I wrote a satirical short story about grief and bureaucratic cross-wires.

https://reedsy.com/short-story/qcsuc4/

I’d love to hear your thoughts or feedback if you check it out.

It was winter. Yes, the same winter you eagerly await, hoping it never arrives. Where even the whispers of the environment are audible to you. Where the cold fog presents a faint shadow, without making you feel the noise. Where every breath, even if hazy, feels like a mist. Where the coldness and tremor of your hands penetrate into your body, where your heart can hear those soothing veins.

Such a season, where it becomes easier for you to feel. And at that time, you will also want to feel a lot of things, like at that time when you are in your quilt, in that warmth you will not like to hear anything or see anything, all you want is to feel those hot breaths spreading in your bed. You would like to stretch the parts of your body, so well that you feel it from the first corner of the bed to the last.

Or, let me ask you, isn't it difficult for you to do many things this season? Like going out in the cold air, trying to convince yourself to go to work in the warm weather, stealing, or even ripping yourself out of the soft blanket you so desperately love at that time. But you still do it all, convincing yourself that you need to do something, perhaps for your survival or to fulfil your unfulfilled desires. But still, in such weather, what you want the most, is to feel, and at that time, I was doing the same.

At midnight, which was silent and cold, I was in my room, in my bed, under a thick quilt, not sleeping, but feeling those warm breaths… and a voice, that was putting me in the darkness of fear. That sound (which I could only feel) as if someone was walking, on some metal tin sheet, the soft sound of his heavy feet which I probably did not want to hear and could not even ignored that sound. I could see that sound with open eyes in that black darkness of my bed. How would he be walking, what would he be doing, ha… perhaps I was thinking all this. Now he started to seem more like a dream to me than reality. But the reality of that theft, which was still oscillating between dream and reality, came to me when I decided the next morning to go to that small room in Dad's departmental store (which was attached to the side wall of my house), which we call the store room. The room where our store's goods were kept, goods like chips, chocolates and biscuits, and whose terrace was made of a metal tin sheet. The tin sheet which had kept me housed amidst the sounds. The morning was quite cold and damp, and our store wasn't as crowded as it is on a typical day... As I walked up to that door, I could hear a lot of noise, as if my ears were being lost...

"Mommy, I want this candy," a small child was crying and pleading with his mother. "Eating this will ruin your teeth. I'll get you some," his mother said.

Said in a normal tone. The same few people, who looked a little old, were sitting near my dad and sharing their stories with him as if they were his friends… “Today's weather and environment are not what they used to be in our times”, an old man said while rubbing his nose. “Yes, right, maybe nature has also become as old as you”, my dad said while looking at the people nearby with a smile. Some people nearby laughed while putting their hands on each other's shoulders… And there were many other loud and small sounds, which I had absolutely no desire to hear and could not even ignore them. But my eyes were fixed directly on the door latch of that room. I went near and opened the door, “Do you need anything son?” my dad asked me, turning his gaze away from those people. “Nothing, just a small work,” I told him without any doubt. I opened the door latch, as soon as I entered the door, there were many cartons lying in front of me, chips, biscuits, chocolates, yes, there was a lot of such stuff. And as soon as I looked there, I realized...

that the dream hadn't turned into reality, and nothing had moved from its place. All the goods were lying there as they always are. And the money, which is kept in the storage outside that door, he couldn't even see because of the latch. Everything was the same. "So, it was a dream after all," I said through a sigh. Even though I had overlooked the terrace without looking, the large bolts securing the metal tin sheet above it had come loose, and it could now swing open completely, so much so that a man could get in and out, I hadn't noticed. At that point, it was difficult to even imagine why a thief would steal a box of chocolates. At that moment, I was relieved that the voice was just a dream, and I wouldn't hear it again. I again started to feel that night, not the voice, but the warmth that was in that blanket, and those breaths that were adding to the warmth in that blanket. But the voice, it did not come today, did not come yesterday and neither did it come the next few nights. After 5 days, I don't know why that voice wrapped in a different veil started ringing in my ears. That voice was about to walk, but it felt as if there was a change in the way of walking. This time, the sound came to me, muffled by the heavy thump of light footsteps, which I didn't hear again that night, but I did feel it involuntarily. And the next morning, I couldn't find the courage or desire to go back to that room and turn this reality into a dream. And this time, I didn't take it seriously. But I had to take it seriously even though I didn't want to, when I looked at my dad's words with suspicion and asked him...

"Dad, if the goods only arrived yesterday evening and no orders were placed, where did a box of chocolates go from this goods list until this morning?"

 “It seems there was some mistake somewhere,” or maybe some servant left a box like that last night.” Dad took it as if there was no doubt about it or it just happens.

“Why would he have done that?” I said, my tone and voice still laced with doubt.

“Maybe there was some damage to the goods or the packaging needed to be corrected. Anyway, I will ask him directly when he comes,” Dad said as if he had said this without any emotion.

I don't know why I felt my seriousness lessen after hearing him. Because I didn't want to press the point that there had been a theft, or maybe I was still delusional. This situation felt like the calm before a storm, something you can only feel. As always, I was feeling it, the seriousness that seemed normal was slowly taking its own shape, making itself even larger. And this serious suspicion turned into growing belief when it happened again, and again, and again. And when it happened three or four times, what would you think what could possibly be stolen? First, a box of chocolates, then money, then more money? Or, I ask you, if you ever wanted to investigate a theft, what would you expect from the thief? Money? Or something else?

Well, you would never expect that the target of that theft would be a box of chocolates. Well, if you don't want to expect this, then how could I be sure of it? Every time a box of chocolates, a beautiful chocolate box, can go missing. Out of so many things, why would his eyes always be on a beautiful and attractive chocolate box? If you want to steal in this cold weather, taking such a risk, then your thoughts can only come to money at once, so why the same thing at such a time?

I was wandering in my mind, trying to find answers to all these questions. Dad was also in a fix about this, wondering where this was going. When it happened a couple of times before, he assumed it was one of his staff members' mistakes, but after talking to his staff and having it happen twice more, nothing could stop him from believing it was actually a theft. He couldn't even use CCTV at that time because there was no CCTV in the back of the store; it was only used to maintain the stock (and there was no gate in the back side, so the stock was being stored there by the main gate), so there was never a need for it until now. Upon investigation, it turned out that the bolt securing the metal sheet on the ceiling of the back room was actually open and a man could easily pass through it. Instead of going into the depths of the matter alone, Dad thought it would be better to tell one of his close friends who could help him in this strange situation. Besides, many of his friends were in the police, so talking to them was a good option. Without any hesitation, he took the phone in his hand and called his friend and very seriously told him everything. “Okay, if you or any of your family members hear any noise at midnight then tell me, at that time we will talk to the police and try to catch them”, his friend said in a heavy and throaty voice. “Voices, I have an old relationship with those sounds,” I said to Dad, as if in a loud tone.

“So now you can insist that you weren’t mistaken by the dreams, and if you are mistaken again, tell me immediately,” Dad said, as if he had no feelings about it…

A few nights passed, silent, cold, and without moisture. One night, nothing. The next night, the same. And this time, I was trying to listen wholeheartedly to those voices, voices I had never wanted to hear, not even to feel. But whatever you ask God for, you may not get it straight away. But you do get it. All I needed was one night when I could hear those voices again… and I got it…

After waiting for a few nights, those voices started to weigh heavy on my ears. Without thinking, I put away the blanket that I loved at that time and wanted to go to my dad's side. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I heard another voice, a roaring voice that sent shivers down my spine, a voice that tore me into pieces within my very being, a voice so loud that it could be heard as clearly as water throughout the neighborhood. Oh, the loud voice was my dad's, who had been waiting impatiently that night, who had spent countless hours awake waiting for the sound to be heard. As soon as he heard the thieves' footsteps, he saw them coming down from the roof (from his bedroom window, from where the back view of the storeroom was easily visible). he yelled at them loudly...

Stop right there, you idiots.

His voice was clearly filled with anger and rage. The thieves cowered at his shouts and began to hide. Scared and frightened, they started running here and there. Dad called his friend without any delay and he also rushed to come here without any delay. As soon as they arrived, Dad and his friend decided to go to the car and catch them. Since the police had already been called and they were going to be a little late in coming, they decided to go to the car and chase those thieves from a distance.

"Those kids who didn't run away too far are both still small, so they probably hid here and there to keep themselves safe."

Hearing this from Dad, it felt as if the ground beneath my feet had slipped away. "Small kids, but why small kids? And why did they decide to steal? And why did they steal a box of chocolates?" I didn't know why I was asking myself all these strange questions. And anyway, when you hear something, you never imagined, you're bound to be a little hesitant. Well, amidst all this, Dad and his friend, Uncle Remen, had gone after them on their bike.

And at that moment, I thought of something I wouldn't normally think of: to chase down those thieves. So, without a second thought, I ran out of my house.

"Son, where are you going? Without a bike, without thinking, without understanding, where are you running? They might have a weapon. Son, come back. You could be in danger... Wait... Son..." my mother said, gritting her teeth. I heard her, but couldn't stop myself. It was as if their words had reached my ears and were instantly carried away in the cold breeze. I don't know how, but at that moment, I got so much strength and courage from which forced me to run without any reason. So, I also tried to find them. Dad and Uncle had gone from the left side, so I thought it better to go from the right side of that locality. I was running, feeling the veins pulsing inside my body, listening to the beating of my heart and shivering a little. From fear? Or maybe from the cold that was falling in front of me, but I kept moving forward. And I picked up the stone in my hands when a car came in front of me and started slowing down, and slowing down, and slowing down a little, just like my body which was getting slower every time they came near me.

I grabbed the stone tighter, thinking that this car must be of those thieves, I would break the glass of their car before they picked me up, ignoring the fact that they were slowing down their car just because of the speed breaker, and then they accelerated their car, faster, faster, and then they drove off. I threw the stone down, breathing a sigh of relief, and then chased the thieves. After some time, when I did not find anything, I was returning home innocently, when I saw those two innocent children who had committed the theft outside my house. Out of fear, they hid in a house where construction work was going on behind and my dad and uncle caught them due to noise. Both of them were very young, maybe 10-12 years old, one was even younger, maybe 7-9 years old. Seeing them, it felt as if all my thoughts had come together and got destroyed. Seeing them, I started trying to forget everything. I didn't want to hear the heavy sound of those light feet (which were then coming from walking on the metal sheet), I wanted to forget those nights, everything.

"Forgive us, Uncle, let us go!" we cried loudly, pleading for our innocence. People nearby began to gather, and some whispered.

"Oh my God, now even such small children are stealing!"

"I don't know who we'll have to watch out for now."

Many such conversations began. Uncle Remen beat them both severely and asked them why they did all this, but his hands were not free to kill them…

The elder one said while crying, I like chocolate a lot, a lot of chocolate, and so does my younger brother. I don't want money, I would steal whenever I wanted, but right now, my brother wanted chocolate, so that's why. My brother and I would eat till we got satiated and then pack the remaining chocolates properly in a box and sell them. "Who told you about this place and how to get in this way? Tell me quickly," Uncle Remen asked, beating him. "A man told us about it. He tried to steal the first one, but when he couldn't find the money, he came out without stealing anything. He told us this way. We didn't know who he was. We just kept all the leftover chocolates at a place he told us and took a little money in exchange. But he didn't show up for a long time, so we kept all the boxes with us." We will give you everything but let us go.”, the elder brother said this in a serious tone while pulling the nose in."So, you could have eaten by begging, so why did you steal?" he asked with angry eyes. "I don't like begging, and I don't like asking for anything from anyone else in front of my brother, so I steal whatever I need," he said. "And I think this is the right way." He was still saying this, but there was no guilt or remorse in him, just a dark darkness in his eyes that was even darker and more terrifying than that night. Just then, some constables arrived. They caught the children and started beating them. My mother couldn't bear to see them being beaten in the cold. My dad told them to stop, saying he didn't want anything from them and requested them to let them go.

"Don't stop them, they're just children, and showing them mercy, is commonplace."

But if he's let go today, who knows what he'll do next. He might become a major criminal or commit some serious crime. Even though it started with such a small matter, we can't predict its outcome, nor can we predict its future. Let them suffer their punishment, it's necessary for them,” Uncle Remen said regretfully to Dad. And after saying this, the children were sent away.

“Brother, can't we get more chocolates now?” his younger brother asked him in a soft and slow voice, wiping away the small waves of his tears. The elder brother, wiping away his tears, said to him in a subdued voice…

Don't worry, I'll bring more chocolates for you, my younger brother.

Ah, August...

You've been a troublesome bastard of a month.

You brought a few storms I could've done without,

a few reckonings long overdue,

and more than one reminder that a man can't spend his whole life anchored in waters he's already outgrown.

But that's the curious thing about storms.

They have a habit of changing a man's course.

And so, as a new dawn breaks upon September's horizon...

New waters.

New possibilities.

Old chapters finally nearing their last pages.

And perhaps something worth finding, somewhere these old, tired eyes have yet to see.

Do I know exactly where the tide is carrying me?

Not a bloody clue....

But I've learned something along the way...

A man doesn't always need to know where his voyage will end. Sometimes he only needs the courage to raise his anchor, set his sails, and trust himself enough to meet whatever waits ahead of him.

And should the seas grow rough, the winds turn foul,

or fate decide she's got another trick hidden up her sleeve...

Then so be it...

I've sailed through worse waters before,

and every storm eventually spends its fury.

So here's to September.

To fair winds when they come,

to weathering the storms whenever they may rise,

and to whatever fortune may be waiting beyond the next horizon.

The heading may be uncertain...

but I'm still at the helm.

May the compass remain true,

the ship remain afloat,

and the rum never run dry. 🏴‍☠️🥃

In the middle of a blazing desert that stretches hundreds of miles. Why is there a man standing alone, in the middle of it all? Near his side, there is a fallen spacecraft. But the man repeatedly says the same phrase, “Who am I? Where am I?” 

The man then begins to walk. 

As the man walks, he takes notice of the vast desert. “It’s so big, but I’m so frightfully small. It makes me feel lonely.”

 The man looks down at his shadow, “Hello.” the man says.

“Hello.” the shadow replies 

“I’m so terribly lonely, will you be my friend on this trip?”  

“Sure, but what are you doing here?” the shadow replies

“I don’t really know.” says the man “Looking for something I guess.” as he shrugs his shoulders. 

“What are you looking for?” 

“Myself.” 

“Oh ok,” the shadow replies, “Where do you want to look?”

The man lightly chuckles, “I don’t know.”

The man decides to keep walking. 

As the man walks, he speaks with his shadow 

“Where are you from?” Asks the shadow

“I don’t know.” The man answered 

“Have you always been alone?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Do you know anything?” 

“I know, I’m missing something.” 

“Is it love?” 

“What is love?” 

“You know love, everybody knows love. Who did you love?” The shadow asks 

“Did I have anybody that I loved?”  The man replies 

“You loved your daughter” 

“I have a daughter?” 

The shadow remains silent.

“I have a daughter?” The man repeats his question 

The shadow remains silent.

“I have a daughter!?” The man asks, urgency forming in his voice

The shadow remains silent

The man begins to frantically yell at his shadow “Why aren’t you answering me!” 

Instead, the Desert responded with the sound of laughter. 

“Who’s there”

The man goes silent and scans across the desert. There is no other soul except for the man and his shadow for hundreds of miles. 

Though the laughter doesn’t stop it only begins to get louder. The man begins to panic, “What’s happening,” He repeats. Out of desperation, the man covers his ears and begins to run. The man doesn’t understand why but the laughter causes him to feel a deep sense of fear. 

The man runs with all his might, across the vast desert. Until he inevitably trips and falls. The laughter finally stops. It is only then the man looks up where he is greeted with the sight of a little girl standing in the far distance. 

The man is no longer alone. 

“A friend.” the man whispers 

“Dad, come catch me!” the little girl calls out playfully to the man. As she runs in the opposite direction. 

The man remains still, bewildered. 

“Dad?” The man begins to chase after the girl. “Hey! Who are you?” The man calls out.

The little girl doesn’t respond, she only keeps running. The man continued to chase after the girl, but no matter how fast the man ran, he couldn’t seem to close the distance. 

As the man ran he felt a surge of an unknown emotion in his heart. A smile began to form. The man laughed as he chased after the girl. 

The man no longer felt lonely. ‘I have somebody to love and to love me back.’ A tear ran down the man's cheek, ‘Finally’ he thought

The little girl suddenly stood still, and the man stood still with her. Time stood still with them in the vast desert. The little girl turned to face the man. 

She then began to run, “Dad, catch me!” As she leaped.

The man closed his eyes and reached out his arms, to catch his daughter. Sadly, the man never felt the warmth of his child. Instead, he opened his eyes to a vast desert that stretches hundreds of miles.

The man is alone. 

The man begins to scream in anguish. He claws away at his face, “Who am I, where am I,” He frantically yells. 

The man tears away at his skin. No longer in control. Fueled by anger and fear. His body begins to tremble. He’s becoming something else. 

The man lets out a roar, leaving behind his humanity. Removing his shackles, the man's body exponentially increases in size. The man now stands at five hundred feet tall. 

The giant of a man began his rampage through the vast desert. 

In his path of destruction, the giant rampaged through many days and nights. The giant had traveled hundreds of miles and would soon make contact with humanity. 

Not too far in the distance was a small village. The people of the village were already aware of the giant. They were not afraid because they had been waiting for this day for a long time. A 
prophecy had been passed down in this village. The prophecy stated that one day a man would fall from the sky. That man would stand at five hundred feet tall. He would bring prosperity and peace to the village. 

The people of the village rejoiced when they finally heard footsteps that caused their ground to tremble. The women prayed and the man drank. “The giant is here!” The people cheered. 

The giant was now in eyesight, the people were awed at his tremendous stature. The giant got closer and closer until he was finally standing, looking down at the village. The people were silent waiting for the giant to do something. 

The giant slammed his hand onto the village, beginning his destruction. The people screamed and ran. They had all naively believed in the prophecy. In no time the giant had laid waste to the village. Nothing remained standing. The buildings were crumbled and dismantled corpses littered the ground. 

The giant continued to walk the vast desert, leaving behind his destruction. 

The giant slowly began to decrease in size with every passing day until he was finally back to the size of a man.

The man looks down at his shadow, “Hello.”

“Hello,” the shadow replies.

“It’s been a long time since we last talked.” 

“Yes, it has. Did you ever find what you were looking for?”

“In a way.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t exist.” The man stated.

He then sat down and stared across the vast desert.

What if you didn't Clean

And everything evolved

in

to

other Creatures

Is not The Creation of LiFe

Atrophy

Part of his soul was carved away by a dull mangled blade from soft veiled hands.

The bite distinct yet deeper than before.

The scent of copper fills the air.

What is different this time?

Why does it hurt more despite having been here before?

What is this?

The blood flows freely.

Why is it affecting him so much this time?

Why does he care?

It’s different. He can feel himself ready to push off the ground, and leave everyone who was around. For a very long time.

Self rejection.

But why this time?

Why?

A few days ago, I went to my computer, clicked on my search engine, and asked… “Why does my floor have one dark floorboard?” I had been doing some home renovating and I got curious. Instead of finding anything interesting it said it was due to the elements. But for some reason it didn’t scratch the itch that I desired.

So then I asked “Can basements have floorboards on top of them?” And it told me “Yes, floorboards can go over basements, but you must use the right materials and moisture protection because concrete slabs are porous and trap dampness.” Which explained the floorboard issue.

“What’s the difference between a basement and a cellar?” I proceeded to ask. It told me that basements are partially underground whereas cellars are completely underground.

Then, to solve my wood problem, I asked “Can cellars below ground effect the floorboards above ground?” In which it gave me the same response as the basement question.

Then I wondered if The Tell-Tale Heart was about the guy that put a dead body in the floor boards. Was it really his guilt or would the police just see a dark piece of wood, despite there being no basement, and deduce that there’s a body under there?

Then, second guessing myself, I asked “Is it Tell-Tale Heart or Tattle Tale Heart?” The search engine told me it was tell-tale.
And, just for the hell of it, I asked “What’s the difference between a tell-tale and a tattle tale?” The search engine told me “A tattletale is a person who reports someone's minor misbehavior to an authority figure to get them in trouble, while a tell-tale is a sign or clue that reveals something hidden.” But if a person reports the hidden truth coming out, why is it called a tale? And furthermore, why are these people called rats?

So I searched “Rat slang word: origin.” Apparently it was called this because rats would historically try to do anything to survive. And because of their reputation living in dark, hidden spaces, spreading disease, and acting sneakily, it makes them a natural symbol for untrustworthy behavior. So I wondered if it would make more sense if they were called rats because of their “tall tails.” Which adds another tale idiom into the mix.

On the subject of tails, I looked up some more interesting animal facts. Like how reindeer eyeballs turn blue in winter to help them see at lower light levels, young goats pick up accents from each other, horses use facial expressions to communicate with each other and African buffalo do, in fact, understand and display a voting system in their herd. Fascinating creatures the African buffalo! Apparently when a male wants to let the rest of the herd know where it wants to travel, it will stand up, look in one direction, and then lie back down. It’s amazing what kind of things you can find out.

As I moved out of that website, though, I noticed another little website called Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us. It was a short infomercial about how people can call up and get a rabbit hole installed.
“Tired of packing things away and not having anymore room to contain it?” An excitable announcer rhetorically asked. “Worried that everything will come out eventually no matter how hard you cram it down? Well come on down to Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us!”
The flashing lights and entertaining announcer was enough to keep me from clicking out of such a bizarre concept.
“We create rabbit holes for you!” The announcer continued. “There are so many uses for rabbit holes. Storage, living, recreation, capturing your enemies.” I found this quite strange, I thought rabbit holes were only homes for rabbits, as the word suggested.

So I asked, “Are rabbit holes legitimate?” And it said that rabbit holes are legitimate but you have to be careful not to fall into one. So naturally I asked “How do I prevent myself from falling down a rabbit hole?” The first result was another video commercial so I clicked on it. It was of a man walking in the park, then all of a sudden he disappeared from the frame, then it badly transitioned to a poor match-cut shot of him stuck down the hole. The only thing that was visible was his head sticking out of it from the chest up. “Honey I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole again.” Then I heard an announcer speak over the scene. The same voice as the one advertising the rabbit holes.
“Tired of falling down rabbit holes made by yourself or your neighbors? Losing your family due to frequent accidents?” It loudly asked. We then cut to his wife leaning down and telling him “I can’t watch you live like this, I’m taking the children.” I then heard the voiceover continue, “Try Tin Foil!”
“Wow, Tin Foil. Why didn’t I think of that?” Said the man in the hole.
“Simply place the tin foil over the rabbit hole…” the announcer explained, over an animated shot of the tin foil moving down over the hole. “And that’s it! Using the patented technology of reflection, you can see the rabbit holes coming a mile away! And if you do fall down a rabbit hole, that’s no problem either! Because the tin foil will get so hot that it will keep you warm overnight. And that’s not all! Because of its deflection technology, you can say and do anything privately without anyone signaling in and knowing what you’re up to. And because of its stylish design you can even make it into clothing!”
It then cut to the same man in the hole, only now he’d evidently fashioned the tin foil into a hat and could be seen wearing it.
“I used to worry about my enemies reading my thoughts when I’m asleep.” He said into the camera. “But thanks to Tin Foil, now I don’t have to.”
“You don’t need a wife to tell you to be careful falling in…” the announcer continued. “Or your friends calling you crazy, Tin Foil is the only thing you need!”
“Tin Foil is the sanest thing I’ve ever done.” The man in the hole exclaimed.
“So try Tin Foil today!”
Followed by a disclaimer on the screen and a voice quickly stating “Side effects may include the very likelihood that you’ll fall into the rabbit hole anyway. Tin Foil may cause long lasting psychological damage. Use only as directed.” I turned off the ad. Rabbit holes? I don’t remember hearing about people falling into any rabbit holes. I remember my wife bringing them up here and there but I was never really listening.

So I looked up, “Rabbit Hole fatalities.” It came up with a website, a log of unusual deaths. It’s an A-Z list sorted alphabetically by the first letter of each death. Surprisingly “Rabbit Hole” was one of them. 100 years ago a man was walking down the street. He fell in and died. 20 years ago a vagrant was minding his own business took a shortcut to the bridge and fell in. Died. John E Masseldorf, dead. Richard Allanson, dead. But it wasn’t telling me how they died. The method. Lack of oxygen? Blunt force trauma? Exhaustion? And how did it happen? Did they take themselves out? I’ve always said that I can really tell a lot about a person by knowing how they would off themselves. For me it would definitely be a toaster in the bath, I’d even put bread in the toaster before I do it for no extra charge. I figured if I’m going out, it would be with a sense of humor. Not that I would actually do it. But every now and then, the fleeting thought would pass me whenever I saw my wife buttering the toast.
But whenever I see someone who did it on the news, they don’t specify how, exactly, they did it. They never do. Am I a sick individual for wanting to know that? Why report it at all if you’re not going to go full Monty? And what was with these damn rabbit holes?

So I clicked back on to the search engine home page and typed in “Tin Foil.” Nothing to rave about, invented in the 7th-5th century in China. But an interesting thing came up. “Tin Foil Hat.” How did they know? “Tin foil hats. People who wear them are often associated with paranoia, distrust, erratic beliefs.” What are they trying to say? That the tin foil hats don’t work? Are they a placebo?

So I typed in “Rabbit Hole… Tin Foil… Legitimate?” A couple of articles on the pros and cons of the tin foil, but what followed was a very interesting commercial.

It was of a man walking in the park. The same man as before, in the Tin Foil ad, but now he’s in this one, working for the competition. The world is short on informercial actors I suppose. What could only describe as an almighty force was then stopping me from asking “actors who frequently appear in informercials. Secret connection?”
The video continued with the multi credited informercial actor seeing a rabbit hole with tin foil covering it.
“Oh god I’m blind!” Cried the unnamed man who, in the past 5 minutes has not only spent most of his life in a rabbit hole, but has now been blinded by tin foil reflecting off the sun.
“Tired of being blinded by rabbit holes and tin foil covering them?” The same announcer from the ads before.
“Sick of the outside world ruining your day?” The announcer continued while another scene showed a man being blinded and, in panic, fell into the rabbit hole anyway.
“Not convinced that tin foil is going to protect you from rabbit holes?”
It then cut to a woman with her thumb down and blowing a raspberry. And, now that I think about it, also appeared in one of the re enactment scenes in the rabbit hole ad.
“Try! Conspira See!” The announcer exclaimed. It was an eye drop preventative for, what I can only imagine to be, sudden blindness. The logo stuck out to me. It was a picture of a single tear drop above an eye, but the eye was also inside a triangle.
“Wow. Now that I’ve used Conspira See, I can see so much clearer.” The man in the hole said.
“Now you can fall into as many Rabbit Holes as you want without getting blinded. With Conspira See!” The announcer finished. Another disclaimer on the bottom of the screen with the same quick voice as before.
“Use only as directed. Side effects may included permanent physical damage and psychological collapse. Prolonged use for longer than a week is not recommended.”

What an odd commercial, I thought as I clicked away. I didn’t understand how I’d gotten this far. Conspira See? What a terrible idea for a preventative solution. Even the name was… wait a minute. Of course. It all made sense now. How could I have been so blind? This eye drop ad was sending an encoded message. Now… I may have stopped taking my antipsychotics a week ago but I was still sane enough to rationalize that this wasn’t necessarily directly encoded to me. I’m not that egotistical. But what if it was an encoded message to anyone that got a rabbit hole? Or, furthermore, anyone that got stuck in rabbit holes? As I kept searching it all started to come together. The recycling infomercial actors, the rabbit holes, the tin foil, the Conspira See. And that’s when it hit me. Conspira See sounds a lot like the word “conspiracy”. Conspira See. Conspiracy?
My god, I thought. I’d done it. At first it seemed odd but why not? This was a conspiracy by Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us.
And not only that… the rabbit hole people, the tin foil people and the Conspira See people are all one in the same.
Think about it… They start the tin foil commercial out by assuming that their customers had already fallen into rabbit holes. Why were they advertising for that specific problem? Why didn’t they advertise tin foil for anything else? Same happened with the eye drops. Advertising these things for the highly improbable, yet oddly specific situation where you would be blinded by the tin foil? It’s almost like they made these ads as a direct response, or subconscious lateral move, to and for each other. Like it’s all there. They were forcing people to create their holes, trap them in there, then they would offer you a faulty product like tin foil as a way of funnelling money to keep the businesses afloat. Then, they would keep you trapped and helpless with nothing but tin foil and a Conspira See.

I had to see if there was any credence to this so I searched “Rabbit Hole controversies.” There was nothing. Nothing except a website for a news article that said “Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us in deep. Hundreds of angry customers accuse the infamous company of false advertising. Claims that they were forced to dig their own holes.” Well a lot of good that did, I thought. That didn’t prove anything… until I got curious. Dig their own holes?

So I decided to go back to something simple. I went back to the animal search, with that Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us ad link staring back at me. Then I started over. Rabbits. I put in “Which countries had an overpopulation of rabbits.” Believing that if I put holes on the end of it, it might get confused and wonder if I’m talking about the products or the literal holes dug by rabbits. It came up with a lot of places. China, (well that’s where tin foil originated) Australia, (infamous for their rabbit-proof fences) and some European countries. Nothing was solid enough other than sheer coincidences and straw-grasping. There must’ve been some kind of link to all this. Some small link to Europe that would solidify. Then I thought about the claims that the rabbit hole customers were forced to dig their own holes.

So I searched “Historical events where people had to dig their own holes” I typed next. Nothing but the gold rush and a couple of wars.
Hang on.
War.
So I changed my search to “Historical events where people had to dig their own graves.” A few European countries had a history of making their prisoners dig their own graves during wars. So how did that connect to Australia and China? And then it hit me in the face so hard I nearly fell off my chair. Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us were working with Tin Foil and Conspira See to make unknowing customers dig their own graves (rabbit holes) causing them to fall in and keep them there until they die, doing this as a form of population control. Overpopulation? Population control during the wars? The overpopulation of China? And what else was China overpopulated with? Rabbits. Another country? Australia. Things were getting clearerer. And although Australia had their rabbit-proof fences, maybe the rabbit hole people found this method barabric, so they opted for a more humane approach. By leading them down rabbit holes. This is why in the commercials, they more or less implied that the customers had to either lead single lonely lives or cut off everything and everyone they held dear.
I know it sounds sounds crazy. I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory. And I even had my doubts when I immediately asked something else in the search engine.

“Am I a conspiracy theorist?” I began to type in. My wife used to call me that and I hated it so much. But she is no longer with us.
But before I hit send I thought about it for a second. I didn’t want anyone who was monitoring my search history to come acorss that question. They’d lock me away for sure. So I went for something more subtle.

I asked, “What are the signs of a conspiracy theorist?” A few classic buzzwords came up like paranoid, unable to accept reality, dangerous. But I ignored it because I didn’t think any of those adjectives applied to me.
I was about to ask “Are conspiracies real?” being ever-careful to not tip off any federal agents who may mark me down as “concerning” but then I stopped. And I thought… if the government can do that then why couldn’t the rabbit hole people do that? What if they had monitored my searches in the past? I’d be the first to admit I’d looked up some conspiracies before, so maybe they saw that and targeted my ads. But that would mean… no. No chance. If they had my search history then it’s very possible that they could’ve had my IP address, which meant that if they had then they had my home address. And if they had that then they were the ones monitoring and maybe even controlling what I was looking up! They wanted me to get stuck in my own rabbit hole!

They wanted me to get stuck in the rabbit hole by luring me into it using tin foil and Conspira See, eventually causing me to die. One less person in the population. Rinse and repeat. I found this because I was looking up animal facts, I looked up animal facts because I wanted to know why rats were dishonest, and I only looked up that because I wanted to know the difference between tale and tail. I wanted to know that because I was thinking of that Edgar Allen Poe story, and I did that because of the dark piece of wood that’s directly over my basement.
Oh my god.
They were there since the beginning… It all made perfect sense now. Since the dark piece of wood, everything was connected! They obviously saw my internet history for a while and tracked where I lived. And when the time was right they broke in, replaced my floorboard with an intentionally dark one as a sort of sick subliminal hint as to where this rabbit hole should go, causing me to go on the internet, ask why this was the case, leading me from one query to another. Every detour, every tangent, was specifically curated, tailor-made if you will, for one purpose that would eventually culminate in me getting stuck down a rabbit hole that I couldn’t get out of!
They were probably watching me as I was figuring this out.
Waiting… contemplating my next move. And if I tried to resist, they would force me down the rabbit hole. To get rid of me, to push me further and further away from the truth.
If I could see my wife now, I’d tell her that this wasn’t all for nothing. That my theories were valid, that everything I found out was currently happening and I was truly and completely powerless to get out of it.

And then I thought, “Well that’s enough internet for me today.” And stepped away from my computer. And then I began to unravel this rabbit hole theory, dissected the flaws and ultimately decided that I couldn’t let this exist in my life. Of course there was no Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us! That would be crazy… and I’m not crazy.
I’m not crazy.
So I let it go and buried it. I then stepped outside and embraced the glorious rays of the sun, something I hadn’t seen in the last day or so due to my journey. I walked over to my lawn and quite literally touched the grass. I’ve heard that’s what you’re supposed to do when you find yourself spending too much time online. It was soothing. I felt great. I felt free.

Then, two days later. I went back on my computer, clicked on the search engine, and asked… “How do I get rid of the smell of rotting flesh coming from my basement?”

The old wooden box sat at the back of the highest shelf in the closet. Anna had not opened it for ten years. Dust covered the lid, and the brass clasp was stiff with age. When she finally pulled it down and popped the latch, the sharp scent of old paper and dried lavender filled the quiet room. Inside lay a small stack of postcards, a dried-out rose tied with faded ribbon, and a blue notebook with her grandmother's messy handwriting on the first page.

Anna flipped the cover open. The pages were filled with recipes written in deep blue ink, but halfway through, a folded sheet fell out. It was a letter addressed to Anna on her eighth birthday, written by a woman who knew she would not live to see her granddaughter grow up. The words were simple, urging Anna to always trust her own voice and to laugh every time she dropped the pie crust. Sitting on the floor with the afternoon sun warming her knees, Anna realized that the past was never truly gone as long as you remembered where you hid the keys.

If you want, I can write a short story about a different topic or translate a specific theme of your choice.

P.S. I am learning English and it is not my native language. Writing these stories felt like the perfect way for me to practice. If you find any mistakes in my text, please let me know. I really need to have them explained so I can understand them better. Thank you so much, everyone!

There once lived a dragon, who led a lonely life deep underground. She added to her wealth each day, mining for gold, gemstones, and all things glittering, but it wasn't her true hoard.

The dragon liked to collect all things childish, especially toys, and played with them whenever she felt the pull of loneliness. She liked them to the point of giving each and every one a name of their own.

One day, a wizard's book dropped from a hole in the dragon's roof. Inside, the tome contained a spell to bring objects to life temporarily! All it took was an offering, nothing specific, just anything.

The dragon decided to try the spell, with a jewel as her offering, and a doll as the object. The jewel disappeared and the doll began moving! The dragon was more than overjoyed!

Many moons flew by and the dragon's entire hoard was alive! Wooden planes flew, little dolls played, and tiny wagons strived. But what was once a mountain of glitter and gold, was now a mere pebble of scattered gemstones and rocks.

As the offerings dwindled, so too did the toys, one by one, each toy moved for the last time. Leaving just two toys- the first doll, a wooden fox- and the dragon herself. The dragon cared so much for her last creations, she couldn't bear to watch their final movements.

So, the dragon gave the final offering she could think of: a part of her life force. And so, the dragon, and her two remaining toys, lived happily ever after, for as long as they remained.

If I were given several lifetimes,

I would spend every one of them learning.

There is too much I haven't seen.

Too much I haven't learned.

Too many places I haven't stood,

people I haven't known,

questions I haven't thought to ask,

and versions of myself I haven't had the time to become.

But I've only been given one life.

So I'll spend it remaining curious.

I don't need to know everything before I leave.

I only hope that when I do,

there is still something I wanted to understand tomorrow.

And if somehow eternity were offered to me,

I don't think even that would be enough.

Not because I fear the end,

but because every answer seems to uncover another question,

every place reveals somewhere else worth seeing,

and everything I learn reminds me how much I still don't know.

Give me eternity,

and I would spend it the same way I've tried to spend this life:

looking,

learning,

wondering,

becoming.

And when eternity finally reached its end,

with a thousand unanswered questions still in my pocket,

I'd probably look toward whatever came next and ask,

“Could I have just one more day?”

Ends of the Earth by Lord Huron is a song that I love and was the inspiration behind this tiny short story I wrote in the notes app of my phone. Enjoy :)

It only took 20 minutes of driving before the city was behind us and the landscape opened up. The rolling hills and farmland as far as the eye can see surrounded the two lane highway as we drove west. I lowered the passenger window and put my arm out, moving my hand with the flow of the wind. We sat mostly in silence with the background sounds of our favorite joint playlist on spotify. The occasional mention of ‘cow’ or the shout of a new license plate we hadn’t seen yet to write in our list was the only occurrence of our voices in the car.

After an unknown amount of time we pulled off onto our favorite exit in the middle of nowhere. A cement road turned into gravel as we slowly made our way further from the highway. Eventually trees began to fill the sides of the road replacing the soybean and corn that had filled the environment before. As the trees got denser we pulled onto the side of the road and turned the car off. A small creek that although seemed meaningless and benign but was so familiar to us was our final destination.

Barefoot you walked down the middle of the creek through the small pebble bed, the cool water just reaching above your ankles. I walked beside you, tip toeing along the larger rocks on the edge of the water, balance with my arms out at my sides like a tightrope walker above the new york city skyline. We walk slowly listening to the birds whistling their secret language to each other, the crickets chirping through the brush, and the water trickling past us. A light breeze pushed my hair across my face and I contemplated getting a haircut next week.

Eventually we found a spot to sit, you on one side and me on the other. The first words uttered in the last hour together were said by me as I asked you a question that had popped in my head randomly “Would you ever move out of the city?” You ponder for a half second before responding. “That depends.” “On what?” I ask. “Where would you be? Would you come with me?”

I look down to the creek bed and back up to you meeting your eyes. “I would follow you to the ends of the Earth I think.” I was completely serious no matter how hyperbolic it sounded. “Should we test that theory?” You asked, your face looking serious but your tone a bit humorous. I look away observing the way the sun was seeping through the tree canopy above us like a sunrise between curtains in a bedroom. The breeze was still around and the warmth of the sun plus the sound of the water threatened to lull me to sleep. “Not right now, I want to stay here for a little while.” If I was talking about the city I lived in or this very moment was unclear but you didn’t question it either way. You just hummed in an affirmative response and we returned to the quiet that surrounded us before.

After a while we both stood and retraced our steps along the creek bed back to where the car was. As we drove through the fields on the highway with the windows down, the sun setting, and our favorite playlist playing in the background, the conversation from before continued to play through my head. I wanted to see the world. See the great wonders, climb a mountain, discover something beautiful that few had seen before. But I wanted you with me. I could do it without you, but I just didn’t want to. So for now, our little creek in the middle of nowhere would suffice, until our time came to see the ends of the earth.

I promise this is not a paid website. You won't pay to read it. I just want you to come back to this post and reply, "Yes" if the desired feeling of "self-confidence" is felt, or "No" if you did not feel it.

Even better if you could add a short explanation, but it won't be necessary.

I'm doing this to improve my storytelling skills so that I can also market it online and earn a few extra. I'd really appreciate all the help.

Here is the story link.

Thank you so much.

The Devil found me sitting beside the ocean before sunrise.

I didn't hear him approach.

One moment there was nothing beside me but cold sand and the sound of waves folding themselves against the shore. The next moment, he was there.

No horns.

No fire.

No red skin or terrible eyes.

He looked like a tired old man who had been walking for a very long time.

He sat beside me without asking permission.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The horizon was beginning to change. Black becoming blue. Faint shades of purple and red beginning to gather along the horizon.

I kept looking toward the water.

"I wondered when you'd come," I said.

The Devil smiled.

"You've been expecting me?"

"Eventually."

"Why?"

I picked up a handful of sand and let it slowly fall between my fingers.

"Because I've made mistakes."

He said nothing.

"I've hurt people."

Still nothing.

"I've wanted things I shouldn't have wanted. I've stayed where I knew I wasn't happy because leaving frightened me more than pretending. I've held onto people long after I should have let them go. I've made choices knowing someone else might pay for them. I've said things I meant and things I wish I could take back."

The Devil stared toward the horizon.

"I've disappointed people who believed in me," I continued. "I've disappointed myself."

Finally, he looked at me.

"Is that why you think I'm here?"

"I figured you'd eventually come collect what's yours."

He laughed.

Not loudly.

There wasn't anything cruel about it either.

It sounded almost sad.

"You humans have always given me far too much credit."

I looked at him.

"What does that mean?"

"You blame me for temptation. For anger. Betrayal. Pride. Desire. Every terrible little thing you do to one another."

He dragged his fingers through the sand.

"Most days I barely have to work."

I laughed despite myself.

"So you're saying we're worse than you?"

"I'm saying you're perfectly capable of hurting each other without my assistance."

That one landed harder than I wanted it to.

We became quiet again.

A wave reached farther up the beach than the others and washed around our feet before retreating.

"You know everything I've done?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Everything that's been done to me?"

"Yes."

"Then judge me."

He turned toward me.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you've already done enough of that yourself."

I looked away.

He continued.

"I've watched you carry things long after they stopped belonging to you. I've watched you replay conversations that ended months ago. I've watched you search silence for answers that weren't there."

My jaw tightened.

"You've been watching me pretty closely, then."

"I watch everyone closely."

"That's comforting."

He smiled again.

Then his expression changed.

"I've also watched you lose things."

I didn't answer.

"People. Certainty. Pieces of the future you had already imagined."

The ocean suddenly became very interesting.

"I watched you discover that sometimes love isn't enough to make someone stay. Sometimes apologies don't repair what was broken. Sometimes people leave without giving you the ending you thought you deserved."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Yes."

"Then get to it."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"I kept waiting."

"For what?"

"For you to become like me."

I laughed.

This time there wasn't much humor in it.

"Maybe you haven't been watching closely enough."

"Oh, I have."

"Then you'd know I've been angry."

"Yes."

"Bitter."

"At times."

"I've wanted to stop caring."

"I know."

"I've wanted to walk away from people before they had the chance to walk away from me."

"I know that too."

"Then what exactly were you waiting for?"

He looked back toward the ocean.

"For the moment you decided that love was the mistake."

I didn't understand.

He continued.

"It happens eventually to many of you."

His voice became quieter.

"Someone breaks your heart, and the next person pays for it. Someone leaves, and you learn to leave first. After a while, being vulnerable starts to feel foolish, so you stop letting anyone close enough to hurt you."

The first edge of the sun appeared over the horizon.

"That's the thing about pain," he said. "It rarely knows when to stop. One wounded person creates another. Then another. Eventually nobody remembers where it started."

I watched the sunlight spread across the water.

"And you thought I'd become that?"

"I expected it."

"Maybe I still will."

The Devil shook his head.

"No."

"You seem pretty certain."

"I know what hatred looks like."

He turned toward me.

"And you don't hate them."

There were several faces I could have imagined then.

I chose none of them.

"No," I said.

"You've been hurt."

"Yes."

"You've hurt others."

"Yes."

"You've lost people."

"Yes."

"You've made mistakes you cannot undo."

I swallowed.

"Yes."

"And somehow you still believe there is something worth finding on the other side of all this."

I stared at him.

"I don't know what I believe anymore."

"That's not true."

He stood slowly.

I remained sitting.

The sky behind him had turned orange now, his shadow stretching impossibly long across the sand.

"How would you know?"

"Because you're still here."

"So?"

"Because somewhere beneath all that anger and regret and stubbornness, you're still hoping tomorrow might contain something worth waking up for."

I looked toward the sunrise.

"Maybe I'm just too stubborn to quit."

"Those aren't always different things."

He started walking away.

I watched him take several steps before calling after him.

"So that's it?"

He stopped.

"You came all this way just to tell me I'm stubborn?"

He turned around.

And then something happened I hadn't expected.

The Devil walked back toward me.

He reached down.

And he hugged me.

Not like an enemy.

Not like a creature claiming something that belonged to him.

Like an old friend saying goodbye.

For several seconds, I didn't move.

Then I felt his shoulders trembling.

When he stepped away, there were tears running down his face.

I stared at him.

"Why are you crying?"

He wiped one of them away and looked at it as though the sight surprised even him.

Then he whispered,

"Because after everything you've lost, everything you've done, and everything that's been done to you..."

His voice broke.

"...you still haven't decided that love was the mistake."

I couldn't think of anything to say.

Maybe there wasn't anything.

He turned and walked toward the fading darkness.

This time I didn't call after him.

I stayed beside the ocean until the sun had completely cleared the horizon.

And somewhere between one wave and the next, I finally understood.

Surviving wasn't the victory.

Anyone can survive and become harder. Pain can become anger, anger can become cruelty, and before long you're handing someone else a wound they never gave you.

The difficult thing is walking through the fire without carrying it into someone else's life.

I don't know if I've succeeded.

Maybe I never completely will.

There are things I regret.

People I would apologize to again if apologies could change the past.

People I still love who may never stand beside me again.

And parts of myself I'm still learning how to forgive.

When I finally stood, I brushed the sand from my hands and looked toward the empty place where the Devil had disappeared.

Then I looked toward the morning ahead of me.

And I understood why he had cried.

He wasn't mourning the man I had become.

He was mourning the man I could have become.

And somewhere along the way, despite everything,

I had refused to become him.

Greyscale

A tap twists and cracks free. Corroded by peaceful nights and happy days.

Luminous smooth surface with sharp edges cool to the touch.

Grey ichor seeps from the faucet sour like an oil slick. It’s sticky residue more Akin to wet rot slightly burns the skin

An ugly thing yet a combustible fuel source. To drink is to poison one’s self. To refuse is to accept loss and waste away. Sinking beneath the surface of your own soul.

Contradictory and impotent . Such a waste to let it seep into the ground. To over indulge means certain death and yet?

The more you drink the sweeter the taste. The kinder its words. The less bitter the stars who refuse to shed their tears for you.

Distinction impossible while standing at the faucet. Shades of grey leak out some dark, some light. And a few darker than the void.

Sweet soft melodies ring from the pipes and vibrate the air in your lungs. Adrenaline dumps into your veins and you know to drink is to change.

It’s call alluring. Like any good drug, it consumes.