I Don’t Know How I Got There.

Look, we all make mistakes. Some, more than a few. Some, pretty bad ones in particular.

He was mine.

I was young, foolish, and met him at a cosplay convention. I assumed the short, nub-like horns were practical effects, and assumed he just didn’t want to break character. So, I asked him out, and we went out for drinks.

That’s when things got weird. It was still during the convention, and we both sat in the diner at the end of the street eating soul food and drinking chardonnay. When I asked him what his real name was, he laughed. It was a beautiful sound, like tinkling glass.

“I told you,” he said, “I’m the devil.”

When I laughed in turn, he seemed to pause. Looking pensive, he took out a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen and wrote on it. I can’t read upside down, and after he wrote it he covered it with his right hand. Grabbing his wineglass with his left and taking a sip, he stated matter-of-factly, “If I let you read this, you will see me as I truly am. No glamers, no illusions. But…” he stopped, again thinking.

“Read it at your own peril.”

He flipped the sheet over, and slid it across the table. I picked it up, and began to read.

There were five words written on the paper in Latin. “Ego sum, et videbitis me.”

“I don’t see why this –“ I looked at him, and stopped. He hadn’t really changed in form – he was still a young man, still beautiful, but the horns had shifted, turned into curling ram’s horns, and his eyes glowed red.

“Don’t shout, if you would,” He said calmly, “I prefer to not have to charm an entire room full of people, and I did just do you the service of putting your questions to rest.”

I was speechless, as one would be, given the circumstances. He put a finger to my lips, “I’ve had a fun time tonight, darling. Call me.” At this, he waved his hand over the paper, winked, and got up and strolled out, leaving a hundred-dollar bill on the table. I looked down on the paper. “Luci Morningstar – (666)-DAMNED1”.

Since then, I haven’t been able to rid myself of the cheeky bastard. He showed up at my house a couple weeks later – I came home from work and he was sitting on my sofa, drinking my beer, watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians on MY television!

Before I could even speak, he spoke, “You know, when I traded getting O.J. off for Robert’s soul, I didn’t think his family would make it this far. Maybe I should let him know the next time I visit his cage – I’m not sure he’d be glad or ashamed.”

“What are you doing here? How did you get into my house?”

He scoffed. “I am the devil, you know. Picking one lock isn’t exactly what one would imagine beyond me.”

I put my keys on the rack by the door. He began to speak again, “I’m still a little unhappy you never called me back. I thought we had a spark.”

I walked over and stood in front of the T.V. “Get out.”

He sighed, “I would, doll, but I seem to have made a few enemies. So, I decided to stop in, say hello. Maybe we can go on a second date? While I hide out from a few… less savory individuals.”

It was my turn to scoff. “Less savory than the devil?”

His expression turned from a smile to a stony stare. “Holy shit, you’re serious.”

He nodded. “You ever heard of the Archangels?”

I was raised catholic. Broke ties with my family over the whole ‘gay’ thing. “A little.”

“Well, don’t listen to everything you read. Michael is a brute who’s out for my blood, and Raphael’s the one nice enough to dress it up as procedure.” He sipped the beer again.

I took the beer away from him. “Hey!”

I downed the rest of his beer. “So,” I said, trying like hell to be resolute, “What do we do?”

Luci looked up at me. “Dinner?”

I went into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of vodka from the freezer. “How about shots instead?”

�ՙc[�

“This is ridiculous. You date the devil *one* time and next thing you know he thinks you’re his girlfriend!”

For all those who complain about explicit “smutty” books or smut in fic in general:

Just be aware that a bill has been introduced in Oklahoma’s state senate (SB 593) that would make writing/publishing/owning an explicit romance book a felony.

So, when you come on here to espouse your “anti pro-ship” nonsense, or moan about how hard it is to find fics/art/books that aren’t “smutty” — know that this is the effect. You are being used as mouthpieces to help feed and perpetuate censorship. There is no room for censorship in fiction because it will never stop at what you deem morally “right”. It is about control and the restriction of speech. Your discomfort with sex in media does not make it wrong, and it certainly doesn’t mean you get to advocate for its restriction.

Do not be pawns in the far-right’s game. Do not call yourselves allys of any kind if you are willingly feeding into a pillar of far right extremism. It will not stop where you think it “should.”

If your plot feels flat, STUDY it! Your story might be lacking...

Stakes - What would happen if the protagonist failed? Would it really be such a bad thing if it happened?

Thematic relevance - Do the events of the story speak to a greater emotional or moral message? Is the conflict resolved in a way that befits the theme?

Urgency - How much time does the protagonist have to complete their goal? Are there multiple factors complicating the situation?

Drive - What motivates the protagonist? Are they an active player in the story, or are they repeatedly getting pushed around by external forces? Could you swap them out for a different character with no impact on the plot? On the flip side, do the other characters have sensible motivations of their own?

Yield - Is there foreshadowing? Do the protagonist's choices have unforeseen consequences down the road? Do they use knowledge or clues from the beginning, to help them in the end? Do they learn things about the other characters that weren't immediately obvious?

It’s the year 2166, and people haven’t changed much. They still eat, they still sleep, there’s not been a robot apocalypse yet, and they dream. But above all this, they still desire the best for their children. That’s why, for the past century, humans have been genetically engineered. Heavily. Rather than trust the hand of fate to decide what your child looks like, what their features and their faults are, they’d rather entrust it to a Genotypist, an expert at gene therapy and study.

It’s common practice for those with them to have their ovaries removed entirely, frozen in stasis until a suitable time. Undesirable pregnancies have reached such a low that it dips below the margin of error for most studies.

But my parents, and their parents, and my grandparents (basically since the invention and legalization of the Genotypist’s trade) have forgone all that. In a world where most are conceived in a test tube, they decided to go the ‘natural’ way, and me and my little sister were born. I love my parents, but sometimes (especially when I put on my glasses, reliant as I am on them) I wish they had maybe at least consulted a Genotypist.

I remember elementary school. The other kids weren’t so bad; they were a little in awe of me, to be honest, as children tend to be of anything different. Their parents, however, were a different story. They were scared of me, I think – which is odd to say, having been five years old or so at the time. Maybe they were afraid of what I represented – the scary old days in which children died at young ages from illness, that children were born with diseases. The chance of me eventually being killed by one genetic factor or another made me a liability. They told their children to avoid me, to not interact – and I grew up with no one. Well, next to no one.

My sister was born when I was four, and I made it my sworn duty to be her friend, because I knew that it would seem the world was against her. And, maybe it was. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, I could spare her my heartache.

But still, I had a life of my own. The only other ‘organic’ my age was another boy, whose parents couldn’t afford the procedure – a rare thing in this day and age of ‘prosperity’, where people would go on the bare minimum for months just to pay for the procedure. He was the only one unafraid of me – a fact I continue to appreciate.

Middle school was where things got worse – the kids were old enough to understand why their parents hated me, and that I was different – and different was bad. I suppose that I took that to heart – I couldn’t deal with quite that level of hate, so I rejected them all in turn. My only connection to life was twofold – my sister and my only friend. Even my parents weren’t spared my rage.

I was kind of an edgy little shit. I got into fights. I vandalized a few things. I got a record. I have to give credit to my parents for putting up with me through that stage of my life.

Anyway, though, I got expelled. Something about picking five fights in a single semester made the principal unwilling to keep me around. Bizarre, really. But I wound up getting shipped out to another school, a few miles away from everyone I knew, and that’s kind of shit.

I was on the bus, sitting in the back with headphones on, when he sat next to me. I was surprised anyone would – not least of all because I tend to dress like leather and black cloth had an orgy. He was about my age – which was fitting, I suppose. Not like there was much variance of age here, save the fifty-something bus driver. Pulling down the headphones, he waved awkwardly. “Hi, I’m Nicholas.”

Thinking it through in my head, I internally figure I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I offer my hand. “James.”

He shook my hand. “Charmed,” he smiled. He was kind of adorable, in a slightly dorky way. Brown hair, kind of scrawny. Dressed in a button-down shirt and dress pants. And what kind of kid wears leather dress-shoes to school?

“So, James, what brings you to our school? I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“Life,” I sighed dramatically. Gods I hate myself in hindsight.

Nicholas laughed. “I think we’ll get along just fine, James.”

“So, tell me about yourself,” I began. I was ready for a story, and the bus drive was taking what seemed like eternity. It’s not like I could just go back to my headphones and ignore him after he’d been kind enough to introduce himself.

“Well, I’m sixteen, I’ve got two older sisters and a younger brother, and I’m an Aquarius – that what you want to hear?”

“Just maybe. So, tell me – why is it you sat next to me, rather than by the other students you seem to know so well?”

“Well, I’m not exactly popular,” he said, looking around at the others on the bus. “I haven’t got any friends, really. My only friend was a kid named Will, but he transferred out last year. And,” he began to whisper conspiratorially, “They say you… that you’re…”

“That I’m what,” I ask, leaning back a little, hoping to avoid whatever little bombshell he felt inclined to drop.

“That you’re… organic?”

I sigh. How in the hell can I never escape that? I hadn’t even met anyone from the school and they already knew my birth status. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

“That’s… wow. So… like… you were…?”

I could see the question forming in his mind. “Yes, I was conceived the ‘old-fashioned’ way. Same as everyone was two centuries ago.”

“That’s weird.”

I scoffed a little under my breath. “So, you afraid of me now?”

“Not really.”

I looked at him, a little surprised. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, putting his hands up defensively, “I’m a little weirded out by your birth status, but I’m not, like, going to hold it against you. It’s not your fault.”

I rolled my eyes. Another one of these. People who thought I was some kind of sub-human creature, worthy of pity for my status. Like an ape in a zoo. People would be kind enough, I supposed, if I let them sit there and talk at me and feed me bananas, but once I open my mouth, the illusion is scattered. I’m different. I’m a threat.

“What’s not my fault? That my parents fucked and nine months later I popped out? Where do you think, your entire family came from, a few generations back? Maybe most don’t do it that way anymore, but I’m not going to put up with your goddamned, patronizing bullshit. I’m just as human as you.”

He went silent then, a little numb, and then he began. “I’m… sorry…”

He looked like someone had deflated him a little bit. I suppose I had been harsh on him. But I’d dealt with this all my life – it’s not like he asked to be born the way he was, either. “I’m sorry too.”

“So… let’s start over a little. What’s your life like?”

“Got a sister. Anya. Brilliant girl. And, I’m a Cancer. That what you looking for?”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

In about fifteen minutes, we arrived at the school and disembarked. The school was a fancy, shiny new building. My parents had paid through the nose to get me here, I guess. I looked at my schedule. “Do you have Mr. Shall too?”

I looked at my homeroom class. Sure enough, Shall. “Yeah”

“I can show you to his room. He’s the biology teacher. They say his grandfather helped found the science of Genotyping.”

“And he teaches at a high school?”

“Well, his entire family can’t be rich and famous.”

I went to the class, following behind Nicholas, finally sitting at a paired table next to him. Mr. Shall was a burly man in his early forties, dressed in a dress-shirt and tie. He began class with a simple set of words. “I understand that there’s someone new here,” he said, standing up. “I’d like to give him a chance to introduce himself. James, if you would?”

I walked up to the front of the class. “Hi, the name’s James. Nice to meet you.”

I shuffled back to my seat, and we began. He handed out sheets of paper, on which was written a simple timeline going back a couple hundred years. “As you know, Genotyping began in the mid-twenty first century. Zhou Wang Wei wrote the first book on the subject in 2041, a treatise that was translated for western audiences two years later. His western counterpart was John Van Compf, who developed some of the medical equipment used in the field. The basics were simple – but the execution took years of hard work.”

He continued like this for what seemed like hours, but was probably no longer than a few minutes. “And now, there’s next to no children born organically anymore. Why is that, do you think? Who would turn down the medical procedure that can give them ‘ideal’ children? That can make perfect humans, medically speaking. Why risk it?”

A girl near the front raised her hand. “Maybe they’re afraid of it? Of society progressing?”

Shall shook his head a little. “No, Amy. Progress isn’t some measurable thing – what’s a way forward for some is often the way backwards for others. James,” he said, gesturing to me, “Why do you think people don’t hire a Genotypist?”

I looked up at him, and he winked at me. God damn it, the man knew. I stood up. “Maybe they think it’s not right to alter people with machines. After all, didn’t Darwin himself write that diversity is in the best interest for people? Isn’t Genotyping just a way to reduce that diversity? Sure, we might still have variance in eye color, hair color, skin color, but we’re still getting rid of genetic diversity in other ways. Maybe it’s going to come back and bite us.”

Shall nodded. “As good a reason as any.”

A boy across the room shot up. “But, if that happens, won’t the Genotypists figure out a way to save us? If a gene we removed is the secret to saving us, then why don’t we just add it in on the next generation? It’s better off we make the procedure mandatory; that way organics don’t wind up infecting us all with some kind of disease.”

Shall shook his head again. “Sit down, Michael. That’s hardly the – “

Nicholas looked at me, and began to whisper, “James, you’re crying.”

I felt my face with one hand. Indeed, I was. I was also gripping my pencil with such an extraordinary grip that I was surprised it didn’t break. Then, of course, it did. The snap drew attention from the surrounding students, and I used that to my advantage. Rising to my feet again, I spoke. “That’s bullshit. Do you really think that’s progress? Forcing people you don’t like to be like you isn’t ‘progress’, it isn’t ‘safety’. You’re just afraid.” I began to whisper then, “God damn it, I just want to live. Is that so hard?”

I sat down, and was silent the rest of the class.

In the future where Babies mass produced in genetic labs are normal , you are the only “ organic ” in your high school class. It’s the first day of school and the teacher asks you to introduce yourself.

by Anastasia Fedorova

Prompt: Heather, Teeth, Argyle and Wand

@big-bad-grimbark

The heathers bloomed that year in record numbers, and while the townsfolk of Aniseborough were pleased enough, they could not help but notice the odd occurrences around the town as the season wore on. As spring began to fade into summer, the happenings around became queerer and queerer.

First the dogs and cats ran away, and few were found. Always they seemed on edge, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. Secondly, there was a number of odd occurrences regarding the newly-in-place electricity; strange and fickle enough, this was mostly ignored, save for the blowing-outs of random lightbulbs. This (rather expensive) fault was blamed on wiring. Thirdly, a stranger moved into the house on Ashe street, and his solitary nature as well as his bookish behavior were cause of much consternation among his neighbors. The nerve, taking to paper more than people.

But the only one who seemed to link the strange happenings together was Jimmy. Little Jimmy, called Jimmy Tartan-socks by the locals (for that was what he always seemed to be wearing, leggings of tartan). Jimmy was a boy of eleven when this summer came around, and he was a regular terror; throwing stones through windows, shaving a neighbor’s cat (though how the cat came to sit still that long, no one knows), even seducing the neighbors’ children to his wicked ways.

A mischievous street-gang was all they were, him and the neighbors’ children and his three brothers. The neighbors’ children were two girls and a boy; the girls were twins of blonde hair and pale features, named Ashley and April (10), for the parents loved the alliterative names (though the girls would switch them up on occasion for a laugh). The boy, named Johnathon (11), whose dirty blonde hair was often made darker by dirt itself, was called Nat by the gang, and was often bullied by his older sisters, but that didn’t stop him from being Jimmy’s closest friend and confidant.

Of Jimmy’s siblings, there are three, but only two who take to the calling of his gang. His two little siblings, Jeffrey (9) and Josiah (7), who look much the same as miniature versions of Jimmy – red hair and freckles to spare. Of the final sibling of Jimmy there was Eve, whose red hair betrayed her relation to her siblings, born twelve months before Jimmy nearly to the day. They treat each other with such mutual enmity that were it not for the blood relation, she and he may have been close friends.

Jimmy and his gang were a terror to behold for the community at large; and some of the neighbors even began to think he responsible for the strange happenings around town. And as the sole suspect, Jimmy knew he was innocent. Mostly.

One day, he gathered his gang around the stump in his back yard to discuss what was going on. “Alright, chaps,” he’d say, in strict imitation of his father, “we’ve got strange goings on, and we need to get to bottom of it, or we’ll be blamed!”

In response, Ashley stated in a rather bored tone, “Me dad says it’s the foreigner who moved in on Ashe. He says he’s up late into the night doing mischief of all sorts across town.”

At this, Jeffrey scoffed. “Your dad’s a goop. He’ll say that about anyone who moves into town.”

At this, Ashley, April and Nat all start shouting at the others, and an argument quickly erupted. For a few minutes, Jimmy, the level-headed one of the group, waits for it to simmer down, and when it doesn’t, he cups his hands around his mouth, and shouts at the top of his lungs, “Quiet!”

And at his word, like loyal troops, his gang fell silent. Truly he was the unspoken master here.

“I didn’t say we knew what’s going on, I said we need to find out what is. So, we need to plan ahead. When are, these things happening?”

“The lights break at night, when they’re on,” said Josiah.

“The dogs and cats run away at night too,” said Nat.

“Then,” said Jimmy, triumphantly slamming his fist onto his palm, “We have to start watching at night. Within a week we can figure this all out.”

The entire gang began to erupt in protest, an unfortunate side effect of such absolute statements.

“We’ve got a curfew of eight o’clock,” said April.

“We’ve got a curfew of eight thirty,” said Josiah.

“Quiet!” shouted Jimmy, one more time, to get the point across. “We can break out our windows at night when our parents go to bed. Come now, when do your parents go to bed?”

“Nine,” said the neighbor’s children.

“Eight forty-five,” said Jeffrey and Josiah.

“Then all we have to do is clamber out our windows and be back by dawn. Easy as can be.”

At that, Jimmy noticed that the gang wasn’t really watching him anymore, but seemed more fixed on the space behind him a few feet. Turning around quickly, and flushing bright red, he saw that his sister was not five feet away from the group, arms crossed matter-of-factly.

“And just what are you brigands up to?” she said, in a sing-song voice.

“Nothing,” muttered Jimmy in response, his red face growing in color to an effervescent shade of crimson.

“Really?” said Eve, mimicking disinterest. “Because it sounded to me like you were planning some great heist of some sort. It would be a shame if word got around to… maybe mum and dad…”

Jimmy was flustered, and spattered out, “You… wouldn’t… dare?!”

“No,” said Eve, “But I want in.”

Jimmy was flabbergasted by this turn of events. “You said you wouldn’t join a year ago!”

“A lot can change in a year,” snapped Eve. “A lot has happened in a year, in fact.”

“So,” she said, stepping forward into the position around the stump that Johnny had vacated, practically pushing him out of the way as she did so, “What’s the plan for escape?”

_

The next night, they had all well prepared for their journey. Packing up a change of clothes apiece, going to bed in their day clothes, and ready for whatever grand war they had stumbled into, they snuck out of their parents’ houses. They met up a good deal away from their homes, to avoid suspicion, and began to search. Eve led Ashley and Nat, to scout the south side of town for any unusual activity, while Jimmy led April, Jeffrey and Josiah, to the north. Jimmy was fuming at the loss of his second in command, while April tried her best to cheer him up. “I’m sure we’ll find the rat first,” she said, her youthful naivete astounding even to those youths with marginally less. “Don’t you worry, Jim.”

“I told you never to call me that,” said Jimmy, sourly. He would never forgive Eve; of that he was sure.

“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss,” said April.

Jeffrey and Josiah hung back a few feet, to avoid the general range of Jimmy’s bad mood, lest he cuff them again, as he had on a few occasions prior. But they knew he wouldn’t hit April; he’d never hit a girl, at least according to himself. As to Jeffrey and Josiah, they would oft exchange knowing glances whenever Jeffrey went off on one of his tirades against his sister. The two were a lot alike, even if neither of them would admit it in any number of lifetimes.

Meanwhile, Eve was turning up dirt, which is to say, finding absolutely nothing of value while being absolutely sure her brother was doing better at this; something that did not improve her already foul enough mood. She yawned, and at the yawn Ashley drew a bottle full of dark liquid from her satchel. “Coffee?”

Eve started, and stared at Ashley. “You’re ten.”

Ashley shrugged, uncorking the bottle and downing a bit, grimacing. “Me dad drinks this stuff all the time. Says it keeps him awake for his job.” (her father worked on an assembly line in a nearby town, building cars)

Nat was busy trying to figure out a way to impress Eve, when Eve called him over and handed him a pair of cheap opera lenses, which she had had the foresight to steal -no, borrow- from her mother. “Quit being a goldbrick and watch the rooftops. Maybe it’s some kind of strange animal.”

Ashley bobbed along behind Eve, and said in as stern a tone as she could, “What would you like me to do, cap’n?”

Eve smiled at the younger girl, and said, “I suppose you and I can make conversation while we search. I should rather enjoy the company.”

Ashley blushed at the compliment.

_

A few hours later, they had found next to nothing, and it was nearing midnight, and Jimmy was about to give up hope when he saw Him walking along the streets. Gesturing in silence for his compatriots to hide with him in the alley between two abandoned buildings, he watched the stranger. The stranger moved in almost complete silence, using a walking stick to help himself along. He would have been unremarkable, were it not for the strange time in a quiet town, or for the fact that, as he passed a street lamp, he lifted his cane up, and they watched as a tiny bolt of lightning went from the bulb to the cane, the bulb went out. It was if he was sucking electricity out through his cane.

Jimmy gestured for his allies to follow him, keeping fifty or so feet behind the stranger, as they made their way through town. At every third or fourth bulb, the stranger would perform the strange ritual again, lifting the cane and draining the electricity. It was almost unnerving to be so near the stranger in the dark. He barely noticed April gripping his arm. “We should go back,” she whispered with urgency, “He could be dangerous.”

“Nonsense,” said Jimmy, “He’s probably just some mad old rambler who’s wandering around with some odd magnetic contraption, messing with the lights. No danger to him, he’s making mischief, just like we used to do.”

They followed for near an hour, until they found themselves in the south side of town again, and soon they saw their fellow conspirators anew, who had noticed the same stranger. Eve crouched alongside Jimmy, “Do you think he’s spotted us?”

“I don’t think he has; otherwise he would’ve stopped by now, right?”

They watched as the man put out one last bulb, and made his way down Ashe street, to the old house on the end of the dead end. “Isn’t that that house that belongs to the foreigner?” said Ashley

Eve scoffed, “The man’s no foreigner, he’s just from Europe.”

“That’s foreign to us, though!” said April.

“Nah, foreign is like someone from the east or something. At least, that’s how dad tells it,” said Nat.

“It’s just as well,” said Jimmy, “Since no one has seen him since he moved here anyway. He could be anyone from anywhere for all we know.”

They followed the man to the house, and watched him go into a cellar door.

“Should we follow?” spoke Nat, in worried tone.

“Yeah!” enthused Jimmy, “After all, it’s what we did this for anyway. We need to get that cane as proof, or no one will believe us.”

“No!” said Eve, paling at the idea, “Jimmy, this isn’t a good idea. What if you get caught? What if you get hurt?”

“Ah, that’s not gonna happen,” Jimmy scoffed. He got up and began to run towards the house at a half-crouch. Nat shrugged and followed, never one to be left behind. April and Ashley began to follow, but Eve stopped them. “You two go home, and make sure that Jeffrey and Josiah get home safe as well.”

“But Eve,” whined Ashley.

“No buts,” said Eve, in a tone that made it starkly clear whose sibling she was. “This could be dangerous. I may not have been able to stop Jimmy or Nat, but you four,” at this she gestured at the group before her, “are all my responsibility. Go back to your house and make sure the way is clear for the rest of us to come home, would you?”

Ashley bit her tongue, and grabbed April by the arm. Silently, the four made their way back. Eve began to go after Jimmy and Nat.

_

Jimmy and Nat made it to the cellar door, to find it unlocked, but partially stuck. It took them a moment to jimmy it so that it would open for them, and within that moment, Eve arrived. “Just what are you two thinking,” she hissed.

Jimmy looked up at her, a fire in his eyes. “No one said that you had to come.”

At this latest angst Eve rolled her eyes. “Of course I had to come you arrogant, little – “

Nat slapped his palm against his forehead and spoke. “What she means to say, Jimmy, is that she cares about you, no matter how much you two fools argue, you’re blood. And that means something.”

Nat began into the cellar, and then turned back. “Are you two numbskulls coming or not?”

Looking at each other, and in silence agreeing, Jimmy and Eve made their ways down the stairs.

_

The cellar was a strange thing; built into a natural sandstone quarry and partially filled with dirt. Strange and exotic plants were growing on tables here, and there seemed to be some kind of natural steam filing up from the dirt beneath them. The place smelled strongly of manure.

Covering their noses, the three made their way through the room and across to the stairway up from the cellar. In the next room, they found a strange assortment of goods. Metal casings, as if for ventilation, a welding torch, screws and screwdrivers, contraptions made of wood and metal, and then they saw it, across the way – on the table was the cane, made of some strange, silvery material.

Moving for it, the three barely paused until they heard the voice.

“Stop right there.”

It sounded tinny, like someone speaking through a fan or like someone a far way off. The three turned, and saw the figure standing across the room on the other side, with its arms crossed in front of it.

“I had figured I would be found out,” said the voice, which seemed to emanate from the chest of the stranger, “but I did not think I would be found out by a gang of children. My congratulations on that, I would suppose.”

The three looked at each other, worried by this.

“Do not be afraid. I mean you – and everyone in this town – no harm.”

He made his way to block the cellar exit, keeping his hands upturned.

“This would be easier to show than to explain,” he began, as he lowered his hood and began unwrapping the cheesecloth veil that covered its head.

As he lowered it, there was a shine of coppery metal and of glass. There were some knobs, some dials, and some other strange parts as he stripped, revealing his full, androgynous, metallic form.

“I was created nearly two decades ago, when a group of scientists tried to create an artificial intelligence, a brain from machine. No one could know of their experiments, and none could know just how successful they would be in creating me.”

At this, he gestured to himself. “But fear got the better of the men, and they sought to destroy me, to destroy progress. So, I took matters into my own hands.”

His head lowered, and his voice crackled as he spoke again. “But I will not harm children. I will ask you honestly, with the hopes you listen, not to reveal what you have seen tonight. You may return whenever you may wish, but if any others know about this, save you, I am in grave danger.”

He looked up, his face a bronze façade with green, glowing eyes. “Please, spare me so I may continue. To exist.”

Eve was the first to speak. “Why the lights?”

“I need electricity to survive. It is my lifeblood, and I cannot produce enough here alone by burning methane cells I create in the basement. So, I improvise. That cane is of aluminum, and can be used, in conjunction with my own abilities, to drain electricity. Unfortunately, your lightbulbs can only take so much. One day I may improve on the design, but I must live until then.”

“The animals?” intoned Jimmy.

“They fear me, for some reason. Perhaps I am anathema to their nature. I know it little better than you do.”

“So what do we do now?” whispered Nat into Jimmy and Eve’s ears.

“You leave. For now, and until it is safe to return,” spoke the stranger. “I ask that you keep this secret for me, and through that I will continue to survive.”

At this, the three took their leave of the place and returned to their houses, where they explained the evening to their siblings, and spoke of it no more.

_

To this day, rumors of metal men wandering the streets of Aniseborough are fairly common; and who knows, perhaps he wandered off. Perhaps if you see a stranger walking your streets at night, dressed in a hood and coat, keeping close to electrical poles and towers, perhaps you will be able to see the tiny bolts of lightning as he drains power from the world to save himself.

Perhaps the metal man of Aniseborough still walks to this day.

A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.

If your plot feels flat, STUDY it! Your story might be lacking...

Stakes - What would happen if the protagonist failed? Would it really be such a bad thing if it happened?

Thematic relevance - Do the events of the story speak to a greater emotional or moral message? Is the conflict resolved in a way that befits the theme?

Urgency - How much time does the protagonist have to complete their goal? Are there multiple factors complicating the situation?

Drive - What motivates the protagonist? Are they an active player in the story, or are they repeatedly getting pushed around by external forces? Could you swap them out for a different character with no impact on the plot? On the flip side, do the other characters have sensible motivations of their own?

Yield - Is there foreshadowing? Do the protagonist's choices have unforeseen consequences down the road? Do they use knowledge or clues from the beginning, to help them in the end? Do they learn things about the other characters that weren't immediately obvious?