There is a fresh, blank page sitting in front of me, and as I stare at it it seems to stare back. ‘It’s always so hard to get started’, I think. ‘I just wish I could get over the hump without climbing the hill. I feel like Sisyphus, every time I think I’ve gotten to the peak I roll back down to the start.’ I put my pen to the pristine white page and pause. Thinking. Agonizing over what sort of approach I will take this time. Will I be too eager? Will I lose interest? Is it going to be long enough, short enough, authentic or intelligent enough? Black ink has begun to pool where the pen’s tip is still pressed…

A few years ago, a random virus that appeared overnight wiped out 3/4th of the population. The world went into ruin for a bit, until society came together after dying down to about 3 million people. They then made so many things that they could only dream of making when the population was at its max. Soon, most of society moved to a high tech city so originally named “The Big City”, It reminded people a lot of a Cyberpunk society. People did still live outside of The Big City, doing important jobs to keep the city afloat, like farming and livestock. One of these jobs was a mortician, where that job was taken by a man, his wife, and…

I Every man fears something, whether they want to admit it or not, and I must admit that I myself am still afraid of windows 10 years after what happened to the Surfadelics. I’ll recount what happened that night in the most detail possible, just to see if anyone could possibly relate or share a similar experience to what me and my friends had gone through. II I was playing in the garage band with my friends, we’ll call them Deakin, the backup-drummer, Toby, the guitarist, Jay, the drummer, and myself, the bassist and pianist. We called ourselves the “Surfadelics”, since we incorporated a lot of surf and funk music into our jams, as well as because we only knew…

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise. But as of a few restless nights ago, my rationality has flipped completely on its head. I cannot explain what changed in the span of those 24 hours. The mirror looks…

For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of flying. I mean… who hasn’t dreamed of flying? It’s the most wonderful thing there is. I still remember, as a youngster, my afternoons spent scanning the sky, trying to make out shapes in the clouds. Who hasn’t? A rabbit, a dragon, a monster or even a car. Watching the clouds has never been so stimulating for our imagination. However, I wanted to be more than just a spectator. I wanted to swim in this ocean of lightness, to split the skies like a bird: free as a bird and with no one to disturb you. What a wonderful feeling! I even remember believing that clouds were actually made of cotton,…

Under gravel and twisting roots there lies an intricate system of life, hundreds of sizes smaller than our species. Like pale, empty veins they stretch out to dig downwards into damp soil. It is dark. Darker than sunless skies. The realm underground is the realm of corpses. They settle between debris like shells pushed under sand by careless ocean waves. Deeper, and deeper. While you walk overhead on solid ground, thinking of the casual facets of life, corpses are clawing overhead themselves, grasping those roots and pulling at them with a vengeful desperation to return to life. We never hear their wailing, but the earth’s surface shakes with their conviction. Ghosts are known to protest against going quietly. If they…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of flying. I mean… who hasn’t dreamed of flying? It’s the most wonderful thing there is. I still remember, as a youngster, my afternoons spent scanning the sky, trying to make out shapes in the clouds. Who hasn’t? A rabbit, a dragon, a monster or even a car. Watching the clouds has never been so stimulating for our imagination. However, I wanted to be more than just a spectator. I wanted to swim in this ocean of lightness, to split the skies like a bird: free as a bird and with no one to disturb you. What a wonderful feeling! I even remember believing that clouds were actually made of cotton,…

I Every man fears something, whether they want to admit it or not, and I must admit that I myself am still afraid of windows 10 years after what happened to the Surfadelics. I’ll recount what happened that night in the most detail possible, just to see if anyone could possibly relate or share a similar experience to what me and my friends had gone through. II I was playing in the garage band with my friends, we’ll call them Deakin, the backup-drummer, Toby, the guitarist, Jay, the drummer, and myself, the bassist and pianist. We called ourselves the “Surfadelics”, since we incorporated a lot of surf and funk music into our jams, as well as because we only knew…

There is a fresh, blank page sitting in front of me, and as I stare at it it seems to stare back. ‘It’s always so hard to get started’, I think. ‘I just wish I could get over the hump without climbing the hill. I feel like Sisyphus, every time I think I’ve gotten to the peak I roll back down to the start.’ I put my pen to the pristine white page and pause. Thinking. Agonizing over what sort of approach I will take this time. Will I be too eager? Will I lose interest? Is it going to be long enough, short enough, authentic or intelligent enough? Black ink has begun to pool where the pen’s tip is still pressed…

Under gravel and twisting roots there lies an intricate system of life, hundreds of sizes smaller than our species. Like pale, empty veins they stretch out to dig downwards into damp soil. It is dark. Darker than sunless skies. The realm underground is the realm of corpses. They settle between debris like shells pushed under sand by careless ocean waves. Deeper, and deeper. While you walk overhead on solid ground, thinking of the casual facets of life, corpses are clawing overhead themselves, grasping those roots and pulling at them with a vengeful desperation to return to life. We never hear their wailing, but the earth’s surface shakes with their conviction. Ghosts are known to protest against going quietly. If they…

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise. But as of a few restless nights ago, my rationality has flipped completely on its head. I cannot explain what changed in the span of those 24 hours. The mirror looks…

A few years ago, a random virus that appeared overnight wiped out 3/4th of the population. The world went into ruin for a bit, until society came together after dying down to about 3 million people. They then made so many things that they could only dream of making when the population was at its max. Soon, most of society moved to a high tech city so originally named “The Big City”, It reminded people a lot of a Cyberpunk society. People did still live outside of The Big City, doing important jobs to keep the city afloat, like farming and livestock. One of these jobs was a mortician, where that job was taken by a man, his wife, and…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of flying. I mean… who hasn’t dreamed of flying? It’s the most wonderful thing there is. I still remember, as a youngster, my afternoons spent scanning the sky, trying to make out shapes in the clouds. Who hasn’t? A rabbit, a dragon, a monster or even a car. Watching the clouds has never been so stimulating for our imagination. However, I wanted to be more than just a spectator. I wanted to swim in this ocean of lightness, to split the skies like a bird: free as a bird and with no one to disturb you. What a wonderful feeling! I even remember believing that clouds were actually made of cotton,…

Under gravel and twisting roots there lies an intricate system of life, hundreds of sizes smaller than our species. Like pale, empty veins they stretch out to dig downwards into damp soil. It is dark. Darker than sunless skies. The realm underground is the realm of corpses. They settle between debris like shells pushed under sand by careless ocean waves. Deeper, and deeper. While you walk overhead on solid ground, thinking of the casual facets of life, corpses are clawing overhead themselves, grasping those roots and pulling at them with a vengeful desperation to return to life. We never hear their wailing, but the earth’s surface shakes with their conviction. Ghosts are known to protest against going quietly. If they…

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise. But as of a few restless nights ago, my rationality has flipped completely on its head. I cannot explain what changed in the span of those 24 hours. The mirror looks…

A few years ago, a random virus that appeared overnight wiped out 3/4th of the population. The world went into ruin for a bit, until society came together after dying down to about 3 million people. They then made so many things that they could only dream of making when the population was at its max. Soon, most of society moved to a high tech city so originally named “The Big City”, It reminded people a lot of a Cyberpunk society. People did still live outside of The Big City, doing important jobs to keep the city afloat, like farming and livestock. One of these jobs was a mortician, where that job was taken by a man, his wife, and…

I Every man fears something, whether they want to admit it or not, and I must admit that I myself am still afraid of windows 10 years after what happened to the Surfadelics. I’ll recount what happened that night in the most detail possible, just to see if anyone could possibly relate or share a similar experience to what me and my friends had gone through. II I was playing in the garage band with my friends, we’ll call them Deakin, the backup-drummer, Toby, the guitarist, Jay, the drummer, and myself, the bassist and pianist. We called ourselves the “Surfadelics”, since we incorporated a lot of surf and funk music into our jams, as well as because we only knew…

There is a fresh, blank page sitting in front of me, and as I stare at it it seems to stare back. ‘It’s always so hard to get started’, I think. ‘I just wish I could get over the hump without climbing the hill. I feel like Sisyphus, every time I think I’ve gotten to the peak I roll back down to the start.’ I put my pen to the pristine white page and pause. Thinking. Agonizing over what sort of approach I will take this time. Will I be too eager? Will I lose interest? Is it going to be long enough, short enough, authentic or intelligent enough? Black ink has begun to pool where the pen’s tip is still pressed…