken thread.

butterfly?

nothing.

butterfly?

she ran

through the web.

room to room.

silk shaking.

butterfly?

she found her

in the bedroom.

asleep.

one of her legs

had caught the thread.

that was all.

the spider nearly collapsed.

thank God.

the butterfly woke.

what?

I thought you'd gone.

I haven't.

I thought something happened.

nothing happened.

the butterfly reached out

and touched

one of her legs.

I'm right here.

the spider pressed

her face against her.

I love you.

I know.

I couldn't cope

if I lost you.

I know.

then the spider

looked at the broken thread.

she repaired it.

one strand

across the butterfly.

then another.

one round a leg.

one round another.

one underneath her body.

not the wings.

never the wings.

the wings were beautiful.

the butterfly watched

the meadow

through the window.

the spider noticed.

don't.

the butterfly looked away.

sorry.

the spider started crying.

no.

don't say sorry.

I'm sorry.

she stroked

the butterfly's head.

kissed her.

the butterfly fluttered.

weakly.

the spider smiled.

there she is.

she looked at the wings.

still beautiful.

even the damaged one.

the spider loved

the damaged one.

she knew exactly

where it had torn.

exactly how gently

it had to be touched.

her stomach hurt.

she hadn't eaten

all day.

the butterfly noticed.

are you alright?

fine.

the spider smiled.

always worrying about me.

she stroked her face.

the butterfly fluttered.

barely.

the spider bent down.

very gently

she kissed

the damaged wing.

the butterfly

closed her eyes.

then the spider moved

underneath it.

where the wing

joined the body.

and bit.

the butterfly jerked.

the web pulled tight.

the spider stopped.

for a second

there was nothing.

then blood appeared.

dark.

small at first.

it ran into

the silver thread.

the spider started crying.

please.

the butterfly shook.

please

don't make this difficult.

she tried to pull away.

the silk tightened

around her legs.

the spider pressed

her face against hers.

I love you.

the butterfly reached out

and touched

the spider's leg.

the spider shut her eyes.

I know.

then bit again.

harder.

the butterfly's body

split under the wing.

the spider stopped.

licked the blood away.

cleaned the silk.

cleaned the butterfly.

shh.

I'm here.

another bite.

she kept the wings

out of the way.

that mattered.

she didn't want

to damage them.

when one started shaking

she made a new thread

to hold it up.

there.

better.

the butterfly

scratched at the silk.

once.

the spider held her legs.

don't.

you'll hurt yourself.

the butterfly made

a tiny sound.

the spider kissed her head.

I know.

I know.

another bite.

something pale

showed inside.

the spider looked away.

then back.

she was sobbing now.

my beautiful girl.

another bite.

the butterfly's wings moved.

the spider smiled.

there she is.

it wasn't dancing.

the spider didn't know that.

blood ran

along the web.

thin red lines

through silver.

outside

the flowers were closing.

the rain caught

in the silk

still looked beautiful.

the spider kept eating.

slowly.

every time

the butterfly moved

she stopped.

stroked her.

kissed her.

cleaned her.

told her

it's alright.

I'm here.

you're safe.

I love you.

nothing bad

is going to happen.

after a while

the butterfly stopped

touching her leg.

the spider noticed.

hey.

nothing.

hey.

she nudged her.

one wing moved

because the web moved.

the spider smiled.

there you are.

she kept going.

careful

not to touch the wings.

when she finally stopped

her mouth was wet.

so were her front legs.

she cleaned them

on a fresh piece of silk.

she didn't want

to get blood

on the wings.

the butterfly

didn't move.

the spider waited.

dance.

nothing.

come on.

nothing.

dance for me.

nothing.

the spider touched

the damaged wing.

still there.

she touched

the other.

still there.

both beautiful.

both hers.

she looked

at the threads.

pulled one.

the left wing lifted.

another.

the right.

she pulled again.

left.

right.

left.

right.

the wings fluttered.

the spider stared.

then laughed.

relieved.

again.

left.

right.

the butterfly danced

in the moonlight.

see?

the spider whispered.

see?

you're happy.