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Day 1: It hasn't been long since the outbreak began, it was originally simple. A few bad cases in Africa and Asia but then it seemed to spread into Europe very quickly. Being a new scientist I am to record the examinations and... Morgue reports of the victims who arrive and to discover what this virus might be. Since I was just invited to Europe they instantly quarantined me and are keeping me in this non-contaminated environment. The walls are a sterile white and the only exit I have is the…

Her pale, soft hand gently brushed past my cracked lips as it slightly eased the dry flesh with a streak of warm blood. The sensation of the brief encounter lingered with my longing for it. – Ah, blood. Yes, blood still freshly stains her hand. Yet, her face refuses to show any emotion as I look at it. My eyes are even hopelessly begging. Didn’t she feel even a bit pained when she- haaah, useless thoughts. I only have a little time left. But, haha, I could’ve avoided this. I’ve known. I was not…

One of my best qualities, I believe, is my intelligence. I don’t mean to come across as rude, but the fact is, I am beyond the brain capacity of any other person my age. At the age of eight, my IQ was measured to be 136, which was just shy of genius level. I loved to learn, too. I wanted to know everything.

We all know what Hollywood is; it’s the place of dreams and wonder, of glimmer and shine. At the same time, we know that behind the glittering façade, there’s a rotten waste that must be isolated and cut out like a cancer, so the fantasy can be maintained. Those surgeons who deal with Hollywood’s malignant backstage are known as ”the behind guys.” They’re a secretive bunch, obviously, and my father was one of them.

Min-Jun awoke, gasping for air as he flailed in the shallow water. His vision blurred by the salt water, he flung himself ashore, and lay face first in the sand. He swabbed away the water from his eyes and attempted to open them. His eyelids fluttered until he finally was able to keep them pried. Min-Jun looked around at his surroundings.

I know you're not going to believe me, but I've decided that I don't care at this point. I need to get this out. Whether you believe me or not, this has to get out.

Something occurred to me today: If there is really is something that could be called "the soul", and it was immortal, then that would mean that you could live...forever. Limitless possibilities come from this point, and it really makes me think: did I do the right thing in my life? Were all the things I did worth it, the things that those people hate me for? I remind myself that it was for the betterment of my people, and my family.

The magician strides onto the stage, tall and elegant, wearing a bowler cap and a black blazer to match his pants and suspenders. He smiles, an empty smile. One that has been repeated every day for a different batch of little whiny brats. The magician raised his hands and the children continued yammering away. The twerps didn't even notice him. He hated going after the clowns. But this time, something is different. One child, a little girl wearing a dark dress stares intently at the magician.…

When I woke up in the morning, I knew something was off. Pretty soon I realized that I was missing a tooth. Upper set, one of the front ones. I'm not a particularly vain person, but losing a tooth upset me a lot. My anxiety flared and my mind exploded with reasons why my tooth could've fallen out. Was it because I only brushed my teeth once a day on the weekends? Or was it something with my gums? I went through the day with my upper lip curled over my teeth and my mind filled with every…

It’s not often that I tell this story, and I don’t much like telling it either, but it seems to get a little easier every time I do. The memories that I have of that night don’t even seem real to me. To this day I can’t wrap my head around how such a thing could have happened to me. I never saw it coming. I mean, how could I be in one place, then suddenly be in another? It happened faster than a lighting strike and it happened faster than a finger snap.

I woke up, cold sweat, with something reminiscent of a bad dream clouding my head. Neck cramps, figures. I shift around a lot in my sleep - move about restlessly for a reason I know not.

I first got in contact with Jack, my former landlord, a little over a year ago when I answered his newspaper ad. I was in a rush to move out as I had just broken up with my significant other, whom I shared an apartment with, and Jack was renting out the furnished basement of his house. The location was good and the price was a steal, and I moved in with a few boxes of personal items four days later.

I read a book as a child. I summed it up and added a few details. --------------------------------------------------------------------- "Mr. Weston the doctor will see you now." The nurse hung up the intercom. Even though Sam was really nervous, he started to laugh at the fact that the lady called him Mister. That was his Dad's name. It was October 31, 1973, and 9 year old Sam Weston was in the hospital, about to go into surgery. He had to have his tonsils removed.

The following is an account of events that took place in the late summer of 2001. I can neither confirm nor deny its validity. It was recounted to me by my Brother-in-law, who disappeared in the summer of 2008.

Craigslist was never intended to be used for disturbed and deranged individuals to fill their appetite for madness. A simplistic website that hasn’t evolved much since its incorporation in 1999, the usage of the website extends beyond buying and selling goods, even into a more insidious realm. Before Craigslist was used for these purposes, there have been internet killers. The term “Craigslist Killer” was first dubbed in 2007 and has since popped up on news bulletins periodically since. Usually…

A scream rang out. As I traced the auditory source of evident horror, I was led to my daughters room. I looked around quickly as I caught my breath from the reacting sprint, but nothing seemed out of place other than that tearing of a child under the bed. As I glimpsed at what might have caused any of this I noticed her new doll, limbs contorted, across the room. Going over to the bed to console her, "Honey what's wrong?"

In the United States of America, in the state of Ohio, about forty-five minutes North West of Cincinnati, there is a large, but sparsely populated farming community known as Oregonia. Some of you who have an interest in motorcycles may have heard of it before, as the community is famous for its hills. So famous, it holds the annual “Devils Staircase Hill Climb,” where motorcyclists ride their bikes up a very steep hill hill. It's a lot more fun than it sounds, and it brings in a lot of money…

Mr. Angel sat next to me on the park bench. He is my best friend. I pointed to an old man that sat across from me. “What’s he doing Mr. Angel?” An unlit cigarette sat in the corner of the man’s mouth. His eyes were withered with age as he stared blankly at nothing. Mr. Angel leaned close to me as he whispered into my ear. “He’s looking for a woman he lost a long time ago.” He cooed. His words felt warm against my cheek as I smiled up at him. I liked his secrets; Mr. Angel knew everything.

What actually happens when we die? It’s crazy to think that there is something else, and the biggest reason for that is…can you imagine your own mind being a totally different person? Is it scary to think that your mind, or your soul, could end up transplanted in a new body, with a new name, new life, but it’s still you? Even moreso, continuing in a new life like this, and still being you, but losing all of your memories, your experiences? In that way, I guess it may not be a big deal to some,…

I'm glad you were able to return. Most would have walked away, chuckling to themselves at the notions I shared with you last time. It takes a special kind of obsession to ask questions and return, inquisitive and demanding. Well if you want more answers, this old man is going to need more libation. After all in this world, everything has a price. Including this conversation. I want your full birth name. Last time? That was advertising. You want my story, I want your name. What I intend to do…