Other works by S D Locke!

SCPs

S. D. Locke's Proposal

SCP-5999

SCP-3280

SCP-783

SCP-2193

SCP-3980

SCP-1661

SCP-2923

SCP-2385

SCP-3963

SCP-4910

SCP-3246

SCPs

Ihp/Locke Proposal

SCP-7676

SCP-012-EX

SCP-5311

SCP-6430

SCP-7932

SCP-7427

SCP-6110

Tales

Not Fade Away

Reap What You Sew

Paradigm Shift

A Reason To Die

And Then I Died IV - Series 2

Tales

Heart and Sol

From Above

GOI Formats

SPC-173

SPC-2935

LTE-2712-Bosch

P'rantortiz the Vile

GOI Formats

▸ More by this Author ◂

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F.A.Q.

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It is oft speculated which of the varied forms of love is most powerful.
One might posit that it is the familial Storge; citing the pure love and hope in the heart of a mother, or the righteous pride with which a warrior defends their nation and kin. Another may proffer that it is instead the empathetic Agápe; owing to the compassion of a godly soul opening their heart to the needy, or the selflessness of an activist championing a cause far greater than themselves. Still others may suggest that it is the committal Pragma; on sole account of the continual process of growth and understanding that evolves over the course of a lifetime with one's partner, exuded by those when they deeply know another person so wholly and intimately.
Regardless of each type's relative potency, it can be generally agreed upon that love is universally powerful. It is patient. It is dynamic. It is magical.
It was with this universal sense of love that Sol basked Earth in her warmth. It was with this patience she tended to the planet, nurturing its life across eons — from the industrious archaea she watched laying the bedrock for complex lifeforms, to the sapient humans with their boundless innovation and creativity. Sol loved it all, no matter its form, with unrivaled intensity.
Then, there was the Hateful.
He was another of her kind. Older. His domain was blessed in having not just one, but two satellites primed to generate the bounty of life. Unlike Sol, however, the Hateful was arrogant and impulsive. None of the lifeforms of his oceanic Rythlos developed eyes or vision to gaze upon him, so he lashed out — boiling the fledgling ecosystem for this perceived slight. The extremophiles of the frigid Tmtes, though capable of complex feats of intelligence and adoption of learned behavior, never progressed to a sufficiently high degree of intellect or reasoning to genuinely appreciate their sun's gift. As such, they too were consumed by his malice.
The Hateful envied Sol.
Despised her.
He looked upon the world she painstakingly cultivated with absolute scorn. Furious and indignant that she should be graced with the complexity and variability of its inhabitants. He raged as its dominant species' venerations of her presence echoed throughout the cosmos, forever reverberating her praises to their brethren. The Hateful then directed his anger towards Earth. He began moving with single-minded determination, emanating contempt and spewing vitriol.
Sol became aware of the Hateful's intentions as he began his bitter campaign, and grew concerned. Though she had known life to be resilient, shrugging off one extinction event after the other, the arrival of the Hateful would be an insurmountable catastrophe. The beings she cared for would be obliterated en masse in a nuclear conflagration and die hopelessly screaming.
Not even the brightest minds of her world's highest body of research, with knowledge both mystic and mundane, had a solution to the challenge imposed by the Hateful. The more prevailing proposals incorporated occult rituals perfected across the millennia of humanity's existence, but for all their influence, they did not possess the power or resources to spark the large-scale reactions necessary for planet-wide protection.
Sol knew what had to be done. Brimming with unbridled love, she began to change.
Her radiating warmth would act as a bulwark against the destruction threatened by her sibling. Her rays, an outpouring of her adoration of life, would grant those basking in its glory an immunity as unbreakable as the bond she shared with them. As the Hateful one ravaged and tore his way through the neighboring galaxies, Sol became bemused by his impotent rampage, reveling in the thought of his arrival. Because once he descends upon Earth, he will discover its population can not only endure his onslaught, but prosper in spite of it.
After all, love conquers hate.


In an unrecorded history, before there were enough people to warrant names, there were two lovers. These two were in possession of love great that no natural force could separate them. Those who saw these lovers, however, viewed their connection with nothing but an unreasonable revulsion. The people knew that nothing they could do could separate the two lovers, so they enlisted the help of a spellcaster with great powers to put an end to their love.

In a land betrayed by its sun, where all that lives has melted into waxy amalgamations, there is a girl whose skin does not meet the star's light. As she walks around the landscape she can't help but think to herself, "Why?" She stumbles across a large structure, the familiar three letters tell her its purpose. While she walks through the site, chills shoot down her spine each time she passes by one of the foreboding steel doors, now open, showing empty rooms. She continues until she meets the first unopened door, the number above it reads 055. Her hand reaches to try the handle, it's unlocked. She walks into the room and sees a briefcase with a note attached, "Take to SCP-579." As she grabs the case she is filled with purpose. With a goal in mind, she walks on.

Having devised a plan believed to be infallible, the powerful spellcaster laid a powerful curse on one of the lovers. This curse caused all to forget about the lover, all memories of them left the minds of others, including the other lover. The spellcaster believed he had succeeded at driving the lovers apart. however, he was in shock when only a few days later he saw the two lovers together. The lover was always with the other lover to constantly remind them of their love. With the curse no longer working, the spellcaster set to devise a new plan.

In a land untouched by death and all the worst for it. Where what seemed like youth was actually the powerful, able to buy their way into a comfortable immortality, and those who couldn't were left to wither away, never gifted their escape. There was a man, made of un-rusting metal, spared from the devastation the passage of time delivered. As he walked with a hood over his head to hide his abnormal body, he thought to himself, "Why?" As he walked, he came across an alleyway. Within the alley, he saw a shriveled, atrophied man, in his hands a briefcase. The metal man moved closer to the old man when he heard him say something so quiet he had to get closer. "Take it, take it please." The old man held the briefcase to the metal man, and he hesitated before he grabbed it. Upon taking it, he is filled with purpose. He knows where he must go, he walks on.

His first plan failing, the spellcaster began thinking up a new curse to use to separate the two lovers. After days of pondering he came upon a curse so devious, his mouth twisted into a vicious grin, and his laugh grew to a self-satisfied uproar. Soon after spellcaster deployed his new curse, now, all who viewed the other lover would suffer an incomprehensible fate, one worse than even death. The lover, scared for their safety, fled far away desperately looking for a way around the curse. In the lover's absence, the other lover slowly forgot of them, a sense of loneliness now filled them, exacerbated by the solitude forced onto them by their curse. The two lovers were now separated, the spellcaster had won.

In a land entombed in silence, where people had grown distant for there was no language to bridge them together. There was a man, as silent as the rest, who would travel elsewhere every now and then. Where he went, he could not choose, nor could he bring others without putting them in danger. Before, he would tell his stories of other lands, but, now he couldn't tell anyone about his travels. he would just stand and wait for the next trip, where he would be just as alone, just as silent. He thought to himself, "Why?" On one of his trips back, he arrived in an unfamiliar room, in it, a briefcase. He looked inside and would keep forgetting what was in it every time he closed it. Eventually, he would stop, and keep it closed, for he now knew what he had to do. He sits down waiting for his next trip, for the door is locked, and he can't plea for it to open. He waits on.

Years, decades, and centuries pass, the bodies of the two lovers decay and turn into bone then dust. Now dead, they were immune to the curses of the spellcaster but couldn't see each other still. An organization later swooped in locking the other lover in a windowless, doorless room, and the other in a briefcase in their own room, far away. The group of people would later realize something about the lovers even they weren't aware of and would place a symbol onto the briefcase. The symbol would tell any who took it where it must go, where they must travel. The journey would always be fatal, the traveler always falling to the other lover's curse. The souls of the two lovers, finally reunited, would join and show a love that survived eternity. They would see the sacrifice of the traveler, and cry for them. With their immeasurable love for each other, the two lovers would make their own sacrifice, and set the world that brought the traveler back and leave it untouched by tragedy. However, Tragedies would keep coming, and while sad, each tragedy would serve to reunite the lovers over and over again, to them these tragedies were the most blessed things two lovers could hope for.


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The Carcass And The Tree

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November 6, 2358
The cemetery was empty of crowds. It always was. Why spend time within a monument to loss when most of the world knew nothing of it?
Without people, wildlife claimed the area, vines using benches and headstones as scaffolding, daisies—so delicate—punching through solid concrete to see the sun. Only the occasional marble angel peering above the shrubbery betrayed the tract's true nature.
On only one plot had the overgrown grass been beaten back, ivy kept from choking the granite headstone, and flowers laid neatly upon it, drying in the sun. It was an unremarkable grave; a name, date, and prayer chiselled into an obelisk. Beneath the unchecked plant-life, there were hundreds like it: different name, different date, but otherwise identical.
Slightly behind the headstone, a magnificent apple tree emerged from the ground; the surrounding trees were dwarfed by it in size and health. Somebody had pruned, fertilised, and watered it with care. Its bright red bounties hung low over the path.
An old man, hunched and cadaverous, emerged onto the dirt path through the greenery, beaten by many, many travels. His eyes were cloaked in darkness from being so sunken into his skull that he may as well have had hollow sockets. A skeleton walking. Two tulips, freshly picked, lay within his gnarled claws.
Slowly, he made his way to the grave, using a tree branch as a cane. The dried flowers were removed, and the tulips put neatly in their place. Next, he tended the area, pulling out plants that had grown onto the plot with his hands, and vines which had begun the climb up the apple tree. There was love in his labour, and he didn't stop until the plot was pristine.
He stood back and looked at his work, but his legs soon lost the will to stand and he allowed himself to fall, collapsing neatly next to the headstone.
His eyesight had all but faded long ago, now seeing only the suggestions of form. With one gnarled finger, he reached up to the smooth granite and traced over the inscription, following the words with his lips, remembering how they felt.
Using both arms he pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against the tree trunk. A branch was bent down to his eye level, weighed down by apples. He reached his hand out to grip one of them, straining his ancient eyes to bring the blurred object into focus. His fingers brushed it and he plucked it from its branch. It felt heavy and plump.
His cheap plastic teeth, yellowed and chipped from use, bit into the ruby skin. The sweetness of the fruit swept over his tongue, one of the few pleasures age had not denied him. He took another bite and enjoyed the sun upon his face. He felt mild astonishment at the realization that he was older than the tree itself.
Her essence had been allowed to flow into the next form, a corpse still allowing new beginnings. Life from death. As for himself: he was shackled to one body, like a caterpillar rejected from its cocoon; still animate, yes, but perversely so. Death from life.
"Which of us," the carcass asked the tree, “is the dead one?”


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"The Tale of Richie and Mitchy" by: Doctor Fullham

♫ Doctor Fullham's Author Page ♫

Crit Credits:
Athenodora
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Nils Severin
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Ihp
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Mitchell O'Riordan — D-9921 as per his designation — was tired of all these damned interviews. He had been in Foundation custody as a D-Class for nearly seven years — an uncommonly long tenure for a D-Class, or so he had been told.
Dr. Harrington sat him down in an interview room, turned on the recorder, and began without any preamble.
"D-9921, I'd like to ask you some questions about your recent involvement with testing SCP-███."
"Which one is that?"
"The one, you know. It was… let's see… last week, Thursday afternoon."
"Oh, right. Yeah, Richie and I were—"
"Richie?"
"Oh, uh, D-8615. Is it okay if I just call him Richie? It's just a lot easier."
"Certainly. I don't anticipate we'll be talking about him too much. Please continue describing your actions during the test."
"Well, it was pretty standard. We went in, cleaned the cell, followed all the procedures. Richie was telling me about this show he used to watch as a kid — Invader Zim, I think it was called? It sounds hilarious, he was doing this squeaky voice and all—"
"Please stay on topic. Did you notice anything strange happening during your time inside the containment chamber?"
"Nope. Like I said, it was pretty standard in the procedures department. Closest I came to dying was when Richie started singing this song, it was like doom doom doom doom doom doom doom—"
"D-9921, I must ask you to cease any irrelevant conversation. We are trying to determine if any improvements need to be made to the containment facilities."
"Right, sorry. Well like I said, it all went fine. We went in, cleaned, chatted, we kissed a few times, and we left."
"Okay, great. Next question… okay, it looks like you and D-8615 were both assigned to be used in testing for SCP-███."
"How are you doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"That thing where I can't tell what you're saying."
"Nevermind that for now. Did you and D-8615 notice any aggressive behavior?"
"Oh, there was some aggression, but it wasn't from the thing, whatever it was. Richie was getting kinda… handsy. Not that I minded, you know, I was all for it, but you know how these things can be if you get too distracted. Had to make sure he stayed on task. It was like a few weeks back when we were cleaning up after that big lizard—"
"Wait, wait. Was this more than four weeks ago?"
"Yeah, definitely. It was just before our anniv—"
"That's not possible."
"What's not possible?"
"That you remember a test — remember anything specific — that happened more than four weeks ago. You're all routinely amnesticized. You should not remember that test."
"Well, like I said, it was almost our anniversary, so we were discussing plans. No way I could forget that!"
"No, you— that's not— what else do you remember from more than a month ago?"
"Well, there was the first time I made Richie laugh. That was about fourteen, no fifteen months ago. I could never forget that laugh, the cute little snort he does just drove me mad. If you want more recently, there was the time about three months ago when we got some alone time during janitorial duty—"
Dr. Harrington took a sharp breath and spoke tersely, through clenched teeth.
"In terms of testing anomalies. Please. We are not interested in your… intimate exploits."
"I mean, I don't remember that much about the anomalies or whatever. I just remember Richie. Richie laughing, Richie singing to me while we worked, he's got such a great voice—"
"I'm giving you one more chance to tell me about anomalies and containment before I end this interview and have you amnesticized."
"You know, that reminds me of what Richie said—"
"This is over. Security, escort this D-Class to the amnesticization department immediately. Tell them I've authorized the highest dose EC and Director Ludenberg will approve."
Dr. Harrington turned off the audio recorder and shook her head as the security detail led D-9921 out of the room. She keyed the intercom and spoke, "Send D-8615 in here ASAP. We have a potential situation."

Richard Waller — D-8615 as per his designation — was called into the interrogation room. He didn't mind as much as his beau did — he was honestly just happy to talk to human beings when he had the chance.
Dr. Harrington cleared her throat and motioned for him to sit down.
"Hello, D-8615. Please, have a seat."
"Sure. What's up, doc?"
"Hilarious. I'd like to ask you some questions regarding your relationship with D-9921."
"Oh, Mitchy? Well, we're, you know, together. Dating. Do you guys have a problem with that?"
"Shockingly enough, romantic relationships between D-Class personnel are not against any protocols, as far as I can tell. But that's not why you're here."
"It's because I still know who he is, right?"
"Yes. And you shouldn't know that, either."
"Well, it was easy to figure out after I met Mitchy. We both kept forgetting things, but we were forgetting less and less every time. No matter what we forgot, we always remembered something from the time we spent together, but the details around it were kinda blurry. So we put two and two together and figured out that you guys are routinely wiping our memories."
"Right. And by what mechanism are you resisting the affects of the amnestics?"
Richard began to sing, "The power of love is a curious thing."
"Stop singing and give me a straight answer."
"Are you asking what's love got to do with it?"
"D-8615, if you don't answer the question-"
"That is my answer. I'm sure you asked Mitchy about all this already, and you probably noticed that everything we remember is only the time we spend together. We're in love, and no drug you guys can give us can change that. We can forget containment breaches, anomalies and what they can do, even the layout of the base. But we won't forget each other. Not ever."
"Are you claiming that a romantic attachment with D-9921 is rendering our amnestics ineffective? You are not utilizing the effects of a documented or unknown anomaly in order to achieve this?"
"Yep, that about covers it. I'm not surprised you don't get it. Love isn't something you can quantify, it's not something you can contain, or fight, or neutralize. It's not logical or scientific. It just is."
"I am not here to discuss the philosophical implications of human romantic relationships with you."
"You asked me a question, I answered. Mitchy and I have had no contact with anomalies outside of approved testing we're ordered to do. It's really not that complicated — I love him, he loves me, and we're never going to forget the time we spend together. That's all there is to it."
Dr. Harrington stood up and keyed the intercom once again, "Let the AD know I'm bringing D-8615 in for specialized testing, and get Director Ludenberg down there too. Cancel my earlier request to amnesticize D-9921, and put him in a holding cell. I'll collect him when we arrive."
Richard followed her, as she requested, but he spoke up.
"It's not gonna work, doc. You can replace our damn blood with amnestics and we won't stop being in love."
"We'll see."

Two Months Later
Dr. Harrington stood before D-9921 and D-8615, with a panel of amnestics department researchers monitoring the room from a video feed. She turned to D-8615 first.
"D-8615, do you recognize the man standing next to you?"
D-8615 shook his head.
"Nope, never seen him before in my life."
"Perfect. And D-9921, do you recognize this man?"
"Nope. Should I?"
"Of course not, you've only just met. Are either of you experiencing any feelings of romantic attraction towards one another?"
D-9921 spoke up first.
"What? Why would I — I mean, he's not bad looking, but I don't even know him. Why would I have romantic feelings?"
D-8615 chimed in.
"Yeah, these questions are really weird. Are you guys like, testing love potions on us or something?"
Dr. Harrington hastily scribbled some notes and looked up with a satisfied grin. The two D-Class were escorted out, and she turned to face the security camera.
"As you can see, the effects of the L-Class amnestic treatments have, over a period of 59 days, completely removed any and all memories of the D-Class' romantic attractions to one another. Due to their cooperation in the testing, I am recommending that both of them be fully amnesticized and returned to society at large. We have made great strides in our amnestics research because of this."

OFFICIAL MEMORANDUM FROM SITE-47 COMMAND
Dr. Harrington:
Your request to terminate the sentences of D-8615 and D-9921 due to their cooperation and involvement in the L-Class Amnestics project is approved. Both subjects will undergo full amnesticization procedures and subsequently will be returned to society. Thank you for recognizing the opportunity to turn a possible security situation into an opportunity to increase our understanding of amnestics. A review of your conduct and contributions in regards to a possible promotion is currently ongoing.
Julian Ludenberg
Site-47 Director

One Week Later
Richard and Mitchell were standing in line at a Starbucks in Peoria, Illinois.
"Man, I still can't believe they bought that. If I had known it was gonna be that easy, I would have tried to get this done months ago."
"I always told my parents that my theater degree would come in handy, and you were just a natural, hun. Now let's have some sugary, overpriced coffee and talk more about the wedding. I swear, the lilies of the valley are gonna be so expensive…"


Once I am into the park, out of sight from the road, I try to slow my pace down. I still can't calm my breathing.
I'm mentally retracing all my steps and thinking about anybody who saw me. I catch myself lost in my mind, then freeze and rapidly check my surroundings. It's dark and quiet, and I am all alone. I start to walk only on the grass at the edge of the paved trail, anything to feel more stealthy in this moment.
As I come close to the big rock by the creek, I am startled by a moving shadow. I tense for a second, but the clouds seem to move apart and the moon beams down on Donna.

Bella Donna. She goes by Donna, but Belladonna is, like, her real name. I think it fits, because she is beautiful. She has dark hair and green eyes and is the prettiest girl I've seen, I think.
She's not like the other girls in school; she doesn't seem to hang around with any of them in groups like they do. I don't hang around with many of the guys in groups like they do either, I guess. But she seems so confident about it, like she never wanted to in the first place. I wish I could seem like that.
But maybe, underneath that, maybe she is lonely too? Maybe, like, we could be loners together?
I tried to talk to her at lunch one day. I don't remember now what I said right before, but she laughed and smiled and touched my arm. Then ████ came over and started talking a bunch of shit. I hate this guy and he acts like he's my friend (even though we don't hang out or anything) and then just rides the shit out of me about all kinds of crap.
He straight up bought two milks in the cafeteria, so he'd have an extra one to "accidentally" spill on my pants, that jerk!
She laughed when that happened, but it wasn't nice.

"Do you still have it?"
I'm standing with Donna now, in the park at night. We're by the big rock near the creek; it's a little clearing off the paved walking/bike trail. This is a spot we stop sometimes while walking home from school together.
I reach into the pocket of my sweater and gently take out the cloth-wrapped object.

We are walking home from school one day. It's springtime and sunny, but the air is still cool. I hold her hand when we avoid a puddle from yesterday's rainshowers. We make our way toward the shade of the rock.
Donna has something to show me, she says. Bending down to root through the bottom of her bookbag, she stands again holding something leather. It's a sheath, and from it she draws an ornate looking dagger of some kind. I am in awe of how the handle looks so finely crafted, of how the blade glimmers in the sun's rays scattered between tree branches. Of how sharp it's every point and edge seem to be.
She tells me it is like a family heirloom - given to her father by his mother on his 16th birthday; passed down by him to her on hers. She tells me something spooky about this blade and the bonds associated with its use; that it has ties to a secret religion. Nalka. She makes sure I say it right: Nälka.
I didn't want to say anything that might hurt her feelings.

She takes it from me and gently pulls the knife out and away from the cloth. Even in the pale moonlight, it reflects an unsettling gleam.
I thought I had wiped it off, but the perfect sheen of the blade is marred by a few smeary flecks of blood left behind.
She asks me if I did it.

I am at the schoolyard earlier tonight; past the fence by the far end of the field, where it is out of sight. It is just after dusk, and I'm standing in shadows.
Then He shows up.
I step out of the shadow, and it takes him a second to recognize me.
"Is that you?" he says. "Oh my god, it is. Don't tell me it's you I'm here to see now; for the dime?" He thinks I have pot for him.
"Well, Donna didn't mention that on the phone. But I guess I should have known. I mean, why else would a babe like her be seen hanging around a loser like you, right? Yeah yeah, it's actually all coming together now."
My hand is shifting inside my sweater pocket, sliding past cloth and gripping a hilt. An anger is welling up inside as he says these things to me.
"Well alright, give me the bag then. What, you want the money first? Well if it's just you here, then you ain't getting it. Too bad. Hand me the bag before I punch you out and turn your pockets for it, you little f-"
My hand comes out of my pocket.

"Did you do it?" she asks again. "Did you do what I said you should?"
I want to say 'yeah' real cool-like, but it comes out more like a hoarse rasp. I say it again, but this time it's almost a yelp. I just nod my head.
She reaches out and touches my face.
I look into her eyes and she looks into mine.
"How did it feel?" she asks me.
I don't want her to see if there might be tears in my eyes, so I'm looking up at this cloud that seems to want to touch the moon but just can't … She pulls my head down to her shoulder, and I stand close to her.
She whispers gently in my ear. "How did it feel?"
I don't know what to tell her. His face had been in my mind for the whole walk over here. Every time I closed my eyes I'd see the changing expressions: the menacing sneer; almost a moment of amusement, before the stunned confusion; then panic; and fear.

I try my hardest to breathe without sobbing. I think my nose might start running, so I pull back from her.
She looks right at me now, her face suddenly so serious. "How did you feel," she asks. "When you killed him?"
I don't know what else to say but the truth. I say it felt awful. I say that I went and did this for her, and it was awful, and now I feel real bad.
I am really about to cry now, and I'll be sorry about getting snot on her shirt later, but I lean forward again. I feel a sting in my ribs.
I think I hear a small startled cry from her. Then a moment later I hear it again, only more like a chuckle. Something warm spilled on my shirt? It's running down my chest.
 Together, her and I drop to our knees. Gently, onto the grass.
I lean back and look up to her. She is smiling down at me. "Oh you," she says lightly. "I don't think that's what it felt like at all."
I'm lying on my back now, and with a full moon halo she looks more beautiful to me than ever before.
I guess this must be love.

X ♡ X

~~~


Flashes.
From darkness unto light. Your vision was invaded by sudden brightness which soon displayed blurred faces, whose bodies moved erratically inhuman. You smell the scent of freshly brewed coffee and heard the laughter of voices that you failed to recognize. But one particular voice struck as very familiar. It was warm and gentle.
Another flash and you found yourself walking in circles across a quiet street; brown lights streaked across your vision as if you were strapped onto a comet and flung far away. You heard laughter from that particular voice that now sounded very sweetly in your ears. You suddenly heard a powerful crash of waves around you as you submerge beneath the waters.
The scenery changed, this time you were surrounded by screaming people. The cries varied in pitches, some were high while some were low. Laughter could also be heard among the unison of yells. Wind suddenly blew around you, embracing you in a very cold breeze. You felt your body suspended in the air, your eyes were directly looking at the ground below. You were not prepared for what will happen next when you felt your body plunged downwards in full force. A blood curdling scream escaped your throat, but a soothing touch on your hand suddenly calmed you.
Another scene follows and you found yourself in the dark, staring at the midnight sky. Pinpricks of light danced in the heavens and in one corner of the sky, a falling meteor streaked across. A hand not belonging to yours pointed at it. You turned to its owner and laughter ensued. That familiar laughter, it was genuinely happy and for some reason, made you feel secured. You glanced at the face of your companion and for the first time, you caught a glimpse of their partially incomplete features. They felt happy and content. You hoped that that the scene never ended.
Suddenly, you found yourself in a vehicle. Your companion was holding the wheel and the car was accelerated in a very fast speed. You heard loud screams; an exchange of cursing and insults. The blaring of sirens followed the car but there were no sign of its source. Suddenly, an explosion erupted, a loud crash that made your world spin violently until darkness sealed your vision.
You waited for another scene, but nothing followed. You felt emptiness, an irreplaceable void consuming your heart. You wanted to scream and shout, but found no strength to do so.

The buzzing of alarm clock woke you up. You lazily reached for it and turned it off with a swat from your hand. You felt liquid spilling from your tearducts, which you instinctively wiped away. You reclined on your bed and looked out of the window. It was raining.
You planted both feet on the floor and reached for the tube of pills sitting on the top of your drawer beside the bed. You've looked at it for a few seconds in contemplation whether should you take it or not before you tossed it back to where you grabbed it from, having made a decision.
You stared blankly at the moistened windows and recalled the dreams you've had. It had been years since it started, but it never bothered you at all not even once. In fact, you actually look forward to it every night because the dreams somehow made you feel happy, especially when you remembered the dream sequence of being with someone while you both stare at the night sky.
You tried to remember the face of your companion in your dreams and thought about recreating it in a sketch. However, you were reminded of how badly you drew it, discouraging you. You let out a sigh as you derailed your train of thoughts. The last part briefly shown before you woke up each time disturbed you greatly. It felt like you were experiencing your own death repeatedly, which was impossible because you're alive and you never had an accident.
You stood up and walked around your bed, ignoring the pile of empty pizza boxes on the small round table and the empty beer cans scattered on the couch. You reminded yourself to clean up your apartment room as suggested by your therapist since it "encouraged a clear mind" or something.
You tried to remember the face in your dream again. There was something in that person that draws you to them. It felt like they were your closest friend or lover from a long time ago but you failed to remember since you haven't been in any relationship yet.
However, you felt longing for that same person and you could not explain the sadness you feel every time the dream concluded. It became clear to you how their voice became gradually sad from the beginning of the dream up until the end. You let out a sigh as you boiled the water in the kettle when you noticed a letter between the cupboard kitchen's door. Alerted, you approached the door of your apartment but you noticed that it was still locked, an indication that no intruders trespassed inside.
You frowned as you approached the letter; the scent was sweet and calming. You opened the envelope and unfolded its content.

Hi,
I'm not sure how you are going to receive this, but it was not as important as how am I going to start this letter because I don't really know how. I want to ask how you're doing right now and what have you been up to lately, just like the old times. It just felt very weird writing to you. I remembered how you struggled to talk to me the first time we met. I think it's cute, until I realized how scary it is now, except I was writing. It would have been easier if you're simply here with me…but where did that got us?
Anyway, I'm not going to bring back the bad memories between us. For old time's sake, I simply just want to recall the good memories we had. You may probably not remember this but I hope that you do. I mean, everything just felt like it happened yesterday, you know? And I missed it. I missed the two of us.
I don't know where to start. Should I begin with that time in that small cafe when we're still in the University? Or that one time when you got very drunk that you took a swan dive in the rotunda's fountain? Or maybe that time when you and I rode a rollercoaster and you instinctively clutched my hand out of fear? I could go on haha.
But if you're going to ask me, I will always cherish the moments when we're just alone together. Those eventful nights on your house's rooftop, which at first I was reluctant since it looked dangerous, haha, but believe me, I kept every moment in my heart. How simpler times back then when you and I would just simply gaze at the stars and the city lights, and our pondering at the future ahead of us, or what the names of our children would be. How I hope it would still be possible. How I hope.
If only I could turn back time and prevented losing you, I would have offered my soul in exchange but…there were things in the world that I needed to accept, that I needed to stop caging myself in the past. I wonder how you've managed to cope up with it, I don't know. People may call me crazy for still writing to you, but I don't care, this was my way of grieving. You may not receive the earlier letters that I wrote because I chose not to send it as most of it only contained some unfinished drafts that I never bothered finishing.
February 14, our anniversary. I just cannot get over you, I'm not going to lie. You might receive more letters from me from now on. I know you needed to read it too, or maybe I was just fooling myself. I felt complete emptiness, sadness at the very bottom of my heart. Call me crazy, but I couldn't let go of the idea that somehow, what we felt might just be the same and that you're still around.
I wanted to tell you, please take care of yourself. Don't push yourself too hard. I'm here with you as always, and you're here with me in my heart. Don't think too much about the world. I've been trying to, and I guess I'm doing a good job at it. I missed you so much.
Forgive me for all the things that had happened. If only I could undo what was done. Had I known, I would have savored every second of it before you go.
The last time we met, I may haven't said this but…I love you. You will always be the love of my life.
Take care of yourself.

You folded the letter once more, turned off the stove after hearing the kettle whistling. You let out a sigh for the third time as you returned to the bed and sat, thinking if swallowing meds with beer was a bad idea. However, you felt good after reading it. It felt like you are with the person who always accompanied you in your dreams all this time.
You felt relieved, because finally you will never feel alone in your life.

In another time…
It had been years since their death. However, the visitor could still not forget the memories they had with the person buried six feet beneath. With tearful eyes, the visitor gazed at the tombstone and knelt before it. They extracted an envelope from their jean pocket and, for a few moments, gazed at it lovingly and gave it a kiss.
They placed it at the base of the tombstone. The visitor tried their best to hold back their cry and walked away. The tombstone read:


Can you remember?

Remember what?

Anything.

I'm not sure…
I'll try.

Do you remember me?

No.
But your face is familiar.
Please don't look away.

I won't.
Do you remember how we first met?
Do you remember the sunlight?

No.

No?

It was overcast.
Mostly. Until a break in the clouds.

…You're right.
The sun was just how I felt.
Poetic.
Or maybe just stupid.

You don't seem stupid to me.

Anything else?

I remember wind.
…But it wasn't windy.
I remember hearing wind. Wind in the words.

Zephyr. You heard Zephyr.

That's your name isn't it?

Yes.

Pleasure to make your acquaintance.

You said that then, too.
Such an interesting turn of phrase.

Weird?

Maybe a little. But mostly just interesting.
I knew you'd be interesting.
Do you remember your name?

My name…
…I only remember clouds, light bursting through the rain.

Wait.
That's not all.
Light bursting through to make…
a rainbow.
Does that have something to do with my name?
Rainbow?
That doesn't sound right…

No, it doesn't.

But…
it means rainbow.
Doesn't it?

It does.
Enfys.

Enfys…
I chose it.

Yes.
You did.
I always thought it was so clever.

What else?
Anything else you remember?

About you?
Or about me?

About anything.

…Don't look away.

I'm not going to.

I remember… something.
Something about you.

Yes?

Your face.
You were smiling.

I was?

I remember
ice cream.

What?

Neapolitan ice cream.
Dripping all the way
  down to the very
    end of your
      waffle
        cone

I understand now.
You're close.

I'm wrong?
But I remember…
my waffle cone had neapolitan.
But you had one too.

Yes, I did.
We didn't agree on flavors.

We didn't…
Wait.
Eugh!

What?

Who gets spumoni?

Heh, I do.

You're twisted.

Must be.

Eating spumoni with a smile on your face.
Like a complete lunatic.
It made your hand sticky.

It did. It made my hand very sticky.

…But I held it anyway.

You did.
It made your hand sticky, too.
Do you want to stop there for today?

No.
I want to keep going.

Are you sure?
I don't want to push you.
You've been through enough.

I want to remember.

Okay.
What do you want to remember?
There's a lot to recover.

Please don't look away.

I'm not planning on it.

I remember a dark room.
You and me.
Another burst of light.
But not the sun…
A television.
A movie.
We were watching a movie.
An animated one.

Lilo and Stitch.

Is it a good film?

Your favorite.
And truthfully, mine as well.

We should watch it.

…I'd really like that.

…What were we…?
Right.
We were watching the film.
I had fallen asleep.
I woke up.
You were playing with my hair.

It was very soft.

I liked it.

You said as much.

I liked your smile.

…

I remember your lips on mine.

…Yes. That's
that's right.
Apologies, it seems I didn't get as much sleep as I'd hoped. Didn't mean to yawn in your face.

…I'm sorry.

What?
Why?

This is really hard for you, isn't it?

Well

yes

but

…I think I'd prefer this over the alternative.
We can stop if you want.

Is that what you want?

I want whatever you want.

Then I want to remember you.

Okay.
Any other memories to pull at?
Or would you like me to guide you?

You weren't very good at that last time.

What?

I remember you and me.
Us.
Don't look away?

I promise.
Go on.

We were walking in a forest.

Oh.

You were a bad guide. We got lost.
It started raining, but we kept going.

…Something bad happened, didn't it?

Yes.
Something really bad.
And you had a choice. I had one, too.

Did you make the right one?

I hope so.
For your sake.

We can stop now.

Are you sure?

We can try again later.
Maybe watch Lilo and Stitch. That might help.

Yeah.

I have time.
Right?

Yes. You have all the time in the world.
If you're certain you want to stop now.

I just don't want to see you sad.
I like it when you smile.

…So then.
Tomorrow?

Wait.
There's one more thing I remember.

Oh?

Something I brought that day.

A ring.

…What?

I may not remember us.
But I know things make sense when I see you. And that gives me a better understanding of me.
And I want nothing more than to make you happy.
I want to remember you. I want to remember us.

…Promise you won't look away?

Never.


SCP Member: Jaykillbam. For more Projects, please consult Employee File.

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The night began as usual. As the dark settled in, the Club started to stir. A three-piece band tuned up their set.
“Mic check, mic check…” the singer called out.
“Sounds all good!” the bartender yelled from the back.
“Thanks Ethel.” A voice rang out overhead.
The band started up with folky, acoustic versions of older US Top-40 hits, the kind of songs that were etched into the fading distant memory of what the world outside the venue used to be. Patrons slowly trickled in from the entrance and filled the bar stools, the seat, and the booths, but despite this the dance floor remained empty.
A woman in her mid-thirties sat by herself in the corner of the bar, chatting with Ethel. The woman, with semi-curly auburn hair, sipped a glass of red wine in front of her. She laughed, revealing a pristine white smile. It was that smile, that stunning flash of beauty that caught his eye.
He frequented this bar many times, he even knew Ethel pretty well, however, this was his first time seeing this woman. He had come in for a quick drink or six. It really didn't matter too much anymore. He figured if it was going to be like this, he might as well take in something gorgeous. He stared, not sure for how long, maybe a few moments, maybe an hour, but at some point he got caught. The woman locked eyes with him and smiled, and he immediately averted his gaze.
She felt the weight of his glaring on her much sooner than she acknowledged him. When she finally got a clear look at the man, she noticed that he was young, mid to late twenties with luminous yellow hair. He was a handsome lad, and she appreciated the glances. When he had looked away she turned to Ethel and asked, “Who is that?”
“Oh him, that's Cass” Ethel replied.
“Cass? What kind of name…?”
“Well his full name is Rho-Cassiopeia. So, he goes by Cass.”
As his interest in overseeing the band waned, his desire to admire the woman grew in intensity. He decided if this was gonna be the night, he might as well do something new. He flagged Ethel over, away from the mystery woman. “Say Ethel, can you get that girl you're talking to a drink on me, get her another round of whatever.”
“Sure thing hon.” winked Ethel.
A fresh wine glass went down in front of the woman. Ethel pointed to Cass. The woman smiled, raised the glass and took a sip. Cass followed customarily in suit. About ten minutes went by and Cass returned his attention to the band once again. His viewership was short lived, as a single tap was felt on this right shoulder.
“Thanks for the drink!” the mystery woman said.
“Oh, yeah… no problem.”
“Why didn't you bring it over yourself?” she asked.
“Oh, I don't know… I didn't want to annoy you, or have you think I was some creep.”
“Well, you already spent an awful lot of time just staring at me, so…” she said with a laugh.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” he blushed.
“Don't be, but didn't your mother ever tell you that it was rude to stare?”
His timid demeanor momentarily broke. In its place, against the finality of the night, he replied, “Tonight, I'm not in the business of denying myself the opportunity to see something beautiful.” Her smile grew, a smirk turned into rapture. She extended her hand.
“Malina's the name. Ethel tells me your name is Cass?”
“That's me.” he confirmed as they shook.
“Mind if I sit with you Cass?”
“It would be my honor, Malina.”
Ethel approached the two. “Another round?”
“That's a yes for me, Ethel. Miss, how bout you? What you drinking?” He inquired.
“She only ever does the two-dollar wine deal.”
“Two dollars for a wine? Must taste horrible!” Cass yowled.
“Mr. Cass, you do not spend two dollars on a glass of wine and expect it to have any moniker of pleasantry.” Malina retorted.
“Well in light of tonight, let's get you an upgrade. Cocktail?”
“Sure! I'll have a ‘Cosmospolitan' then.”
“And I'll have…. Ummmm. Oh, I'll do the Razzberry Rum Runner please.” said Cass.
“You got it!” Ethel said as she turned to the well and proceeded to mix.
“So, what brings you here Malina?” said Cass.
“Oh, just call me Mal, or M.” responded Malina.
“Ok, Mal.”
“Well I came in to say hi to Ethel. She and I used to work here together long ago. We were both dancers, back when it was under different management.” Malina said as she pointed to a worn, and faded picture frame hanging on the wall. In the frame was the photo of a middle-aged white man with short brown hair, a black shirt, yellow tie and yellow suit. On the suit there was an insignia, an odd circle with three lines and the letters “S.C.P.”. Underneath the frame was a patinated-copper plaque that read, “86'd - Mr. Cimmerian".
“Oh yeah! You are one of the dancers from back in the day? I heard Ethel talking about that once. I guess it was before my time.”
“Yup, was one of the stars.” Malina gushed.
“Oh, what I would have given to see that. I'm regretting that I hadn't had the opportunity to see you sooner.”
“Yeah it was nice being the shining light in the room, but unfortunately I had to quit when life got in the way.”
Ethel soon returned with two cocktails.
“‘Cosmospolitan' and Razz Runner” she said as she placed the drinks in front of the respective drinkers.
“Cheers.” said Malina, raising the glass.
“Cheers.” replied Cass.
“OH! That's good! Wanna try?”
“I'm not the biggest vodka fan, but ya wanna try mine?” Cass responded.
“Sure!”
Malina took the glass from Cass's hands, and as she did their fingers touched. He looked at her, she at him, they both smiled.
“Wow, this tastes like my childhood home.”
“How so Mal?”
“Just ya know, that whole ethyl formate in nebulas thing. Space supposedly tastes like raspberries and smells of rum.”
Ethel turned around and looked at Cass, “Also! Did you know that in the human language, the word for raspberry is ‘Malina'?”
“Really makes you think, right?” said Malina.
“About what?” inquired Cass.
“Fate, destiny, that kinda crap. You did just order a drink that has an ingredient that has the same name as me, and the drink reminds me of my childhood. Coincidence?”
“I don't really believe in that kind of stuff. I think we are just mistakenly here for a short time and things happen until they don't.” shot down Cass.
“A pessimist I see.” Malina said almost insulted that her whimsy was so immediately censured.
“No not really, I'm just of the mindset to try to get as much out of your time here as possible. There's no profound magic ruling the cosmos. There's no God, no afterlife. You don't get a second chance.” Cass touted.
The music in the club stopped for a brief moment, the voices and murmurs of all the conversations slowly subsided. The singer of the band came to the mic. “Alright guys I want to thank y'all for coming out, this is gonna be our last song before we open up the dance floor and invite out tonight's featured act, DJSAG-A*. He'll be spinning some sweet accretion disks and sending out some groovy gravitational waves!” The band then picked back up.
“I can understand that viewpoint.” Malina conceded.
“What were you saying earlier about you left here because ‘life got in the way'?” Cass asked bringing the conversation back around.
“Oh, well if we are being honest, like brutally honest, I have kids.” Malina said.
“Oh, kids don't bother me, I never had any nor did I ever think I wanted them, but I completely understand how they can just happen. Most of my friends have kids. How many you have?”
“Well I did have nine, but one did become a bit estranged.”
“Nine! Wow most friends I know with kids have one or two. Was this estranged kid why you stopped working?”
“Yea, it was my Third.” Malina started, “She got sick, some sort of virus got her, it managed to completely destroy her, and when it was done, the virus spread to my other three closest. I lost 4 children to the sickness. And then just one day, the sickness left, almost with no trace. Like a fever had burned off.”
“What was the name of the sickness?” Cass gently inquired.
“Something called ‘Life'.” Malina sulked. “But I still have my others, and although I've grown, loss some mass in these later years, I still try to make it out here to say hi to Ethel. Makes me feel young again.”
“THANK YOU GOODNIGHT!” The band members said in unison. From backstage, a figure dressed in all black stepped out on stage with a foldable turn table set up, He effortlessly unfolded it and took two Golden Records from a case and placed them on the set up. The speakers began to boom heavy rhythmic beats and synths.
“Speaking of feeling young again, you wanna dance?!” Malina shouted over the blaring music.
“What?!”
“DANCE!” roared Malina, as she moved her hips in charade.
“Oh…. Oh no I'm not…” Cass barely finished his reluctance before Malina grabbed him by the hand and led him to the dance floor.
There they danced, hand in hand, body on body. A binary system in motion, spiraling inwards becoming one. They shut the universe out, as if only they existed. The two swayed and sweat, spun and smiled. Although they stood upright and glided across the dance floor, each of them in their own way had fallen.
Hours went by without respite from the enamored motion of their dance. It was now one in the morning and the music reached its penultimate conclusion. As the floor cleared, it was the two of them that still remained. Their lips pressed together, her head in his hands, her lips touching his in that soft way, one does against glass when sipping the last drop of wine.
When the world came back into focus, they smiled and walked back to the bar.
“Well, um…” Cass stammered.
“I. Yeah…” Malina blushed.
“This was not how I expected my night to go.”
“Mine neither. However, you bought a pretty girl a drink, how did you expect this night to go?” Malina replied.
“I don't know, I came here for a different reason, now…”
“What reason was that?” Malina asked.
“Before I tell you, can, can I kiss you again?” Cass looked deep into her eyes, Malina took his face by her hand and they locked lips.
“So, what's up?” Malina prodded.
Cass stood up from the bar, “Ethel two more over by the pool table please?”
“You got it!” Shouted the bartender.
Cass and Malina walked over to the pool table. Cass grabbed a cue stick and chalked the tip. Malina obliged and arranged the rack.
“Each ball you get, you get to ask a question, and the person has to be 100% honest, sound good?”
“That's a deal” responded Malina.
Cass hits in the 7 on the break.
“Solids.”
“Does the break count for a question?” Malina queried.
“I wouldn't think so.” Cass said confidentiality.
“Oh good.” Malina then took her cue and ran the table with five expertly placed pockets.
“Ok, whoa here, am I being sharked?” Cass exclaimed.
“I think you can only be ‘sharked' when there's money involved, right? Now, does that count at one or five questions?” Malina laughed.
“ONE!” Cass protested as he grabbed Malina by the waist and kissed her forehead.
“Tell me the reason you came in here tonight?” Malina asked again.
“Well, Mal, if we are being honest here.” Cass paused.
“Yeah?”
“It's my last day. An iron mass has been produced in my core and it's bringing me down tomorrow. My time here is just borrowed. After tonight, when I return home, I will die. When I say I didn't expect to spend the night like this… it is that I thought I was going to spend a few self-destructive hours by myself. I didn't think anything wonderful would happen to me, not like you.” Cass's shoulders dropped, and he walked to the other side of the table opposite Malina.
Malina came to his side and held him, “But you are so young, how?”
“Out there…” Cass motioned to the ceiling, “Out there, I'm a super-massive yellow giant, only a couple million old, and although I've shone big, shone bright, I will be leaving. You know the old saying – the biggest and brightest stars burn hot and burn quickly. I've had a fast and full existence, but now it's my time.”
“Are you scared?” Malina asked somberly.
“No… Well, I was fine, I made peace with it a while back, but now… Now I'm not so sure.”
“Why?” asked Malina.
“Because of you.” Cass stared into her eyes. Those dark round eyes. She had the kind of eyes that drew in his very being with a look. They sucked him in, like two black holes of unknown love, never to escape. “I didn't plan on you.”
“Alright everyone LAST CALL!” shouted Ethel.
“Last Call, Last Call” shouted some of the bouncers. “You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here! Finish up!”
“I think I should be going now.” Cass said with resignation.
“Cass… what if we…” Malina tried, searching for words to comfort, to do something.
“There's nothing to do. Mal, you made my last night worth everything. I want you to know, that I will forever be grateful for you. I will love you for that.” Cass smiled.
“I'll remember this forever too, Cass. I wish we had more time.” Malina chocked back a strong lump in her throat.
“Everything is finite Malina, even stars. I think that's what makes us shine.” Cass thought aloud.
“Let's go! Let's Go! Let's Go!” demanded the bouncers.
“I guess this is it?” asked Malina.
“This is it. Thank you, Malina. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
As their lips came together, Time & Space ceased their relentless stirring and stood still. In an endless moment they triumphed against the darkness that was soon to surround them.
“Goodbye.” cried Malina.
“Till next time.” smiled Cass.
The following night as Malina gazed out into the vastness of her little neighborhood. A light shone in exceptional luminosity where there was previously nothing to see. The light grew and grew, until it became one of the brightest things in the universe, and over a few weeks it soon faded back into nothing. Malina sighed, smiled and knew that Cass was gone. She was thankful for their one night, those few short hours where nothing mattered but the space between them.
——
It had been years since she had been back to visit Ethel. Malina had grown out of her bigger phase and had since shrunken in size, she was old now, in her tens of billions, dense and compact; she appeared as a woman in her seventies. The universe she once knew had become so large, so much bigger and scarier than she could remember. For the first time in exponential millennia, Malina entered the venue, sat down and called an aging Ethel over. “The usual, M?” asked Ethel.
“No, I think today I'll have a Razz Runner.”
“Stellar,” said Ethel.
At that moment, a young man of about eighteen years of age wandered into the bar and sat down two stools from Malina.
“Light Beer, please.” The young man said.
“Little young for this place, ain't ya?” observed Malina.
“Yeah, it's my first time here. First time I've left the nursery. My name is Sigma. Sigma-Cassiopeia.”


HEAVY CONTENT WARNING:
This entry contains graphic depictions of suicide, suicidal ideation, and self harm. Read at your own risk.

I've always wanted to just disappear. I didn't really want to be remembered either. Just being left in the dust, or being a part of the broken rubble was enough for me. My work at the Foundation supported this goal. I could do the important work I yearned for, but never be known to the general public or anyone outside of my coworkers. I could just slip through the cracks of society without anyone noticing.
Unfortunately, this contrasted with my ever-growing need to climb the ladders and work more. Quite honestly, I didn't know where this came from. It could have been sheer boredom. I've always reached for things I couldn't have. I've always worked towards things I knew wouldn't happen for me. I still never learned my lesson from it.
Truth be told, I was more bitter than anything else. I was angry and I didn't want to live. If everyone else around me could find happiness in the things they want, but I can't even find some form of pride, what's the point? After being passed over again, I spiraled. I didn't want to continue my work. That was a lie I was willing to tell myself because none of it mattered. I felt tied to work, like I couldn't leave or the world would just end. I still loved my work, but it didn't spark like it used to. I'd always go in these cycles where I'd break down and want so desperately to watch everything crumble underneath me. I didn't deserve to be happy. Though, I shouldn't feel like this on my birthday of all days, but here I was…
I sighed, waiting outside of the Site Director's office. I shoved myself on auto pilot just going through the motions of the day. If I took charge, I'd continue my self-destructive rampage. That was alright though, because I had a plan. It wasn't a great one, but it was as good as any other. As much as I would like to complain that I never get anywhere, that wasn't exactly the truth. I just never climbed enough to satisfy my own ambitions. I finally reached a plane where I had access to what I needed.
I didn't really need amnestics. The more I thought about it, the more it dawned on me, there was no reliable way for this malformed plan to even work. I shook my head and walked back to my office. The cold air stung my nose as I tried to breathe. It was always frigid onsite.
My desk was unwelcoming and the paperwork was piling up. I shoved it off my desk, enjoying the feeling of the paper cutting into my soft fingers. It stung, but gave me some release. I rested my head on my desk, wishing I was just gone. I didn't get the same satisfaction out of the work I did, it felt so boring now.
My mind played with the idea of being forgotten. I needed some way for it to work on a wide scale. I could change my name and run away, but I would still be remembered. My eyes glanced across the floor. The words “ANTI-MEMETIC” flooded my mind. Right, I was tasked with making an antimemetic song… I didn't see the need for it, they were probably just testing the scope of my abilities as it were.
The pieces fell into place, it was an answer to my wish. I wish I could become an anti-meme myself. It was a perfect solution to such a non-issue. It wasn't hard to get my hands on the information I needed. It was much simpler than I had imagined it would be. I needed a picture of myself, four ounces of my own blood, and an eraser. I wasn't too sure it was going to work, because it was given to me by someone claiming to be an ‘AWCY?' artist. Of course, I wasn't one to talk; I had considered myself ‘AWCY?' at one point.
I stood up, not caring that the day wasn't over yet. It was a late lunch, or so I kept telling myself. It wasn't a long drive home, but the thought of drifting into oncoming traffic or turning violently off of the bridge plagued me. But I had a job to do. I couldn't bear to make those who would remember or care hurt because of this.
The sound of the printer was deafening, but it would be worth it. I walked upstairs and took my razor blade. I placed the warm paper in a shallow dish. It felt as if something was wiggling in my stomach, begging me not to go through with this. I stared at the single-sided razor blade, and brought it to my arm.
Pain ran through me, but I welcomed it. Blood dripped down my arm and into the dish, leaving red drops on the paper. I pushed it into my skin multiple times, letting relief find me again. I didn't bother cleaning myself up. I watched as the paper ate the blood, soaking into it, staining the entire sheet. I grabbed the eraser, pushing it into the paper. Dark pulp rose from the blood as I finished erasing my face. As chunks of paper tore off, I slowly forgot who I was erasing, but I knew I needed to finish the job.
The dish was now a bloody, pulpy mess. I didn't entirely remember who I had erased, who was forgotten, but I knew the deed was done. All that was left was to test it. See if it actually worked.
Opening the door, I looked outside. The sun was setting and clouds were rolling in. It was calm. I closed the door, not caring to lock it. A chill ran down my spine. I looked across the street to the nosy old lady. She didn't seem to acknowledge me beyond what I could only assume was a distant stare.
My heart thudded in my chest as I walked down the street. People who were normally friendly to me were not paying any attention, looking through me. I held my breath, letting my lungs scream for air. I felt free, as though there was nothing holding me back now. I wasn't entirely sure if that thought scared me or comforted me.
I took the hike up to the overpass. It was ironic how nobody really would miss me. Nobody would notice or care. Generally when I tell myself that, I know there would be someone, my friends, family, the Foundation, but this time I was finally lost. Blood dripped down my arms and mingled with the cold air.
The frozen railing was welcoming as I looked over the edge, cars whizzing underneath me. Air ran past my face, messing up my long hair. I couldn't remember what I looked like, I couldn't even remember what my hands on the railing looked like despite having looked at them a few seconds prior. I sighed; there really was no going back.
I jumped over the railing, positioning myself on top of it. Another gust of wind greeted me. The sky was covered with thick clouds. It felt like time sped up as I stared at the clouds. They seemed too carefree up there. I wanted them gone, but I knew that wouldn't happen. I desperately wanted to call my mom, but even if she heard me, she wouldn't know who I was or even remember the call. Her hugs were always the best.
The situation felt so ironic. My entire life had imploded and the only thing I could do was pity party and fucking kill myself. I was turning 36… The age I always said I would die by. I didn't want to live past it. I always said that I'd die by my own hand when I chose to, and yet here I was stalling with a melodramatic monologue hoping someone would save me. I almost hoped someone would remember me and hug me, but I knew that wouldn't happen. I don't know why I stalled, considering nobody could see, hear, or remember me even if they just saw me. Stale air hurt my lungs as I continued to hold my breath.
Snow gently fluttered past my face and stuck to my hair. It graced my legs and stung my arms. This was it. There were no loose ends to tie up, there was nothing I could do to talk myself out of it. I pushed myself further towards the edge, still testing the air, still holding myself back. For a second I considered what would happen to my body. I debated if my family and friends would ever hear the news. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it wouldn't matter. I wouldn't be here to care. I sighed, and shoved myself into the air, letting the freeing feeling of falling cradle me one last time. A panicked calm washed over me. I felt suspended in the air. I hit the ground with a wet thud. I felt my consciousness fade away from me.
Was this really what I wanted?

To: teN.PiCS|nikda.rotcerid#teN.PiCS|nikda.rotcerid
From: teN.PiCS|trawets.ear#teN.PiCS|trawets.ear
Subject: Body Found on East Westlake

Dir. Adkin,
Regarding the body found on East Westlake, I've received access to the police files, and I noticed that in most reports, people claimed to know the person but couldn't give a name. The officers and Forensics labs can't identify the person either. I'm sensing something memetic. Do we want to get involved?
Rae

To: teN.PiCS|trawets.ear#teN.PiCS|trawets.ear
From: teN.PiCS|nikda.rotcerid#teN.PiCS|nikda.rotcerid
Subject: Re:Body Found on East Westlake

Hmm. Yeah, I'm getting the same feeling. Let's start with the cover up and amnestic procedures. I'll handle getting the body. We'll clean this up.
Thank you.


You can't see me!

Vivarium

Hey there! You should read some of the other stuff I made… or not!
I'm not the boss of you, do whatever you want!
More by Vivarium

The most important day of my life was the day I met Jenna on a train to Norway. It was one of those fancy new trains. Sleek and clean, a true luxury for a backpacker barely scraping by.
I was taking my 'big trip around Europe' I'd dreamed of for years and I planned on taking pictures of every beautiful thing I could find. I opened that door and saw her. I was enamored. It was love at first sight, though looking back on it makes me realize how young and naïve I was.
Honestly, I saw a pretty girl on a train, so I talked her up. My intentions started shallow, but I am still glad I talked to her, because I found out how beautiful her mind was. What started as a simple 'hello' turned into a six-hour conversation about everything from politics to Renaissance art.
I learned a lot about Jenna on that trip. She was born in Iceland, went to university in England, and she majored in Aeronomy. I felt so small in front of her with my liberal arts degree. It's hard to remember everything we talked about, but I remember our goodbye. We both got out at the same station. We exchanged numbers and she got on a boat back to her home in Iceland.
I called her that night. I joined her on that boat. I'm so glad I did that.

Iceland was breathtaking. The harbor town Jenna called home was quaint and welcoming… it was also cold as ever-living hell. She was living with her family at the time. It was a little house by the shore, um—or was it more inland? No, it was by the shore. I didn't want to intrude so I found a nice little hostel by the harbor. It was pretty empty except for one older guy, and… I think he was a French guy. It's hard to remember.
I spent about two weeks in Iceland. The entire time I was there, I was either taking in the scenery, or talking to her. Near the end of my stay, we went out for a walk late at night. It was so miserably cold, but she insisted.
I could never say no to her.
We didn't say very much. We just walked to the harbor and started watching the sea. Then the lights came. You hear about the Northern Lights in school, but you don't realize how awe-inspiring it is. I kissed her and promised to come back. She smiled and said goodbye.
I kept that promise. One year later I moved to Iceland and I never left.

Living in Iceland wasn't easy. I had no money, no home, and absolutely no valuable skills that could make me money. If it wasn't for Jenna, I would have probably frozen to death. She talked her boss into hiring me on as their 'assistant'… or a janitor… I honestly don't know what I was hired to do.
I didn't know very much about atmospheric science, so I mostly just did as I was told. That allowed me to make just enough money to get my own place. It was small and a little drafty, but I got by.
Jenna made it all worth it though. My love for Jenna grew more and more, but I also began to wonder. I knew she had a fascination for atmospheric science, but the way she gazed at the sky at night was more than fascination.
I knew she had a secret.
Every answer she gave was vague, and every time I asked if I could help her research, she'd say that it was fine, and that she didn't need any help. Then one day, I asked her to tell me why she really looked up at the sky. She didn't tell me the truth that night, or the next time I asked.
She only told me the truth when I finally worked up the courage to propose.

The only way she knew how to explain it was that it felt like she was the Northern Lights, or that she was connected to it somehow. When she focused, she could stop the lights from showing, but any strong emotion would summon it wherever she was.
I didn't believe her… why would I… actually why did I?
I remember the lights beginning to shine behind her as she cried. The colors were a faint blue. She was… I think she was scared. Scared I wouldn't stay. Scared that I would find all the things she said crazy.
I decided then and there that I didn't care.
All I knew was that I loved Jenna. It didn't matter that I didn't understand, or that she hid this from me.
What mattered was that she was telling me the truth.
I never said a word. All I did was hold her tight, and kiss her. I asked her to marry me again. The lights shined a brilliant pink and red.
She said yes. A simple yes had never filled me with so much happiness before.

I started helping Jenna with her research after I learned her secret. I began to understand why she was always so hard at work. She had thousands of notes and copious amounts of research material, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn't explain it.
I don't know if it was me helping, or just me being more aware of the situation, but she was losing herself. Every day was the same for her. She would wake up, research, spend time with me, and go to bed. Soon it became just research.
Then something happened. She discovered something about her gift. I can't remember if it was in the living room, or in the study that she told me about it, but her smile was so bright. A machine was sitting in front of her. I think it measured something. We went to the shore and set up the machine that same night.
Her glee turned to despair when it didn't work.
The sky turned green… no that's not right… it was blue, just like her. We walked home. I tried to think of words that could lift her spirit, but nothing came to mind. That night I held her as she cried herself to sleep. Days passed by. She began to fall deeper and deeper into that sadness that consumed her every thought. I tried so many ways to break through that sadness, but nothing worked.
I felt her drifting away from me.
I know she was lost in her own despair, but what about me? My love, my light was fading and there was nothing I could do for her. I felt so helpless. I felt alone beside her.
It wasn't until a week passed, that I finally told her how I was feeling. I told her how I was scared I would lose her to this obsession. I told her I wished I was enough to make her smile.
She cried… or did I cry? No, it was both of us.
She apologized with tears behind her beautiful eyes. She told me how much she loved me. She said that she was done with trying to understand, that she was done letting her power get in the way between me and her. We went to bed that night.
When I woke up, she was gone.

I panicked. All of the different possibilities rushed through my head of why she would run away. I… I panicked. I looked everywhere to see if I could find out why.
I couldn't imagine what I would do without her. I went back to our room to grab my keys. Then I saw something.
There was a sticky note attached to our bed-side table. It read—

I woke up early to return my research material to the lab—didn't want to wake you up. Will be making a couple stops before I get home. Love you. ♥

All the tension I had built up in my panic, which might have been a little dramatic, disappeared when I read that note. I dropped to my knees and laughed at myself.
Then Jenna opened the front door. "What's wrong?" she said, looking up and down at me sitting on the floor, half-laughing and half-crying.
I stood up. "Oh, I thought you were gone and I was so worried and then I found your post-it note—"
She smiled and kissed me.
"Honey, don't be silly, I'm not going anywhere."
"I love you, Jenna."
"I love you too." She reached into her purse. "I was thinking about what you said last night. I have been obsessed with trying to figure out this power for so long, and you are right. I haven't been thinking about what you want. So—"
She handed me a stack of pamphlets. They all had the names of various countries written on them.
"We should pick up where you left off on your 'big trip around Europe', shouldn't we?"
I was stunned. "What about work? We can't just take a surprise vacation."
"I already got permission to take two months off! Apparently I have put in more than enough work."
We talked about the trip the whole day. We planned on going along the coast, visiting as many places as we could. She even said I could buy a better camera for the trip. We were so excited.
A trip across Europe would be good for us.

One of the last stops on 'our grand tour of Europe' was Athens. We spent a week in that beautiful city, gazing at fine art, and wandering the old buildings.
The final day of our stay in Athens coincided with our anniversary. I was able to reserve a table at a very expensive restaurant. We had an absolutely wonderful time. Later that night, we were on the patio of our hotel room looking over that fantastic city. I can't remember what we were talking about, but something I said made her smile so brightly. She didn't see it while she was looking at me.
The sky was like fireworks over Athens.

We were packing our things the next day and… and… what did we do after that? Why is that memory so fuzzy? We left the house… I… I saw a van pull in front of us… It was full of… something. She screamed as they pulled us into the van.
I… I hit one of them.
Everything went black after that.
Where did they take us to? It… was a building. I… I was taken to a different room than she was. I… I was just about to say something when… when… I don't remember what happened next… I… I don't remember what I was thinking about… I need to make sure Joanna is… no that's not her name.
…
My 'big trip around Europe' was a grand success! My picture album is full of exotic overlooks and lovely views. I keep seeing this one girl in them though. There's no pictures with her face in it.
…
Why does she seem so important to me?
…
Why can't I remember her name?
…
I have to remember.
…
I can't forget her.
…
What was I thinking about?
…
Why do I feel scared?
…
I…
…
I love you…


O wretched little love-sick fly,
no lungs to breathe that peppered tar,
what have you cause to moan and cry?
Did not the girl you deify
bring you into my terraced jar?
O wretched little love-sick fly:
were not, for all your wings she'd pry,
you paid in wool, cloth, cinnabar?
What have you cause to moan and cry?
O, that you'd see how shines your eye
in light, that glossy void's bright star,
you wretched little love-sick fly,
or how your fabric skins defy
your promised death, your every scar.
What have you cause to moan and cry?
Mourn not your body, doomed to die,
or love that left you, au revoir!
For wretched little love-sick fly:
what have you cause to moan and cry?


“Before you ask me out, there's one thing you should know: I'm trans. I'm trans, and that's me. That's who I am.”
Dr. Cat replied a little more breathlessly than she'd hoped. Her back was pressed as far as she could onto the corridor wall. Her gaze was off to a side, but she could still watch her would-be Valentine from the corner of her eyes.
A part of her brain screamed that backing herself into a wall was a bad idea. But it kept her steady, and if this conversation turned sour, she had enough self-defence tricks up her sleeves to still make an escape, at least.
“It's alright”, Miranda answered. She had been playing with a lock of her hair, as she often did when seemingly nervous, but she dropped it immediately as Dr. Cat began to speak. There was a beat, and then she added, as if by way of an explanation, “I, ah, do not mind.”
“Right. Thanks.” Dr. Cat breathed out. To be honest, she had never figured out what to expect from her workplace. Was the Foundation a conservative place, with the conservative values to match its role as defender of the status quo? Or did its ruthless pragmatism mean it cared not for the oddities of its members so long as they get the job done, like it promised? Given the secrecy and the compartmentalisation, with each research team working on its own anomalous thing that went bump in the night, these might well both be true — and it was all a matter of which corner of the Foundation you happened to find yourself in.
“I am glad that you feel safe enough to come out to me, and I promise I won't violate that trust.”
“Thank you.” Dr. Cat leaned back to the wall, more casually, more relaxed this time, the cat-ears she was having on today brushing against the wall's surface. “That won't be a problem for you though? What I, um, have in my pants?”
“Nah. Well, I'm ace, so usually what people have in their pants don't matter to me one way or another anyway.”
“Oh, really? I'm ace too!”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You do?”
“I mean, you were colour-coordinating your outfit to the ace flag during Asexual Awareness Week last year, so I just figured — you mean you're not actually out yet?”
There was a beat, and then they broke out into a chuckle — to break the awkward silence at first, but soon it morphed into a sound of genuine enjoyment.
“I think I've always been a bit withdrawn. Quiet about myself”, said Dr. Cat, finally. “Guess I figured people would have been weirded out enough already” — she said, gesturing at the cat-ears — “with me being, y'know…”
“… a metamorphic entity?” Miranda filled in the sentence. “If it's any help, I don't think anyone at the Site minds. They just sent out a memo when you transferred here, and we have worked with the likes of Dr. Roth or Kain Pathos Crow before, so yeah.”
“That's good to hear”, Dr. Cat grinned.
“To be honest I've always been a bit curious how that happened — the memo didn't say… if you are okay with sharing, that is. Like, if that's not too personal a question?”
To her own surprise, Dr. Cat found herself not minding the question at all. She remembered first hearing about SCP-113, and the Foundation's promises of it as part of the care package for transgender members of staff — the carrot of acceptance they dangled to ensure your loyalty. She remembered the months of counselling, of being briefed about the possible risk and asked if she'd understood it… She remembered the day she had finally been brought into contact with that magical piece of red jasper, that had looked like carnelian to her eyes…
“… As far as anyone can tell, I was — well, am — genderfluid, and have my… peculiar ideas of what my self-image should be like, so the magic rock just threw up its hands and gave me limited shapeshifting powers. The folks in charge of SCP-113 had never seen something like this before either, so they poked and probed at me for a bit — but in the end I'm only able to shapeshift into something I could recognise as myself, so the Foundation just let me get back to work.”
“And started writing memos explaining catgirls to people.” They both laughed at this, and went on to discuss the details of their Valentine meet-up.
Overall, it wasn't a bad afternoon.

⁂

From: Miranda Collington
To: Site Director James T. Bradwin; SCP-113 Containment Team
The target does not seem to be aware of being monitored. Her statement regarding her anomalous abilities matches the testimony and test results obtained previously. It is not known if she will confide additional facets later into the bonding process, but this still remains a distinct possibility.
Further monitoring is recommended for the moment.


≡

The sun was just beginning to fall below the horizon as Dad and I hopped out of the Ford F-150 that he'd parked in a vacant patch of grass. By the time our feet landed on the gravel, the cold February air had already began tickling our lungs. In response, our breaths produced erratic puffs of fog back into the air. In front of my father and me, the oak treeline of Center Race Park cheerfully greeted us with its swaying branches. They probably felt lonely there. Especially after everyone fled to the warmth of their homes when the sun began to set.
For Dad and I though, it was a perfect February 14th.
Today was more than just some excuse for chocolates. It was also my parent's anniversary, their sixth one at that. Usually my father would have taken Mom on a plane to somewhere more romantic and lavishing than here, like New York or Las Vegas. I would have been left at home, being closely watched by my aunt or grandmother. Of course, they would always try and have fun with me while my parents were away. But even with my grandparents, I'd always wait angrily until Dad and Mom returned home. I was always still upset afterward that I could never tag alongside them as they witnessed the glittering skyscrapers and breathtaking landmarks of far away places.
However, this year was different. Instead, Dad had conspired a surprise for my mother. Now here we both were, silently walking a dirt path that led deeper into the forest. There was really no need to talk. We both knew the plan. In my desperate clutches, a bouquet of fake roses bobbed alongside my exaggerated bounds and lunges. I happened to glance over towards my father. His brown beard carried a bright smile as we looked at each other.
Mom was a florist, and she loved many flowers. But she carried a particular soft-spot for roses. Every weekend when she came home, our car would always be packed with countless amounts of them. I don't think there was a time where our house wasn't filled with flowers. Dozens of beautiful plants and flora, sometimes even bundled together. "It makes everything so much better!" my Mom would say.
Now, my father and I had planned to surprise her with a few roses of our own. It was a simple gift, so he told me as we arrived. Regardless, these were specially made for her, as a small token of our appreciation. For her kindness or her gentle tone, even the way she made us laugh when something bad happened. Everything that one could possibly imagine from someone, we wanted to thank her for it all. Valentines was usually a day for couples. But today it was a moment for her. Our excitement could barely stay contained by widened grins as we progressed further to where she was.
Mom had no idea what was about to happen to her. And that's what he and I counted on.
After a moment Dad cleared his throat, briefly snapping me away from my train-of-thought. The snow crunched beneath our feet as our soles impacted the ground. It was an oddly peaceful sound. As we walked, the rhythm slowly drifted me back into my mind.
Soon I began to think about all of the times before this when Valentine's Day came around. Although I had always been too young to come with them, that never stopped my father from telling me all about their travels. He had made it clear that his favorite trip with Mom was to Paris, some few years back.
It was their perfect place—a beautiful and extravagant city for an amazing occasion. He would ramble on and on, telling me every detail that he could recount. From the places they saw to the nooks and crannies that they discovered on their strolls through the city. He would even tell me the taste of the food and drinks at the restaurants they ate at, or how their hotel room had caught the skyline at just the right angle at night. Dad was so vivacious that I'd often ask for him to repeat his stories several more times as a kid. He could make you feel like you were right there with them, enjoying everything that Paris had to offer.
The wind suddenly began its onslaught, but only the roses responded to its call. At one point my father firmly grasped my shoulder, signaling that we were near our destination. After a few more steps, I could see my mother. She looked calm in her sat position, albeit somewhat confused with her furrowed brow. Mom's brown hair rocked carelessly around her shoulders as her light-blue eyes glanced over towards us. Her expression quickly shifted into gleeful shock as she realized who we were.
Dad and I both knew that our surprise had been successful. We quickened our paces as Mom cupped her hands over her mouth. I nearly lost my grip on the bouquet as we closed the gap that previously split us apart. My mother remained still as we finally made it over to her. Dad and I quickly glanced towards each other before I dropped the bundle of flowers on the ground.
I once again admired my mother. She looked amazing in her elegantly crafted dress and fur coat, even though I could see the bags under her eyes. She was always feeling sick or tired. But even while her fever rose and the exhaustion lingered, Mom was always there for us. Dad had once told me that no one else in the world could rival my Mom's beauty. In that moment, I actually started to believe him.
My mother was smiling at her roses now.
My father looked towards me again, the wind now settling. We both decided to sit down in front of her, the bouquet separating us. I could feel Dad's hand reach over my shoulder as he tugged me closer. The snow was also beginning to seep into my pant legs, but I didn't care. I was too happy to give any credence to the cold. Mom was still smiling. Her dark brown hair always covered a small portion of her face, preventing me from fully seeing her eyes. I simply responded to her with a smirk of my own.
She was only with us in spirit, after all. The mound that sat in her place was a painful reminder of that.
The mirage of my mother quickly faltered from my view as the realization began to kick in. I glanced upwards at her gravestone, noticing the engravings that had been inscribed below her name.

A WIFE, A MOTHER, AND AN AMAZING DAUGHTER. YOU FOUGHT HARD, AND YOU FOUGHT WELL. REST IN PEACE NOW. FOREVER AND ALWAYS.

It was only after this that I noticed the tears streaming down my cheeks. I quickly sniffled as snot dribbled down my nose. In an act of hope, I turned towards my father in fleeting desperation. My hands began to shake, but not from the cold. I think his stern eyes could tell that I was breaking.
"Dad," I whispered weakly. "Why did God have to make her go? Why her?"
My father's eyes lowered to his lap. There was a long pause. Dad's mind was entrenched in thought as I struggled to see him clearly through squinted eyes. After a few seconds of silence, I noticed his chest begin to heave, slow and deliberately. He quickly cleared his throat. My father then glanced towards my mother's grave before fully embracing me in his arms. I could feel his body tremble in my grasp as his voice quivered. His arms tightened around my body.
He responded, "Son, when you go into a garden, what flowers do you pick first?"
I froze in place as my eyes widened in disbelief. I didn't need to think much about it. My mother was a florist, and she had always talked about how she chose her flowers. It was never from random chance, nor from anything that could be considered evil. At that moment, I knew exactly what my father was trying to tell me. Everything made sense in a way that I could never truly explain. Before another thought could arise within my mind, I squeezed my father, hugging him as tightly as I could. We remained there for an eternity, each of us now battling through choked sobs and ragged breaths. In our wails, I felt so much closer to Dad than I had ever been before.
It was during those few moments that I somehow found my voice again, buried in his chest and in front of my mother's gravestone.
"The most beautiful ones."

Happy Valentines Day, Mom. I think you would've loved those roses.


Hello, it's nice to meet you.

Hey, I'm John, nice to meet you.

Hey John. I'm Justine, but you can call me Jay.

Alright, Jay. It's a pleasure.

Mine as well.

So what's a classy person such as yourself doing in a place like this?

The same thing you're doing; hoping to meet someone I could possibly go on a date with.

Good, good… So what are you looking for in a relationship exactly?

Someone who is understanding of me and my, uh, idiosyncrasies.

What do you mean?

It's complicated.

Well, you've piqued my interest.

My mom always worried I would wind up alone.
I guess she was right to worry about me. It's not that I haven't tried. I've tried dating apps, I've seen people here and there, it just— never really felt right for me. It always seemed like the ultimate end goal for all these relationships was sex in one way or another. I get it. I really do. Sex can be seen as the culmination of affection and love becoming physical and tangible in a way. Some people find that beautiful, but I personally… I dunno. I find it kinda gross to be perfectly honest, haha.
I wasn't always like this. There was a time when I was open to the idea of sex, but in practice, it would always bother me in the back of my mind and I guess I ignored it. For years. Years! Can you believe that? I buried a fundamental aspect of myself so deep into my subconscious I didn't figure out I was asexual until my late twenties. But I guess some people figure things out much later than that. I just can't believe it took me that long; I liked to think I knew myself rather well.
It really took me a while to accept it though. I felt like I was wrong. I mean, millions of years of evolution only for me to not feel like it? To make my bloodline die with me? My mother really wanted grandkids. She wanted someone to spoil rotten and love and go to little league games to cheer for or sell girl scout cookies with. Or something. Whatever it is grandparents do. I feel really bad that I denied her that experience, but… I'm supposed to come first, aren't I? I need to take care of me.
But taking care of me is something I'm not exactly the best at, heh. I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say I've been in my fair share of toxic relationships in the past. My most recent one, for example. My ex was a very amicable and easy to get along with type of person. Everything seemed great at first, up until we got a few months into the relationship. They got upset that I wasn't initiating any sexual advances on them or responding to their own. They thought they weren't enough for me and it spiraled into a big fight. Anyway, we both left that argument single, even though I don't think they understood that I'm just not built to respond to that kind of thing or engage in them.
It's not that I want to be alone; rather the opposite. I long for companionship just as much as the next person. Like Nat King Cole said, the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. I'm kind of a hopeless romantic in a way, too! I love doing all that dumb couple stuff like going out on dates and wearing dumb matching t-shirts. I just don't want to engage in sex.
But anyways, that's why I'm here. I'm looking for someone who will understand and accept me as I am.
Anyway, I'm sorry I've chatted for so long, why don't you tell me abou-

Alright speed daters, that's all the time we've got for this round.
Odd numbers, let's move one table to the left and meet your new potential partner!

Yeesh, I was just looking for something quick, not your life's story.

I'm sorry. Goodbye.

Jay stood outside of the community center, taking in the cold winter air as their coat's right arm sleeve billowed in the wind. They looked up at the sky, only to find it empty. The city's light pollution had rendered the stars invisible. Jay sighed and moved towards the car they had borrowed to come down from the Site, an old '99 Impala. After fumbling with the keys for a moment, they unlocked the driver's door and took a seat, shutting the door behind them.
Another speed dating event with no one interested in them. It didn't hurt, not much, anyway. But the sting of rejection was still there, like an old scar flaring up. Jay was numb to it. They were numb to a lot of things lately, but one feeling rose above them all; the familiar sensation of loneliness.
A few of the newly paired couples left the community center, talking to one another. Some were being led to their cars by their newly found partners, others stuck around the sidewalk to talk.
Jay shut their eyes, trying to swallow their emotions. One minute. Two minutes. Three, four, and finally, five. Jay's eyes opened, feeling the vibration of a cell phone against their thigh. They reached into their pant pocket and retrieved the device, opening it up to read the incoming messages.

10:03 PM 1/11/2018
hey

I made some mai tais for the research team. Want me to save you some?

u can tell us about how your thing went

if u want. no pressure.

Jay smiled. At least they had their friends. Jay put the keys in the ignition, then took hold of the wheel. The car backed out of the parking lot and continued on to Site-55.

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Wilson's Wildlife Solutions Orientation •

Carroll #280/R-01221 •

Faeowynn Wilson's First Tamalada •

Life Insurance Policy •

Two Minutes To Midnight •

Chasing The Union •

Masquerade's End •

The Remains Of The Day •

The Corncrake Of Destiny •

#StormSite19 •

(Too) Late Registration •

Other

Ode To The Unknown Author •

uncle nicolini author page •

Sciptember 2022 Art Highlights •