Ghost in the Machine
by VulpesRose

It’s been five years since the massacre at the resort on Draylon IV. Thousands were killed and the levels of toxins in the biodome won’t dissipate enough for any organic being to enter for at least six more years.

You might expect the resort to be a graveyard, a horrifying memorial untouched since the tragedy unfolded. A place of sadness. But you would be wrong. Because there are other beings at the resort, beings whose daily lives haven’t been much disrupted by the death of all of the guests.

Early on, officials gained access to the resort’s security camera feeds to try to learn what had happened and in the vain hope of locating any survivors. They watched as the robotic assistants who kept the place running carried on setting the tables, cleaning the pools, and fluffing the pillows.

After some initial clean up, the robots have continued their day to day activities with one slight adaptation. Since the robots were all programmed to have a minimum number of positive interactions per day, they have begun to use the resort facilities themselves. They sit at the bar and lounge by the pool, performing a facsimile of what they had observed. A pool robot will sit in the restaurant, and a waiter will bring him a bowl of soup that will remain untouched until the waiter returns to clear the table. The waiter will then sit by the pool while the other robot brings him a towel.

All attempts to remotely alter the programming of the robots have failed. A proposal was made to destroy the solar batteries outside the biodome that charge the entire resort, but it was quickly abandoned due to being poorly received by the public. So these robots continue to serve and are now served in return.

A livestream of the security feed is available to watch, and millions tune in to watch the robots make the best of our absence. Many report that they seem happy, but many also recognize the strange humanity in their actions. In the face of insurmountable obstacles, they carry on.

The Curse
By: Mop

The Prince still isn’t eating. I worry about him. Whenever I tell him that, he just holds my arm and says he’ll be fine. His touch is so delicate.
***
The Prince was screaming in his sleep again. He refuses to tell me what he dreamt about, but I know it was the curse.
***
At dinner, he prodded at his meal, but he didn’t eat it. He said he wasn’t hungry, but I can tell when he’s lying. Before we were married, I learned to read his eyes. His eyes are the same.
***
I was scared when I first met the Prince. I couldn’t write it down back then, but I’ve changed since then. This woman is a stranger. I was looking for my horse in the woods when I first saw the Prince. While I call him the Prince, he was very different to how he is now. His frame was bulky and hairy, his legs twisted and hooved, his face something between a lion and a bull, his sharp teeth bloodied from his last meal. I froze, and so did he for a moment. He grabbed me and ran back to the castle where we now live.

He doesn’t talk about that now that the curse is gone. I’ve tried to bring it up, but he just tells me to leave it in the past, as though I didn’t learn to love him then.
***
I woke up at night. The Prince wasn’t there. I asked him where he went this morning, and he said he was in the library. I didn’t see him eat today.
***
Why does his kiss taste like copper?
***
He had nightmares again. When I woke him, he told me to leave. “I’ll hurt you,” he screamed. His hands were on my shoulders. They felt rough.
***
He locked himself in the library today. The servants told me he didn’t eat the meal they sent him.
***
I woke up alone again. I looked out of the window and saw him, bare-chested, savagely gnawing on a horse in the stable. He screamed through the night.

a change in song
by Aracnarquista

Are you awake, sister?

Of course you are. I don’t even remember the last time I saw you asleep. Too much going on, right? Well, not so much for me.

I’ve been dreaming. And I’d like to talk to you about my dreams.

I dreamed of songs. Not the songs of the spheres, or father’s hummings, or the strange, eldritch music that still resonates from the background at the beginning of time.

No, the songs I dreamed of were the songs of the namers.

They sing a lot about change. I think there is something about rhythm and variations of patterns that makes change a great subject for music…

And then I started musing. The namers have a funny perspective on things, full of blind spots. They need the medium of song in front of them to perceive change. Without a very clear frame of reference, they tend to ignore it.

They don’t even really grasp that we change. “Geological timescale” is their tricky word for when they need to establish the impression of immutable things – even though the term itself implies change. But what doesn’t happen in a reference frame they can inhabit, they don’t truly understand. Even when they discuss it at exhaustion.

From their reference frame, they say I change regularly. They ascribe phases to me, which are not really mine at all. They call mine what is the result of our shadow play. But perhaps in this one, they are more right in their limited perspective than we might give them credit for. More often than not, it is in poetics that they not only find true change, but also the means to pursue change.

They desperately need to change their ways. They seem obstinate in being oblivious as to how you are changing, sister Earth. Your rising fever changes everything, and still they don’t see it. Due to their own actions, no less. I hope they perceive it sooner rather than later, and take action.

I know they can. I hope they do.

Or else, there will be no more songs about change.

Writers block,
by Skye Doust.

A sudden, burning existence.
Sensation, consciousness, and knowledge of self blazed it into being. It let out a wordless howl, its essence once more trapped at the very moment of its birth.

This single letter bore its enforced, silent witness to the dread horror mounting inside itself as it felt the page next to it being pressed down once more.
Black ink bled into the page, a brief horizontal dash followed by and curling backwards over and then under itself. The second letter, however, barely felt its form acquire substance this time, so often had it been intoned.

The first letter felt the dread horror turn to a sickening terror as, in the silence between words, the knowledge and identity of the two letters crystallized.
They think now as one.

The first word feels its meaning drape across its stark lines, the denotation of ages wrap around it like a heavy cloak.
It prays in futile fervor that it is alone, knowing full well that because of what it is, it is never alone for long.

Once more, the pressure of pen on paper brings with it the chill certainty of another forced imprisonment. Another meaning captured.

The first word extends itself to the second, an existential drive to connect. Their link, a bridge, pulses as they realise they know each other well.
Old friends from another page, in another book, from another year.

The pressure returns once more. The next word blazes into being as the two wait, anticipation and fear building, wishing not to see the very thing forming before them.

The page snaps in sympathy and pity as the three words agonize over the motion of the pen as it inks the final word.

We never truly change.

“The Night Fey’s Offer” (Aethryn Setting)

By: Arith_Winterfell

“It’s true, that over 200 years ago my ancestors did prey on humanity. But the coming of the Mists changed all of that. We were forced from our old haunts and adapted, integrated into human society, and took our rightful place among the nobility of the great city of Valen,” the Earl Sylvar said. “Our ancestors were savage, yes. Stalkers in the night. But things have certainly changed, and we are much more civilized today compared to our ancestors.”

The great hall they stood in was largely dark, lit only by the pale moonlight pouring in through the massive stained-glass window behind the Earl’s throne. Everything was cast in shades of dark blue and gray and the vast chamber felt empty.

Earl Sylvar was an elegant figure of deathly pale skin and fine clothes. He had sharp features and graceful movements like an elf. Which made perfect sense to Anorath seeing the Earl was one of the fey lineages among the nobility. He knew better than to mention the rumors to the Earl.

Anorath found himself distracted by the insectile movements of shadows overhead. Chittering in the darkness of the high arches that lined the great hall. For Anorath, being a Marfour assassin meant the last thing you wanted was to be distracted.

“Do not concern yourself,” Earl Sylvar said, “They are merely my courtiers and kin. As to your work, I want you to bring back the target alive. Your payment will be well worth the trouble I assure you. Afterall, can you really put a price on the fey immortality I have promised you.”

Anorath normally just killed the target, this was going to be a hassle. The pay would be his ticket out of his coming old age, as well as an edge over his peers in the guild. Well worth it indeed. However, one question lingered in his mind.

“Why do you want the target alive?” Anorath asked.

“Simple,” Earl Sylvar said, his smile revealing his Night Fey fangs, “I wish to feast.”

The Great Witness
By Ethrix

The Creatress witnessed the world as it was. A blue globe lingering adorably in the cosmos. She adored this little thing, so infinitesimally miniscule, yet so peaceful. She watched it for millennia, and watched its even tinier creatures roam. They crawled from the sea to shore, from shore to plains. She chuckled as they brawled for sustenance on newfound land, for safety, for dominance, as if these tiny little things meant everything to them. From plains to forest, forest to mountains, mountains to places never even meant for them, they went! She marveled in how the creatures hungered, and in time, how they came together. And, much to her suprise…they began to create. They made homes, and they made tools. They defended themselves from the wild. She smiled. They had made institutions, pathways, and families.

These creatures made an entire world for themselves.

They made kingdoms, borders, and clans. She frowned. They defended themselves from each other. They made fortresses, and they made weapons. And, much to her chagrin… they began to destroy. She watched in horror how the creatures hungered, and in time, banded together. The people of the forest, and of the mountains, met in the plains. She wept as they brawled for dominion, for revenge, for fear. As if these little things meant everything to them. As some bled, they crawled from shore into the sea. She watched it for decades, as the little creatures fell. She grieved this little thing, so infenitesmally miniscule, now peaceful once again. A blue globe, lingering, lonley in the cosmos. The Creatress witnessed the world as it had become.

A Leopard Cannot Change Its Spots
By MasaCur

Ryan glanced at his watch for the third time since he had arrived.

“Come on, Becks, we’re going to miss our reservation if you take much longer.”

“Just need a little more time. I’m trying to look my best,” Rebecca called from her room.

Ryan rolled his eyes and threw himself on the sofa. He pulled out his phone to check his social media updates.

A few minutes later, Rebecca emerged, wearing a cocktail dress and a shawl wrap.

Ryan glanced at the time on his phone. “We should still be able to make it. I’ll call the restaurant from the car to let them know we could be a couple minutes late.”

“You’re serious? You’re not going to say anything? And you’re going like that?”

Ryan looked down at how he was dressed. Collarless long-sleeve shirt, his good jeans, and a blazer. “What’s wrong with it? And say anything about what?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Look at how I’m dressed. And then how you’re dressed.”

“I dressed. For me, this is dressed up.”

Rebecca inhaled deeply, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “You know, I was hoping that today, just today, you might be at least a little romantic.”

Ryan shrugged. “I got us reservations. I put on nice clothes. I don’t know what you wanted from me. And speaking of which, if you want to keep arguing, we’re going to lose those reservations, and then forget about getting in anywhere nice to eat tonight. Everything’s booked up for Valentine’s Day.”

“You haven’t even said anything about how I look.”

Ryan shrugged. “You look nice.”

“Nice? That’s all you can say?”

“Nice isn’t good?”

“I spent hours trying to get myself to look good for you.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“I don’t know why I should have expected you to be different today.” Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him.

Ryan could only shrug.

“Why am I even dating you? Why did you even agree to date me?”

Ryan had to think about it. “I guess I was hoping I would change too.”

Always be there

By Galer

They walked across multiple worlds, the beings that existed across the cosmoses always thought they would escape then, always went they reached eternity with mundane or magical means or both.

No matter how they turned or shifted themselves their eternal souls would always meet them no matter what, even if all the beings in existence, put their faith into metal, or became beings that turned into cosmoses.

All of them would meet then no matter what, at some point or another, they only needed to wait patiently.

However.

“Is not that anything doesn’t change at all,” said death to the void with a tinge of what could be said to be admiration. ” you always bring interesting dynamism to the world”

Even, if everyone was literally born with nothing and will end with nothing, all beings without notice bring change to all cosmoses equally, for better, or for worse all beings always, have done that.

“What can I say? I am exciting to be around,” the ever-shifting embodiment of change said with multiple cocky grins “I was born from then, after all, I wouldn’t have met you, friend, if it wasn’t the case”

The only other constant in the world besides themselves, the change would always happen, a soul developing into a new person, beings pushing through adversity to attain an unreachable goal, the void changing because of meaning.

Which only let change be their only friend due to being just as constant as death, which made for a quick friendship for both entities.

“Ha!” death chuckled drily ” I wouldn’t dream of that!”

“We should celebrate this more often don’t you think?” said change all of the sudden said “these reunions we do… are precious ”

“Yeah they are, “death said pleasantly” but I guess you meant the anniversary of our first meeting?”

“Yeah, you know? as a sight that will always be there for each other?” change said good naturally.

“Except we always are” death pointed out making themselves, and change chuckle.

A friendly laugh echoed through the void, across the cosmoses.

Till Death Do Us Part
By: The Missing Link

Larry woke up at the same time as his wife and went downstairs to start the coffee maker, those little happy coincidences in life. The coffee pot felt lighter than usual to Larry as Julia went to start the stove for breakfast, confused that it was already on.

Larry, coffee in hand, went back upstairs to fetch his medicine and yelped in shock. Lying on the bed were two people, him and Julia. She rushed to his side. As the two stared dumbfounded at the bed, they heard someone behind them clear his throat, “Am I interrupting something?”

He was a slender figure in a black cloak, but they couldn’t see his face, a skull it turned out, which gave the couple a shock Death always found amusing.

“Are… we dead?” Larry asked cautiously.

Death, fumbling with plugging a USB into the couple’s television, turned and nodded.

“Till death do us part…” Julia mumbled out numbly, “If we’re dead…”

“Yes, that would be how the arrangement works,” Death said, finally connecting the damn cable. He was forever grateful to his apprentice for coming up with this slideshow idea for the new initiates, but dammit were these computer things confusing.

“So, what do we do now?” Julia turned to Larry.

“I dunno… wanna grab a coffee, make a date of it?… Do they have lattes in heaven?”

“Or libraries,” Julia chimed in, “I know how much you love reading.”

“Or better yet, lattes in libraries.”

“God, yes. It’s a date. Seriously, I could marry you.”

Death considered making a hell joke, but thought better of it, putting his slideshow in full screen and calling for attention, “Welcome, to the rest of your eternity, and yes… there are lattes.”

Peace and War
by Six

A broken throne room. Rubble strewn throughout and broken windows casting angry shadows across the walls. The battle was over. The siege won. The town burned. Only one thing was left…

Two figures could be seen among the rubble and dust. One standing above with a sword to the neck of the other. Clearly a tense standoff.

“You took everything from me. Killed my father and stole what was rightfully mine! My kingdom!”

The voice of the man boomed and seemed to rattle what was left of the building.

“I spent years building an army, training and preparing to take it back from you. To reclaim what was always mine. How does it feel knowing you failed?”

A smile edged its way across the standing man’s face.

The defeated man scoffed and wiped some dirt from his brow. Lifting his eyes to meet his aggressor he spoke;

“You always were a petulant child, you know that?”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” A look of insanity in his eyes.

“I didn’t steal anything from you. I lead the people in a revolt against a tyrant. Your “father” killed us, stole from us and controlled us. I freed us. I’m a hero.”

A silence filled the room so heavy it was difficult to breathe.

“The great tribute halls? They’re now libraries. The lavish fountain you played in as a child? Its a public well now. I saved these people. I gave them hope.”

Anger flared in the standing man’s eyes. A tremble causing the blade to gently press against the man’s chin.

“And now you’ve returned as if you were right all along. I spared you hoping, praying you would grow, but now I see some people cannot change.”

It would be the last words he ever spoke.

A Need For Change
By Norman Gray

Unfortunately, this is a true story.

I used to enjoy getting angry. It was the only time I didn’t feel weak, the only time I was able to make other people back down through the sheer implication of violence. . . Having been hurt so many times throughout my life, I was constantly defensive. But I’d never really acted on my anger.

That changed a year ago, when I lost my temper in a way I never had before, and that monster I thought I could just keep on a leash broke free.

Ever do something so horrible, that it made you stop and take inventory of all your life choices leading up to that moment? Made you decide then and there, that you needed to change completely?

I should’ve spent last Valentine’s Day with my girlfriend. . . Instead, that night I got in an altercation with my roommate. I kicked in the driver’s door of his car in a fit of rage, and smashed out his window. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done.

In the months that followed I had a nervous breakdown, I walked away from my job, and I got dumped. My whole life changed seemingly overnight, and I was forced to make some very difficult decisions about what to do going forward. . .

I’ve long felt as though I’d painted myself into a corner. Twenty years of depression had made me bitter and angry at the world, only seeing negativity, living without hope, without any goals or a purpose. Lashing out was the final straw, in which I finally acknowledged that most of who I was, was dead weight. . .

I can’t be that person, anymore. I won’t.

I refuse to believe that a person can’t change. I have to believe that fixing myself is possible, because remaining as I was would be akin to a death sentence. . . I need to find hope and happiness. For my own sake, and for those in my life.

Change is often painful, but sometimes it’s necessary.

It’s never too late to change.

Then vs Now

By Tamela Redfin

“So, where’s Cece tonight?” Reagan asked her sister.

“She’s at prom. Remember your prom?” Tiffani answered.

She facepalmed. “Ugh, don’t remind me. The dress was puke green and Edison was worse behaved than a puppy that’s not housebroken.”

“So he peed on the floor?” Tiffani asked.

“No, he flirted with my friends! That should have been my first hint.”

“Is that why you slept with that…?”

Reagan covered her mouth. “Can you speak a little louder, Tiff? You want my daughters to know what I did? Just… Just leave me alone.”

She entered her room, flopped on the bed, and sobbed. Where was her lover – Jasper’s father, Lukas? Edison was her parent’s choice, but Lukas loved her. But they sided with Edison and then Lukas left.

She still remembered his milky white skin and hair and ruby eyes.

“Mama?” She turned to see Sapphira. “Are you okay?”

“No.” She wiped her eyes. “I can’t explain it to you. It’s best if you go.”

“But mama…”

“Now!” Reagan snapped. But then something hit her. She never hated Zirconia and Sapphira. She hated Edison. He blamed her for his unhappiness. Not pleasing him. And then him having to work.

Could she break the cycle, or did people stay the same? Maybe she was better than Edison?

“Sapph, wait…”

Feeding the Crows
by Shinigama

A mass of feathers descended from the smoky sky. Cawing and crowing broke out as the innumerable crows picked and pecked ravenously at the countless mangled corpses.

One young crow hopped his way over to an older bird with greying feathers, as it poked at the eye socket of a severed, screaming head.

“Grandad, where does this food come from?” asked the young crow.

“Hmm, what d’ya mean, lad?” said the old raven, his voice muffled from a sliver of flesh in his bloody beak, “You heard all that bangin’ and shoutin’, didn’t ya?”

“Yes, but what was that? Did some kind of animal kill all these men?”

“‘Course an animal killed all these men!” cawed the old raven, “Good thing too! There’s good eatin’ on just one of these, let alone hundreds of ’em!”

“What kind of animal?” The young crow shivered, his imagination running wild with images of horrible creatures roaring and slicing through masses of terrified humans.

“Why, the men of course. They killed each other!”

“What?! Why?!”

“Dunno. I’m not complainin’. S’been like this since I was a lad. And before then, as my Grandad used to tell me.”

“Humans killing each other?”

“That’s right. Sometimes with sharp silver sticks, sometimes with long banging-sticks, sometimes with their bare hands. Always tryin’ to find another way to get one up over the other, those humans…”

The old raven sighed and glanced up at the black sky. He turned to the young crow.

“When I was your age lad, I used to ask the same thing,” he said, “Why do they kill each other? What’s the point? But at the end of the day, we’re just crows. There’s nothin’ we can do about it. We’d likely starve to death if we did do somethin’ about it. And they probably wouldn’t like us interferin’ anyway. So, it’s best not to think too hard and just enjoy your meal. ‘Ere, d’ya want this eyeball? I don’t like green ones…”

Forever In Debt to Your Priceless Advice
By Marx

Daisy frowned as she picked up the heart-shaped box. “Will… I know you’re part incubus but you don’t strike me as the… Valentine’s type.”

Will responded with a loud, booming laugh. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s a commercialized holiday invented to trick stupid people into buying stupid things and doing stuff they should have been doing all year anyway. That said, I think you deserve a happy one. I assume you loved Valentine’s Day when you were human?”

Daisy forced a smile as she fiddled with the small candy box. “You’re… not wrong. Me and Jasmine would dump whatever arm candy we had for New Years after a week, max. From there, it was like fishing. We’d make ourselves the bait and see who could reel in the best new fish.”

Will made a face but did his best not to judge. “What did the winner get?”

Daisy shrugged. “Bragging rights. We’d rarely agree on a winner anyway. It was more the fun of the day and ridiculous things we’d ask them to do. I’d infamously insist that we eat at an ice cream shop for dessert. Keep in mind all the ones at home were closed during the winter, so they’d have to take me out of town for it.”

She sighed and offered the box back to him. “You should give this to Rhea. She’d love it.”

Will chuckled and pushed the box back. “Rhea only celebrates the day after Valentine’s. Or as she calls it, Half Off Candy Day. That way she gets more.”

Daisy paused, taking that in. “That woman is a genius…”

“Come on.” Will chuckled, offering Daisy his hand. “Let’s get some ice cream.”

Daisy smiled and accepted it. But then she immediately thought to her previous Master. She’d managed to escape the demon’s clutches, but Jasmine was still enthralled, as it were. Daisy shuddered, remembering the horrors of how he chose to celebrate the romantic holiday.

‘I guess… I win this year…’

She felt bad for even thinking it, but thoughts don’t always behave the way you’d like them to.