acroynon

[acroynon]

The Case of Sarah Jacobs

Trigger warning: mentions of suicide

The rusted old sedan came to a shuddering stop by the curbside. Coughing out clouds of black smoke as it settled to a rest. Derek gave the handbrake lever a heave to make sure the old girl wouldn’t roll off down the hill. 

Stepping out of the car a familiar scene greeted him. A boundary of yellow caution tape, that somehow kept the curious onlookers at bay, created a bubble around the entrance. A young girl had been found in her dorm room. The building that houses her dorm room was reflected up and down the road. This was the only one with yellow tape. The snow on the ground had become a sludge from foot traffic. 

A couple of uniformed officers stood at the edge of the protective bubble, taking statements from a couple of civilians. Boyfriend and roommate, Derek guessed. There were more uniforms within the bubble. Some stood at the edges of the yellow tape, ensuring its sanctity. Others stood around talking, distracting themselves from the bitter chill of the morning air. 

The guardians of the yellow tape didn’t ask for his credentials before admitting him. He’d been doing the job too long that flashing his badge was no longer required. He had stopped carrying a badge a long time ago, it was probably still in his dresser at home. 

“Morning Detective Banner”, a cheery voice greeted him as he was surveilling the scene. Detective Jill McKenzie. She was fresh but knew her stuff. Detectives weren’t required to wear a uniform but Jill always wore a simple grey suit with a white shirt underneath. She’d added a grey overcoat to combat the cold. Derek preferred a simple pair of jeans and whatever t-shirt smelled the cleanest. He had also added a coat to this ensemble. A notably tattier one than what Jill was wearing. She handed him a coffee in a take-out cup. The warmth created a small smoulder within his throat and belly. The bitter taste was what he really craved. It was a poor substitute for a cigarette but it was the best he could manage.

“Ah, thanks McKenzie. So, what’s the story?”. He asked. He’d already got the run down from the reporting officer early this morning. She was a good detective but needed to lose the academic overachiever persona and relax into the role before she’d be truly ready in his eyes. She was already a full detective on paper, but Derek knew it took more than paper to make a good detective. 

“19 year old female. Suicide by overdose. Roommate found the body, they’re currently being questioned by Officer Daniels”, she pointed over the group of uniforms taking statements before continuing. “Hand-written note confirms the theory. Evidence has been photographed and catalogued. Forensics haven’t yet been over the scene.” She concluded her report with a sip of coffee. 

“That’s the report, I asked for the story. What’s the girl’s name, what was she studying, who’s in the audience”, Derek gave a look over to the crowd. Like kids at a zoo waiting for the apes to do something funny. “If this were a murder these details can help you uncover important clues.” He took another gulp of coffee. Jill pulled out her phone and started typing with her free hand. Most people would see this as the ignorance of the young texting away. Derek had known Jill long enough to know that this was how she took notes. She could type faster than him using both hands, whilst drinking coffee. She liked to take notes, especially of the insights he offered. He had realised she was to be his replacement as soon as she was assigned to be his new partner. There was no bitterness or resentment towards her, he was soon for retirement anyway. 

“Anyway, let’s get inside before my fingers fall off.” He said, motioning towards the entrance. It was elongated by two hedges and guarded by one officer in a large official coat and black beanie hat. They trudged through the slush under their feet towards the door.

“Detective Jill McKenzie, badge number 95342”, she announced to the guard. Producing her badge for confirmation. The cocooned guard didn’t even glance at the badge. They simply removed a gloved hand from their coat pocket and waved a small fob across a panel in the wall. The panel made a beep and the guard pushed open the door and nodded them inside. A small puff of air was visible in the open air as Derek heard him mutter something under his breath as they entered. 

Fortunately, the victim only lived one floor up. Most of the student accommodation around these parts of town didn’t have an elevator. It ‘promotes healthy living’ the institutions always advertised. Derek knew it was just a way to preserve funds. The inside walls were all cream in colour and the walls were plastered with posters for this or that event. A disco happening this Saturday, a new gaming group were looking for members, the pub down the road was opening again after renovations and offering a student special. If it weren’t for the colourfully littered walls it could have easily passed for a prison.

The flat’s door was wedged open and the doorway had a cross of yellow caution tape barring its entrance. The interior of the flat consisted of a thin corridor with evenly spaced doors. Each was presumably a different student’s individual room with one shared communal space at the end. All these flats shared the same layout, but the ones across the hall would be mirrored in design. The door to Sarah’s room had the same treatment as the exterior door. Wedged open and a cross of yellow tape across the door frame. The room itself was no bigger than a single cell in the drunk tank. Barely enough space for a single bed and a desk. The en-suite ate into the remaining space, and that only had a basic shower and wash facilities inside. 

The room wasn’t big enough to permit more than one person inside. Derek lifted the yellow tape and stepped inside. Jill stayed out, leaning against the door frame, still holding her coffee and phone.

The room had a strange smell, not the familiar scent of the recently deceased that he was expecting. He wrinkled his nose at the mildewy smell and started his investigation. Sarah was seemingly sound asleep in her bed. An open bottle of pills sat on the small bedside table. On the desk sat an open laptop. It wasn’t locked and was even plugged in to prevent it from dying in the night. Unlike Sarah. The screen showed her social media page. Messages were open and ready to be read. A handwritten note was neatly placed next to the laptop. The suicide note. Derek gave it a glance. It contained all the common points. She couldn’t live like this anymore, she was so alone, she was sorry. This wasn’t the first suicide he had seen. It probably wasn’t even his hundredth.  

“I’m sorry too”, he said to Sarah, leaning over her body. The sights may all be familiar but it didn’t make them any less depressing. Her skin was slightly transparent and had a blue tint. He reached out and placed his knuckles on her cheek. A sharp pang of cold shot up his fingers. He pulled his hand back and turned his attention to the window. Pulling open the curtains revealed that it was open.

“Who leaves their window open all night?” He wondered out loud. Derek poked his head out.

“These flats can get quite stuffy, even in winter”, Jill offered. The wind muffled her response. The outside didn’t offer any more answers. There was a crooked black guttering pipe leading down into a dark paved area. It was the back of the building and held all the large collective rubbish bins for the building. 

“Alright, I think we’re done here”, he said as he leaned back into the flat. “As promised, an open and shut case. I imagine the techies will want to dust for prints, but there is plenty to go on without any of that.”

Derek and Jill swapped positions, so that she could have a look inside. She repeated the same motions as Derek. Looking at the body, the laptop, the note, and the open window. Taping one-handed notes into her phone as she did.

“Learn anything interesting?” He asked as they descended the stairs. 

“Nothing that wasn’t already there. The victim sent goodbye messages to all her friends. The suicide note shows clear signs of depression. The bottle of prescription antidepressants was half-emptied and looked freshly taken. That’s the most likely cause of death.” she reported.

“Yep, that’s all I got too. Should be some easy paper work too.” He replied as they exited the building. The officers taking statements had finished and were now standing around chatting about the case.

“Do you want a lift to the station?” He offered Jill.

“I’m okay, thank you. It’s only a short walk and it’ll give me time to go over my notes.” She was right, it was only 4 miles or so to the station. If he were 10 years younger he might have joined her. 

“Alright. Enjoy your walk,” he said as they departed. On his way back to the car he overheard the officers discussing the case.

“She was so cold.” A young woman was saying.

“I’ve seen a few bodies now. They’re all that cold.” A guy responded, with a smug grin on his face. This was probably his first body too, Derek thought to himself.

He gave the door of his car a hard yank to open and, with a hand on the roof, lowered himself into the seat. The old sedan coughed up a couple of black clouds and sparked to life. Time to go fill in the paperwork he thought as he drove off down the road.

Taking Jill’s advice, he ran back over the case in his mind. Dead girl, tucked up in bed, next to an open bottle of pills. Laptop with goodbye messages and a suicide note. An open window. Pretty simple case, maybe one of his easiest. She was cold though. Perhaps too cold for a body no longer than a few hours gone. The cool air through the open window was the most likely cause.

Suddenly, he grabbed the wheel and wrenched it around. Pulling a complete u-turn in the middle of the street. 

“No one leaves their window open all night. Especially during winter.” He said, returning to the murder scene.

[acroynon]

Yellow Marigolds

Wesley

“Ding!” The bell above the door chimed. Wesley recoiled from the noise and sheepishly ducked into the store. He could see a bull of a man, looking at him from under his eyebrows, sitting behind the register. Wesley quickly darted to the back of the store, away from the man's stare.

He needed to find something quick. Today was the big day, the first interview he had been given for ages. He couldn’t blow it by turning up late or having a shirt stained with blood. Stupid Wesley. He berated himself, Dad always told me never to rush shaving, now look what you’ve done. You’re going to be late and lose the job. No one is ever going to hire you. He scanned the shelves of the little convenience store hoping to find something that could fix his shirt and prevent him from embarrassing himself any further. Baking Soda, no. Salt, No. Ah, vinegar!. He remembered reading somewhere that vinegar could be used to get red wine out of clothes, so it might work. He grabbed the smallest bottle and headed towards the counter.

The boulder of a cashier looked at him and didn’t speak. He could probably tell how useless Wesley was and didn’t think he was worth a conversation.

“Uh... just this, please”, Wesley squeaked as he held up the vinegar. “I uh.. Got some blood on uh... my shirt when I was uh... Shaving. Uh… I read that uh… Vinegar can uh… Help.” He’d always struggled talking to people but he’d read online that practising with strangers was the best way to help his confidence issues. The cashier eyed him, then the vinegar, then him again, looking down at this shirt, then back to Wesley's eyes. He must think I’m such a loser, can’t even shave right.

“Ah, first timer is it?” His voice croaked from the depths of his throat. “Vinegar’s no good. Those sort of stains will still show up under certain lights. You’ll want to just throw those clothes out. Black bags are just over there.” He said pointing to his left at one of the shelves behind Wesley. You look like such an idiot, everyone knows that blood stains don’t come out with vinegar. He thought to himself as he shuffled his way around the store. Exchanging the vinegar for a roll of black bags. “Grab some Marigolds too. They’re next to the bags.” The man growled towards him. “No, other side. The yellow ones.” He corrected as Wesley reached towards a pair of pink gloves.

“That’ll be £2.49.” The cashier said. Wesley had already got his wallet ready when the man was scanning the items. He pulled out his card. “Sure you want to pay on that? Do you have any cash?” He asked.“Uh… Cards uh… Fine.” He managed.

“Apologies. The machine is broken. It’ll have to be cash.” The man said. You idiot Wesley, he just told you to pay with cash. Wesley nodded, shoving his card back into his wallet and thumbed around for some coins. Dropping a few on the floor in the process. As he scrambled on the floor the man said “Remember not to throw these bags into your own rubbish. Don’t want someone finding these soiled clothes, do we. The dump down the way can be quite discreet, just go when it’s nice and dark and quiet.”“Yes… Uh… Thank you.” Wesley replied as he stood up. Of course you can’t throw bloodied clothes into the normal rubbish. That’s unsanitary for the collectors. Don’t you know anything. The constant critic in his head pointed out.

Wesley was pushing coins around on the counter, counting out the exact change. The man was watching him intently. “Before you shave again I’d get a nice leather apron. Larry’s a good’un, I’ve been going to him for years. Also get yourself some sheets to put across the workspace. Makes the mess easier to clean up.” Wesley handed the coins over, the man dumped them into his pocket and added “If you come back when I’m done here, say ‘round 10pm” he motioned upwards with his head. “We can chat a bit more privately about all these things.” Wesley looked behind him, to the top shelves where he was motioned. Is he offering to get a drink with you? He wondered to himself.“Yes… Uh.. Yes please.” He said before the man could take back his offer. Wesley wasn’t much of a drinker but he couldn’t turn down this offer of friendship. He felt the unfamiliar sensation of a smile on his face as he walked out of the store. Ready for his interview.

Don

“Ding.” The small bell above the door chimed. A skinny young boy entered the store. Don gave him a quick glance before returning to his paper. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the gangly child dart to the back of the store behind some of the shelving. The guy was probably in his early 30’s but had no meat on his bones whatsoever. Most likely a tweaker. He thought to himself as he thumbed over a page.‘Hitch-Hiker Goes Missing Leaving Police Mystified.’ The article read. The paper was from a number of years ago, but Don loved re-reading some of the classics. He’d retired from the ‘business’ about ten years ago now. He was getting too old now to pick anyone up. No one would accept a lift from an over 60 year old in a battered old truck.

He barely noticed that the twig was now standing in front of him. Proudly holding up a tiny bottle of vinegar.“Uh... just this, please”, the boy squeaked. “I uh.. Got some blood on uh... my shirt when I was uh... Shaving. Uh… I read that uh… Vinegar can uh… Help.”.Done noticed the sweat building on the young man's forehead. There was blood on the collar of his shirt. Some dirt under the fingernails of the hand that was clenching the bottle of vinegar. The man’s other hand was hidden behind his back. Ah, not a tweaker then.

“Ah, first timer is it?” He’d know the patterns anywhere. The first kill was always the most terrifying, but also the most exhilarating. This poor chap was probably still in shock. Must have been a spur of the moment one, not thought through at all. Not to worry, Don had plenty of experience and wisdom to offer. “Vinegar’s no good. Those sort of stains will show up under certain lights” he gave the man a small wink “You’ll want to just throw those clothes out. Black bags are just over there.” No point trying to wash civilian clothes, easier just to dispose of the evidence. “Grab some marigolds too. They’re just next to the bags.” Don offered. He preferred surgical gloves, but he didn’t have any in the store. “No, other side. The yellow ones.” The pink were some off-brand washing up glove. Useless things, they always split.

“That’ll be £2.49” He’d made the number up. That way this transaction would be harder to trace. The newbie stood there and held out his card. He really hadn’t thought this through. “Are you sure you want to pay on that? Do you have any cash?” Don offered.“Uh… Cards uh… Fine.” He replied. He really was new to this.

“Apologies. The machine is broken. It’ll have to be cash.” Done replied, with another little wink. The man's trembling hands rummaged through his wallet, dropping all the coins over the floor. Poor guy. Don remembered back to his first time. He was a wreck, nervous as could be. He’d been planning it for months. Targeting someone who wouldn’t be missed, what clothes to wear, where to dump the body. “Remember not to throw these bags into your own rubbish. Don’t want anyone finding these soiled clothes, do we. The dump down the way can be quite discreet, just go when it’s nice and dark and quiet.” That’s where Don had dumped his first too. He hadn’t dumped them all there though. Some he took to neighbouring towns, others he had buried. He avoided any obvious patterns unlike some of the amateurs he saw on TV.

“Yes… Uh… Thank you.” the young man managed, wiping the sweat from his brow. He had started meticulously counting out coins on the counter. Don could imagine how good this young guy could grow to be, a real eye for detail on this one. “Before you.. ‘Shave’ again. I’d get a nice leather apron. Larry’s a good’un. I’ve been going to him for years.” Larry was a leatherworker known around the town. He could do it all; fix knackered furniture, make custom jackets, but his aprons were masterpieces. Don had bought a number throughout the years. “Also, get yourself some sheets to put across the workspace. Makes the mess easier to clean up.” There was an old derelict cabin in the woods that he had used as a workshop for a number of years. Maybe it was time to pass the old place on.

“If you come back when I’m done here, say around 10pm” he motioned his head up towards the CCTV above his head. “We can chat a bit more privately about all these things.” He couldn’t risk going into any detail with the guy, or mentioning the cabin when he was being filmed.

“Yes… Uh.. Yes please.” A small smile grew on the young man’s face. Don thought back to when he was starting out, wishing he had had a mentor to help him through it. He looked forward to reading about the man’s exploits in the paper.

[acroynon]

Accepted Existence

Trigger Warning; mentions suicide and self-harm I stood outside the door. Took a long deep breath and entered. This was against protocol but I had to help the girl. She was sitting on a shabby sofa that doubled as her bed. A Sheet had been neatly folded on the unoccupied side with a pillow resting on top. Apart from her breathing she didn’t move, not even to turn and see who had entered. I took off my long brown overcoat and folded it neatly over the arm of the adjacent chair before taking a seat. 

“Hello Bethany, my name is Fidel. I’ve come to talk to you.” I had to take this slow. 

“Hello Fidel.” She said, barely looking at me before going back to her staring contest with the wall. Neither of us were used to talking to people, we were both out of practice. 

“How are you feeling today?” I asked, hoping for more of a response.

“Oh you know. Same old, same old.” She replied. This time she kept my eye contact, she knew I wasn’t going to leave. Progress.

“I know this might be hard, but do you know where you are?”

“Well, physically I’m in my cramped bungalow. Realistically though, I suppose I’m in Heaven or Hell. I haven’t worked out which yet though.” 

“That’s a good guess, but not entirely accurate. You see when people die they enter this place first. It’s kind of like a staging area, or a place in between”

“Ah, so Purgatory then.” Smart girl, at least I didn’t have to start at the very beginning. 

“Precisely. Everyone’s Purgatory is different, usually taking the shape of their house or some place they find comfortable.” She hadn’t taken her eyes off me, but her expression gave nothing away. 

“There are usually two doors present within each Purgatory. When the occupier picks a door they either go to Heaven or Hell.” 

“Interesting, so my front door could lead to Heaven and my back door could lead to Hell.”

“Precisely. Which door do you feel like choosing?” She made no sign of movement.

“I’m okay where I am.” She replied. Everyone usually picks a door. It could take a few days or even a month in some cases, but everyone eventually picks a door.

“Do you want to know something interesting about the two doors?”

“The choice doesn’t matter.” She was smart indeed.

“Precisely. It’s all about the intent. The reason you’re picking the door and the feeling in your heart is what makes the decision.” Her head gave the smallest of nods. “With that in mind, I’ve broken the rules slightly to make it easier for you. All you have to do is leave this room.” I waved my hand over to the door I had entered. 

“That’s nice of you.” Was all she said in response. She didn’t get up, she didn’t even glance at the door.

“Do you know why I’ve come to visit you today?” She shook her head slowly. “Well, you see. You haven’t made a choice. You spend your nights sleeping on that sofa and you spend your days staring at that wall. I’ve come to help you make a choice in whatever way I can.”

“I’m okay where I am. Thank you.” She replied.

“May I ask why you don’t feel like making a choice?” I needed to dig a little more.

“When I first arrived here I thought I had failed again. When I plucked up the courage to try once more I just ended up back here. After a while I realised what this place was and that I hadn’t failed the first time.” Over the years she had tried so many times. None of the evidence ever stayed. The blood on the carpet where she had slit her wrists were gone. Her neck didn’t show any signs of the crude noose she had made. There was no sign of the scattered bottle of pills from the first time. 

“I’ve finally accepted my existence and accepted that there is no escape from that.” 

“Yes, as you’ve probably surmised, whenever someone tries to take their own life here this place resets. As if it never happened. I can see why that might have confused you.” She had been in a bad way when she arrived here, a string of misfortune had led her to the choice she made. But, even people who take their own life usually, eventually, pick a door. 

“Although existence continues past what you expected it can be better than this.” I said, waving my hand around her cramped living room. “A new place, a better place, is waiting just outside that door.” She still didn’t look towards the door.

“That’s okay. I’m fine where I am.” The intonation of her voice hadn’t changed. It was just as flat as when I first entered the room. It was time to break some more protocols.

“I did a little reading about you before I came here.” No response, her expressionless face just stared back at me. “I read about what happened to your sister, Evelyn. I am truly sorry for your loss.”. She twisted her shoulders ever so slightly towards me. “Watching someone go through chemotherapy is a type of suffering not many have to endure.” She had heard similar things many times before, none of this was new for her. “I also did a bit of reading about Evelyn too.” Her eyes dilated ever so slightly. It was enough to let me know I was on the right track. “Her door led to Heaven.” Bethany’s eyes started to glean with wetness as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“Thank you.” was all she said as she stood up and walked out the door.

[acroynon]

Hikor's Surgery

In a world much like our own a young boy stands in line for a fire gland removal surgery. Hikor’s mother was holding his hand tight, preventing him from going more than a few steps from her side. Most of the other children in the line were also holding onto an adult’s hand, others were standing alone. The stone floor was cold under his bare feet. Listening to his claws tap against the stone was all he could do to alleviate some of the boredom.

Hikor was a half-human, his father was also a half-human dragonfolk but his mother was a full-human. Unlike his taloned chicken-like feet, his mother was wearing a pair of plain brown shoes over her normal human feet. All of the children in line were some form of non-human, waiting for their own elective surgery. The adults were either full-humans or a non-human who would have gone through a similar elective surgery when they were around Hikor’s age. 

When every child reaches the age of 5 they must undergo a corrective surgery before being allowed to leave a non-human encampment. When Hikor was born, Wiriona had volunteered to look after him within this encampment until he was ready. Some parents hire guardians to accompany their children instead, but dragon-folk don’t get the sort of jobs to afford that expense.  

“Hikor, is that you?” An auburn-haired girl in front of Hikor asked. Craning her neck around. Her hand was attached to her half-human dragonfolk father. 

“Hey, Vis!” Hikor exclaimed. Excited by the opportunity to speed up time. Viserillo and Hikor shared the same school classes, as they were both half-human dragonfolk. She spun around her father's arm, twisting hers awkwardly so that she was facing Hikor directly. The early morning sun glinted off the orange scales that decorated her eyes. Most girl dragonfolk had orange scales whereas the boys were blue in scales and had dark hair. Hikor’s hair was jet black and his scales were a bright teal. They would darken with age, or so his mother had told him.

“Did you hear about Ifera? She got her surgery yesterday and was allowed out, isn’t that great?” Her eyes betrayed the joy in the voice. Vis and Ifera were close friends, even though they didn’t share any classes together. Ifera was a non-human demonfolk but her family shared the tent next to Viserillo. Hikor’s heart started beating faster, excited by the chance of spending more time alone with Viserillo. 

“That’s amazing, I wonder what his surgery was?” Hikor said, trying to hide the excitement of her disappearance in his voice. Viserillo’s father spun his head to look at Hikor’s mum, ignoring that the children were even there.

“Her parents are distraught. Mophasia didn’t leave their tent this morning.” He said to  Wiriona. They exchanged a strange look, nodded at one another, and then Vis’ father turned back around. The queue of people started to shuffle forward a couple of steps as some non-humans were admitted to surgery. 

Hikor knew it was rare for non-human demonfolk to be admitted to surgery. The majority of non-humans stayed in the encampments for their entire lives. Ifera had been planning to get her surgery behind her parents' backs for years. She was probably 3 times Hikor and Viserillo’s age, it was hard to tell with demonfolk. 

“I bet she’s living in a big fancy house, selling all her cool jewellery to all the fancy humans” Viserillos eyes glazed over as she imagined her friend's new life. 

“She’s probably made some cool clothes to replace these brown rags too” Hikor added, looking down at his own pair of rags. 

“Yeah! She’ll be wearing such colourful amazing clothes now!” Viserillo's voice increased in volume and pitch. 

“She’ll have…” Hikor started before his mum pull on his arm and Viserillo’s dad did the same to her, forcing her to face away. A guard in a bright blue uniform was approaching from the front of the queue. He was walking directly toward Hikor, whose face had already dropped to the floor in response. 

“Wiriona, can you keep a lid on the kids, please? I could hear them from where I was standing” The guard said, without giving one look at either child.

“I’m sorry Sir. I’ll make sure they are quiet” Wisiona said, looking down at the blue soldier's immaculate black shoes.

“What’s going on Corporeal Barns, anything I should be aware of?” Another guard donning the same blue uniform had appeared from further back in the line. Corporeal Barns stamped one foot, stood up straight and saluted the new guard.

“Nothing of note Sergeant Dickson. Everything is in order. Just reminding these children to keep quiet whilst in line.” His saluted hand dropped to his side as he kept perfect eye contact with the Sergeant. Hikor’s back was burning from Dickson's glare. 

“Good. Make sure they stay that way. I wouldn’t want to let Lieutenant Rubio know you’re giving favours to family.” He directed before turning towards the back of the line and marching off. Corporeal Barns gave Wirionia one last look before he also marched off to return to his post. Hikor’s mother gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know that the guards were gone and he could safely lift his head again. Viserillo didn’t turn back around though. Her eyes stayed glued to the stone floor. The line shuffled forward a few more paces. Hikor was too busy staring at the back of Vis’ hair when his mother pulled his arm to allow the people behind him to advance too. 

He couldn’t tell how close they were to the front of the line. He had tried a couple of times to peer around to see how much longer they’d have to wait, but before he could see anything his mother had pulled sharply on his arm forcing him back to her side. He stood there in silence watching the sun slowly rise above the distance houses outside of the encampment. The line moved at a sluggish pace, advancing a few feet every so often. The slate on the rooftops reflected the light as it slowly made its way towards the encampment. He closed his eyes, hoping that time would pass faster. The inside of his eyelids were warm and dark orange.

He couldn’t tell how long he had stood there, only that the line had advanced a dozen or so times. The stone floor under his feet was beginning to warm from the overhead sun. Opening his eyes to white papyrus the world slowly blurred into clarity. The adults behind Hikor started moving around muttering to themselves.

“Get out of my way, don’t you know who I am” a voice spoke from the centre of the commotion. A boy about Hikor’s age pushed his way past the pair behind him in line. Hikor knew Laphire and knew not to argue with him. His mother had told him that all magefolk should be respected. Laphire always took advantage of that fact, bullying and belittling every other non-human in the encampment. Apart from his blackened fingertips, he looked no different to a full-human child. Hikor’s mother had told him that magefolk weren’t equal with full-humans but they were treated the best out of all half-humans. Their basic casting abilities gained them the best jobs, some even worked for the palace alongside the full-humans. 

“Ugh, it’s you.” Laphire’s face contorted when he met eyes with Hikor. “You shouldn’t be ahead of me, you should be at the back of this line where your kind belongs.”  Wiriona turned her head to face the boy at that remark. Hikor’s eyes lit up, his mother was about to let this spoilt brat have it. 

“Apologies young sir, please take our space in line. Hikor, let this young man through.” Hikor’s heart dropped, as did his face. He should have known that his mother wouldn’t dare argue with a magefolk. She pull him right next to her as Laphire continued his mission through the line. Pushing and shoving everyone out of the way. There weren’t many magefolk within the encampment, as they always got priority within the lines.

Hikor closed his eyes again, as fiery tears rolled down his cheeks. The encampment wasn’t fair. It would all be better when his surgery was complete and he was allowed to live free. He’d get a job as a lifter with his stranger of a father and brother. His mother would tell Hikor stories of them before he went to sleep at night. How his father was so strong he could lift a horse and its fully packed cart. How his brother's scales had started to darken and would soon be as deep navy as his father's. Hikor couldn’t wait to meet them.

“That’s it, no more slots. Pack it up and go home!” A voice boomed over the line of half-humans. All of the adults around Hikor started muttering and moaning before turning around and beginning the walk back to their tents.

“It’s okay Hikor, we’ll try again next week.” There were no more surgery slots available. Hikor’s mother had told him before that it had taken nearly two years for his older brother to get a slot. Only another year to wait Hikor thought to himself as they trudged their way back to their cramped canvas home. At least there were no classes tomorrow, he could spend some time with Viserillo. 

[acroynon]

8:34 AM

His heart was outside his chest. The only thing keeping him in place. Floating in the everlasting nothingness. Electricity tingled up his outstretched arms. Both his arms and legs were limp, drooping down into the surrounding nothingness. Suddenly, he dropped. His heart smashed back into his chest. The sudden jolt forced him awake. The sweat-drenched pyjama shirt clung to his back. His tongue hung out of his mouth like a dog lapping for breath that evaded him. Finally, some air flowed down his throat into his lungs. Taking a few deep breaths managed to slow his heart rate back to a normal rhythm. I hate dreams where you’re falling. He thought to himself. He rolled over and looked at his alarm clock. It blankly stared back at him. That’s the fourth time this week it’s failed to go off, I really need to get a new one. Throwing off the tattered duvet, he got out of bed to start his morning routine. 

Peeling off his pyjama clothes like a snake shedding its skin, he looked at his father's old watch on the dresser. 

“8:34. Shit, I’m going to be late. No time to shower… That damned alarm clock.” He threw on a shirt and fought with a pair of trousers before stumbling into the bathroom. The man with deep bags under his eyes, unkempt hair, and a 5 o’clock shadow from yesterday, scowled at him from the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He picked up the tie from yesterday that was on the floor and draped it around his neck before going downstairs for breakfast. He never had time for a proper breakfast, always just resorting to inhaling a cup of instant coffee before rushing out the door. 

On his way downstairs he tied his tie in a simple Windsor Knot. His dad had shown him how to do that for his Nan’s funeral when he was little. He had worn it the same for his funeral too. It was the same tie, in fact, the only one he owned. 

The mound of dishes in the sink were beginning to grow mold. His nose wrinkled at the smell before he entered the room. He grabbed a mug from yesterday and gave it a quick rinse out before walking over to the kettle. Clean enough. He flipped the lever of the kettle, to begin the brewing, but it pinged straight back up to meet his finger. The switch on the wall was definitely turned on. Lifting the lid to inspect inside showed that there was ample water remaining. 

“You’re broken too?” he swore under his breath. He’d have to grab a cup from the drive-thru on his way to work. The pile of dishes clattered and shifted as the mug he was holding impacted. He was already out of the front door when it toppled and shards of ceramic decorated the tiled floor. 

The overcast sky tinted everything in a muted grey shadow. Making his way down the road to his car he noted how empty the roads were. The drive to work might be more pleasant than usual. If I put his foot down I might still make it on time. 

His car was easy to spot in the row of usual suspects. It was by far the oldest and dirtiest of the bunch. Ancient fingers of rust crept up from the wheel arches. The windows were coated in a greasy film of haze. Rummaging around in his trousers pockets he found the keys. One day he’d replace this old thing with a newer fancier model. One that could be unlocked with a button, with electric windows, and maybe even a working radio. He jammed the keys into the lock and turned until he heard the click of the mechanism. The door was always a little stiff. He looked like a thief trying to pry it open. He slumped into the driver's seat and took a deep breath. Please, just work. He pleaded with a god he didn’t believe in. Turning the key in the ignition gave no sign of life. The chassis didn’t even shudder. Please... Please. He tried it again. Nothing. Another deep breath and one more forceful twist resulted in the same outcome. It was dead. 

He’d definitely had to call his boss to let him know how late he was going to be. He slid his phone out of his pocket. The keys he always kept in the same pocket had left a collection of tiny scratches and scraps over the entire device. He clicked the side button to unlock it but the screen stayed dark. He turned the phone over in his palm to check he was pressing the correct button and gave it one long deliberate press. The screen still didn’t respond. You’re out of charge again? Leaving it in his pocket all night must have drained the battery. He didn’t have a landline or home phone so he’d have to use someone else's. Sinking into the worn car seat he thought about all the people he could ask. It didn’t take long, the list wasn’t very extensive. His next-door neighbour might have a working phone he could use. They weren’t exactly friends or even acquaintances. They’d greet each other on the odd times they were both leaving or coming home at the same time. He wasn’t even sure what Jerry did for work, just that they occasionally shared similar hours. 

He didn't even bother locking his car as he made his way back towards his house. Jerry’s house had a nice little brick half-wall separating his small manicured front garden from the pavement. It only took a couple of steps to pass the colourful collection of flowers and well-maintained grass. Before he pressed the doorbell he straightened his wrinkled shirt and brushed his hands through his hair. The doorbell was silent. I’m sure you can usually hear them from the outside. He waited a few minutes but didn’t hear anyone moving around inside. He tried the doorbell again, holding it this time for a little longer. There was still no sound or signs of life. He tried knocking but that didn’t result in a different outcome. He’s probably deliberately ignoring me… I’d ignore me too. He thought as he shuffled his way back to the pavement. Looking up and down the empty street for available options he was left with only one. A Bus. 

His hand emerged from his other pocket to show a collection of old coins, some lint, and a paperclip. There was enough for a one-way ticket. I’ll have to ask someone at work for a lift home. He thought, knowing that would be just as difficult as this morning had already been. The bus stop was around the corner and a few blocks further on. He hadn’t rode a bus since he was a kid. On his way, he didn’t see anyone else leaving for work or on the road. I must really be running late if everyone else has left already. In the distance, he saw a figure waiting by the bus stop. 

“Hello, do you know when the next bus is coming?” He asked with his hand raised in greeting. The figure didn’t even turn to look at him. They stayed staring eyes front like a trained army cadet. When he approached closer he kept his distance and tried not to encroach anymore than he had to on their day. The next bus can’t be that far away, they usually come quite frequently. He stood there for as long as he could bare. Two statues standing alone in a grey monotone world. He checked his watch. 

“8:34”. He gave the face a couple of taps with his index finger but the hands stayed exactly where they were. The battery must be dead. Sweat started to build on his forehead as he realised he had no idea how late he really was. He turned to the other statue. “Sorry, do you have the time?” They didn’t respond, not even a twitch. He took a couple of steps towards them until he was right next to the stranger. They still didn’t move. He tapped them on the shoulder but they kept their soldier stance. Craning his head around the statue he noticed their glassy eyes, staring off into the distance. They didn’t even blink when he waved his hand in front of their face. 

“Hey buddy, are you alright?” His voice was shaky. Looking around for anyone to help he noticed a woman was watching them from across the street. Her hand held the curtains open on what he assumed was the living room. 

Wiping the sweat that was dripping into his eyes with the back of his hand he half-jogged across the street towards the watcher. Not even looking for oncoming vehicles. There were none. When he got to the top of her driveway he could see her more clearly. She had a similar glassy-eyed expression as the other statue at the bus stop. Maybe I’m still dreaming. He wondered. 

In the corner of his eye, he spotted a tiny bird in her front yard. It looked like it was mid-flight. It must be a decoration. He told himself but he knew that decorative birds didn’t usually have realistic feathers. He approached the bird whilst keeping one eye on the static watcher. It definitely looked real but it was hovering without any supports. He moved his hands around the outside of the bird like a magician proving there were no strings. He tentatively reached out a finger and touched the bird. He felt the soft plume of feathers and the tiny muscular structure underneath. Definitely real. The floating bird didn’t move, not even to breath. 

** 5 years later ** 

The bedroom was still dark, thanks to the thick curtains that kept the light at bay. He’d slept enough, time to start the day. Folding the plush duvet off his leg, he slid out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. The man staring back at him from the mirror was a stranger to the man he knew 5 years ago. Clean shaven, smooth skin, neat hair, and not even a sign of the old coal bags underneath their eyes. Today was a day for a new toothbrush. 

After brushing his teeth he went back to the bedroom and slid on some comfortable jogging bottoms and a plain T-shirt. Throwing open the curtains, the familiar overcast light warmed his face. What a beautiful day. He had the same thought every morning. 

Venturing down the hall into the living room he prepared for the morning yoga routine. He was staying in a quaint bungalow now, he didn’t mind stairs but he got enough steps in most days not to worry about it. The coffee table was pushed up against the far wall, to make room for the yoga mat that was already unfurrowed across the floor. 

The yoga routine had only started a few months ago when he had found an old dusty book in a previous town. The book detailed a few positions and the benefits of doing yoga. Every morning he tried to do at least a couple of the positions. The stretching of his muscles had helped prevent them from seizing up or becoming cramped later on in the day. The yoga mat was soft under his socked feet. He stood sideways, outstretched his arms, and leaned down to meet his front foot. This position was called ‘The Triangle’. The muscles on his side twisted and shed the sleep from last night. They felt like a cocoon opening. 

“Phew, that was a good one.” He grabbed the towel that was folded neatly over the sofa’s arm, using it to wipe down his face. Time for a well-earned breakfast. It was a modest kitchen, but he didn’t need much anyway. The light of the fridge was off, just like every other light. But he still kept bottles of water in there out of habit more than anything else. He grabbed a bottle and a tin of beans from the cupboard. I’m running low, best to make a stop at the shop today. The dining table was only big enough for two chairs, it could be folded flush against the wall but he always just left it out. 

Using the tin opening, that was already on the table, he opened the tin of beans and tapped out the contents onto an awaiting plate. The cylindrical glob plopped onto the plate, making no sound whatsoever, and maintained the shape of the tin it came from. He took a sharp knife and cut vertically straight down the side of the bottle of water. Unfolding the contents from a wrapper, the water similarly maintained the shape of its container. The cylindrical beans and water were placed on their sides on the plate. Taking the knife and fork he had laid out last night, he ate his breakfast. 

The rucksack by the door was hanging neatly on the coat rack. It was a big camping-style bag, perfect for carrying lots of food and water when he needed to restock. Even if he didn’t need to restock he’d often take it anyway. You never knew what treasures you’d find out there. The front door of the bungalow had been left open all night. He couldn’t remember the last time he had bothered to close the front door of any building. It’s not like anyone is around to break in anyway. 

Slipping into a pair of worn trainers he headed out. I should probably try and find a new pair soon. On his left, across the small white picket fence was his current neighbour Timmy. His name probably wasn’t Timmy, but that’s what he had decided to call him. “Morning Timmy, lovely day today, isn’t it?” Timmy didn’t respond, he never responded. His glassy eyes just stared forward towards the road. He had probably been on his way to work when all this started. 

“I’ll be back at 8:34, don’t wait up.” He joked with Timmy as he made his way down the road. He passed a few stationary cars on his way. Some had passengers and most looked like people ready for their morning commute to work or to drop the kids off to school. The drivers, and passengers, were all frozen in motion. Just like everything else. After about 15 minutes of walking through the neighbourhood, he passed the local convenience shop. It was only a little corner shop, he cleared it within his first few weeks here. The big shop was in the next village over, about a 4-mile walk, which he had done plenty of times now. The two villages were joined by a mile or so of empty fields. The peaceful serenity of the empty fields was something he enjoyed. Everything was always peaceful, but there was something more captivating about seeing the fields of frozen cows. Some had their heads bent down to reach the grass whilst others were just standing around. It was like an old painting you’d see in a museum. One cow was standing, blocking the public footpath across the field. 

“Morning Bessy, glad to see you up and about”. Bessy was always up and about. Bessy’s soft hair glided across his fingers as he stroked down her head and across her back. The neighbouring village was nearly identical to where he lived. Maybe there were a few more houses than bungalows but he’d never counted. All the buildings were made using the same red brick and of similar simple construction. The usual suspects were dotted around the roads. Old Dorris watching out her bedroom window. Janet, who was bending down to pick up her dropped car keys. He’d placed them in her hands the first time he saw her. Outside of the big shop were a few members of staff frozen mid-walk towards the doors, ready for their early morning shifts. The entrance was made up of two large glass sliding doors. When he had first discovered this shop he had broken the glass of one of the sliding doors to get inside. He had tidied up the mess of glass afterward though. Most of the shelves were barren. The only remaining aisles were the tinned foods and even those were running low. It’s probably time to move on then. He loaded what he could into his rucksack. A few tins of beans, some tinned fruits, and the one remaining tinned pie. The tinned pies weren’t his favourite but sometimes you’ve got to deal with what you’ve got. Walking through the only checkout that was occupied, there was an employee setting up the system for the day’s work, he made his way home. 

“Add it to my tab please Janet”. He would grab what he had left at home before setting off to find somewhere new to call home. 

When he had got to Bessy he took a little break, admiring the surrounding countryside. “I’ve got to set off Bessy, we probably won’t see each other again, but it’s been nice knowing you.” He gave her face a good stroke. Her glassy eyes stared back at him. Weird, I could have sworn her eyes were facing to the left before. He walked on, letting the thought drift away. How often do you look at a cow's eyes anyway? 

Greeting Timmy when he arrived home, he went inside to pack up. Filling his rucksack with as many tins and supplies as he could. He rolled up his yoga mat and attached it to the bottom of the bag. He left the bag by the front door and walked around the small bungalow. Both to check that he hadn’t left anything important behind and to say bye to the place.  Heaving the rucksack onto his back he realised how much he had packed. He tightened the straps across his chest to secure it in place. Time to say bye to Timmy. He walked out the door for the last time and across to Timmy’s front driveway. His heart leaped out of his chest and his mouth turned into a desert. Timmy’s eyes were shut. Glancing around he saw nothing else out of place, everything was still as frozen as ever. He looked at his dad’s old wristwatch. It read 8:34 as always. But the seconds hand had moved forward one place. He slumped down against Timmy’s front wall keeping his eyes trained on him. Other than his eyes now being closed nothing else was different. He was the same perfect statue he had been for months. He sat and stared at his watch for what felt like years. The seconds hand remained in it’s new position. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to start ticking again or to remain still. What is going on? It’s been the same exact time for years now. He didn’t really know how long it had been. He used to count the days by when he slept and woke up but he’d stopped doing that years ago now. Has it really taken this long for 1 second to pass?

[acroynon]

The Heist

They were all hunched over looking intently at the laid-out map. This was the most important mission, they couldn’t afford anything to go wrong. 

“Alright, let’s go over the plan one more time,” Tommy said. He’d brought this team together. It was his plan they were following. They’d all follow him to the end of the earth if they had to. “Oliver, you’re the lookout. You stay on the roadside and let us know if you see any movement. And I mean any movement.” Oliver simply grunted and nodded. He was a big guy but didn’t have much going on upstairs. That’s why he was always the lookout. “Marco, you’re the distraction. We need something big that’ll distract the target for at least 15 minutes.” 

“Yep, I’ve got the perfect idea.” He replied. Smirking as he patted the briefcase he was holding.

 “Angela will then use her master safe cracking skills to get us inside.” Angela twirled her tools around her fingers in agreement. “Bobby, then it’s up to you to disable any alarms or trip wires we might encounter”. Bobby had years of training in the field. He could tear apart any electronic device and put it back together without leaving a trace. He simply nodded. “I’ve managed to get the location of the device from my network of spies. I’ll retrieve it. Then it’s up to Lucy to get us out.” Tommy and Lucy’s eyes met, they’d know each other the longest out of anyone around this table. 

“We take the air vents to the adjoining room. There is a window leading to a fire escape. A quick hop down and I’ll be waiting to drive us all the hell out of here.” She said. The confidence in her voice washed over the entire team. They were going to do this.

“Alright team. Let’s go get my Gameboy back from my sister!” Tommy shouted as all the kids scrambled down the treehouse and ran towards the house.

[acroynon]

Most Deaths are Mundane and Boring

“What were you thinking; accidental, self-inflicted, assassination?” “Assassinations are always fun, let’s go with one of those.” The client replied. I’ve dealt with this one before, a few decades back. A regular in this line of work. She went with assassination the last time too. liked to make a show of it.

“Okay, good. Did you have any ideas in mind? We did an explosion at your manor last time round, so best to avoid a repeat.”

“That’s a shame, I really enjoy a good explosion. But, of course, perhaps this time we should go smaller. Something less spectacular. Something boring.” She slumped in her chair. These types always wanted something extravagant, to leave their mark on the world. Too many big displays drew too much attention. He already had a public suicide planned for tomorrow. Some insolent moron wouldn’t listen to reason and wanted to jump off the church in the middle of town during a service.

“Indeed. Perhaps a mugging gone wrong. Yes, I could have my guys arrange that for two evenings time. You’d have to play your part though, we can’t just sneak you out the backdoor like last time.” 

“Now this sounds interesting. How would it all work?” She sat forward in her chair, keen eyes focused on The Analyst. This is the part he enjoyed, planning the events. Getting all the pieces to fit together and making sure everything happened as it was supposed to without any problems. Avoid any prying eyes or would-be detectives looking for their big break. 

“Simple really. We have you leave a function, perhaps a play, where you can be seen by a lot of people.” The Analyst started flipping through one of his little books, studying the tiny scrawls written in his own special code. 

“There is a council meeting in a few days. It’ll be a late finish. An ample opportunity time for a mugger.” He dipped his pen in some ink and started making notes.

“We’ll have you make your appearance known, you’ll have to start a handful of conversations with the attendees. Not too many to be suspicious, but enough. When the meeting is over you go down Bodin’s Lane. Nice dark alleyway. Some shouts and screams from you, then we slit your throat and leave you to be discovered. I’ve got a deal with the mortician, he won’t ask any questions.”

“That sounds quite painful. Painfully boring. I could be lying there all night, freezing in a pool of my own blood!” She slumped back again. 

This plan wasn’t one of his most exciting, but it would get the job done and she could start her new life afterward. Everyone always wanted something big and flashy, marking the end of their cycle. They didn’t seem to understand every death couldn’t be spectacular, most deaths are mundane and boring. Too much spectacle was bad for business.

“We’d make sure you were found within the hour, the screams will signal another one of my men who will investigate and find your body. You’ll be with the mortician within the hour.” She sighed in resignation and accepted her fate, slumping even further into her chair.

“The mortician will have all your new papers and documents. You’ll have a nice new house in the slums, ready to start fresh.” Her eyes brightened. She obviously liked a challenge. Going from beggar to renowned lady would keep her busy.

***

“Sir, Sir! There a been a problem. That lady won’t there. We can’t mug someone who don’t show up.” Based on his panting, the young street urchin must have sprinted from the meeting site. The Analyst started muttering to himself, consulting his notes. This boy had no idea what had happened. What a mess she had caused. He simply thought he’d been hired to mug a rich lady and would get a portion of the coin as a reward. 

He dismissed the boy, giving him three coins for a job attempted, and started making his way to his workshop, keeping to the dark alleyways. He’d met with the woman in his office, she wouldn’t have any idea about his workshop. He needed a plan. How did he get their attention, he was always so careful? No time to worry about that, he had to disappear and quickly. He poked his head around the corner, hood pulled up. The coast was clear. He darted across the street into the next spiderweb of alleyways. 

When he arrived at the workshop he started going through all his archived notes. Boxes and boxes of notebooks. Years' worth of jobs successfully executed. He should be packing a bag and getting ready for his escape, but he had to know. How was he discovered, how did they find him? He swore he had dealt with the same woman a few decades before. After tearing his way through 3 books he finally found it. His account of the previous encounter. It was the same woman.

“It was a good plan. A simple mugging, quick and clean.” The voice was familiar, it was her. Instead of her usual inflections of excitement and boredom, her voice was more stern, more monotone. She stepped out of the shadows. She was no longer the excitable girl. She was a stern woman, standing straight back and serious. The notebook was shaking in his hand, he hadn’t noticed how on edge he was until he tried to speak.

“Why are you working for them? Why betray our kind like this?” “You still haven’t worked it out, after all this time? You’ve been around what, a few centuries? You’re a child in the eyes of The Founder. He has been keeping his eyes on you, watching you and your jobs. He would like a word. It’s time to come home.”

[acroynon]

Punishments

Sitting upon his cold throne the overlord began to worry that he had created a paradise. There had been no visitors in days. No requests for anything. No discipline to dish out. Nothing. His throne room was empty. Concerningly quiet.

He thought back on the progress he had made in this town. Whipping everyone into shape, both literally and metaphorically. The punishments had been harsh, but the town had flourished under his leadership. The punishments were far more enjoyable than the rewards and requests anyway. Tailoring a specific punishment to an individual, discovering their fears and adapting. Everyone was a puzzle to be twisted and solved.

While he was reminiscing on some of his favourite punishments, one of his peons entered through the main door at the far side of the room. They looked like an ant from this distance, which made the overlord appear and feel even more powerful.

“My lord, I hate to intrude but we have a situation.” He mumbled. The overlord slumped in his chair. He appeared exasperated and annoyed at the intrusion. In truth, he was intrigued. Excited even.

“We caught this peasant farmer stealing from one of the market stales in town. Brought him here straight away.” With that a grubby farmer was shoved into the room and the guard stood up a little straighter, taking pride in his duty. Fantastic, the overload thought to himself. Time for some punishment.

“You stand here, charged with theft. How do you plead?” Announced the overload. His voice booming throughout the throne room.

“Guilty… Guilty, me lord.” He replied. The overlord had to think of a punishment and fast. They usually didn’t plead guilty so willingly. Thinking back through his years of rule he crossed off punishments in his head one by one. Too boring. Overdone. No watchable enjoyment. Ah, an idea.

“Very well. I shall grant you a choice. Your life or your families.”

“Me families!” He shouted, almost interrupting the overlord. Why had he chosen so quickly, had the overlord grown soft? Were his punishments not feared anymore? Maybe the simple-minded farmer just didn’t understand the situation.

“Are you sure? Whoever you choose will be punished for your actions dearly.”

“Me families.” He repeated. A smile appearing on his face. What was wrong with this man? Condemning his families lives without any apparent guilt or apprehension. He must know what is going to happen and the pain that he just simply passed on like it meant nothing.

“Fine. Guard, go fetch this man wife and children and whatever other relatives he has that reside this town.” This farmer will back down when the punishment starts. Begging for a change of decision. Pleading the overlord for forgiveness.

“Uhm… He has no family, My lord.” The guard’s voice was mouse quiet; his up-straight posture had slumped.

[acroynon]

Memories

I could see what she was trying to do from a mile away—simple mirroring techniques to build a rapport. I didn’t have to study psychology to understand her techniques, she wasn’t even trying.

“Do you have any siblings?” She asked. She looks quizzical, interested in my reply. It was all an act. 

“Yeah, I’ve got 3 older brothers” I answered without even thinking. She started moving her pen in erratic strokes across her pad. I bet she wasn’t even making any notes. Probably just drawing pictures and doodling. When her pen stopped moving, she asked another inane question.

“I’m the youngest of 4 girls. How was it growing up surrounded by boys?” This was a complete waste of time. I was sent to see this woman to deal with my outbursts. She was just making it worse. 

I could feel my fingers gripping the armrests of the chair. My nails were digging into the soft padding. I could throw this chair at her, that would shut her up. She didn’t matter, she was useless. She couldn’t help him, no one could.

 “We used to fight, like most brothers” I answered while imagining what her face might look like after the chair had hit her. Blood pouring down her face. Again, with the notes. What was she even writing about, what was so interesting about my upbringing? So what if I got into fights with my brothers, everyone fought with their siblings. Okay, sure, theirs were probably more violent than the average. Blood was often spilled, but they always made up afterward. Or at least enough to trick our parents.

“My sisters and I used to get into fights too, they sometimes got out of hand. Did your fights ever go too far?” She stared at me, unblinking, waiting on a reply. It was as if she was transfixed. Simply following a script. Psychology 101. 

Time to have some fun then. If she is going to reflect everything I say, let's see how far she'll go.

"Oh yeah, all the time. One time they locked me in a shed and left me overnight." She looked shocked, and hastily scribbled more notes. This was probably going to get him in trouble with the principal, but it was worth it.

"That reminds me of a time my sisters tied me to a tree. How did it make you feel, being so powerless?" Why was she reflecting such an obvious lie? Maybe it wasn’t obvious enough. He would have to go further.

“It wasn’t fun, but I had to accept my place in the food chain. I’m the youngest, the runt of the litter.” I didn’t take my eyes off her, speaking without thinking, studying her motions. I’d work out her game soon.  More scribbles. This time I won’t give her a chance to continue with her line of questioning, it was my time to have some fun.

“This one time when I was younger, I was annoying my oldest brother. He wanted to stay in his room, but I was insisting he come play with me. I was banging on his door, ignoring his protests to leave him alone. I think I even dented the door at one point. Eventually, his shouts got so loud I could hear him straining his voice. I’d pushed him too far. He barrelled out of his room, grabbed me by the collar, and threw me down the stairs. I don’t remember the fall, just the impact. My head hit first, there was a deep ringing inside my head, then silence. I came to a few minutes later, in a small pool of blood. I cleaned the wound from my head and just ignored it like it never happened.” There was no way she could reflect that much detail. I’m not sure if that event even happened. Was I modifying a memory, or was it completely made up? I was just speaking.

The colour drained from her face; her hands had started to slightly shake. Had I gone too far? She was definitely going to report me now. Well, at least I wouldn’t have to see her again. I wouldn’t be subject to this farce anymore. She didn’t reply, just continued with her notes. Was she on to him, had she worked out what he was doing?

“Excuse me for one moment.” She got up from her chair and made for the door. She was trying to hide her hurry. It wouldn’t be long until I’d be escorted out of here, given to the next amateur psychologist to try their luck.

Looking at her empty chair I spotted her notebook. She’d left it behind by accident. This was my chance to review her notes – more likely just doodles. I looked and listened to the door, making sure no one was coming. Then quickly jumped at her chair, retrieved the notebook, and got back to mine. If someone came in, I could throw the notebook back at her chair. No one would know.

It was a simple book, with no distinct logo or patterns on the front. Lined paper on the inside. Flipping through the book I could see records of all her sessions, with other people. She marked each session with the person’s name, age, and a brief profile at the top. I scanned through the pages until I saw my name.

             Name: Jonathan Hilcrest

             Age: 15

             Jonathon suffers from outbursts of anger. He grew up as an only child with distant parents. Been bounced around many psychologists, none of them able to help him. He shows above-average levels of intelligence for a child his age…

The profile continued for a few more sentences. I’m more interested in her notes about the session we just had. Why did she leave, what did she think about his latest fabrication?

             … I’m not sure how he knows some of the things he is saying. He obviously knows some psychology tricks. Unsurprising, he has seen enough to pick up a few things. He seems to be trying to reflect my experiences back at me…

What was she on about? Me, reflecting her experiences? That’s what she was doing to me.

             … But he is doing it before I even tell him about them. He must have researched me before our meeting. Manipulated a few of the other children to give him details about me…

I haven’t even got to her notes about my made-up story yet. These were all the notes, from the beginning of the session, about the real events that had actually happened. How was I mirroring her experiences, when it was all real? Maybe she knew I would read her notes, so she kept the game going even in her notes. This might have been all part of the plan.

             … He grew up as an only child…

Why had she written that? I have 4 older brothers. No, 3. I have 3 older brothers. Their names are… Why can’t I remember their names? I haven’t seen them for a while, that’s probably why. I can’t remember exactly the last time I’ve seen them. This isn’t concerning though; I often struggle with recalling events. My memories turn into fog-covered dreams. It was like trying to see through a frosted window.

Maybe I don’t have any siblings. Had I started making stuff up, testing her, before I’d even realised? No, don’t be silly. Of course, I’ve got siblings. I’ve got 4 older sisters: Anabelle, Daisy, Polly, and Margaret. We used to fight, just like any sisters. I was the runt of the litter, always the one to receive the beatings. Once they tied me to a tree. Another time I was banging on my oldest sister’s door, trying to convince her to play with me…

No! They aren’t his memories, they’re someone else’s. A shadow appeared across the frosted pane of the door. It was her, the woman. I know it. As quickly as the shadow moved away from the door, the memories were gone, drifting back into the fog.

[acroynon]

Thought

This next task would require him to think. He didn’t like to think. Thinking hurt his head. He had avoided thinking for so long, only picking the most mundane and unchallenging tasks. He could simply turn his brain off and complete them. This next task would challenge him and force him to turn his brain back on.

Unfortunately, he occasionally had to pick a difficult task to avoid suspicion and maintain his position. He couldn’t get away with just picking the easiest and most straightforward tasks. He couldn’t get away with leaving his brain off all the time.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had turned his brain on. The last time he had had to think. It had been a while, hence the choice of this next task. This self-imposed, self-destructive, next task. He had put it off too long, he could tell the suspicion was rising. He would be found out sooner or later.

He wished he could stay inside the haze of non-thought forever. Existing in a timeless bubble of numbness. All of his worries and pains no longer bothered him, as he no longer thought about them. His mind was an empty void of nothingness. He couldn’t risk being found out. He had to think occasionally. These periods of nebulous enjoyment were always cut short by periods of unpleasant thinking.

When he turned his brain on it was as if a million bees were buzzing around in his head. All trying to buzz the loudest and take over the spotlight. Finding the right bee, the one that would help him complete the task, in the swarm was near impossible. He couldn’t think for long without the pain appearing. A Jackhammer to his temples. An invisible clamp crushing his eyes. Unrelenting, unforgiving, pain.

Fortunately, his position allowed him time to not think, to switch his brain off. He couldn’t imagine what life was like for those who had to be switched on all the time. How did they do it, how could they resist the urge to just end it?

When he wanted to turn his brain off he would have to fight the swarm inside his head. Swimming through attacking thoughts. He would have to find the switch. The glorious switch that sent him back to his nebulous bubble of non-thought. It seemed to move position in his mind every time he switched it on. Always hiding, forcing him to think.

It became harder and harder to switch his brain off every cycle. One day he knew he would never be able to locate the switch. He would be forever trapped in thought. No escape. No rest. Always thinking, always hurting.

It was nearly time. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He would have to flip the switch on and be dropped into the vast oceans of thought. Struggling for breath and fighting not to drown.

Hopefully this time he would be able to escape. He wouldn’t be doomed to live forever in thought. Doomed to live with the bees and the pain. No, that wouldn’t happen, he would be okay. He would escape.