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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Tue Mar 10, 2015 8:51 pm

Zellie ~ The one with the teenager that had terrible fashion tastes

Trains always rattled too more for my liking, and they were too cramped. Plus, you might as well sit on the rails of the train track, and you'll be comfier than sitting on the scratchy seats. I leant against the cool metal pole (I'll probably have to disinfect my whole body afterwards, who knows who has touched it), and watched as a man climbed onto the train, a rucksack hanging from one shoulder. Embroidered on the front pocket was four letters in bright yellow thread 'NYCC', I didn't know what it stood for, or why this man had it on his bag, but I saw it every day, I saw him every day. He got onto the train at 09:32, I'm guessing to travel to work. He had crazy black hair, incredibly curly, impossibly curly really and it suited him especially well. I am ashamed to say I might have based a story off him, The Desolate Train Rider. But it is just a draft, nothing special so far, but I hoped it would become something 'more'. He glanced around before he sat down on one of the less deadly looking seats, paying no attention to anyone around him and pulled out his book. That was his daily routine. Mine, was to note everything he did. Not in a weird way, just to make my character as realistic as I could. But he was silent, he never spoke to me, I don't know what he's really like. He could be an absolute dick for all I know.
"Hey, sexy."
Okay? I didn't know this guy. And he was uncomfortably close to me. I tried to move away slightly but he just kept closer.
"Right. Thanks."
His eyes slid down my body, and I instinctively lifted my books up to cover myself more, even though I was wearing a large coat and jeans, nothing was on show.
"What are you writing? Can I see?"
"No"
"Why not, hottie?"
"You can't"
"I asked. Why?" He reached forward and snatch the books out of my hands.
"Hey!" Another voice appeared at my side, "Give them back."
"Why?"
"I don't have the time or crayons to explain this to you. Give the lady her damn books."
"Make me."
"In this bag I have enough chemicals to make hydrogen fluoride, and it won't be hard to shove the damn stuff down your fucking throat"
"What is that?"
"If you were any less intelligent you would be a moron." This must be what this guy is really like, I got him dead wrong in my story. In my book, he was the quiet, bookworm type but here he seemed a lot different to what I perceived.
"Y'know what, she isn't worth this trouble" I find that rude, but I was glad when he threw the books at the man and walked away. I am surprised he didn't trip over his trousers they were that low down. The man looked at the books,
"May I?" He nodded at my writing, I dipped my head in a sort of agreement. He opened it slowly.His eyes scanning over the pages. "You seem to have written about me"
"You were the best inspiration around here"
"You got me all wrong. I'm nothing like this."
"What are you like?"
"The opposite" He handed me my stuff back, "I am Zachariah by the way."
"Ellie"
"Stay away from the freaks, Ellie" With that, the train stopped at his stop and he hopped off without another word.


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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Wed Mar 11, 2015 8:40 pm

Cat ~ Isadrew

"I'm allergic"
"No you're not"
"It's just like pollen, it gets up my nose"
"Just stroke her"
He held the cat up to my head height, might a challenge I must say, quite frankly the thing looks like a fat hairy baby. Isaac kept pushing the cat up into my face, I reached a finger out and patted it slightly on its head. I pulled my finger back as soon as I could, Isaac looked unimpressed.
"That isn't stroking her."
"I still touched it"
"Hold her"
"Er, no"
"Andrew, hold the cat" He shoved the cat closer to me, before pretending to drop it. I reached out to catch it, because even though this thing was no more attractive than a horse's backside, Isaac seemed to like it, so it had some worth. It looked pissed as it looked up at me. I can tell already this cat and me are going to be best friends. "See? Not that bad"
"What did you name it?"
"Cocoa"
"Why did I even ask?" I got a kiss on the cheek as a reply.

--

Isaac had to leave me and this cat alone while he went to school, and I swear that thing hates me.
"Why are you staring at me?" I got no reply apart from the continuous hard stare. I sighed, turning away from it, heading back to my shop. Damn thing followed me.

"Get off the counter"

"Oi. Touch the Chrysanthemums and their meaning will become true"

"Hey! Don't rub yourself against me, you'll get hairs everywhere"

"Look now, you're scaring my customers away"

"Right that's it" I picked the cat up, "Why can't you have a lead or collar like a dog?" I walked back into the house to deposit it in the kitchen. I glanced around before putting its bowls down on the floor for it. Isaac seemed to get everything provided when he adopted this thing. I didn't exactly know where he got it. I bet Tina.
"Don't scratch anything. It was all Ikea specials." It meowed. "Good."

--

The cat is already replacing me. It laid across Isaac's lap as we watched t.v., his hand slowly gliding over its back. Isaac is going to be the next crazy cat (wo)man, I would place bets on it. I already think one cat is too many. Hm, this is a plan I shuffled down the sofa slightly, dropping my head onto his lap, in the space where the cat wasn't.
"Oop. Andrew?"
"Mm?"
"What are you..?"
"Don't I get my fur stroked?" I gestured to my hair, receiving a giggle from Isaac.
"Jealous?"
"Of that feline? No"
"Yes you are"
"No I'm not"
"Are"
"Okay, I am, so where's my love and affection?" Another giggle. But I did get a head massage, so it paid off, and a glare and a hiss from the cat but who cares. My Isaac. I don't share.

--

"Ooh! When did you get a cat?" It used to be 'ooh when did you get a husband?' but no, the cat is centre of attention, it isn't even cute.
"Is she like a replacement for a child? Do you spoil her?" Just because we can't have a child doesn't mean there isn't another way of getting one. Though, thinking about that, I would rather have the cat than a child. At least this thing doesn't cry and I can put it in a cupboard if it annoys me.

--

"Go away, Cat" Honestly? I forgot the cat's name ages ago. It hisses at me too much, so why should I spend time trying to remember its personal things if it doesn't like me? "Feed yourself. I've seen cats do it on YouTube, so you can too" I got another nudge and hiss. "My God. Fine" I stood up and walked over to the kitchen, opening one of the food packets. The only thing worse than the cat itself was its food. How is this appealing for it to eat? I placed the bowl on the floor so it could eat it. I really don't like it being on the furniture, gets hairs everywhere. It hissed as I walked past it, so I growled back.

--
 
Isaac came home late, Tina made him stay behind to help her with her work. Andrew laid on the sofa, waiting for him. But, he had eventually snoozed off. Isaac looked around for Cocoa, he knew she and Andrew didn't agree with each other, and feared one day he would return to see them having had a fight, (he was pretty sure Cocoa would win). Andrew was curled tightly around a little ball of fur, which snuggled closely into his neck. Neither of the two seem disturbed by the fact they were literally curled up around each other, but he knew if they woke up it would be a completely different story. He placed a little kiss on Andrew's head, placed a blanket over them both (Andrew's feet not being quite covered) and headed off to bed.

--

"AH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" A loud hiss followed.
They'd woken up.
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Sun Mar 22, 2015 5:32 pm

Heh imma shit.

It was moments like this that made me believe in a God. Only He can make something that holds all the beauty of the world. That beauty was sat high up in the tree, on the thickest branch, his legs dangling over the edge. His hands were clinging onto the bark as he was looking down towards me, laughing, his whole face lit up as it crinkled into the look of pure happiness. With the sunlight behind him, the rays dispersed through the leaves, he looked like a true angel. One that God spend days, weeks, months even years trying to perfect. And, my, did He perfect him. His smile shone rays of colours from every end of the spectrum that go running in all directions, looking for an untouched canvas on which to leave a mark. He was the reason for the good in the world, he was the reason for the light. He was the rainbow in the sky during the rain storm, reminding everyone that even on the darkest, dampest days; there is hope for humanity.  He is probably the reason why the Earth rotates back into the day after a long drawn out night, he's what makes the blessed spring come after the bereaved winter. Isaac is the good of the world. The beauty, happiness and love. He's my angel. My love. My life.
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Fri Apr 03, 2015 11:41 am

Report by PC Nugent.

Case Report: 002

Date: 01/02/09


Description: Rosina Lockhart, 30, found at 2300 hours in her apartment in Colorado by her sister Tasmine Browne. Police arrived at scene at 2323 hours, the door showed no signs of forced entry neither picked nor attacked. Lockhart either left her door open or willing allowed her killer in.
Body was in the centre of the room, dead for at least 20 hours, surrounded by a pool of blood, DNA test proved it as hers. Torso remained unscathed, but limbs were completely shredded, as if by an animal. Only the flesh was damaged, the bones remained untouched. The shreds of flesh remaining showed to have been cut with intricate detail. Too detailed for kitchen knife, too deep for razor, penknife is what is thought. Forehead had a symbol etched in; the signature of the killer. It was the shape of a Rook.
Lockhart was meant to meet Browne for their weekly bowling competition. Lockhart never showed, Browne tried to contact but got no reply. Out of character for Lockhart.
Autopsy confirms Lockhart bled to death.
It's like this...
According to this note, Ms Lockhart had been a naughty girl, Or, more, this Client had said she had. I don't really know that much about it, I just do my job. He wants her dead, he is paying a good price, so I oblige. Oh I know what you must be thinking. 'What a greedy person, killing to get paid thousands.' You should know I donate most of the money. I don't need it. I would be a lawyer or something if I did this for money, Hell knows I am smart enough. No, I do this job for the kicks. Nothing gets the blood pumping through your veins quite like watching somebody else's poor out across the floor in front of you, creating a sea of red. It's rather beautiful, really. Blood is unlike anything else. I love the burgundy colour, such a deep, rich colour, one that has so many mixed opinions and meanings. Fear, love, life. Blood is vital for humans, With every drop lost, so is a piece of their life. That's why I like my victims to bleed nice and slowly, so they can see their sins of their life. And so they can watch their life slowly draining away, every bead of the warm, red, sticky liquid could be the last before darkness encases on them.
Ms Lockhart had cheated on Mr Client. I don't like jobs such as these. So cliché and boring as this. I mean, they cheated? So what? Get over it. But, after Ms Lockhart broke up with Client, she stole his Twilight Boxset. So she is a thief and an adulterer. Plus it is kinda funny. Ms Lockhart wasn't hard to find, Client had told me of her plans, (that seems stalkerish is you ask me, but no one did, and he isn't the one I am meant to be targeting. That makes it none of my beeswax). She wasn't hard to track down, and it was even easier to get into her flat.
The procedure is easy. A single blow to the philtrum to cause unconsciousness, this could cause a concussion but never causes death if hit right. Next, engrave the famous Rook into the forehead. The pain of that should cause them to wake up. If not, continue anyway. This is the best part. You delve the knife straight into the fleshiest bit of the thigh and slowly drag the blade dow towards the knee, listening to the screams as they fill the room. Don't let these get too loud. You really don't want a concerned neighbour walking in halfway through. It's a really awkward conversation. A sock shoved in he mouth is good for muffling screams. It is important you don't forget the quality control checks. Gloves, hair tied back, that sorta thing. More awkward than a neighbour walking in on you is the Police finding out who you are.
Ms Lockhart was an awesome victim. She did everything she was meant to. And at the perfect timings. I do love it when things go right. It makes things so much easier for both the victim and me. There is on last thing you must not forget to do. You are allowed to admire your art afterwards. You must have spent ages plotting this moment, and you can't just leave with admiring your ingenuity and craftsmanship. Cherish the moment you had as God, choosing who is to die and who is to live. Not many people get to do that, y'know.
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Sun Apr 05, 2015 6:15 pm

Happy Easter from the Hewitts


"Isn't this pointless? We'll just eat them anyway."
"Shush, Zach, it is for Easter! And look at the Ducklings, they are enjoying themselves."
That they were. The two children, one five the other four, both were covered head to toe in paint. We were all sat at the table, paints scattered across it, with two open boxes of eggs in he centre. The kids were laughing as they coated each other in a multitude of colours. I must make sure that Zach is the one who has to wash them up after this. Lily had stopped flicking her brother with the paint and turned her attention to the eggs she was meant to be painting. She swirled the paint creatively over one of them, Jake was slightly less enthusiastic, much like his father. He dabbed the paint over the pieces of newspaper covering the table, drawing what roughly resembled an atom.
"Jay, please draw on the egg"
"He doesn't have to"
"The whole point of this is to draw on the egg"
Zach picked up a brush and dipped it in to the green paint, I, at first, thought he was going to pick up an egg and join in with the kids, but as a grin grew on his face, I knew something wasn't right. He grabbed the front of my, or more his, t-shirt, pulling me into a kiss. The horrible cold, wet texture of paint hit my cheek instantly and I was unable to pull away until he had finished completely covering my cheek green.
"Zach!" I pulled away from him as soon as I could to wipe the paint away with my shoulder, "You bastard" Zach was just sat laughing his head off, and I was reminded of the time they were painting in their flat. "Green is a terrible colour"
"No it is not. It was the best colour"
"Blue is the best"
"It is not!"
"Yes it is"
"I think red is the best"
"Shut up, Jay"
"Zach!"
"What?"
"Don't tell him to shut up. Shut yourself up"
"Fuck off"
"Fuck you"
"Fuck you too"
We glared at each other when Lily made a loud squeal, "Mummy! Will the Easter bunny be  proud?" She showed me the egg with a huge grin lighting up her pretty little face.
"Wait, you let them believe in that?"
"Yes, because they are real"
"No they are-" I slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Yes they are. Santa visited us when we first met, remember?"
"Yeah, but that was you being a bitch, not Santa"
"But Santa is real"
"I give up"
"Good, now paint a bloody egg"
I placed an egg in his hand while I stood up to get my face washed properly. It took a short while, but when I returned, I saw the three of them concentrating on their eggs. I decided to leave them be until they had done.

Lily's egg was very well painted, she had chosen lots of colours to express the true meaning of Easter and spring. Jake's wasn't as well done, but it was red with blue and green stripes. Now Zach's. I have no idea if it was a good painting or not, but he claimed it to be the molecular structure of 'human genome'. He seemed happy enough about it. And God knows he is hard to please.
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Wed Apr 08, 2015 9:21 pm

Babysitting~ Isadrew
"Thank you so much boys! You both are saints!" According to the bible we are the complete opposite.
"Any time. So feed at five then bed afterwards? Okay" The woman at the door, who happened to be called Rita and lived a couple of doors down. Her usual babysitter was on holiday, so she relied on us to look after Imogene while she went on a date or whatever it was she was doing. I didn't care that much about what she was doing, just that she had dumbed a baby onto us, a cat is bad, a baby is worse.
"Yes! I will be back at ten! Bye boys!"  Rita continued smiling brightly at the two of us as she handed the infant over to Isaac, who happily took it, while I took the bag which contained everything the baby would need in her night at ours. She gave us a quick wave before running away from the door.
"So, what do we do with her now?"
"Well, it is only four thirty, so we can't feed her yet. We can entertain her."
"How?"
"Watch tv? Kids like tv." He headed off towards the living room while I went off to dump the baby stuff in the kitchen, seemed the most logical place to put it. I found the cat lurking under the table, so I took the feline up and carried her through into the living room where Isaac was sat on the floor with Imogene. I sat down beside them and put the cat down in front of the young girl who instantly started grasping onto its fur and tail. Cocoa didn't seem to mind that much, but did often try to escape from the child's wrath.
"We can't feed her" I noticed as I huddled next into Isaac's side. He moved his gaze away from the child and the cat to look towards me with a confused look.
"Why not?"
"Neither of us are female, so we can't give her any milk" I got the very clear look of 'you are an idiot' before he burst into laughter. "What?"
"There is such thing as formula milk. Don't you know anything?"
"About having babies? Not really, never had that experience, surprisingly enough" Isaac just laughed again, returning his attention back to the other two. Both of which had calmed down enough to sit and watch the tv.

Imogene, it seems, knew exactly when it turned five o'clock, as she started screaming bloody murder.
"What do we do? Why does it sound like a cat being dragged backwards down a motorway?"
"She needs to eat."
"You can do that then."
"Nope you're coming to help." He made me pick up the screaming child and I followed him through into the kitchen. He quickly prepared the milk as I held the baby an arm's length away from me, trying to not get deafened by the racket. "Hold her properly so I can feed her" I changed the position of the child, so I was holding it in a more traditional way. Isaac walked over and moved the bottle over Imogene so she could suckle on it easily.
"Ah, peace and quiet" I grinned at Isaac as the girl fell into a contented silence, happily guzzling the milk. "How much do you think we should feed her?"
"As much as we've got? We don't want her to go hungry"
"Good idea" I took the bottle off Isaac as he began warming up the rest of the milk for Imogene to drink. I never really imagined having to feed a baby, since I never saw myself having any of my own. For obvious reasons. It is pretty calming though, just the warmth of the baby seeping through its clothing onto my bare arms. It felt almost natural to start humming, or more singing, to her. I used to sing to the twins, but I didn't really interact with them much when they were this age. I handed Isaac the bottle when it was empty so he could fill it back up with milk. I continued singing as Isaac gave her the second round of milk. Isaac smiled as he held the bottle for Imogene, who happily started guzzling this one down.

Imogene dropped to sleep not long after her food and lullaby. Isaac and I settled down on the sofa, Isaac curled up into my side.
"I really hope this isn't giving you any ideas to get any kids" I said to him, looking down towards him with a soft smile.
"You'd make a great dad"
"So would you, but we're not getting any"
"Why?"
"You already have that cat"
"Not the same as a child though"
"Exactly, easier to care for" We fell into a comfortable silence, watching the tv until Isaac started talking again.
"If you were female, we would have kids by now"
"If you were female, we would have kids by now"
"Yeah, but not as many"
"What makes you say that, hm?" I raised an eyebrow down towards him as he started giggling. I grasped what he meant after a second and playfully growled at him. I pushed him onto his back and kissed him gently. "We can amend that"
"No we can't"
"Why?" And as if on queue, the baby in the room next door started screaming her head off.
"That's why"
"Ugh. We are never having kids"
"We can't anyway"
"Yeah, I am letting you no where near an adoption place"
"Why?"
"You would adopt every poor soul in there"
"So?"
"We are not having any children" The baby continued crying, meaning I had to slid off Isaac to go tend to her. I gave Isaac another kiss before starting to walk into the other room and turned to look at him, "I think we're happy enough with just a cat"
"You, Cocoa and I. Best family I could ever wish for"
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Fri Apr 10, 2015 10:16 pm

Petting Zoo ~ Zellie

"ZACH! Get your ass down here right now"
"Whatever, Mom"
"Watch your attitude, young man"
"I'm older than you. You can't call me young man"
"Just shut up and come down here. With clothes on"
"But the kids aren't here" Zach noticed as he walked down the stairs, thankfully, dressed in pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt, his usual sleeping gear. He looked very dishevelled, and grumpy, as if he had just woken up. At the glance at her watch, Ellie saw it was quite possibly true, seeing as it was just past half past eight and Zach didn't normally get up until nine. "What?"
"We're going to the petting zoo"
"Yeah, no we're not" He turned heel started to walk back up the stairs.
"Oh no, you're coming with us."
"Why?"
"Because your children want you to go" That made Zach stop and slowly turn on the spot. He groaned loudly, stomping down the stairs in a childlike fashion. "Put some more clothes." He continued trotting down the stairs, walking to where his jeans were hanging up still drying from their wash yesterday.

The two picked up the kids from the babysitters after Ellie had forced food down her husband's throat. All four of them sat in the car, driving towards the closest petting zoo, with a surprisingly small amount of complaints from Zach. Ellie had a feeling he might actually be looking forward to this.
When they reached the entrance, Ellie left Zach to buy the tickets as she watched the children gaze around the gift shop. She made a mental note to buy them a gift each, if they behaved well. She thought it would be a good idea to do the same for Zach, it might tempt him to behave too. She looked over to Zach who was now talking to the very bored looking cashier who was selling the tickets.
"Would you like to feed the animals, pet the animals or ride on the tractors?" She asked, watching as Zach reached into his wallet to find his card to pay for this day out.
"Personally, I would rather not do any of them. I'd much rather be at home reading up on Dibromohydrocinnamic acid. But she dragged me here"
"Zach, just answer the question and stop wasting everyone's time" Ellie called from the other end of the gift shop, watching Lily as she gazed excitedly at a stuffed animal of some sort.
"I did answer" Ellie sighed and walked over to the counter,
"Four for all, please" She said to the girl before heading back to her children as Zach paid.

Lily enjoyed feeding the animals much more than Jake, who like his father, looked on with slight disgust as Lily offered her hand out to one of the pigs.
"Careful, Lily, don't let it bite you" Zach said, who even though he looked disgusted, also looked quite worried for his youngest. The pig was about three times the size of the four year old. Ellie didn't share the concern of Zach, she happily let the pig snuffle at her shoes and hand.
"Why do we even love these idiots?" Zach asked his son who shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't love the pig. Much too big"
"Ugly too. Much like the one who is currently scratching its head" That one was Ellie, who, even though she wasn't looking in his general direction, managed to hit Zach in the face with some of the pig food. He just scowled as he wiped it off, deciding to pay her back later on.

While Jake and Lily sat stroking the animals in the petting part of the farm, Zach decided to take Ellie for a detour. He took her hand and lead her to a large building, grinning the small feeling of déjà vu that occurred as they walked through the plastic that was dangling to cover the open door frame. The whole building was mostly dark, apart from the panes of glass that had small lights inside of them.
"Here, look at this" He pulled her over to one of the bigger panes of glass, which turned out ti be a small enclosure for an animal. At first, Ellie didn't seen what it was, before she let out a loud scream and scrambled backwards, away from Zach and the animal.
"You dick!" She shouted at him as she leant against the back wall. This exhibit wasn't very popular, and Ellie knew why. In the enclosure was a very large Goliath bird-eating spider. Zach had read about them once, and he thought Ellie would love them. "I hate you so much" He just walked over to her, grinning, and kissed her forehead.
"Awh, I'm sorry"
"Why would you do that?"
"I didn't want to come here"
"You're like a fucking five year old"
"No, Jake is more like me than I am him"
"Just shut the fuck up and lets go back outside"

They returned to where they had left their children, and decided to sit down and join them in stroking the small animals. The kind looking woman smiled at the two adults and handed them both a fluffy animal each. Ellie got a bunny, while Zach got a ferret. All Ellie could say is that he looked mildly traumatised by the creature sitting patiently on his lap.
"You're meant to stroke it Zach"
"I don't like ferrets"
"I don't like you but I still stroke you put up with you"
"Rude. But really, I really don't like ferrets. They're all long and sneaky"
"Unlike you then"
"Shut up and get this animal off me" Zach scrambled to stand up as soon as the animal was off of his lap, and climbed out of the pen. "You three enjoy yourselves, I am going to explore"

Ellie and the kids found Zach half an hour later sat on one of the tractor rides, seeming to enjoy himself very much. He was racing the younger kids around the track, his tall body much too big for the tiny tractors, making him look very ridiculous with his knees bent so they were almost reaching his head. Jake ran off to join him while Lily stayed at her mother's side as she watched the boys all racing around the track.
"Daddy looks really stupid"
"I know he does honey, but enjoy it while you can. He is too smart for his own good. For our own good"

They returned to the gift shop just before the farm was about to close, and Ellie allowed the two kids to pick out a toy of their choice. Zach, completely uninterested in the shop, returned to the car, giving Ellie a chance to pay him back for earlier. With the toys her kids had chosen, (Lily a stuffed gazelle, and Jake  a slinky) she bought a stuffed ferret. She had the cashier wrap it, so that Zach could open it in the true fashion of a present. All holding tightly to their gifts, they returned to the car, where a very bored Zach sat on the bumper.

"What's this?" Zach asked, as Ellie gave him the present later that night after the kids had gone to sleep.
"A present"
"Why?"
"Because" Zach squinted at her in the dim lighting of their bedroom before slowly ripping the paper off of the toy. He held it up in the air so he could see it properly before giving Ellie a cold glare.
"I hate you"
"I love you, too"
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Wed Apr 15, 2015 9:49 pm

Finally Found You, My Missing Puzzle Piece

It was a busy day, and Callipso preferred not to be bothered.

"Mel, you really need to shut the fuck up or get the fuck out. I'm not tolerating you anymore."

Melissa was on her diet, and since Callipso moved out a week or two ago, there was nobody to 'support' her so she followed him like a puppy for days.

"You ass, you're going into the Starbucks on purpose."

Mel's soulmate tattoo said 'Welcome to Starbucks', and it was one of her bad hair days, aka not the proper day to meet her soulmate. Callipso's tattoo was nonexistent.

Sure, his soulmate may be mute, he could go deaf and not hear his soulmate's first words to him, but the most likely scenario was that he was asexual. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not, but he knew his main preference was male. But all the boys he'd been with spoke to him. He couldn't decide if it was better or worse that way.

As he reached the counter and looked up at the boy behind it, something occured to him. That same boy had been looking at him ever since he walked in the coffee shop, with the same blank stare.

"Hello? Ya alright?" The boy opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. He just pulled his sleeve upward to reveal a single sentence, tattooed into his wrist in a font which looked awfully like Callipso's handwriting. 'Mel, you really need to shut the fuck up or get the fuck out'. Callipso's mouth fell open.

"Unbelieveable", said the boy, and as he spoke, Callipso felt slight tingling down his arm. He looked at his wrist, and there it was. Just one word, in a messy cursive.

Well, that explained a lot.

They stood silent for a couple of seconds, when Melissa appeared.

"C'mon, Cali, let's just go home."

"Yeah, okay", he said and shooed her away, his eyes still fixed onto the boy.

He had the most wonderful, gentle green eyes.

Oh, how Callipso would like to spoil his innocent soul.

"When does your shift end?" he asked the boy.

"At five."

"I'll see you at five, then." And Callipso walked out, leaving the boy confused.

:(i dont know you but i want you all the more for that):

Callipso stood in front of the Starbucks at ten to five, and tapped his foot impatiently. It was Saturday, he should have been studying, but, no, he spent most of his time sitting on the sofa and staring at a blank wall. Thinking of that boy.

That boy which came out if the coffee shop precisely when Callipso's watch said it was five o'clock.

"Hello", the boy greeted him, but Callipso wasn't the most patient one. Impulsive as he is, he grabbed the boy's hand.

"Follow me", he said. He lead the boy to his flat, somewhere in the outskirts of Brooklyn, without a single word spoken.

When they arrived to Callipso's flat, he guided him to sit on the sofa.

Being not the most polite as he could, he said,

"You're moving in with me, mkay? Cuz I've waited too long for you to 'take things slow'."

The boy nodded, half amused and half confused.

"Is this too fast? Probably", Callipso continued. "But I'll be damned, I have my reasons. I hope you understand."

The boy nodded. Then, Callipso stretched his hand out to trace the boy's jaw, before getting a hold of his chin and pulling him in for a kiss.

Judging by the melting sensation in his lower stomach region, this was it.

The boy's clothes looked good on his carpet, Callipso thought as he took one clothing item at a time from the boy, and he did the same. Somehow, Callipso didn't even know how, they made it to the bedroom, already somewhere near the edge.

:(words fall through me and always fool me and i can't react):

The morning was warm and welcoming, for the first time Callipso remembered it.

After all, he'd got tired of cold, lonely mornings.

A body was leant against him, soft and sleeping, and he couldn't help but wrap a hand around his waist. Finally, something he could call his own. Call? Wait…

"What?" The boy asked, his voice husky and undefined.

"Sorry, but what's your name?"

:(falling slowly eyes that know me and i cant go back):

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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Wed Apr 15, 2015 9:49 pm

'You're talking to a stranger, say hi!'

"Mel, I'm not doing this it's fucking stupid."
"You're fucking stupid. Look, he's cute, just do it already." Callipso scowled at someone out of the camera. He glanced at the boy watching curiously, he was surprised he hadn't logged off yet, most guys here are just looking for tits. Cali gave him an apologetic smile before loud music started playing, and he moved away from the screen so the boy on the screen could have a full view.
"What's going on if I may ask?" But the girl off screen hushed him as Cali began slowly (supposed to be seductively) removed his shirt. The boy watched with interest and politeness as the other messed about with the belt on his jeans. He'd seen enough craziness on this website in the last hour not to be really fazed by anything. At least this guy who was stripping was over marginally hot. He didn't mind that much watching, and was strangely disappointed when the guy stopped when he was just in his pants.
"I'm just going to stop here, Mel, he may be cute, but I don't think he wants to see any more" Before Mel could reply though, the boy cut in.
"Keep going if you want. I don't mind, I'm quite enjoying it actually."
"Oh you have to take me for coffee first, or at least pay me"
"I'll take up the offer to take you for coffee."
"How do I know you're not a pedophile and how do I know we live close enough to get coffee together?" Cali had moved so he was sat closer to the monitor of the computer, watching the other boy carefully.
"I'm not a pedophile don't worry. And I live in New York City." Cali squinted suspiciously at him,
"Who are you?"
"I'm Richie Miller"
"Oh My God!" Mel loudly exclaimed, pushing Cali out of the way so she could have full view of the screen. "Richie Miller? Like the Richie Miller?"
"I'm the only Richie Miller I know"
"Am I supposed to know Richie Miller?"
"Of course you're supposed to know Richie Miller"
"Can we stop saying ny name? It's making me quite uncomfortable"
"Sorry Richie Miller, we will stop saying Richie Miller." Freddie made a face at Cali who easily returned it. "Mel, get out you're cramping my style in front of this supposed celebrity." Mel flagged him but stood up and left, muttering about having friends to visit unlike some. She gave Cali a pointed glare when saying this.
"So who am I talking to?"
"Callipso"
"What, like the orange juice pouches?"
"No you retarded."
"Well sorry Callipso-"
"Cali"
"-Cali. Am I taking you for coffee or do you live to far away?"
"I live in NYC."
"Perfect, coffee it is. Any way at all to contact you?"
"How do I still know you're not a pedophile? Only pedophiles are on Omegle"
"So you're a pedophile?"
"No. I am here for a dare, you can see that." Freddie was still admiring the view for the past little while, since Cali hadn't yet put a tshirt on. "Why are you on Omegle?"
"Research"
"What kind of research requires seeing grown men naked and others stripping?" Freddie held up a large file of paper,
"This film script is about Omegle. But after being on here for an hour, I am beginning to see this script in a new light. In other words, it is shit."
"Who is this Richie Miller then? And why was Mel so pleased to see you?"
"Join me for coffee and you can find out. Oh and shirts are optional"
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Sun Apr 26, 2015 4:10 pm

Irish whiskey
{idk}

"How many did you drink?" He asked, slightly leaning against her shoulder. It caused a domino reaction and she came falling down on a wall on her right.

"How much did I drink", Amelia corrected Benedict as she handled him up and searched his back pockets for keys. When she fished them out, she unlocked the door and pushed the mess of limbs and dizziness inside.

"No, I mean how many bottles."

"I mean, how much liquid."

"Alcohol."

"Whatever." It must have reached Benedict's mind at some point that they are professional spies, not immature irresponsible adolescents, because he put both his hands on Amelia's shoulders.

"Ames."

"Ben."

"We're on a mission, yeah?"

"Yeah...?"

"Mind you reminding me what the hell are we doing? We should find the... the bloke with nuclear stuff."

"Nice going", Amelia said. "But he isn't here. We told Howard. Remember? He's in France-"

"Since when is he in France?" Some light returned to his sky blue eyes. "Paris?" Worry.

"No, no. South. He sent Jon and his partner there. He knows how we feel about France", she scoffed. Not that she minded. Bringing Benedict to Ireland was probably the best idea in years. Who knows he had such a low tolerance to Irish whiskey. They drank almost the same amount, Amelia didn't count the millilitres, but the consequences varied.

"What a way to ruin such a nice country", Benedict frowned.

"Shh. Sh. Why do we keep on returning to Paris and France? Forget they ever existed."

"I try."

"Do or do not, there is-"

"Don't make us any older than we actually are by quoting Star Wars", he stopped her.

"You know, there are nicer ways to make a girl shut up", Amelia bumped his hip with hers, which wasn't the best idea because Benedict fell forward, somehow aiming and hitting the sofa face first. "Shit. Are you okay?"

"Might hurt in the morning. Nothing I haven't experienced before", Benedict grumbled, sobering up a bit. He turned around on the sofa and adjusted his shoulder. Was that bullet wound there only for a week?

"Doesn't mean I'm not sorry", Amelia clambered on top of him and nuzzled into his chest.

"Yeah", he huffed. "Even after decades of being a spy you still somehow manage to surprise me, every time."

"If that may be my only legacy..." she said and left a soft kiss somewhere near his lips, but not near enough.

Benedict gazed into Amelia's eyes as if they hid all the wonders in this world. And, for him, they did.

"Amelia May-Lee, am I not your legacy? Look what you made of me."

"I do hope it's good."

"The best." He went for a sloppy, misaimed kiss, and Amelia guided him to make their lips meet, softly and gently. Benedict's hand almost instinctively ended in Amelia's hair, and her arms around his neck.

"We don't do this not even close to enough", he exhaled peacefully against her skin.

"But when we do", she simply said, and kissed him again.

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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Tue Apr 28, 2015 2:58 pm

Probably the worst story Maggy has ever written

"Cali."

Nothing.

"Cali."

Still nothing.

"Callipso Ravelle."

"Huh, what?" Callipso snapped out of whatever it was and turned to Melissa.

"You just sat next to me."

"Yeah, so?"

"I'm a Gryffindor."

"And?"

"You're not. What is that..." Melissa pulled the seventh-year's tie and gasped. "Cali!"

"Oh my god, what now", Callipso ripped his tie away from Melissa's grasp and stared at its colour for a few moments.

"I didn't even want to know why you're so confused, but now that I do, ew." Melissa didn't seem impressed. "Gee, Cali, didn't know you were a Hufflepuff."

"Shut up and help me find him", Callipso grabbed Melissa's hand and dragged her out of the Great Hall.

"HIM??" Melissa shouted after him. "WHAT THE HELL, CALLIPSO?!"

"Did you think I was straight? Did you really?"

"No, but shit, I thought you were hitting on me for years!"

"Gross, Melissa!"

They bickered all the way to a hallway. A specific hallway, Melissa noticed. A hallway which turned to a door.

"Freddie? Open the damn door."

"Is it that Miller kid you've been studying with all the time? OH MY GOD DID YOU EVEN STUDY?"

"Who's there?" A much quieter voice than the two called from the inside.

"Me. Open the door, why'dya lock it?"

"I'm studying", Freddie answered and opened the door. He looked at Callipso's tie for a second, not noticing Melissa, who decided to leave, as she remembered she had Potions to study. "Why are you wearing my tie?"

"Why are you wearing MY tie?"

"I think we both know the answer to that, and we both agree never to do that again."

"Only if you specify what 'that' is."

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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Sun May 03, 2015 9:32 pm

Jam. Just jam. Maybe some apples, but mostly jam.

"Even of you don't talk to him because he is cute, at least help the poor guy. He looks so lost" Tatiana gestured to a tall man staring almost horrified by the large selection of apples in front of him. The farmer's market was busy today, lots of people busying themselves to get the produce they need to get through the week. Isaac believed it could be more busy that it usually is on a Saturday afternoon, but he hardly paid any attention to the crowd or customers, meaning Tate had to care for the stall by herself. She didn't mind much, she often had to look after the stall by herself when Isaac got distracted or hadn't even come with her to the stall. It was their family's stall, selling jams, curds and marmalades. Mary and their mother made the jams, the older siblings being completely useless in the kitchen, including Ethan who mostly helped their father around the farm. Tatiana gave her brother a shove towards the other man, and he sent her a dark glare as she gave him encouraging thumbs up.
"Hey, you need any help?" Isaac asked approaching the man in question who glanced up, if it was only a little look up, considering the height difference.
"Erm, yeah. What apple would recommend?" He asked, nodding towards the stall in front of him. The whole display of apples was an array of different colours.
"Depends on what you want the apple for. At this time of year, Fuji is the best apple for sauces and stuff, Pink Lady is great for just eating raw. Do try Arkansas Black for baking pies." Isaac pointed at each apple in question, receiving a very surprised and confused glance.
"How do you know so much about apples?"
"I spend three days a week next to the apple-lady there, you pick up a few things"
"Wow, that's quite extraordinary" Isaac chuckled, shaking his head,
"If you say so. I'm Isaac"
"Andrew" They smiled at each other as they shook hands. "I think I'll get some Pink Ladies. The apple, not Grease- nevermind." Andrew bought the apples off of the woman Isaac had named apple-lady.
"What brings you to the farmer's market today? You seemed lost, and I don't think you're from around here, judging from your accent."
"Yeah, I'm from Australia. My younger sister's wanted to try so local foods that aren't burgers." Andrew explained as he moved onto Isaac's store to look a the jams.
"Isaac, making friends just to sell them jam isn't very friend-like" Tatiana said, as she watched Andrew curiously observing the jams. Isaac scowled at his sister, but it didn't seem like Andrew noticed what she had said as he was staring down at the jam in his hand.
"Violet jam? What?" He asked, a small smile flicking on his face as he muttered "Modesty, faithfulness, watchfulness and a chance at happiness" The siblings looked at him confused as he grinned at the jam jar.
"Why is he looking at the jam like it is the bets thing he has ever seen?"
"Because it is" Andrew jumped in before Isaac could reply, "Flower jam! Who knew? What other types of flower jam do you have?" He asked, grinning broadly at Tatiana. But Isaac cut her off before she could reply,
"We have rose and jasmine"
"I'll take a couple of each please"
"You like flowers then?" Isaac asked, bagging the jams up for Andrew while his sister went to serve another customer.
"Love 'em. I recommend you try dandelion, chamomile or lavender, they are great flavours, a bit underrated in my opinion" Andrew handed the money over to pay for the jams. Isaac gave him a small smile and a nod,
"I'll suggest it, thanks." They smiled brightly at each other before Andrew left to return home to his sisters to tell them about the jams. Isaac received a questioning look from his sister as he watches him leave.

---

"I cannot believe you're making me make this, Isaac" The youngest sibling stared down at the list her older brother had given her, saying she had to make it.
"Please, Mary? I'll give you my pudding for today"
"For a month"
"Week?"
"Deal."

---

It was a week later when Andrew returned to the farmer's market, and he headed straight for the jam stall, to compliment them on how great their jams were.
"Andrew!" A familiar small man beamed as he saw the taller man approaching, "Look what I have for you." He handed the jam to him, over the top of all the other jams. The label was slightly cock-eyed compared to the other jams, and the word 'lavender for Andrew' had been clumsily scribbled on to it. "On the house" Isaac added in a bit of a whisper so Tatiana didn't hear him.
"Really? Wow, thank you" Andrew grinned at him, staring at the jam happily. "I'll have to repay the favour. How about I take you for coffee sometime this week?" He asked, glancing up from the jam to look at Isaac, who grinned back at him.
"Sure! Wednesday, 8? The Starbucks on the corner?"
"Sure. I'll see you then. Oh, and could I get some more of that rose jam? The sisters gobbled it down before I could try any"
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Sun May 03, 2015 10:24 pm

Charcoal

Fuck her. Or, better yet, fuck me.

So there's this problem. A six-foot, pink-haired, flat-chested, willowy-in-the-nineties-style problem. She's a model for my human anatomy class, and every time I draw her my mind wanders to the darkest depths of... My mind, I guess?

I don't know. But she's fucked me up and I don't like it.

There's no telling just how much I try not to shout at whoever from the class who tells her to change positions, move one hand up, down, stretch her spine. I know it's supposed to be professional 'n all, but you put a half-naked attractive girl in the room and expect us not to be just a bit distracted? (By is I mean lesbians and dudes. Straight girls don't give two shits.)

It doesn't even matter that she has coloured galaxy tattoos all over her arms, random hipstery geometrical shapes over her legs and small chibi-like creatures on her feet and fingers, it doesn't matter that she's practicalky blind without her thick, geeky glasses, it doesn't matter that the only shoes she wears are those stupid low Chuck Taylors I saw on commercials and wanted to get so bad, hell, it doesn't even matter that she was born a guy. What matters is that I get flustered whenever I smell that cheap, disgustingly sweet perfume she wears.

Is there a club for sexually frustrated folks?

Hi, my name is Bree. Hi Bree, says the support group. I'm twenty one, I continue, and I still haven't gotten out of puberty. A round of understanding nods and supporting murmors and fourty five minutes later we all go get cupcakes someone named Brenda made and hahaha life is so great. Bullshit.

I don't even know what to do about that problem. Everybody knows I'm not the most quiet person in the room, and that I have literally nothing to lose, but it was still so hard for me to walk up to her, hug her around the shoulders, and say 'gurl get some lunch w me at five k thx bye'. I've done that before, but for her, it was a particularly touchy subject. Screw it, I don't even remember her name.

But the thing is, she is too good for me. If I was in and league, she'd be way out of it. See, those tattoos were expensive. Quality hair dye was too. Not to mention SRS and hormones and shit. So, firstly, she's rich, or at least her parents are. I pay my rent by sleeping with my housekeeper.

Just kidding. It ain't far from that though.

I work on a gas station, as the person from whom you buy stuff. It's the graveyard shift, which means, school in the morning, coffee, then work. When do I sleep, you ask? My sweet innocent child, sleep is a long forgotten childhood memory.

Where was I going? Ah.

She's rich, pretty, and smart. On her way to a medical doctorate.

What would she do with me, a broke-ass college student with purple eyeshadow (but the trick is, it's under my eyes, not above them geddit geddit), never clean greasy hair, charcoal and ink-stained wash-bleached jeans, and a family in New Jersey?

Her mother or grandmother was Korean; her father or grandmother was Jewish. You can guess how that racial history made her look like.

Hell yes. Walking and talking sex in an icecream cone sprinkled with brains and humour.

Humour? Do you even know how funny she is? (Normally funny, but everything she does is sliced bread for me. She is my goddess.)

She hangs out with her crew under my flat, in the worst, but the cheapest coffee shop in this part of Queens. I know that's supposed to be a sign from God or whatever to talk to her but no. As you know, most of the people who are getting their doctorates are nerdy, asthmatic weaklings, and she once made one kid laugh so hard he nearly had an asthma attack. (I didn't hear what she said. But I bet it was hi-fuckin-larious.)

I need to find out her name before I take my grandfather's WWII gun and shoot my brains out.

-..-..-..-

I was sketching the slope and the sku resort of her lower thighs from memory when she appeared, hovering above me.

"Hey", she said, and oh my god if it wasn't the hottest 'hey' ever uttered in human history. "Hadn't had the chance to talk to you yet."

The struggle of raising my head was too real.

"Hi", I said, my voice a mixture of cracking adolescent boy mutating and a country singer. That's what you get when you don't speak for a while.

"Oh, I like this", she said, gesturing at my drawing.

I usually don't get praised much for my art. It's too abstract for Van Gogh, but it's too realistic for Picasso. I don't use a wide range of medias, because I madr charcoal my bitch back in the nineties and till today it's the only media I'm truly comfortable with using. My painting of her (just her legs this time) was edgy, smudged, a play on negative space and just how much black I can get on my clothes. But hey, proportions.

"I dunno. I've seen much better."

"Yeah, me too, but I still like it." Oh, so self depreciating doesn't work with her. I like that in a woman.

"I'm Bree", I said, watching as her nude waist touches the edge of my chair, the wood touching the centre of one of her tattooed stars.

"Sam. Maybe we could hang out sometime? You seem like the least camp and stuck-up person here."

"I try." If not being camp means wearing hobo clothes, fuck yeah I'm up for it.

"That a yes?"

"Sure." Play it cool, B.

"Friday, three o'clock, that coffee shop you like to stalk?"

"Daamn, busted. I actually live there, thank you very much."

Sam left with a wink. She caused a boiling pile of melted brain inside my skull. Damn that girl.

-..-..-..-

Skip forward a few months and a few hours, and I have Sam on my bed, asleep.

She hated when I did that, but I still did.

I drew her while she was sleeping.

She always complains, because 'shit, Bree, you draw me when I'm prettiest, why do you like to draw me slack-faced', but seeing her eyes closed oh so innocently, kick-starts my inspiration.

She'll wake up soon and be mad at me for half of the day, and the other half she'll spend prancing around the gas station with barely legal clothes, just to see how confused can I get when I try to return money to costumers and watch her at the same time.

Of course, I could always put my drawings away. But my fingers always get stained by charcoal.

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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Tue May 12, 2015 8:14 pm

Drugs are great kids

"Well, this is a problem."
"Congratulations, Amelia. I never actually noticed how intelligent you were."
"Shut up, Benedict! You're meant to get us out of this."
"I am? You're the better spy out of both of us."
"Oh yeah right, just get us out of this mess." The two were sat back to back around a pole, their hands tied together with rope. They were meant to be getting a chip containing the nuclear plans. But, after being injected with some sort of red liquid. "This rope is kind of itchy on my wrists"
"Will you stop talking? You talk too much sometimes, but I love you."
"I don't know why I am talking so much. Might be the red stuff they gave us. Did you know you're eyes so very blue? It's my favourite colour now. I used to like red but that just makes me think of Paris. I don't like red any-more."
"Amelia-May! Shut up!"
"What's your favourite colour? I have a feeling you can't lie right now."
"Why do you care about my favourite colour so much?"
"Because I want to know everything there is to know about you, plus I was planning your birthday card and Howard wouldn't let me go out and buy one so I have to make one and I didn't know what colour to make it. and I should stop talking because it will ruin the surprise but I was planning to decorate it with everything you love but I don't know what you love apart from this job and running, but I can't draw them"
"Amelia!"
"What is your favourite colour?"
"Your hair colour."
"What?"
"That's my favourite colour, now shut up while I try to work a way out of here since you're not being helpful." Amelia looked at him and pouted, "Don't look at me like that! You look adorable. Wait, what?" Amelia grinned at him, "Shut up."
"I didn't say anything!"
"Shut up. Let me concentrate!"
"You're not doing anything!" Benedict's hand broke free and he waved it out beside Amelia's face. "Shut up"
"I didn't say anything." He grinned and winked at her, before untying his other hands and Amelia's. "C'mon you" He stood up and rubbed at his wrists. "Let's go." He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a sprint.
"I hate running."
"I know."
"I love how you look when you run though. Muscles rippling, eyes glinting, beads of sweat dripping down your torso making your t-shirt cling to you but I much prefer it when you're not wearing it-"
"Amelia. Shut up." He took a glance at her, stopping to grab her waist and pull her into a kiss. "See? That's better" He rested his forehead against hers. He pressed one last kiss on the corner of her lip before he grabbed her hand to start dragging her along back to the entrance.
"Isn't there meant to be security stopping us from escaping?"
"Don't know, don't care, I'm just getting you out of here alive, bonus if I'm out too."
"Of course we'll both get out alive.."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because I do believe we are pretty damn good at our job."
"True. Let's show that to the idiots who locked us up."
"They didn't really lock us up-"
"Shut up, Amelia!"
"You've said that so often today."
"You should follow the advise."
"Thanks?"
"You're welcome"
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Mon Jun 08, 2015 9:40 pm

You'll Be Human


These days, it was hard to legally get robot parts.

After the Robot War, us humans were insecure around any type of robots, so they had to be destroyed. Our factories were taken aback hundreds of years, computers became manual, the world changed.

Yes, these days, it was hard to legally get robot parts. That's why I got them illegaly.

In the following years, all robots were destroyed, and their remains were shipped off to robot graveyards, as they informally called them. They are not something the government knows about, but they're here, in the less developed part of the world.

As a scientist and former robot designer, this hurt my field of work greatly.

Man needs to work, so I still build robots. Illegaly. Mostly it's for the rich and lazy, because it is never a short journey to build a robot, not when I can search for that one specific part for weeks before I fish it out of the trash.

The robot-building people still exist, and feed off of the country. We were given flats, monthly food money, and clothes, when they were needed. Of course, that meant that I lived like a god, considering my additional job(s).

Today I was searching for more specific parts. I needed .3 Kartz bolts, otherwise my project won't work. Not only were Kartz bolts a rarity as they come, but .3 were only manufactured for five years. If I found them in a decade, I'd be a lucky man. But it's just something I did in my free time.

The robot graveyard was an equivalent to a black market, or a drug dealer's house. It just appeared one day. People went there once out of curiousity, twice out of need, and anything more than that, suicidal wishes.

It wasn't guarded or anything, but you can take only small pieces at the time, bolts and screws you can put in your pocket, because otherwise people might question your robot tendencies.

I searched through the endless piles of metal and rust, not hoping for much. I did find a nurse android, with that haunting, ever-smiling face of hers separated from the rest of her body, which I couldn't find. I covered her with scraps.

A couple of hours of searching later, and I still hadn't found anything. Just as I was about to leave, something caught my eye.

It was a human body, lying amongst the metal robot remains, half buried in them. I wasn't sure if it was alive.

"Hello?" I called out, positive that no one could hear me. I didn't get an answer, but a force stronger than curiosity dragged me over to the broken frame.

He was definitely male, I decided, with shoulder-length hair almost black with dirt and clothes worn out in a way I've only seen in films on those old CDs. He couldn't be from here, I decided when I saw a tattoo with a number on his wrist. He must have escaped prison, it's the only place which still uses tattoos.

I looked at his other wrist, in search of a matching prison tattoo there. He didn't have it. In fact, he didn't even have a wrist.

Coming out of his arm socket, where the human arm should be, there was a robot arm. Metal, cold, and not in function.

It took all of my self-control not to run away. It was an android. In one piece. He should have been destroyed, I thought all of them were. I was looking at possibly the last fixable android left on Earth. The engineer side of me kicked in and I studied the android.

Both his left arm and leg had the skin scraped off them, leaving only the metal interior. Left shoulder blade and, as far as I could see, the entire left side of his back was robot. Damaged, but not irreparable.

I put my hand on his chest to check if he had a chip socket, like androids do, and felt a steady pulse.

A pulse?

I pounced up, away from the body.

No, this can't be an android, it has a heart, a pulse, and the skin was warm on my hand. He was human, with robot parts. An experiment.

I remembered that, during the war, Europe and western Asia were the leaders of half-robot manufacturing. They'd take people away from their homes, erase their memories and slowly made them metal. Humane robots. Robotic humans. An army.

It took me a second or two to remember, because even I wasn't that high on the food chain.

A pulse? He was alive, goddamn it!

I bent down and carefully nudged him. His eyes fluttered, variating from open to closed, and my stomach played boy scout, knotting up in all ways possible.

For a robot designer, this was like meeting a celebrity-gone-bad.

He opened his dry lips, but only a wet cough came pass them.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, you're safe now." I don't know much about half-robots, but I do know that they were tortured.

"Who—who—I—", he closed his eyes again, screwed them shut tightly, and opened them. I noticed they were a healthy shade of green-blue, something that is long extinct in this grey world.

"It's okay, you don't have to speak. I'm Will, I'm going to help you." I was talking into the wind, because he looked like he was more focused on breathing than anything else.

I had to get him out of there. He looked sick as is, and the surroundings didn't help one bit.

"Can you sit up?" I asked, shoving my jacket off of my shoulders. His metal leg was covered by jeans, but nothing hid his arm, even the weak fabric of the t-shirt had it's limit.

"No", he croaked. I could see his stomach rapidly increasing its breathing rhythm, and I knew that, no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to move. His wiring must have got damaged.

"Okay. Alright." I grabbed his shoulders (one weak, fleshy, warm human one, one cold, hard, metal robot one) and bolted him up. Something made cracking noises and he let out a raspy, sharp exhale. "Sorry, I am sorry", I said, leading his arms through the sleeves of my jacket. "Can you move anything?" If there is hope…

"No. I don't know. My right leg, maybe my hand." The fingers on his human hand twitched, and he got a faint frown on his forehead.

"Okay, great. Now, I'm going to put your arm around me. You don't have to move, just keep it there." I took his hand and threw it over my shoulder.

"I—I can't—" he made a bunch of undistinguishable noises, and I ignored it, because I had bigger things to worry about.

"I'm going to get up now", I said, holding his right hand pressed against me. "You try to keep your legs straight, okay?"

He nodded, and I straightened my knees, pulling us both up.

At first, his legs didn't move, then the right one straightened up and automatically fixed the other one.

"There, see? Wasn't that bad. I'm going to help you walk, okay? I'll lead you to my home where I'll take care of you."

He made a noise which sounded like relief. Still having troubles with communication, I see. I'd rather not know why.

At first, we were slow, because for each step I made, he took ten seconds more, to lean onto his non-functional leg, put his right leg forward, and drag the other one forward.

His robot parts didn't work, I found out. His breathing was shallow, so I decided that, if his left side was fully robot, his lung might be, also, and he was only surviving with one lung.

We reached my flat soon, and I was never this grateful to live in the outskirts of the town.

The stairs were a bit of a problem. The building with flats had two floors, the bottom and the top one, and of course I had to live on the top floor. Of course.

As I helped him move his legs around, I reevaluated my choices. If somebody found him in my flat, I might as well have never been born. Small robots were overlooked by the government, even the larger ones were, but there was a problem when it came to androids, not to mention Eastern robot-human army members. I'm actually quite sure they never revealed catching not even one.

But he was human to begin with. The robot parts could sell as his prosthetics. I tried not thinking about him getting his arm and leg chopped off. I hoped he didn't remember it.

He stopped, three stairs in, and bent in his waist.

"Can't—can't—breathe", he panted out, and I decided, what the hell. He wasn't the tiniest pea in the pod, but lifting heavy robot parts had to come into use now and then.

"C'mere", I said, and lifted him up. It would be little to say that he was surprised, but it was the only way we'd get to my flat before noon.

His breathing got less ragged and more even when I put him down in front of my flat to kick the door in, but it was still in the range of an asthma attack.

It's off it's hinges. The door is literally off the wall. And I, as an engineer, can't fix it. I tried. It doesn't cooperate.

We limped in and I put him down on the sofa to get him a glass of water.

He coughed and sputtered and accidentaly inhaled some through his nose, but, in the end, he drank it all. Even swallowing seemed like a huge task for him.

"You're safe now, don't worry." Comforting was not my strong area. "If you could tell me your name, that would be great."

"I don't know… I don't remember my real name. But they called me John Smith", he said, and that was all I got out of him before he passed out. He had a soft British accent, something I haven't heard in years. Of course, if he was taken in an European factory and spoke English, he has to be British. Most of them were taken from the United Kingdom and the eastern ex-communist countries.

I couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. He was about as old as me, old enough to get married, have a family, and a great work career. (I didn't have all those things because I'm too focused on my screws, bolts and computer codes.)

What if, back in England, he had a wife, who spent years waiting for him when he just disappeared one day?

What if they'd known each other for years, throughout their schooling, and finally got married after college? What if he had a perfect life, just to be taken away, and, years later, be lying on my couch, half-robot, half beaten up human?

All that thinking hurt my head a bit. I had to make myself some disgusting black coffee to clear my mind.

*.*

I was never the most patient person.

While John was asleep, I fiddled around with his metal parts. Turns out, they were in mint condition (you know those Europeans. Always making quality stuff), except the wiring on the inside of him got cut off. It was something I could easily solve with a couple of magnets and a needle, but I'd rather not pick around his body without him being awake, at least.

I put my hand on his shoulder and gently shook him.

"John?" I called, quietly. The last thing I wanted to do was scare him. Do you know that the first prototype human robots had lasers in their fingers?

"Hm?" he made a quiet, feeble sound.

"You should wake up, eat something", I said. He probably didn't even remember how long he'd been out.

"Uh huh", he said.

"Now, I'm not much of a cook, so do you prefer spicy or not spicy food? I'm ordering takeout." I never cook in my kitchen. It's too close to my robot building desk, and I know what I do there. No cleaning can get rid of those things.

"I honestly think I can't taste anything, so whatever", he said.

As I walked towards my phone, I heard him calling my name.

"…Will?" he asked, his voice smaller than I'd heard it.

"Yes, John?"

"Can you fix me?"

I looked at him for a second, already creating blueprints in my mind. He could never be human again, but he could be fixed.

"Yes. I can, and I will."

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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Sun Jun 28, 2015 11:31 am

Freli Vegas
I hope you werent expecting anything good

"How many is that now? Surely you have had enough?" No matter how hard he tried , the words came out jumbled and slurred, and the other guy sat next to him threw back another shot before he fell into a giggling fit.
"Shh, Freddie. Enjoy it. We're in Vegas! Y'know let's go explore more." Cali stood up on unsteady feet, reaching to balance himself on his even more unsteady feet, making both men crumple unceremoniously to the floor in a pile of limbs. Cali continued his monkey like giggling as he sat up, pulling Freddie up with him. He placed a sloppy kiss, presumably aimed for the lips, on to Freddie's cheek.
"Hey, hey, let's make us official."
"We are oh-fish-shall though, you're my bf."
"No. No, no, like proper official. Then no one can separate us, not even your crazy fans and paparazzi."
"Are you prop-oh-sing?"
"Yeah. You could say that."
"Ring?" Cali gazed around the floor, finding a plastic tie and held it up triumphantly.
"Ring!" He took hold of Freddie's hand and wrapped it around his finger, placing a kiss on top of it. "C'mon husband. We should go make it official official." They dragged each other off of the casino floor, receiving multiple funny looks from onlookers as they both downed another shot before they staggered out of the door.

"Cali..?" Freddie received a grunt as he nudged the sleeping figure next to him. "Cali."
"Fuck off."
"What happened last night?" Cali gave Freddie a dark look before he grumbled his reply after lifting the bed sheets up.
"Guessing from the amount of clothes we are wearing and the amazing hairdo you have, I think it was something great." Freddie lifted his hand up to fix his hair subconsciously, only to get his hand batted away by Cali, even though he had returned to the depths of the bed.
"No, no. There's something different?"
"Did we try a new position? Because if we did, I ache a lot after it but it is certainly a very nice ache."
"Shut up, Cali. I'm being serious."
"You started talking. Let me sleep." Freddie groaned and ran his hand over his face, flinching as metal pinched his skin.
"Ow.. What?" He pulled his hand back from his face to look at it. "What the..?" A glitter of gold caught his eye, wrapped gracefully around his ring finger. He reached under the bed and grabbed Cali's left hand from the other side of the bed. The same gold band was around his finger.
"Cali, did we get married?"
"Probably." Freddie dropped Cali's hand in his frustration, colliding with the man's chest, receiving a grunt of pain from him.
"You're such an asshole."
"Yep."
"Cali, this is important."
"So is sleep." Freddie sighed loudly, starting to clamber out of bed but Cali grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into bed. "No, you're staying here." He shoved Freddie down onto the bed, laying his head onto his chest.
"Cali, we need to pack to get back home."
"Noo, we don't. Sleep."
"Cali."
"Freddie." Cali threw a hand over Freddie's stomach, pinning him into place. He scattered chaste kisses down his collar bone, "I don't mind having you as a husband."
"Don't mind?"
"Could have been worse."
"Could it?"
"Could have been better though."
"Shut up." Freddie moved Cali's head up so he was able to press his lips against his, "I don't mind having you as a husband either, well, I will if you don't get up and help pack."
"Fuck off, let me sleep."
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Thu Jul 16, 2015 10:55 am

Do Not Trust Water
(this is what last of us does to me)

Benedict Bennett could easily be described as 'water'. He was quick, ever-changing, uncatchable. One second you'll be holding him capture, and in the other one, he'd drown you. He was never your helper, nor your nemesis. There was some good in him, once. But he rot. The world spoilt him, so he only worked for himself. He was not caught between the good-and-bad spectrum; he was a side of his own. You don't want him on your side, anyway.

You do not trust water.

***

Her eyes opened to a man in dirty, old clothes, going through her nightstand.

"Who killed them?" he asked, not looking up.

"What?"

"Dead", he pointed at the bodies on the floor. "They're all dead, and they're human. I checked."

She didn't know what the man wanted her to say, but she looked at the bodies anyway.

"I don't know them", she said, "but they look like doctors to me." Her arm itched, a feeling which numbed the rest of her body's needs. She looked at it.

The inside of her arm was veiny and bruised, and she recognised it as a reaction to needles.

"Well, somebody killed them", the man said, shoving things he found useful into the pockets of his jacket. "And that same somebody got you off the machines", he kicked a machine with a monitor with his leg. "Must not have been long ago, if you managed to survive."

"Who are you?"

"Not important. What interests me more is, who are you?" The man walked over to the front of her bed. "What makes you special? Nobody was kept on machines after the outbreak started. You must be bloody important, then." He took out an old, slightly yellowish paper and read from it. "Amelia May-Lee."

She sat up at the sound of her name.

"Doesn't sound familiar", he continued reading. "Test subject to non-fatal knock-out gasses used in the War... Oh, makes sense. You were a pet to the government."

"If it makes sense, care to explain?" Amelia watched the man read down to the bottom of the file.

"Says, 'side-effects include: amnesia'. Okay, pretty girl, here's how the story goes—"

"Don't call me that. You know my name, you better use it."

She glared at him for a couple of seconds before he gave in.

"You've got bite. I like you. So this is how I see it. You were a military recruit—because they needed strong men for these sort of tests—and the general picked you out, or you volounteered, to be a lab rat to test out the experimental weapons against the Americans. Mainly gasses. One of the gasses knocked you out, and you'd been in a coma ever since. They kept you alive and breathing because if you died, the people wouldn't want to continue fighting with gasses. It was easier like this. You woke up now, because the gas wore off. Not fatal, just long term."

"And how do you know that?" Amelia asked. The man probably knew everything about her, whilst she didn't even know his name.

"It's an educated guess", he shrugged. He looked through some more cabinets in the large hospital room which seemed like it was falling apart and sighed. "Nothing here. Whoever killed the doctors and nearly you knew what they were doing. Well." He squared his shoulders and looked at Amelia. "Was nice meeting you. Great to know more on how the continent went to shit."

"What happened?" Amelia asked, resisting the urge to scratch her arm.

"Long story short, one of the bioweapons they were developing in Belgium was a mutant disease. They shoved it into a highly sensitive bomb and it exploded. Half of the Europe had fallen. Basically, what the disease does to you is rot your brain, so all you can do is sleep, walk and eat. Of course, since it was developed by humans, the disease makes them think humans are great food. Like zombies, if you wish to put it so."

"But", Amelia stuttered slightly. "If the 'zombies' only sleep, walk and eat, shouldn't most of them starve to death?"

"You'd think so, but no", the man said, collecting ammo from the dead bodies. "If you escape them, you've got the disease too. It's transmitted by touch."

"How are you not ill then?" Amelia asked just as the man reloaded his gun.

"I'm smart enough to avoid the zombies, unlike some other arseholes who go and fight them, being heroic and stuff. What was I saying? Ah." He looked at Amelia. She noticed the cold colour of his eyes and asked herself, who did he lost to the illness? Why was he so sad? "Nice knowing you, but I'm leaving now." He headed for the door.

"No, wait", Amelia called out and got out of the bed. Her legs were wobbly as she avoided corpses and brick dust on the floor, but she somehow made it to the man. "Take me with you."

"What?" He arched an eyebrow. "No way."

"Please", she begged. "I don't know what's going on but I'm great with guns and I won't be a burden. Please. Let me come with you and you won't be sorry."

"None of those arguments are worthy enough, but, sure, I'll bite." Up close, the man looked incredibly tired. It might do him good to take shifts once in a while, Amelia thought. "I'll regret this later. But for now… Fuck it. Welcome, Amelia May-Lee, to life. You do one wrong move and you're dead. Come on now", he said and walked through the door.

"I still don't know your name."

"We'll get there", he replied, and Amelia could hear the smirk in his voice.

***

"Don't zombies notice fires?" Amelia asked as the man poked the fire with a stick.

"I like how you keep calling them zombies even though they're not."

"What else do I call them? I think zombies work just fine."

"As you say", he shrugged and backed away from the fire. "There, that should do it."

Something washed over his face, and the sadness lasted for a second before fading away to his normal resting face.

Amelia noticed.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. Was just thinking…" He leant back on his elbows. "Fire is the only thing I know for sure that kills the… Zombies."

"How do you know that?" Amelia asked, pulling at the sleeve of her new shirt. It had a dried blood stain and a hole on the waist, but she didn't want to ask where was it from.

"When… The outbreak started…" the man seemed to me having trouble picking his words.  "I was in Paris."

Amelia lay next to him, as if to encourage him to continue.

"I was doing some work—a mere summer job, nothing important. A friend of mine and I were carrying the boxes from a basement to the store. When the bomb went off, the most harmed areas were Belgium, Netherlands, Luxembourg, Germany, and, ultimately, France. I was in the basement. When I got out—" he choked. "You can't even imagine it. Burning buildings—corpses—the bloody Eiffel Tower was falling…"

"How did you get out?" Amelia was scared to even ask.

"I don't know. I—I remember locking my friend in the basement. He spilt wine from the bottles on some wires… And lit himself on fire." The little fire they built to keep themselves warm reflected in his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Go to sleep."

***

"Shit. Run. Just go!" He pushed Amelia forward as he shook rubble off himself. He heard someone move on the other side of the collapsed wall and he set off, now pulling Amelia to catch up.

"Where to?" Amelia asked, already panting lightly.

"Just—out of the building, into the woods— shit." Another wall gave away and crumbled to dust in front of them. "Around it."

"Shouldn't we split up to find the exit sooner?"

"No." His voice was firm. "First thing you should know. Never split up. You'll just get lost."

They eventually found the exit, and ran for some fifteen minutes in the woods to make sure nobody was chasing them.

When they stopped, both hearts beating wildly, Amelia looked at him.

"Wow."

"I know." There was a grin on his face. "The thrill. You feel it pumping through your bloodstream?"

"Yes."

"The only good thing about this whole mess."

It was the same dizzying thrill, she'd later say, which made Amelia reach out for him, and feverishly kiss him.

And it was adrenaline, he'd reply, which made him kiss her back.

The kiss dragged them to lean against a tree, the warmth of their mouths bringing them to the edge.

"Benedict", the man panted quietly.

"What?"

"That's my name."

"Benedict", Amelia repeated, kissing him again.

It was too big of a contrast, their young life amongst the dying world.

Amelia's red hair to the blue of Benedict's blue eyes.

Her fire to his water.

***

"Imagine if…"

"What?" Benedict asked, shaking his lighter, but it was obvious it was empty. He sighed, and threw it on the burning body of the zombie.

"If they were conscious. Like, they felt everything we did to them. But couldn't control themselves."

"Impossible", Benedict shook his head. "That part of brain probably died."

"But… Just in case, Benedict?"

"Yeah?"

"Just in case. If I get infected, you promise?"

"What?"

Amelia sighed.

"Don't make me spell it out for you… Do you promise to kill me, if I turn into one of them?"

He looked at her as if it was obvious.

"Of course. And I'm counting on you to do the same thing." He looked at her. "I promise, Ames. Nothing's going to touch your brain as long as I'm alive."

***

"Benedict, why aren't you running, come on, they're going to catch up—"

"Amelia."

"C'mon, I can hear them, why'd ya stop—"

"Amelia."

"What, Benedict?" She just then noticed something was wrong.

He was staring at her, his eyes glossy with tears.

"Benedict, what is it?"

"One of them—one of them—" he looked at his hand.

Amelia walked up to him.

His fingers were paler than the rest of his arm, fading towards white. Sickly, pasty, zombie white.

"No."

"Amelia—"

"No! We're not far from the camp, they'll know what to do." Her voice was edging towards a panicked squeal. "You're not infectious until it gets to your brain, right?"

"Amelia—"

"Benedict, I'm not letting you turn. I'm just not letting you."

She watched his blue eyes go sad and tired again. And through the years of knowing him, she managed to get the sadness out of his eyes.

"I don't think you have a choice."

"Don't say that. Can you walk?"

"I don't know."

Amelia threw his hand over her shoulders and helped him up.

But he was water. He came and went with the tide, and Amelia couldn't catch him. He'd somehow always slip through her fingers.

***

"Amelia", he said through coughs and let go, falling to the ground. "I can't. I'm sorry, I just can't."

"What are you talking about? We're ten minutes from the camp—"

"And what do you think they'll do there? There's no cure for this! If anything, they'll just kill me painlessly."

"Don't say that", Amelia was close to tears.

"And what do you want me to say? Amelia, I'm sorry." He looked at her, and watching blue colour drip away from his eyes, she remembered her promise. She took out her gun, and while she reloaded it—

Gunshot.

"Are you alright?" She heard an unfamiliar voice say. "Lady, are you okay? That zombie almost got to you."

She dropped to the floor, still holding her gun. Tears flooded her eyes and she couldn't see the man who was talking.

"But I promised—"

It was more likely that Benedict survived, not her. He was willing to put everything on the line for survival. But he was water. Maybe he lied to her all along. Maybe he was the weak one.

You might never know.

You do not trust water.

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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Sun Aug 02, 2015 10:55 pm

Hey Hey Havana
alternatively; The Letter He Didn't Send

Seven in the evening, already dark. Full bar, dim lights, drinks and cigarette smoke. People there; teeth stained with lipstick, undone ties, pleasant conversations. A bored bartender, drinking the only strong alcoholic beverage in the room. A group of marines, off duty, sat separately, scattered across the bar. People returning from work, talking with their colleagues.

"Cute marines."

"Mhm. Cute celibate marines."

"Loosen up."

"But this drink's non-alcoholic."

A talk between the bartender and a man sitting on a stool. They met each other a day ago, when the man booked a room in the Hey Hey Havana motel/bar for three weeks. He; an American journalist, wears glasses, isn't capable of handling North-African heat, is capable of handling large amounts of alcohol. She; a Canadian student on a summer job, wears too much mascara, can't deal with the cold, can deal with men who flirt with her daily.

"The one with the umbrella in his drink seems to be cuter than the norm."

"I have a rule not to even think about straight guys, Mel. You go ahead, flirt all you want. I'm here if you need me."

Melissa prepares her best smile and heads to the marine. Callipso gets his phone out, is disappointed once again over the lack of wi-fi, returns it to his pocket. Sips from his sangrilla, looks at Melissa.

Melissa mentions him to the marine, so he looks at Callipso. Smiles. The corner of Callipso's lips quirks up as a response. The marine frowns lightly, as if confused, and returns his gaze to Melissa, who is in the middle of deep thought. They talk for a few more seconds before Melissa returns.

"F. Miller, says on his tag. He's yours, if you want it."

"Fuck it, Melissa, I don't want you to set me up. I'm on a business trip, not in search for a one-night stand. The last one ended awfully, and left me a wreck." He drinks some more from his glass. "I'm guessing it does a number on my self-esteem."

"Alright, alright", Melissa nods, and starts wiping wet glasses with a rag.

Callipso drinks his drink, and returns to his motel room, which is in the same building as the bar. He doesn't think much of the marine. He is a journalist; he's seen enough marines, soldiers and other military folk. He's met their families. Since he's not in it for one night, how can it even end well? It can't, Callipso decides, and goes to bed alone. Early, but he blames it on the jet lag.

He wakes up. Thinking about the marine.

***

Freddie finds his room in the military base, which he shares with two other marines, and settles down on his bed.

"Any cute girls in the bar?" The black haired man asks as he unpacks the rest of his clothes.

"One flirted with me", Freddie replies, avoiding the question with trained ease.

He can't stop thinking about the man with glasses from the bar. Melissa introduced him as Callipso, a name which belongs to a nymph, not a crass and rude journalist, as she described him. He doesn't want to think about the man, so he tries not to. But he and his dark eyes and an even darker grin slipped past Freddie's defences.

He tries to block him out. Fails miserably.

***

"I can't stop thinking about you", says the journalist, sips his drink through a straw. Makes a slurping noise. It drives Freddie insane.

"I'm in no way remarkable", he replies.

"Some may think differently."

"Those some being…?"

"Hm." Callipso licks his lower lip, and slurps his drink dry.

"Hm?"

"You're too young to hear such words. Mel, hit me up." He taps his empty glass. "And one for the marine also."

"Thanks."

"Nah, man, you're paying yourself. I don't have the money to intoxicate everyone I think is remotely attractive. I'd go broke", Callipso's nose scrunches up in laughter, and Freddie finds it irresistable.

"Great", Freddie laughs.

Melissa takes Callipso's glass and one more glass off the drying rag. Fills them up, hands them over to the men.

"Thanks, Mel."

"It's on the house", she winks at Freddie. "I want to know how this turns out to be."

"Get lost." Callipso kicks Melissa through the opening in the bar. She hops away with a smirk on her face.

"What does she mean, 'this'?" Freddie asks, and takes his drink. Takes a sip. Grimaces. "Strong." Callipso sniffs the caramel coloured liquid.

"Ew. This is whisky, who does she think she is?" asks Callipso, grabs the glass and drinks nearly half of it in a huge swig. Makes a similar face to Freddie. "Cheers."

"Cheers", says Freddie, and takes one more careful sip.

After a couple seconds of silence, Callipso lists his observations.

"I like it how you don't know anything about me, and I don't know anything about you, but we both know what the endgame is."

"Endgame?" Freddie says, with a bit of a stutter. He glances at Callipso, who is watching him for a while now. His pupils are blown wide, two little black holes. Callipso looks away with a gulp, Freddie finds it hard to breathe.

"Well", Callipso's voice is hoarse, low and quiet. "Fun to imagine it, though."

Freddie opens his mouth, as if to say something, but nothing comes out.

He makes a decision. No, he makes a bad decision.

"Not tonight", he's stuttering worse than before, "I have to be back at the base by nine."

"I'm certainly not done with you by nine", Callipso says, biting through the inside of his lip. Blood spills.

"Friday", Freddie says and downs his drink. "Wait till Friday."

"I'll wait for you as long as I have to."

Another round of silence as the two inhale and exhale, progressively calming themselves.

"Callipso?"

"Yes?"

"Nothing", Freddie shakes his head. "I just wanted to know if that was your real name." Callipso laughs.

"Understandable", he says, sucking on the bottom of his lip. "Seems like I'm bleeding."

"Seems so."

They share a smile.

"But, ya know, you can call me Cali. God knows that's what everyone else does."

"Cali? Isn't that—"

"Yes, I'm aware that's a female name, now shush. At least you can brag about me to all your friends now without them thinking of you as anything else than a perfect Catholic."

"Why would I brag?"

"I dunno. I guessed that's what you marines do when you have your sleepovers."

Freddie rolls his eyes.

He leaves twenty to nine, Callipso fifteen to nine.

They'd both want nothing less than not being alone that night. Unfortunately, that's exactly what they are.

***

Thursday is boring. The usual seven o'clock increase in marines doesn't happen, and Cali and Mel guess it's because they're on field training. Cali writes his longing away, and Mel finds shelter at the bottom of the glass. He's sitting on the bar, legs crossed, and she's leant against the bar.

"How do you spell particular?" Cali asks, chewing on the tip of the pencil. He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks back at what he wrote. "With an 'a'? That doesn't look right."

"Who made you a journalist?" Mel asks, but there is no question in her tone.

"I slept with the boss", Cali shrugs and gives up on the article.

"Really?"

"No. My boss is a woman", Cali snorts. Puts down his notebook and stretches his neck. "I need a new idea for the article, this one is too boring."

"You're too boring." Mel sighs and searches through the bar. She comes up with a pack of crackers, opens it. Offers them to Cali. He takes one and eats it. "You could write about something else?"

"Yes, great. I'll write about how people should come here because of hot marines", he suggests.

"Or a column on how you found your true love", Mel winks at him, and he punches her in the shoulder.

"True love? Yeah right. I don't think I've even touched him. Let alone he be my true love."

"Touched him?" Mel whistles. Cali pokes her cheek.

"Touched him like this, you adolescent."

"Are you gonna touch him on Friday?"

Cali starts to chew on his pencil again. Doesn't answer.

***

Cali considers changing the topic of his article, but to actually do so, he has to contact his boss. He decides to e-mail her, but the only wi-fi spot he finds leads to the marine base. He gives in, sits on a bench near the base, and writes away. When he finishes the mail, he sends it. Then, he enjoys the view; marines doing rounds in the base. It isn't very well guarded, he doesn't fail to notice, and he quickly thinks of three ways to sneak Freddie out. Maybe four.

Evening gets near, and Cali's still on the bench. Waiting. For what, he didn't want to admit to himself. For his damned marine.

And he appears, at six twenty, in clean clothes, but his face looks like he'd been to hell and back through mud. He is surprised when he sees Cali on the bench.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, just when Cali says,

"You look like shit."

"I feel like shit." Cali feels daring. He links his hand with Freddie's and walks away. Freddie blushes. Says nothing. "Oh, yeah, by the way. Wearing contacts through mud? Don't recommend it. Ya can't see, and it hurts."

"You wear contacts?" Cali asks, some excitement in his voice. Freddie frowns at the smile forming on his face.

"Yeah."

Cali checks that they're far enough from the base, then takes off his glasses and puts them on Freddie's nose.

"What are they like?" Cali asks, grinning at Freddie.

"Blurry." Freddie's staring at a spot in the glasses only he can see.

"Ha. Cute. I'd let you wear them, but I kinda need them to see." Freddie returns Cali's glasses on his nose. Cali winks at him.

Freddie blushes more.

"Let's go to Hey Hey Havana."

"The bar?"

"Yeah, and my motel."

"Oh."

There's something in Freddie's eyes. Cali thinks about how pure he is.

He thinks about ruining him.

***

"Is this your room?" Freddie asks, and Cali nods.

"Yeah. I have to survive in it for another three weeks, then I get to return to my beloved flat. I don't like change", Cali admits. Opens the door, then drags Freddie to the bathroom. "You need to wash your hair."

Freddie looks confused, but follows Cali. He guesses that Cali will leave him to shower, thinks that Cali finds him gross. Thousands of thoughts go through his mind.

Instead, Cali sits him down on the edge of the bath, kneels down in front of him. Smiles. It's calm and gentle, and Freddie smiles back.

"Now you're gonna tell me about your day, how the hell did you get so muddy, and while doing that, I'm going to wash your hair."

"Curious much?"

"I am a journalist. I need to know everything."

Then, out of nowhere, Cali tangles his fingers into Freddie's muddy hair, pulls him in, kisses him. The marine lets out a surprised squeak, makes Cali laugh.

"Or, ya know", Cali says, dropping his lips to leave a kiss on Freddie's jaw, his voice nothing more than a breath, "we might as well just do it in the tub."

"It's a Friday, after all", Freddie says, causing Cali to laugh again. Cali pushes Freddie into the tub, kissing the laughter out of his mouth.

It tastes sweet. Freddie tastes sweet, and Cali never wants to let go of him.

***

"Mornin', my stupid marine."

"Oh, so now I'm yours. And I'm stupid."

"Hey, I'm writing myself down to be your crazy journalist any day."

Freddie smiles as Cali rolls him around on the cheap mattress to kiss him. His aim is off, so his lips end on the side of Freddie's nose.

"I can't see", Cali complains, "I told you I'm useless without my glasses."

"Agh, I slept with my contacts in, my mum would tell me it's a sin and ground me for a week but—"

"But, I'm afraid that isn't the biggest sin you've been a part of these days", Cali says, and grabs his glasses from the nightstand. "There." Grimaces. "Shame. You're cuter out of focus."

Freddie kisses him to shut him up.

***

"Oops."

"What?"

Cali pulls the collar of Freddie's t-shirt down and traces a pink mark on his neck.

"I told you you'd have something to brag about." Cali shrugs in apology.

"Yeah, well, next time leave them somewhere where the others can't see." Freddie fixes the collar so it covers the bitemark.

"Next time?" Cali looks at Freddie with something resembling hope.

"I'm not leaving you just like that."

Then, Freddie pulls Cali in for the sweetest, softest kiss. He melts.

"Don't leave me", whispers. He isn't sure if Freddie hears him.

He does.

***

There are wolf whistles in Freddie's room when he returns around half past ten on Saturday.

"Freddie Miller, you dog!"

"Talk about walk of shame! Is it that girl who flirted with you at the bar?"

"Shut up, you two", Freddie says, but he can't stop grinning. Mike and Harry occupy Freddie's bed, not letting him sit on it.

"What's her name?"

"Yeah. C'mon, just tell us that, then we leave you alone."

Freddie remembers what Cali told him. Bragging?

"Cali", he answers, through another round of wolf whistles, "now off my bed!"

***

"So what are you planning to do with him?"

"I don't know, Mel."

"Do you still want to be with him?" Mel asks, pouring drinks to some business men. "I mean, after Friday."

"Unfortunately."

"Because if it was a one-night stand, you'd feel nothing."

"I believe my feelings don't matter."

"Why?"

"Because my feelings haven't been anything but a weight."

"So you..."

Cali shakes his head.

"No. Definitely no. Possibly. Maybe. Probably." He leans his forehead against his hands. "I'm weak, leave me alone."

Mel feels delighted by the turn of the events. Cali feels damaged.

***

"Turn it up", Cali says to Mel. She grabs the remote and turns the volume up on the TV. The news are on.

"What's the point, everyone in this bar speaks English."

"It's about marines, do you understand anything?"

"No, maybe…" Mel squints at the screen. "Week? Mission… I don't know, I don't understand anymore."

"Meaning", Cali runs his fingers through his hair, "I'm not going to see my marine for a week."

***

"Hi."

"You returned."

"Of course. I said I would."

Freddie smiles. Cali stares in disbelief. Frowns, but it looks a bit sad.

He surprises Freddie with pulling his collar and attaching his lips to the marine's. Almost desparately, he kisses him. Doesn't stop for air. Closes the door, pins Freddie against it.

"I was worried sick for you", he pants.

"I'm fine", Freddie answers. Cali's holding him against the door with enough force to be his gravity, so Freddie lets one of his legs wrap around Cali's legs, at least as far as he could lift it.

"Aw, babe, how cute, you think I can lift you", Cali grins.

"Weak", he comments, shuffling his balance to the other leg.

"Like you could."

"Psh, yeah. You first." Freddie lifts his other leg. They slide down the door. End up sitting on the floor, giggling like children.

"Is the floor comfier than the bath tub?" Cali asks, trailing kisses down Freddie's neck.

"Take me to your bed, and I'll tell you what's comf—" he suddenly chokes. "Cali." He says, his voice steady and flat. On the edge of a panic attack.

"Yes."

"If you move a single inch closer to my collarbone, we might have a problem."

"Is Mr Miller a bit sensitive on that particular field?"

"A bit, ye—"

Cali kisses again, and Freddie loses feeling in his legs.

"You don't have to be at the base today, right?"

"N-No—"

"Good."

Another kiss. Another attempted reply from Freddie. Another kiss.

Cali attempts to drag him to the bed. They don't make it.

***

"I have to tell you something", Cali says. Shuffles on the bed. Stares at the ceiling.

"Yeah?" Freddie asks, stretching.

"I sent the article to my boss."

"And? What do they think?"

"I don't know what she thinks, but she told me…" Cali sits up, and sighs.

"What?"

"She's sending me back home earlier. Back to the States."

"But…" Freddie sits up as well. Looks at Cali. "Weren't you supposed to be here for at least three weeks?"

"That deadline wasn't set in stone, as it seems."

"When are you…"

"Today. At five pm."

"But, I have to be back at the base an hour from now, and I leave at seven."

"Yeah", Cali barks, "I am aware."

"Hey", Freddie puts his hand on Cali's arm. To calm him down. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know", Cali looks at him. There's something in his eyes, Freddie hasn't seen it before. "I really don't."

He checks out from Hey Hey Havana at three. He's at the airport around four. He boards the aeroplane at four thirty. He misses Freddie from then on.

***

Freddie gets a letter a week after Cali left. He reads it only after his two roommates do.

'I don't know how to write letters', it begins, without a proper introduction. 'But I'm going to try. I'm a journalist, after all. And they told me the only way to reach marines is through letters. So oldfashioned. I'd rather text you. I've trailed off. I said I'm a journalist, so I'll do a report. There was a hurricane on one of my business trip. Duration, about two weeks. Damage, one poor wretched heart who probably deserves better. That means me. I call it Hurricane Miller. Too soon? On this particule', the word's crossed out, 'very day, I've cleaned my flat. I usually don't clean it. But I did, so I could imagine you in it. In the flat. See, this is why I don't write personal letters. You know what, I'm sure you can imagine the rest. I got a bit dizzy when I cleaned the bathroom.' It is signed with 'your crazy journalist'.

Freddie keeps the letter. Replies. Signs them with 'your stupid marine'. Keeps every letter Cali sends him until the last one.

Cali keeps the last letter for himself, afraid of the confessions in it. The letters Freddie kept nearly get burned.

***

There is a fire in the marine base a month after Cali left. They say it's nothing to worry about, but Freddie's stay in the base is prolonged. He writes to Cali that he'll be back in eight months.

At the end of month six, it is clear that the fire was just a test, and that there was something bigger coming. At the end of month six, Cali loses Freddie.

***

He sits in front of his television when he sees it. Has his phone in his hand, working on an article. It is nearing six pm, and he thinks about getting himself dinner. Decides against it. Glances at his desk. There is a letter on it. The one he never sends. There are only five words in it, and the first three make him question his existence. He doesn't send it, because he's not sure he's ready.

It's time for six o'clock news. Cali doesn't pay attention until the news anchor mentions three things which, combined, set off all alarms in Cali's head. Marines, the country Freddie's base is in, and an accident.

A video is shown. A voice-over says that terrorists planted a bomb in the base. Cali watches the fire as it swallows the base. He thinks about how it was filmed from the same spot where he put his glasses on Freddie's nose. He thinks about how Freddie might look with his own glasses. He thinks about Freddie. He watches the fire as it swallows the base until he can't see it. It's blurry from the tears which refuse to spill from Cali's eyes, until they do.

He can't keep them in. He doesn't try.

***

He is on the floor, leant against the wall. Near the door. He tried to go out. It was unsuccesful. He's holding the letter he didn't send.

He can't get out, and it hurts.

There was a knock on his door, and Cali wonders why he hasn't heard the intercom.

He decides he doesn't care, glances at the letter. Doesn't care even more.

"Cali? You in there?"

The voice is quiet, Cali doesn't recognise it. Doesn't get up.

"I don't know if I have the right address…"

"You don't." Cali's voice is hollow and rough, and he clears his throat.

"Cali?"

Then, Cali is sure he is hallucinating.

"Freddie?"

Cali tries to get up, it takes some time. At first he doesn't want to get rid of the letter, but when it gets crumpled, he leaves it on the floor. He wipes his eyes. Sniffs. Shakes his head. He is too exhausted. Imagining things.

"Cali, please open the door." Freddie sounds tired, weak, but it is him.

Cali prepares for disappointment. Opens the door.

It's Freddie, in his marine uniform, with a suitcase. He seems both sad and excited at the same time, and the sadness disappears when he sees Cali.

"You're alive." Cali feels his heartbeat between his ears.

"Yes."

"But it was on the news…"

"Just today? It happened three days ago."

They talk, because both of them are too scared to move.

"Other marines?"

"Most of them hurt. About a dozen dead. The bomb went off on the floor below mine. My roommates are still critical."

"Why are you here? How are alive?"

"I'm here because I told them that I lived with you. I don't know why I said it, I panicked."

"Them?"

"All unhurt marines were sent home."

"Freddie. How are you alive?"

The worst thoughts run through Cali's mind. He can see tears in Freddie's eyes, and decides not to push him.

"I'm still alive", he starts, "because I was in the town, sending a letter to you."

They slowly shatter.

"My stupid marine."

"My crazy journalist."

Cali is the first one who breaks. He rushes to Freddie, who prepares for a kiss. Instead, gets a hug. It punches out all the air out of their lungs, and for a couple of seconds they can't breathe. Until they can.

"Cali, what's that on the floor?" Freddie asks. Sniffs.

"It's, it's nothing", but Freddie lets go of him so he can pick up the letter.

"Cali."

"Yes."

"Do you mean this." It's not a question, but it requires an answer.

"Yes, that really is my surname."

"Not that."

"I… I mean it. But." Freddie is silent. Waits for Cali to speak. "It feels like…  It kind of feels like this. The world is in black and white, and you're the only thing that's in colour. But I'm colourblind."

Freddie thinks it through. He thinks about how Cali spent half a year feeling useless. He thinks how Cali made up that metaphor, and felt that it was valuf for their relationship. He gets sad again.

"Do you… Feel like you don't deserve me?"

"Yes."

It is almost too much for them.

"Cali?"

"Hm?"

"I love you. Too."

But it isn't.

They do what they do best.

Cali kisses him, after six months. He still tastes like before, with slight changes.

It's a bit bittersweet. Cali doesn't mind, though.

Before they take it further, Cali takes the letter and places it on the desk.

"Promise me you'll frame that", Freddie says, wrapping his hands around Cali's waist.

"No way."

"Why not? It tells me two important things I didn't know before. Your surname and—"

"Don't rub it in."

They laugh, just slightly.

In the letter he didn't send, there are five words, and two of those are a signature.

It says, 'I love you. —Callipso Ravelle'.

He never sends the letter, but it reaches its destination anyway.

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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Wed Aug 26, 2015 7:13 am

Berlin, 2073

The world was dying in peace. For once.

Earth had had its war-wrung days, but it was dying calmly, like a hero.

The year was two thousand seventy three, precisely thirty years from the end of World War Three. Nobody celebrated it, but it was thought of, anyway.

Here's how sixth-graders learn about it; 'In the year of two thousand thirty nine, a hundred years after the Second World War, Russia attacked the Middle East, under USA's control. Russia had fallen to the command of the United States (page 85), but some of its spies had landed presidential roles, starting to control both Americas and the North-East to West Asia. Russia's weapons were nuclear bombs, which were thrown on Iraq and Iran respectively on 5th and 6th of July, the days following Independence Day (page 14). The bomb destroyed everything in a hundred kilometre radius, and the radiation is known to had even reached places as far as Egypt on the south, India on the west, and Romania on the east. It even destroyed parts of Russia which were warned fourty eight hours prior. Russia had then taken over Canada, Kazakhstan, Poland, Bulgaria, Baltic States (page 114), and East Germany, rebuilding the Berlin Wall as a sign of rebellion directed towards the renewed forces of UK, France, South Africa, India and China, who joined a pact called FUSIC (page 102). It took them two years to free the occupied countries and a year more to break Russia's resistance. 26th of February is celebrated as the official date of the end of World War Three.'

It's all blunt facts, black and white on the pages, and it tells nothing of the true story. They don't write about the victim count, which is massive, unguessable;  they don't write about methods a commander from Cyprus used while leading the British foot army through Serbia; and they don't write about Berlin. Nobody speaks of Berlin, whose wall now completely surrounds the east side, even thirty years after the end of the battle. There are people who, under the watch of remaining under-cover Russian soldiers who lived in America during the war, still live in those ruins. The Russian soldiers bring them food and water, and little else, and the Germans survive on will-power, and will-power only.

Lincoln Stark glanced judgingly at the orange sun which burned his already dark skin. He couldn't fathom how people could live so long under the torn atmosphere. He was about to find out.

He stood in the British camp, not far away from Berlin, watching soldiers and spies, all warriors, rushing about to find their stealth weapons and guns. Very primitive looking things, he noticed, but that's all war-torn Germany could give them. It should be enough. Or that's what he hoped.

The world was failing on itself slowly, silently. First bees disappeared, animals started dying, plants dried out. Remaining radiation, scientists say. Or just old age of Mother Earth. People discovered it soon enough so they could build starships to hold the remaining human population in space until they find oxygen somewhere else. They built ships for animals, too, and for plants and chemicals scientifically unable to create, using mind-blowing technology, but even then, some of earthly treasures couldn't be carried away.

They sent photographers all over Earth to take pictures of all nature's children, mountains, lakes, rivers, the never-explored depths of oceans, and buildings by people who died thousands of years ago. They saved it all into a huge motherboard, which was connected to the entire starship. They even went so far and collected every USB or CD or more primitive media holders which existed on Earth and slowly, but surely, uploaded them to the motherboard. All movies, songs, personal pictures, artwork, saved. Only touchable evidence isn't possible. It took humans a decade, but they succeeded.

Final days. People were packing to go to their new home, the starship, taking final glances at their beloved Earth who fed them for years. The last time Lincoln checked, everyone was on the ship but Japan and New Zealand, and of course, Russian soldiers, who ignored their wives, husbands and children, families leaving them behind and boarding the ship without them. They refused to survive, thinking that the Earth will then belong to a couple of thousand of them when everybody else leaves.

The Earth rumbled beneath Lincoln's feet, and he removed a curl of his black and frizzy hair from his forehead, covered in a coat of warm sweat.

Everybody has left but Japan and New Zealand, who are soon to be boarded, the Russian soldiers, and them, the rescue mission.

Berlin hasn't boarded the ship yet, as well. And the people around him were there to make sure that they do.

Gregory Stark was the tactical leader of the rescue mission, and was generally a tough son of a bitch. Felicity Stark was the commander, who made sure all the plans were followed correctly, and was even tougher than her husband. Lincoln Stark was sent to the mission by his dad, was not in Germany by choice, and was afraid of cats.

Two of them were soldiers, born from and for battle. One was a historian and a map reader, who really doesn't want to be on Earth when it's on the edge of collapse.

Lincoln hit a smooth pebble with a tip of his dad's well worn combat boots, and went to search for his mother's braided ponytail, poking out of a commander's flat, beige cap.

He found her in the map room, bent over old, faded, yellow papers. Her right-hands, the German locals, must have gone for food or beer, as they do.

"Hey, Commander Stark", he said, just to annoy her. She glared at him under her thick eyebrows, but the anger subsided mere seconds after. A mother can't be mad at her son. Unless he didn't make his bed.

Commander Felicity Stark was a woman in her mid-forties, with wrinkles around her deep-set eyes, and around her large, full lips. The greys in her hair were carefully braided invisible, and her nose was slightly turned to the right. She didn't wear any make-up—and why would she, in the middle of a battlefield—but her lopsided smile and her short, but dark eyelashes made up to it.

"Mornin', Link. Have you eaten?" Typical mum question, if Lincoln had ever heard one.

"Too nervous." Commander Felicity Stark looked at him again, narrow-eyed.

"Why are you nervous, you're not going to be fighting."

"It's people I know, mum. I've seen them practice together for weeks now. I'm worried for them."

"Not worried for me?"

Lincoln sat on the chair across of his mum, and started going through the maps.

"Of course not. If the whole army left you alone in the middle of the fight, you'd still finish them all." His mother was invincible in his eyes.

"You just say so", Commander Felicity Stark grinned. Lincoln loved her smile, it somehow reminded him of home. Her cracked tooth, one missing in the back, the warmth of her eyes. His home in Liverpool was a distant memory, something they left behind. He missed it, but it was a thing everybody lost.

A tall, scared, but determined-looking woman stomped into the tent, a whirl of pale, sunburnt skin and blonde hair, messily flying around her face.

"Commander Stark", she said, with her thick German accent. "The soldiers say that the best day to start the mission is today, an hour from now."

Lincoln felt his breath hitch. Wasn't that too soon?

Commander Felicity Stark got up and turned the map around.

"Can't do, Frau Schmidt. We need at least ten more spies to handle the first wall of defence."

"But the soldiers…" Schmidt stopped, and eyed Lincoln suspiciously.

"Go", said Commander Felicity Stark, handing a rolled up map to him. "Figure out if there's another way to the city. I'll deal with this."

Lincoln didn't doubt it. He grabbed the map and found himself a nice place in shade, on top of an old Range Rover, whose back had been covered by a metal roof. He didn't find an opening in the defences, but the map was very old, so he didn't give up hope.

He didn't notice, though, that some people in soldier uniforms boarded the Rover, speaking a distinctively Slavic language, not noticing Lincoln on their roof. He only noticed when the motor started, and the Russians headed to Berlin.

***

"Ma'am! Ma'am!", called a deep, strong voice from the outside. "We're six men short, ma'am, and—"

"What? You sure, Torres?" Commander Stark stormed out of the planning tent. "Six men? We're already in weak numbers, we can't afford to lose any more—"

"One of them is your son, ma'am."

"Lincoln?" Her eyes started to glow in worry. "He wasn't going anywhere, he was in my tent not even an hour ago…"

"And we're missing a metal-enforced Rover, too, with weapons in the back."

Commander Stark doesn't swear, but sometimes she makes exceptions.

"Goddamnit. Russians."

"What makes you think so?" Rick Torres wasn't sure of her words, but he trusted Stark. They'd fought together before, and she never lead him wrong.

"Schmidt told me that 'soldiers' wanted to attack today, and that she had her doubts set on Russians infiltrating our system."

Torres nodded, understanding.

"So what do you plan on doing?" he asked. Commander Stark frowned, her fight-face on. She's a soldier. Casualties are a part of her job. She wasn't religious, but she prayed in her mind for her son to return alive.

"There's nothing I can do. Not before Gregory sends us more people. At least fifteen more. We do nothing until then. It's a command, Torres."

Her stomach turned and twisted, and she felt like throwing up. She might have just lost her son with that order.

***

Lincoln was not dead. Yet. As the east side of Berlin approached, his legs itched more and more to jump off the Rover and run back to safety, to his camp and his mother, and the safeness of tents…

Berlin's wall was very high. Lincoln couldn't exactly see how high, but he'd say at least fifteen metres, maybe twenty. It was made of old stone and stable concrete, grey and bleak. Lincoln remembered the entry in his maps, and saw it wasn't guarded. He made notes in his mind to tell it all to his mum, but then saw something which wasn't in maps.

A small, stone hut, attached to the wall some thirty metres from the entry, which had no windows but a door with a rusty lock on it. Lincoln had broken locks like that when he attended basic military training, and sheer curiosity made him jump and grab a tree branch, escaping the Russians in the Rover. He climbed down a tree, thanking God and his mother, who forced him into gym every morning, that he made virtually no sound as he clambered to the ground.

The Rover continued its way, and Lincoln held his breath, hid behind a tree, until they disappeared, on the other side of the wall.

He could've ran to camp.

Instead, he walked up to stone hut, and picked the lock with a pocket knife his dad gave him. It only dawned on him that there might be Russian soldiers on the other side, when the lock gave away and fell to the ground with a dull clinking sound.

His heart was beating a wild rhythm somewhere between his eyes, his hand held the knife in front of him, and he opened the door.

"Hallo?" Lincoln heard, and he felt dizzy. Was it someone who survived World War Three? Was it a child of people who were tortured? And, most important question, why were they, whoever they were, locked away from the rest of his people? "Wer bist du?"

"I…" Lincoln knew a tiny amount of German, and he would have given anything to know just a bit more. "Do you speak English?"

"Ein biss—A bit."

"Are you… Jesus."

The inside of the hut smelled like stale air, human waste and dirt. A man lay in old hay, in shapeless, grey and brown clothes. His hair is long and dusty, eyes red, his cheeks fuzzy with an unshaved beard. He's about Lincoln's age, maybe younger, and he's chained to the wall, the cuffs restraining his leg.

"Oh, Lord, I am so sorry. I, I…" Lincoln needed a way to get closer to him, to release him, to carry him to the camp, but none of that could happen if he didn't trust him. "Mein Name ist Lincoln, you know, like the president?" The man shook his head. "What is yours?"

"Wolfgang."

"Like Mozart, right?"

Wolfgang's frightened hazel-blue eyes remained confused, and Lincoln sighed.

"Can I… Can I help you with the chain?"

"Bitte, ja", Wolfgang stretched his leg out with a painfully sounding crack, and a weak moan.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Lincoln said, even though he had nothing to do with his pain. "How long have you been locked up in here?"

"Ich weiß es nicht."

"Shit."

Lincoln wiped his knife clean from the dust which fell from the foor and started picking the lock on the cuff.

Wolfgang stayed quiet for a few moments, watching Lincoln carefully, and searching for the right word.

"Depends."

"Sorry?" Lincoln looked up at Wolfgang.

"It depends how long it is from war."

"Thirty years", Lincoln said, confused, and returned to the cuff.

Wolfgang did the math in his head quickly.

"Vierzehn."

"Hm?"

"I've been here fourteen years."

The knife fell out of Lincoln's hand. He stared at Wolfgang, his jaw losing contact with his face.

"Fourteen…?" he gasped. "B-but why?"

"Mutti und Vati tried to escape. They succeeded, and the Russians kept me as a bait."

There were no mentions of anyone trying to escape, even less escaping succesfully. If Lincoln was still holding his knife, he would have accidentally cut Wolfgang's leg.

He couldn't focus. He needed to do one thing at the time, and freeing Wolfgang was his priority.

"O-okay. I'll just get rid of this and then you'll tell me everything. Can you walk?"

"Ja."

It took Lincoln a couple of more minutes to uncuff him, and on the place where the metal rubbed against the skin, it was red and bruised. He'd been struggling against it.

Lincoln helped Wolfgang up. He weighed less than fifty kilos, clothes and all, and Lincoln could have carried him with ease, but he insisted on walking. They walked out of the stone hut.

Wolfgang marvelled the sun for a few seconds, just soaking up the sun.

"I missed the sun", he said, and his voice hit Lincoln a bit.

"You're going to see lots of it, but now we really need to go."

Wolfgang nodded and followed Lincoln west.

***

By the end of the journey, Wolfgang used up the last ounces of energy and collapsed to the ground. Lincoln picked him up and ran the last half kilometre to the camp.

He was met by some of the soldiers, in training clothes, looking worried, but energised.

"Hey, I have no time", Lincoln said, handling Wolfgang to Private Cho. "I have to go to Commander, please get him to the medics… Mum!" He called out, running off.

It took him half a minute to find Commander, in her tent. She was with Rick Torres, who told her about solders missing, their real names and intentions. When Lincoln hastily ran in the tent, Commander got up, toppling over a plastic glass she was holding.

"Lincoln", she said, her voice weak.

"Mum, you won't believe it—" and he started to te her what happened, but she cut him off.

"We know, Link. Torres was just telling me, we were about to send a couple of our men to go and get you back… How did you escape them?"

Lincoln puts his hand on the table and leans against it, exhausted from running.

"They didn't even know I was there, mum… But that's not important."

"What do you mean—"

"I rescued a man from Berlin." Commander and Rick Torres stared at him blankly. "He was imprisoned in a stone cottage, outside the wall, but connected to it. It wasn't on any of the maps, so I decided to check it out."

"You could've got hurt", said Rick Torres, but Commander had her thoughts somewhere else.

"Who is the man?"

"I don't know. Says his name is Wolfgang, and he was born after war, I think. His parents—" suddenly, a new rush of energy flooded through him, like a shot of caffeine. "His parents. He said that his parents escaped Berlin fourteen years ago, and that's why they locked him up."

"We've never heard of anyone escaping Berlin. Goverments kept Berlin wholly a secret, but it was still known among few of us who were ranked high enough", Commander said, tapping her fingers against a wooden column which held the middle part of the tent up.

"I know", Lincoln said.

"Where is he, now?" Rick Torres asked, putting away some maps and plans. "I think we have some questions to ask the man."

"Handed him over to the medics", said Lincoln, scraching the back of his neck. The tent was hot and stuffy. "His leg is hurt, he's dangerously underfed and, after being in the dark for so long, the sun exhausted him. Fainted some six hundred metres from the camp."

"So long… You said, fourteen years?" Commander asked.

"That's what he told me, yes."

"Poor man."

Rick Torres nodded in agreement, but had action in his mind.

"We still need to talk to him. He's the most valuable source of information we have right now."

"I don't think he can tell you much", Lincoln admitted. "Fourteen years is a long time—a lot of things can change in the meantime." Before his mum could even open her mouth to speak, he cut her off. "And he was just a kid when his parents escaped, so no information there, also."

"Hm", Rick Torres nodded, agreeing. "You're right. But, still, we have to question him."

"After he wakes up", Commander added. "Leave him to be taken care of. He deserves it."

They sit silently for a few seconds, but then get up and return to life. Duty calls.

***

"He's lost at least twenty kilos in the past month", said the plump German volounteer nurse. She was short, her cheeks pinkish red, her light brown hair in two thick braids. She stood beside a bed with a thin mattress, where they lay down Wolfgang.

They washed and cut his mousy brown hair, shaved the scruff on his cheeks, dressed him up in clothes too big for him, all with military preciseness. He looked so much younger, and so much older, now that Lincoln could see his face as a whole.

"Why past month", asked Commander.

"Well, you see, Commander", the nurse said, lining her papers in order. "Russians have their own ways of torturing their prisoners. They'd—" her voice broke a bit. "They'd starve them, for two, three months, giving them bread and water, then return them to normal food. It weakens the organism, you see, meine Oma told me about that."

Commander put her hand on the nurse's shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"He should wake up", the nurse continued, her eyes glassy, "soon. He's just exhausted, but his health is, overall, survivable."

"Thanks, Anne."

The nurse and Torres left, leaving Commander and Lincoln alone with Wolfgang's sleeping figure.

"He's going to be fine, physically", Commander made a bitter remark, "but there's no saying how traumatised he might be."

Lincoln hummed in agreement, and stayed next to Wolfgang's bedside.  The next day they found him with his head on the bed, soundly asleep.

***

"Space?"

"Yes, kind of. We're not actually going to float around amongst the stars."

"I've never been to space."

"I would've never guessed."

Wolfgang awarded Lincoln with one of his few smiles. And, during the week they'd known each other, Lincoln learned to appreciate it.

"But, anyway", Lincoln said leaning back against his suitcase. He was sitting on the floor, across of his bed, where Wolfgang was. The tent was small, but they didn't mind it that much. "How'd you learn English?"

"Mutti had an English book", Wolfgang said, as he picked at the sole of his borrowed shoes. Avoiding Lincoln's gaze. Lincoln sensed sadness coming. "She kept it away from the Russians, otherwise they would burn it. She learned English before she was locked here, and she taught me."

"I'm—"

"That's how I know they survived", Wolfgang continued, "because, before she left, she told me that she'll leave that book in front of the… Entrance?" Lincoln nodded. "In front of the entrance. So I sat in front of it the next day, and the Russians opened it and saw the book. Then, I think… They locked me in a room for about a week when, I think, they made the stone…"

"Cottage", offered Lincoln.

"Prison", Wolfgang said. "They thought Mutti and Vati were going to return. They never did. Ich war traurig, ich war klein und… Alone." He looked up from his shoes at Lincoln, who stretched his hand to hold his.

"I'm sorry."

"Du kanst nicht helfen."

"I know."

Wolfgang muttered something under his breath and squeezed Lincoln's hand tight. Lincoln didn't hear what he said, but he couldn't understand it anyway.

"You're here now, right?"

"Richtig."

"And I'm not letting you leave."

They don't move their hands long after they stopped talking.

***

"Mum says they freed Berlin from the Russians."

Wolfgang doesn't acknowledge Lincoln said anything.

"They're letting people out as we… I… speak."

"Are they alright?"

"Most of them, yeah. Do you want to—"

"Nein. They probably forgot me. Und das ist okay.  I don't remember their faces anymore, as well."

***

"You scared me the first time I saw you", said Wolfgang as they travelled to the station in the back of a Rover.

"Did I? I'm not that scary, am I?"

"No", Wolfgang shoved Lincoln playfully. "No, wait… How do I say this… Possibility? I don't think it's right, but nevermind. The possibility of what happened that you're there, that scared me."

"Don't understand, sorry."

"Hm."

Lincoln let Wolfgang rearrange his thoughts for a couple of minutes.

"I remember that they took away Frau Müller's adopted child from Kenya and we never saw him again. Herr Ling und seiner Schwester, Fraulein Ling, they disappeared one day, as well. Herr Patel and his three children as well. Herr und Herr Winther, a week after the Patels. And, Frau Linder, first they took away her wheelchair, then her. And Frau Rostenkowski." Wolfgang looked at Lincoln, hoping he'd understand. When he didn't get the realisation he wanted, Wolfgang inhaled sharply, held his breath for a few seconds, and said, "They took away everybody who was different than what they believed in. And, I thought, when you came into the prison, I thought that Berlin was gone and I was the last one. I thought Russians took everyone away, and you were searching for survivors."

Lincoln watched Wolfgang for a few seconds.

"Dear Lord", his voice was barely a breath, "I can't imagine how that feels."

They sat in silence, until Wolfgang found the word he was searching for.

"It feels hollow."

He leaned his head against Lincoln's shoulder, sniffing, gulping back the words he doesn't know how to say. Lincoln leaned against him, feeling guilty of things he didn't do.

***

"Well, this is it", Lincoln said, putting his suitcases down. The room in the spaceship looked small, minimalistic, and bare. Lincoln would choose dangerous tents any day over it. But he was allowed to customise it later on.

"Can I…" Wolfgang started removing the backpack from his shoulders insecurely. It was his room too, after all, but he seemed afraid to claim anything his.

"Of course. Don't have to ask me for permission." Lincoln saw an object of interest and walked up to it. "Whoa, check it out, we have a computer in our room!"

Wolfgang raised his eyebrows, patiently waiting for an explanation.

"A computer, this thing", Lincoln motions towards a transparent keyboard and a white, very ordinary-looking wall. "Oh, crap, might want to turn it on, I think."

"Du weißt", Wolfgang snorted. Lincoln rolled his eyes and pressed a few buttons. The wall lighted up; a huge screen with small buttons on it.

"Nice. We have music, movies, books, everything", Lincoln pointed at some of the buttons. "Dear Lord, we have internet, too. Is there anything you want to know? We've got all the knowledge in the world."

"Oh, ja." Wolfgang sat on the bed, testing it out. "Wer bist Lincoln, Präsident, you told me about?"

"Come on, that's basic knowledge."

They looked up Abraham Lincoln, then read out random passages they found in Shakespeare's work, then Lincoln told Wolfgang about the invention of VHS, then they watched Titanic.

"If this ship sinks like that one, I swear", Wolfgang said, which sent Lincoln into fits of laughter.

When they ran out of ideas, they looked at what other people searched. That gave Wolfgang an idea.

"Can I just search for something?"

"Sure", Lincoln passed the keyboard to Wolfgang, who slowly typed in 'Mozart' in the search bar.

"I want to know who that was, that's all", he said.

"A composer", answered Lincoln quickly, grabbing the keyboard back and typing in a composition. "He was Austrian, and was a smart kid, and played the piano or something." He found a video and clicked on it. A soft tune filled the room.

"Für Elise", read Wolfgang the title of the video.

"Yeah, it's my favourite composition." Lincoln lost himself a bit, his eyes now not leaving Wolfgang's. "It's so amazing, how many artists have written songs poems, novels, drawn paintings, made statues about love, and they still do, and yet, nobody can explain what it is."

"An emotion", answered Wolfgang, looking at the video, pointedly ignoring Lincoln's gaze.

"It is, but, at the same time, it isn't", Lincoln insisted, "because you can't feel it the way you feel sad or happy or scared. You can feel scared, but you can't feel 'love'. You can feel it existing, you can feel it when it's directed towards you, but you can't feel it like you feel emotions."

"Ich weiß nicht... Are you suggesting something?"

Wolfgang finally looked at Lincoln, who had a silly grin on his face.

"Yeah."

"What?"

Wolfgang's hands were suddently entrapped by Lincoln's, but that was nothing new.

"I finally know how to say it. I did some researching."

"Ich verstehe dir nicht."

"You verstehe me very well."

"It's verstehst, in that place..."

Wolfgang had to admit it. He did understand him, but still refused to believe it.

In fact, he still didn't believe it when Lincoln leaned in, and actually kissed him.

It felt like the time stopped, and when it restarted, Wolfgang found himself with his hands around Lincoln's neck, Mozart still in the background, slightly dizzy.

"You…" he coughed, "you wanted to say something?"

"Yeah. Might have forgotten it, though. I'm a bit lightheaded", Lincoln said, making Wolfgang grab the collar of his shirt and pull him into another kiss, to which he responded laughing. When they pulled away, noses touching, Lincoln looked into Wolfgang's hazel-blue eyes, and, with a smile, he said,

"Ich liebe dich."

Wolfgang's face is unreadable, at first.

"What, I thought you understood the language", Lincoln said, a chill creeping over him.

"I do, I just… I thought it was going to be something I didn't know already."

"Oh, you idiot", Lincoln said, and pushed him off the bed. He fell down with a string of swears, and when he got back up, the Mozart composition was done, the starship still hadn't started moving, his parents were still not on the ship, he still wasted more than half of his life in prison, but the world seemed just a bit brighter.

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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Thu Aug 27, 2015 8:26 pm

What happens when you combine rain, a dog and Bam?

The windscreen wipers couldn't keep up with the volume of rain that were falling from the heavens, the water obscuring the view more than ten feet from the bumper. Benedict sighed loudly as he slowly drove down the road, leaning far over the wheel and squinting, trying to get a better view of the road in front of him. He grumbled to himself about Portland's weather, his highlight's main beams reflecting most of the light back at him. The term raining cats and dogs didn't seem more true to Benedict than it did right at that moment.
A flash of red made him stamp hard on the brake, his car skidding and slipping along the sodden road. the red belong who a young woman, who glanced at Benedict for a second before squatting down in the road, directly wear Benedict needed to drive.
"What the..?" He wound the window down, to shout over the rain, "Hey! You can't just stop there!" He tooted his horn obnoxiously, but she didn't move. Something was up, Benedict decided, when she removed her coat and seemingly placed the coat on the road in front of her. He sighed, grabbing his umbrella as he got out of the car. He expanded the umbrella as he walked over to her, standing beside her to see what she was doing, and so the umbrella covered the two of them. On the road in front of her was a young looking dog, now bundled up in the woman's coat.
"Some douche bag hit him and drove off." She explained, not looking away from the dog as she picked it up and drew it close into her chest. The dog whimpered slightly as pressure was applied to its body, but cuddled closer into the source of warmth. "I'd better get him to the vets. Thanks for not hitting me," She gave Benedict a brief nod before turning to walk out into the rain.
"Hey, wait, are you walking to the vets?" She stopped and turned to look back at Benedict, she gave him a small nod, her wet hair plastered against her face. "I'm driving that way. I'll give you a lift." She gave him a wary look, which received a grin off Benedict. "I won't kill you, I've missed my chance to do that today. I'm Benedict." He introduced himself.
"Amelia-May."
"Well Amelia-May, you can stand there and get even more soaked, or join me in my lovely warm car." Amelia contemplated her options for a second before nodding. She walked over and got into the passenger side of the car, the dog still bundled up in her arms. Benedict climbed into the other side of the car, turning up the temperature to dry his two passengers off.

--

Benedict still drove slowly through the pouring rain, even as the rain became easier to see through.
"Are you going to give it a name?" Benedict asked as he looked over at the creature snoozing brashly in Amelia's arms.
"'It' isn't an it, he is a he. I'm not going to bond with him, in case his owners want him back." Amelia explained, her gaze purposely avoiding Benedict's as she stared down at the dog. Benedict smirked as he looked at them.
"Not forming a close bond, yeah right. You're smitten"
"Shut up and get us to the vets."
"Alright, Princess, alright."

--

Benedict dropped Amelia outside the vets, watching her go inside before driving away. The rain had completely stopped by the time he had made it home, and that night he dreamt of dogs and a girl with vivid red hair.

--

Benedict didn't see Amelia again until a week later, the dog glued to her heel, its head staring up towards her. He pulled over to the side of the path and wound down his window.
"Not forming a close bond, I see." Benedict smiled at Amelia, who started at the sound of his voice.
"Oh shut up. His owners didn't come forward and the vet has made me care for him until they do."
"Have you named him?"
"Well.. I have been thinking of names."
"And..?"
"I was thinking of naming him Jonathan."
"No."
"What?"
"You are not naming the poor thing Jon. I think you should call him Howard." Amelia looked down at the dog and shook her head.
"No way." The dog had padded to the side of the car, staring up to where Benedict was sat, its tail wagging lamely from side to side. "I will keep thinking of a name."
"You'd better. See you later, Ames" With that, Benedict pulled away from the path and drove to work. He swears he only glanced in the wing mirror once to look back at Amelia watching him leave. It was only once, but he didn't take his eyes off it until she was just a spot in the distance.

--

"Benedict!" He glanced up from the cup of coffee he had just bought and was planning to drink when Amelia and her dog friend ran up to his side. "How about Spot?"
"Spot? That's a bit... unoriginal?"
"Yes, but it fits him, don't you think?"
"I guess..."
"Spot it is!" Amelia cheered, receiving a loud bark from the dog, from Spot.
"Hey, Ames" Benedict started, reaching his hand out to stroke Spot's head.
"Hm?" She asked, grinning down at her newly named dog,
"Would you like to go out for coffee?"
"But you just bought one"
"Not now, I mean, together, sometime?" Amelia smiled at his awkwardness,
"Sure, Benny, you owe me for paying all of Spot's vet bills."
"What?"
"Yep, so if I work that out correctly, that is about one hundred coffees."
"But-"
"Nope. See you later, Benny, Spot needs a check up." Amelia left him with a wave and a laugh as she walked off towards the vet clinic.

--

"Does he never leave your side?"
"Nope."
"Right" Benedict handed Amelia her coffee, rubbing the top of Spot's head.
"C'mon lets go to the park. Spot likes it there."
"Is everything you do based on Spot now?"
"Yes, does that bother you?"
"Not really."
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Thu Sep 03, 2015 10:17 pm

Fences
A loud thump brought my attention away from the sink where I was washing up. I peered out of the kitchen window, to receive a  feeble smile and wave from men stuck on my fence. I gave him an awkward wave, as I dried my hands. The bloke appeared to be stuck, fumbling ungainly trying to free himself. He wore (or more slipping off his nose) large framed glasses with a plaid shirt and tight jeans. Admittedly, he was pretty hot, depsite the fact he was currently damaging my fence. After a few minutes of watching him struggle, I decided to go help. I grabbed a pair of scissors and shoved them into my pocket, before I headed outside to see him.
"How's it hangin'?" I asked him, who knew a glare could be so hot? "You seem to be in a bit of a predicament" I noticed, a grin pulling at my mouth as I studied him.
"Yeah no shit, Sherlock. Can you get me down already? Or are you just gonna stare at me all day?"
"I think staring at you all day is a good idea. You certainly add to that fence."
"Shut up and help me down already!"
"Hm. Wait." I pulled my phone out of my pocket and took a photo of the disgruntled looking man, a frown clearly present in the photo. "Okay. Now I help you." I pulled the scissors out of my pocket ('Damn, I thought you were glad to see me') and began to cut away the material. "If I cut you free, you won't rob me will you? I shoulda asked why you were climbing my fence in the first place."
"Mel dared me to climb over. Promised that it would be worth it." Fence-man explained. "I'm not sure why it was worth it yet."
"Mel..? Oh, Melissa? Blonde hair, really fluffy?"
"Too fucking fluffy"
"She got herself a boyfriend?"
"Why? Are you jealous?"
I didn't reply as I made one last snip and the man fell to the ground. Hey, Melissa is one lucky girl if this is her man. I'll trade my soul for a guy like this one.
"Ah, thanks man." He said as he got to his feet and brushed himself down. "I owe you one." A wink. I didn't blush. You blushed. I flashed him a smile while twirling the scissors around my fingers.
"No more climbing fences. C'mon, you're returning to Mel's through my house. Those jeans don't need any less material." I gave him a smirk as I headed back into my house.  "'M Richie, by the way." I introduced myself as he followed inside.
"Callipso. But Cali works."
"Alright Cali. Please avoid climbing over my fence again or I will make you repaint it."
I led him through the living room to the front door.
"Hey, Rich?" He stopped just outside the door, turning to look directly at me, a small smile placed on his lips.
"Yes, Cali?"
"Mel isn't my girlfriend." His smile grew into a smirk, with another suggestive wink. Man, this guy would make someone melt. I feel like I'd be butter in front of stove if I spoke to him any longer.
"Goodbye, Cali."
I would be lying if I said I didn't check out his ass as he walked back to Mel's. But who could blame me?
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Sat Sep 05, 2015 10:54 pm

Three Twenty Five

"But why."

He gets a groan in response.

"Wait, you're sliding down."

Amelia snakes her arms around Benedict's neck, holds on tight, so he can push her up his back, allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist.

"I'm sorry, Ben", she says, burying her face in the warm crook of Benedict's neck. "They started it, I swear."

"Sure", Benedict says, a small smile playing on his lips. "Can you guess what time is it?"

"No", Amelia says and runs her hand below her nose. "Shit, Ben… I think, maybe it's broken?"

"Bleeding?"

"Yeah", she sniffs. Benedict doesn't stop, but is quiet for a few moments.

"I can afford to ruin this shirt." Amelia understands. She crumples Benedict's shirt and puts in under her nose.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that. You said it wasn't your fault."

"I might have lied."

"Damn it."

Amelia smiles and leans against Benedict even more, gradually falling asleep.

-

"Ames. Wake up, love."

"Hm?"

"I have to get you out of these clothes."

Amelia opens her eyes to Benedict, his bloody shirt and a small, bright bathroom.

"I'm really not in the mood."

"Ha ha. Consider me amused. Up."

Amelia throws her hand up in the air and Benedict peels the wet shirt off of her.

"Shit. You sure you didn't break anything?"

"Maybe a rib. You should have seen the other guy."

Benedict narrows his eyes as he throws the shirt into the sink.

"Who did you fight?"

"Don't matter."

"Amelia."

"Some of Nemo's young recruits. Left them crippled."

Benedict smirks. He puts his hand on Amelia's cheek and kisses her forehead.

"That's my girl. But still. Don't pick fights with anyone who is faster than you. Especially not at three and twenty five in the morning. What were you doing outside at night?"

Amelia shrugs, but that hurts.

"You might want to keep me in bed the next time." It's a bad innuendo, and it makes them laugh.

"Yes, that's solid advice." Benedict pulls his shirt over his head and put it in the sink as well. He began washing the blood out, and Amelia leans ofer a bathtub to brush the dried blood out of her hair, from under her nails and knuckles. When they're done, Amelia pulls her hair up, Benedict spreads the clothes near the heater, and they head to bed.

"I'll be mad at you tomorrow, don't worry", Benedict says as he wraps his hand around Amelia. She pulls the blanket over both of them and relaxes against him. "Tomorrow we'll take you to check out that rib, but I think you're fine."

"Admit it", Amelia slurs, "your life would be boring without me."

"Easier", Benedict says, closes his eyes and kisses her neck.

"Maybe."

"I wouldn't have to be awaken by a phone ringing in the middle of the night because you got into a fight, and I'd enjoy a full night of sleep."

"You don't need sleep."

"Shh."

"You haven't had a full night of sleep since you were five."

"That's true. And you screwed up my sleeping habits anymore."

"Aw, c'mon, Benedict, why sleep when I'm so much more interesting. And I can think of a thousand ways to spend this time."

"I'm sure you do."

"Yeah."

"…"

"Good night, Ben. Love you."

"That's three times today."

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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Wed Sep 09, 2015 8:31 pm

He puts the phone down, rubs his eyes and moves hair from his face. Turns to the woman—the girl, the warrior, the goddess—who is asleep next to him. His hand should be over her waist, his nose in her hair, lips pressed against her bare shoulder. Or, at least, that's how they fell asleep, not even three hours prior.

He hates to wake her up. He forgets that she still isn't used to waking up whenever, and sleeping when you can, or maybe it's something you have to be birn into. It's a survival tactic, the one he hates the most.

"Amelia", he whispers, as close to her ear as he dared to get. It doesn't work. Maybe she is exhausted, he thinks, the last week destroyed him as well. But, if they got up now, and went to get to the safe…

Benedict makes a decision. It can wait until the morning. Some things can, also, but maybe they shouldn't.

"Ames."

"Mm."

Now that he's sure she's awake, he returns his hand to where they belong, around her waist, and presses a kiss behind her ear. She reacts, turns around. There is sleep in her eyes and a yawn forming in her mouth, but, covered in a warm blanket, she is the most beautiful sight he's ever witnessed.

"What do you need, why wake me up", she asks, but it doesn't sound like she's complaining.

"Just wanted to tell you I love you."

"Not worth waking me up though."

"This might be."

He can't explain her kisses. He'd compare them to a storm, but while they're as destructive, a storm doesn't even begin to cover it. They fill him with want, belonging, and a will to live, and he feels so alive.

He needs her like he needs oxygen, she is his connection to the world of people, to humans.

It feels like he forgot what being human means, and she keeps on reminding him.

She makes him forget about the utter tragedy of living and makes him believe in good, even though he has no reason to.

And for that one moment, he's breathing with both lungs, instead of surviving.

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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Sat Sep 19, 2015 9:01 pm

Favourite Place and Favourite Person

2025
I remember our first 'date'. A drink and a pastry in a French café. Okay, it can't be a date if our parents were there. What does it matter? I still think of it as a first date. A date I wouldn't want to change. Today would be our sixth date. In ten years, we have only had five dates, I know, few and far between, but that makes them even more special. And this date will very much be as cliché as you can get, but sometimes we need clichés in our lives.
The day is sunny, a rare occurence in England, however there still are a few fluffy white clouds prancing across the blue meadow. It seems to be a reassuring omen of how perfect I will try to make today.
It is a short walk to where we would have the picnic, my hand clasped in hers as we walked. This place is my favourite. A place I travlled to yearly when I was a child. I am seriously surprised I haven't took her here before.
The paved path is loose and rickety as we stepped on them, the muddy grass, still wet from the rain yestersay, squelching noisily with each step we took. There are about 200 paving stones to walk over, I counted them years ago, before we reached the gate. A kissing gate. Always a perfect excuse to press a kiss against her cheek as we go through. The wooden was rotten through by now, I remember when it was still new and a light golden brown. But now, it was a deep dark brown, patches of moss speckled over it. Even though the gate had seen better days, the rusticness added to the beauty of this sacred place.
The path had turned to muddy, and slippery, limestone as we entered the woods. It makes one wonder as to why the paving stones were placed in the previous field if you were just going to be clarted up anyway. It did give me an excuse to cling tightly on to her in case either of us slipped. The rush of water was loud and unforgiving as we got closer, the dark stones just visible through the green of the trees. Only a small, rocky climb to go before we arrived.
This place was magical. A hidden secret, only known by a lucky few. Legends say a fairy lived here once, and the whole place was named after her. Janet's Foss.
The waterfall stood in front of us as we sat down on the rocks. Though not very big, it was still magnificant. The water tumbling recklessly over the stones. Behind the waterfall was a small hole, just large enough for a young child to climb through if they wished. That used to be Janet's home.
The greenness of the foss is what made it so magical. Even in deep autumn, the hundreds of different shades of green surrounded us, the hundreds of trees blocking the outside world out. The outside world didn't matter as I squeezed her hand gently, giving her a soft smile before looking back at the waterfall. Ten years ago, I promised to show this girl my world. And now, sat in the place that holds more memories than anywhere else, a place that holds both joy and sadness, a place I love, I am so glad I did and I am so glad she let me.
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PostSubject: Re: Random Stories   Sat Sep 19, 2015 9:25 pm

Wheels

"Could you just, like… Yeah, that one…"

He'd use the words 'sorry' and 'thank you', but unfortunately, as Freddie later learns, those aren't the words he knew. Or ever learns, as the matter of fact.

"Here you go", Freddie reaches out for the red paper cup on the counter, grabs his latte and puts the cups down on the table. There is no free spaces anywhere else in the cafe, so he decides to sit across of the man in the wheelchair.

At least this one can't run away.

Jesus Christ, to what has he fallen?

"I'm Freddie, by the way", he says and leans his skateboard against the red sofa.

"Don't remember inviting you to my table, but now that you're here", the man's nodding to himself, Freddie doesn't know why. He never finishes the sentence, so Freddie never finds out.

"Bitter?" he asks instead, reading off a cup addressed to someone called Clara. Who asks for a bitter coffee?

"I like my coffee to match me. Bitter."

"And hot?" Freddie asks, his brain finding nothing wrong with the sentence until it passes his lips.

The man's eyes widen, looking comically big through the glasses.

"Oh my god. That's so good. Never has anybody flirted with me like that, kudos."

Freddie panics. He did not just say that out loud.

"I'll—I'll go get sugar—" he says and gets up, to escape the situation, and of course—

Trips on his skateboard.

He's fine, the chair stops his fall, and the skateboard just rolls away, but that could have gone much worse. His heart is beating even faster, he's made a fool of himself, he's hopeless—

"Can't believe I forgot to put the wheels up. Goddamn wheels."

"And nobody has ever tried to cripple themselves for me, but I wouldn't suggest going that far." The man's, unbelieveably, not moving, and grinning.

"I could have got hurt."

"Yeah, and I appreciate that. All that struggle for just my name?"

"I thought it was Clara."

The man rewards him with another grin.

"Not quite. It's Cali."

"Cali", Freddie repeats, and remembers. He also remembers he has work.

"Nice meeting you, but I have to go now."

"Bye, Wheels", Cali says casually sipping his coffee.

"Goodbye, Hot and Bitter." Freddie can't believe he said that, but he gets a wink from Cali nevertheless.

***

"I told them to carry it to my table, could you hand over the— Oh, look, it's Wheels. Hi, Wheels."

It's Cali again, unbelieveably, sitting where he sat a week ago.

"Hello."

Freddie grabs the red paper cup and his latte and puts them on the table. He pushes the cup where it writes Carl to Cali and leans his skateboard against the red sofa. Wheels up.

"Do you just stay at this coffee shop always, in the same spot?" Freddie asks and sips from his cup.

"Yeah, I can't guide the wheelchair out of the shop, the door is too small." It takes a moment to realise that it was sarcasm, because the door is at least two metres wide. "And you?"

"I came to see you. And it helps that it's the closest coffee shop to my work", he nods towards a big, scholar-looking building.

"Figures." Cali snorts and drinks his bitter coffee. "I tell you what, if you push me out of this place, I'll even give you my number."

"Deal."

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did u mean "my writing at 2 am"
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