It was all coming to an end, which was a surprise to absolutely none present. All things, both good and ill, ended eventually, only this was occurring far sooner than any of the ancient writings prophesied. But the deities of the various so-called pagan religions refused to go quietly into that final good night, so they dispatched their chosen ones, entities imbued with long-forgotten magicks which were run-off energies that still lingered from the Big Bang, to meet the challenge of halting the all-consuming maelstrom. Alas and alack, it was to no avail, for one by one, these champions were crushed beneath the heel of inevitable death, until there was but one lone defender.
She was born Hannah of Cahokia, but her messianic name was, Gelysa Tinelan, and she fought bravely but was seriously outmatched, and when it appeared as if she would succumb to time’s tempest, Fate’s harbinger actually rose into the air, not unlike a human phoenix, playing chords of entropy that increased in intensity, calling the souls of the fallen chosen champions back from the dead in the form of a ShadowsReich, and together they engulfed and nullified the chronal apocalypse, at least for the present.
Her task accomplished, Fate gently folded Gelysa within a patch of void borrowed from beyond the edge of the expanding universe, and placed its champion in a state of suspended animation until the next apocalypse rose its destructive head.
I am among the few ragtag wandering survivors of Earth and the question I hate being asked the most is, “How did you lose your planet?” because we lost it in the most embarrassing way possible. My homeworld was stolen from the human race via social media. At this point, I would have to explain to extraterrestrials what TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter were, and regardless of whether the alien I was speaking to had a mouth or not, I would get laughed at.
The beings, known as DAC, or the Doublyxian Aelonide Collective, were infants when they first approached Earth. Widely known as a pest control race, they were assigned the task of ridding the world of its inhabitants with significantly less destruction than a planetary war would bring. Studying all the various cultures, they assumed a form as close as they could manage to human, mastered our etiquette, and took to social media platforms, becoming bioluminescent influencers who created a series of challenges, which got progressively harder to perform and resulted in a staggering number of accidental deaths.
Not everyone was so easily influenced but we who remained were so few in number that our every rebellion attempt ended in failure. Eventually, we were captured and to our surprise were treated quite civilly. The DACs were quick to point out that they had committed no act of aggression upon the planet’s inhabitants and were not responsible for any of the human deaths. As they put it, “Earthlings had foolishly acted in a manner contrary to continued existence.”
“But we are not without compassion,” a spokesman for The Collective said. “You are invited to remain here on this world that was previously your home, living a life of what you would consider being luxury as our pampered pets.” An offer which outraged me to no end, but apparently I was in the minority. Most of the survivors accepted the terms of their servitude while I and the rest were given provisions, placed aboard a spaceship, and launched in the direction of the nearest star.
Now, we travel the spaceways in search of a planet where we can become the next wave of influencers and perhaps win a new home for ourselves in the same way ours was stolen from us.
There comes a time in every life where a persona goes as far as it can go, meaning atrophication and death are not far behind. But Kaidance refused to let that be the end of her story. Just as a snake sheds its skin in the process of growth, she cast off all the things that made her who she was, abandoning an existence that was no longer large enough to accommodate her new and transformative life energy. Her new persona was a tabula rasa, a blank slate on which she would write for herself a better destiny and a new life for this new year.
To those loyal few who take the time to read my daily scribblings, I just wanted to say, Thank you! Warm wishes for you to have a promising and fulfilling New Year!
Luckily my favorite table was open at the bistro I frequented in Alphabet City, the one by the window where the midday sun filtered through shelves of antique colored milk bottles, mason jars, and assorted glassware.
I scanned through the menu feigning interest in all the food options available for some unknown reason though I knew what I was going to order because my order hadn’t changed in over three years. The food here wasn’t really great but it was one of the few places in the city that had a natural ambiance that suited my temperament.
I felt a presence looming over me that smelled of Christmas—actually, the smell was of apples and cinnamon, which always reminded me of Christmas—so I placed my order by rote without looking up from the menu, keeping up the pretense of struggling with the choices of so many delectable options which was silly but perhaps I wanted the staff to recognize how much I liked the place.
“Um, that sounds delicious,” a voice said in a register higher than I was accustomed to in the bistro, a woman’s voice. “But I don’t actually work here.”
I looked up and was nearly blinded by a rosy-cheeked, platinum blonde woman bundled in the whitest fur coat in existence—hopefully not a real fur coat because that would be cruel—topped with a fur hat.
“Is anyone sitting here?” she pointed at the empty chair across the table from me.
I answered, “No…” as I glanced around at all the vacant tables situated throughout the eatery and I was about to bring this to her attention when she daintily and skillfully seated herself.
“Hi, my name is Mary, Mary Christmas,” she beamed a smile and proffered her white-mittened hand to shake. “You have a kind face so you may call me Mary or Your Royal Majesty Queen-Empress of the Known Universe, absolutely your choice but under no circumstances are you to refer to me as Merry as in Merry Christmas. I grew up being teased by that and I’m not having anymore of it.”
I didn’t answer because I was too busy processing what was happening which she took an entirely different way, most likely because I hadn’t completed the handshake ritual.
“Oh, you’re one of those, are you?” she sighed, slipping the mitten off her hand and rummaging through a white handbag produced from a fold in her coat almost if by magic.
“One of those?”
“A non-believer. A person who has to be shown instead of accepting things at face value,” she said as she pulled something out of her purse and handed it to me. “Here, proof.” It was her driver’s license and I’ll be damned if it didn’t list her name as Mary Christmas.
“Look, miss…”
“Mary.”
“Mary, I wasn’t doubting your name, strange as it may be, no offense…”
“None taken.”
“It’s just that, you know…”
“Know what?”
“Come on, you have to admit it’s a bit unusual for an absolute stranger to sit at your table uninvited.”
“Oh, but you did invite me.”
“I did?”
“Well, not you verbally, but your loneliness called out to me. I’m sensitive to things of that nature, people’s loneliness and all that.”
“I appear lonely to you?”
“Most definitely. No offense.”
“None taken, I guess.”
“And well, it’s Christmas time and no one should feel lonely on Christmas.”
“Oh, I get it,” I blushed against my will and was suddenly unable to keep eye contact with her. “Um, I’m flattered, I guess but this really isn’t my sort of thing. I don’t pay for…”
“Wait a minute, you think I’m a…”
“You’re not?”
“Definitely not.”
“I-I am so sorry! It’s just beautiful women don’t make it a habit of approaching me and…”
“Let me stop you right there. I will allow the infraction because you called me beautiful and before you misread anything else into me sitting at your table, if you and I become anything it will simply be friends, not friends with benefits or any of this other modern-day nonsense. I’m far too old-fashioned for that. And yes, even as a friend I still expect you to be gentleman enough to open doors for me as well as pull out my chair when we dine, thank you very much.”
“Um, okay?”
“And quit acting like this is weird,” Mary said. “Tis the season and I have no gift to bring other than to say, I see you. This has grown to be an unintentional world where people are acknowledged more on the internet than in real life, so I intend to change that, right here, right now, starting with you by asking you a simple question.”
“And what question would that be?”
“How are you doing?” Mary asked, looking me in the eye and giving me her full attention and I was about to respond with the automatic faux “Fine,” but there was something in her expression that made me feel that she was interested in hearing my honest response, so I told her.
I told her how I thought I was at the end of my rope. As an older gentleman who was closer to the end of the race than the beginning, I felt absolutely lost. My life was empty. I had felt this way before but then I wore a younger man’s clothes and was far more resilient, able to pick myself up by the bootstraps and rebuild my life but the change was always temporary and things crumbled and I had to begin again. The problem was I didn’t think I had the strength or wherewithal to start over again. I had lost all interest in the things I was once passionate about and all motivation to find something new was gone.
“Sometimes,” Mary reached her hand across the table and held mine. “We just need to focus on things beyond our circumstances to maintain our sense of peace and allow our senses to lead us to our true path.”
“Like you did by sitting at my table?”
Mary smiled and nodded. “Something like that.”
Now, I wasn’t one to believe in Christmas miracles but this bizarre woman, bless her heart, offered to be a knot at the end of my rope, transforming her from a random stranger to a catalyst of joy. And as the conversation continued, we discussed making a greater impact on society by acknowledging strangers and becoming a source of compassion for those in need and in turn challenging them to make the world a better place, filled with upturned smiling faces, happy to make contact with a living being instead of blue-lit zombies scouring their phones for acceptance and approval.
I never gave much credence to the idea of living a life of service as I equated it to religion and I was not a spiritual man by any stretch of the imagination but there was no denying how constantly amazed I was that a spontaneous conversation or a meaningful smile were so rare that they could literally be the highlight of someone’s day. Now, my newfound purpose in life had become making these rare moments of love between complete strangers the norm.
Thank you, Mary Christmas, for starting a revolution.
She sits across from me, Saffron does, and never has a name been more appropriate for she is an uncommonly spicy girl who despite popular public opinion is just a good friend—no friends with benefits or any of the other nonsense for I am far too old-fashioned for that. And yes, I still open doors and pull out seats for women despite the occasional feminist grumble.
But I digress.
Saffron often comes to me to vent and I have learned to take on the role of father confessor without giving advice or going the gallant male route of attempting to solve and/or fix her problems. That was not an easy lesson to learn. Currently, she is seriously involved with a woman but recently began seeing a married man at her dayjob. This man, this convenient bit of temptation, is currently in couples counseling and he is not sure what he wants from his wife or his marriage but he suspects he is starting to develop serious feelings for Saffron. She is afraid she might feel the same way.
I endeavor never to judge my friends, but again, I am old-fashioned when it comes to relationships and leading a person on or leaving them in the dark is simply wrong in my book. I realize that honesty is not always an easy path to travel and the words “I don’t love you anymore” and “I’ve found someone else” can be the hardest words to say, but sometimes they simply need to be said. As much as I enjoy spending time with Saffron, my feelings on the matter are starting to affect my ability to simply sit back and enjoy her company…so I spoke to her about it and voiced my opinions.
And it all just rolls off her back. The problem with this is I know the woman Saffron is dating and she is a kind and good-hearted person and while I cannot speak for her feelings toward me, I consider this woman to be a friend and thus I have a vested interest in her emotional well-being.
As a good friend to Saffron, I believe my only two options are to either mind my business and turn a blind eye, or continue to pester Saffron into doing the right thing. But as a good friend to Saffron’s partner, my two options are slightly different. I can either confront the married man and convince him to let Saffron go and work on saving his marriage, or follow him and learn his habits and when he is alone with no witnesses about, make it look like a tragic accident.
I feel a pressure against my body that gives way to a cracking and tinkling sound. Suddenly, I am awake and my eyes take in every detail in an instant. I am on the wrong side of my bedroom window, surrounded by hundreds of tiny glass shards that catch the morning sunlight. There is a masked man standing on the proper side of the window, arms outstretched in a throwing motion. These images are caught in time and for a moment I am weightless until gravity returns and the noises of the city coming crashing down on my ears. I am falling storeys per second into rush hour traffic, pushed by a man I do not recognize for reasons I cannot fathom.
My final thought before my physical being comes to an abrupt halt is surprising clear: If there is an existence beyond this, I will spend the rest of my afterlife tracking down my murderer. I need answers and he needs to pay for what he has done.
Aida was awakened by the gamey scent of wet dog fur amalgamated with mildew, blood and rancid breath. Instinctively, she reached for her husband’s side of the bed to find it empty and soaked with sweat. She rose to sitting and once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her hands flew to her mouth in order to stifle a scream. There was a figure crouched in the corner of the bedroom, half hidden in the black slashes of shadow. It was moulting from translucent skin and changing in the process into a thing that resembled no man or beast, like the stuff and nonsense creatures of fish wife tales, only it hadn’t occurred at the fall of dusk or when the full moon was at its apex. No, this transformation began at the hour of the wolf, when the stars faded into pitch and the sounds of nature were lulled into unnatural silence.
At first, Aida feared this changeling had devoured her husband but as it turned to look at her she noticed that its eyes belonged to Benjamin, the man she had loved before she knew what the word meant. It was those very same eyes that studied her now, and she thought she detected the creature’s internal struggle, being torn between a deep-rooted love and overpowering hunger as if it was trying to puzzle out how to satiate its appetite without breaking its own heart.
The temperature in the room changed and Rupert’s breath came in frantic little gasps as he smelled the hot, sickly sweet fragrant cloud of burning sulfur that singed the edges of his nostrils. Hackles raised as long bronze fingers spidered on his shoulders and a mouth crowded with sharp teeth kissed his neck.
She hadn’t needed to surf dodgy websites in pursuit of self-gratification because telepathy was Annabelle’s internet porn. One peek into a stranger’s seemingly innocent thoughts allowed her to slip behind the velvet curtain of desire, leading her down a delightful rabbit hole of dirty little sexual secrets and it was all fun and games until she accidentally peeked into her aunt’s mind and found scenario after scenario of herself in various forms of bondage, being subjected to things she wouldn’t have done to her worst enemy.
Mandy smells of rain when she cries. Teardrops fall from sky blue eyes and I splash in their puddles as I rush to comfort her. I have ruined many a pair of shoes this way, but I don’t care. She is not mine, though I wish the opposite were true and I am not the cause of her sorrow but I will be the earth beneath her, the foundation of support that absorbs her precipitation.
MADD FICTIONAL 