My brain can beat out an encyclopedia.

But I can’t beat out you.

It’s not that you’re better than me, really. I can ask any question that comes into my mind and you only know the answers to a fraction of them. Normally I’d consider that a win on my case, but not today. Not staring into your dark eyes, your gaze shaking my very bones as you take me in.

The fact is you know things that I could never comprehend. Things I didn’t even know existed. I feel like all the knowledge I have is so small, meaningless, useless.

I can’t be certain though.

Nothing in this universe can be certain anymore. There’s no reading your mind like you might be able to read mine. You destroyed who I am as a person. Every single tick and habit I have is changing, mutating. Your existence cancels out mine. I don’t know how much longer I’ll survive.

After all, who can expect to know how long one will live during an alien abduction?






“Prepared” is what they said I was. They couldn’t train me any more for this moment than they already had.

I’m calling bull.

Princesses are supposed to be captured by dragons. Not disgusting, smelly, mechanical ogres. Uhg.

“Princess,” one creaks, reaching a hand out toward me.  “This can either be easy or hard, you —”

I kick out a leg, jamming it into their arm and sending them flat onto the ground.

“That was totally unfair and mean of you to kidnap me.” I cross my arms. “Apologize. Or else.”Read More »



“Silver doesn’t kill werewolves, they’re allergic it.” I sigh and lean against the counter. Same spiel, different day.

“Young man, I will have you know that I’ve killed two dozen werewolves with silver.” The tiny little old lady waves her silver-tipped parasol in my face.

I eye the tip, going slightly cross-eyed before shaking my head and re-focusing. “And they got all puffy when they died?”

“Of course they did!” She old crone’s voice reaches a pitch I’m surprised hasn’t cracked the jars lining my shelves. “It’s a part of the process! Not simple allergies. I guarantee you I’ve seen more of their dead bodies than you have, boy.”

“It is a part of the process, yes.” The allergic reaction process. I suppose it does commonly end in their death, but I’ve met a couple of werewolves that are immune. It isn’t true magic, like the transformation process itself.

I gently slide a paper bag across the corner toward her. “Will silver bullets be all you need today?”

Read More »



I think it’s about time that I move bodies.

I need it. The refreshing movements of shaking off a skin, filling perfectly into a new face, a new smile, a new personality.

It’s simple, really. I scrape off the skin and muscle and bone with knives and chemicals and pressure. Then I add it back on using the same tools, building it to the essence of what I’ve always felt under my skin, the shape of my soul. I am full of me, of what I was always meant to be.

Until I realize that the new skin changed nothing. That the face underneath will never fit into the form I had migrated too.

There is no structure to fit me.

And then it’s time to change skins again.




Working together as enemies was actually pretty sweet. Who gives a crap if we argued our heads off, had a few fights, broke each other’s bones?

Well, breaking each other’s bones was actually kinda counterproductive to escape, so.

“What the hell are you doing, pickle-head?” Chrissy tosses a wrench at my head, and I barely dodge in time, reaching out a hand and catching it before it tumbles into the dark abyss. Which would’ve created a racket large enough to draw the entire army of douches that captured us in the first place to our location.

“We’ve spent a month formulating and executing this stupid plan, you’d think you’d know not to be an idiot, idiot.” I mutter, taking our hard-earned wrench and starting work on my side of the metal panel. Being a cyborg comes in handy at times like this—mechanical arms are awesome for things like tough bolts that won’t budge, heroic acts, and vigilante antics that normally involve the girl next to me with her metal legs ruining my day.

Sadly, the advanced machinery is the exact reason I was kidnapped for testing with my arch nemesis.

I chuck the wrench back at her, understanding why she threw it at me in the first place. Maybe if we both got re-captured of killed it’d be good in the long run. One of the most cunning, mysterious villains would be off the street, and I’d just be an unfortunate casualty.Read More »



I can’t remember the last time we talked. Years, at least. Even longer since we’ve seen each other.

It’s funny, but I can’t remember what exactly happened. I don’t know where I went wrong, or what I did to you. Honestly, with all the time that’s past, I’m don’t remember much of anything.

But I remember your feel. I remember how the words you said and wove together and wrapped around me. The good, the bad, the unbearable. Our interactions molded me to who I am today. I’m forever indebted to you. And cursing you.Read More »



It seemed like a good deal at the time.

Now, staring the heart-thief in the face… not so much.

The train’s rattling travels through the soles of my shoes, hiding my shaking as he regards me with black eyes, just barely glaring out from under his obsidian bangs. He’s just a legend outside of this train car, just a rumor.

It hasn’t been long that there’s been a need for someone like him. After all, stealing hearts was the ultimate punishment for criminals, a way to sap their emotions from them, bring their existence to that of a slave to serve the public they once wronged.

When innocent people started getting convicted, that’s when heads started turning. Heaven forbid you said something, though, or you’d be the next one standing trial.

Rebellions rose and fell. But the heart-thief—who had managed to steal the heart-thieving magic or science or whatever it was—was the vigilante who brought hope to the public. He managed to work with local groups to capture the country’s most notorious officials and give them a taste of their own medicine.

He’s a hero, a tale whispered to children at night, a cautionary tale to those with too much power.

But I know better.Read More »



The clock was ticking too slow. Not ticking slow in the time-was-taking-too-long-to-move sort of way, but more in a that-minute-hand-was-moving-way-too-slow. You were sure you weren’t crazy… but time moving too slow was a crazy concept in itself.

So you stood in front of your little hearth clock, listening the how it didn’t match the grandfather clock’s ticking in your hallway, and staring at it as if looking long enough would magically have made it catch up to the other. You thought you’d fixed it yesterday, but no. Time simply insisted to move slower in that room, it seemed.

With a sigh, you reached out and picked up the hearth clock and turned toward the door. You glared at the hot, humid haze outside, and wondered if it was worth braving. It was just a clock after all.

A clock that was driving you out of your tiny little brains.

You took the door handle before you could question yourself any longer, and opened it to a what felt like a solid wall of humidity. Not bothering to take a breath of the thick air, you stepped out onto the sidewalk, locked your house up, and set off.

The sun glared into your eyes, nearly blinding you.

At least, that’s what you blamed when you were pretty sure you saw you see a girl walk by you with a feathered wig and antlers sprouted from her head.

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I pierce into the night sky, breaking though the thick clouds.

Finally. Freedom. I spread my limbs, the icy air freezing my fingertips, ripping the feathers from my wings.

I was a beautifully made creation, but my wings are not meant for flying through the air.

I take a big breath of the crisp air into my lungs, enjoying the feeling. Feeling. I haven’t enjoyed the sensation in so long. And I need this, I need to take a break. The universe can do without me for a little while. The weight of the worlds get heavy after a few centuries.

A city’s light breaks through the snowfall around me, a haze at first, then an explosion. Colors flash and sparkle in the ice and snow, the entire city a daze of a Christmas tree.

For it being the dead of night, the city’s alive. People and cars move constantly through the maze of streets and alleys. I want to take it inside me, feel the movement and the life.

Chase out the emptiness.Read More »



I run my fingers along the chilly glass, the tips leaving streaks on the perfect surface. She doesn’t see or hear me on the inside. That, or she pretends she doesn’t.

The warm light flowing from the other side of the glass burn my fingers a bit, but I don’t pull them away, not yet. It’s funny, not even the warmth of the sun hurts like the glow of a lived in home.

I let my fingers fall away. I don’t know why I don’t leave instead of staring into this home that isn’t mine every night.

Honestly, it’s just the place where I was murdered.Read More »