Pedal to the medal.

Cherie had one, two, or maybe even a few too many drinks. It sloshed in her stomach, mixing with the pills she had consumed hungrily like food. But her intention was clear.

She needed to escape.

The first day she became known as a famous actress, it was all glitz and glam, flashing cameras that flattered her more than any person ever could. Cherie liked the attention, the fame. She liked having her name out there. And she liked leaving her life as Charlotte in the past. But the fame turned poisonous, and the people she had trusted began to backstab her. Her history of being an erotic dancer before rising to a celebrity, rags to riches, came back up to the surface to haunt her again. Cherie had a daughter named Coco, but she could barely look at her before being reminded of the man who she had danced with for too long that one night. If she hadn't picked that client, she wouldn't be an actress. But she would also be able to breathe without worrying about the pressure on her chest that kept getting heavier and heavier. He put a ring on her finger, called her his woman while he tangoed with other girls. But she couldn't leave him, for he was the reason she had risen above the other Hollywood stars. As Cherie's manager and husband, Wilson Veneer stuffed her with pills to shut her up. He was tired of hearing her nag about the girls he snuck around with at night. He was tired of worrying about if she would say something to the press.
The rumors began to circulate Cherie and Wilson's relationship, saying things like how she slept with his father, or that she's been a drug addict that never recovered.

The drugs and the alcohol clouded Cherie's vision, but not her mind. Her red bottom heels slammed on the gas, and down her car went, tumbling down the rocks before splashing into the deep, murky waters.

She loved acting. She loved fame. She loved how caring Wilson was before this all happened. She loved her daughter.

And then it all went black.

"So, why'd you do it, Charlotte?"

"I didn't want to kill Charlotte. I just wanted to kill Cherie."

The sky is fake. Life is fake. What is reality?

It was the day the sky flickered, as if between night and day. It seemed almost as if pixels made it up above the people, and they soon began to dissolve into thin air. Utterly puzzled about such an unanswered phenomenon, the people raced in their electric vehicles throughout their neon cities and chased where the sky was still in one piece. A few crashed, exploding into puffs of blazing colors, hues of hot pink and blue before fading away into the atmosphere.

It was the day where distress clouded the minds of the people. They had no knowledge of where to go and were blindly driving and dodging the cars that burst into hauntingly beautiful colors like those of the deaths of stars. When the pieces and shards of the pixelated sky, where the moon was always full every single night and the sun always remained in one place, fell away, a void of absolute darkness was revealed, gaping and staring down at the doomed citizens.

It was the day that the people began to vanish, fading away and becoming clouds of pixels. Parents watched their children dwindle away one by one until it was their turn. Newly married wives watched their husbands cease to exist.

It was the day the sky fell away.

It was the day the game of SkyHigh City was deleted.

Lily and Charles Wright had just moved into their new home-sweet-home, which sat amongst others in the Houston suburbs. The neighbors were welcoming but kept to themselves most of the time, and there was a lovely playground for the children to skip in the mulch and touch the sky on the swings. Belly swollen with their first child, a daughter to be named Emilia, the new couple decided to move from the cities to a quieter neighborhood for a better opportunity at the public schools. They had already set up her room by the time Lily was nearly bursting; the wallpaper was light pink, as well as the rest of the pastel bedroom. A stuffed bunny, pale ivory with black button eyes and a little pink nose, laid on its back as if to doze off in the neatly made crib.
Soon enough, Lily went into labor. Emilia was welcomed into the world with two loving parents, and she took adorable genes from both of them. Her skin was fair and soft, and she was as pudgy as a baby should be. Emilia was a good daughter, though she didn't accomplish much other than breathing and suckling for her mother's warm milk.
But before she began to crawl, both Lily and Charles started to suspect that something was a bit off about their precious daughter. For example, she was awfully strong for an infant, as she managed to throw her stuffed bunny across the entire room during one of her regular crying fits. It hit the ground with a "THUD," and both of her parents' eyes danced between the toy and Emilia in utter astonishment. However, they simply shrugged it off, for it was their first child, and perhaps, such odd behavior was perfectly normal. But one day, Emilia began to shriek like no other, almost as if something bizarre had come over her. Lily rushed to her daughter's side and found her skin to be as red as a traffic light and as thick and tough as a rhinoceros' hide. She didn't hesitate to take the poor girl to the hospital for desperate help for such a severe rash. Lily retraced what she had done the previous night differently than all the others and concluded it to be something in the laundry detergent that was used to wash Emilia's blanket and clothes with. The doctor sent them home with an ointment to be applied twice a day--once in the morning and once at night. Lily applied the cream religiously, and the rash soon calmed down.
But Emilia had something else in store for her parents. Two nights after her rash had gone away, Charles went into his sweet daughter's bedroom to read her a bedtime story. But strangely, the stuffed bunny had been torn apart. It was decapitated, with the cotton stuffing pouring from the detached head and body and around Emilia like a pool of seafoam.
How could such a small baby have the strength to rip apart her toy? As Charles began to coo to his daughter and clean up the mess she had made, Emilia suddenly began wail, and as her wailed, her piercing voice shattered her bedroom window. Lily rushed in, her damp body hurriedly wrapped in a towel and her hair dripping wet, and saw the shards of glass on the carpeted floor.
Still, they put their daughter to sleep with a bedtime story about a princess who had transformed into a frog. The morning after, Emilia began to howl, but this time, without a window to destroy. Lily came in to coddle her daughter, still drunk on sleep and fatigue that all mothers should know, and only found.... Emilia's veins were black as if pure venom ran through them.
They raised in her skin, and Lily could swear that she could see them pump the black liquid through Emilia's tiny body. Her eyes were bloodshot, glaring and glowing in the dark room. Charles followed Lily and soon became haunted by his daughter's unnatural condition.
This wasn't just a regular medical condition. This was something else--something more severe. The Wright couple called in the neighborhood priest and ordered him to perform an exorcism, as they were sure--no, they were _definite-- _that Emilia was possessed by a demon. The neighbors began to talk their usual neighborly gossip, and some developed quite wild theories on the Wright family. One theory was that, of course, Emilia was possessed. Another was that they were engaging in witchery. There were many more of them, too many to count. But all that Lily and Charles cared about was the wellbeing of their sweet daughter, for all they've ever wanted was a child of their own. The priest, Father Francis, performed the exorcism with no success. As he threw the holy water on the writhing baby, the contact between the blessed liquid and Emilia's reddening skin only made her shriek more. Father Francis, scared for his own sake, could only leave and say that there was nothing else he could do to help. Lily and Charles were utterly hopeless but were too worrisome about what Emilia may do to them, so they left her unfed and alone in her room. They closed the door on her, grieving their living daughter as if she were dead, but they also tried to move on with their day. But the banging and slamming made it rather difficult. The rageous, deliberate slams ricocheted through the "home-sweet-home," making it seem as if it was being shaken so hard that it could crumble any minute.
This went on for some time, and Lily and Charles, heartbroken by the loss of their tender Emilia, decided to pack up and leave. They couldn't live with such a monster. They couldn't live with the neighbors' whispers surrounding them every time they left the house. The most they could do was live with the unwavering guilt of failed parents.

Victoria and Jared Caldwell just moved into their new home. It was a bit shabby, but they could always just fix it up for the new addition to their family. Victoria was heavily pregnant with their first child, a son named Henry. The house was sold for cheap, an awfully good deal for a house in such a nice neighborhood. The owners seemed to be in a hurry to get rid of it, and the Caldwell couple didn't think twice about buying it.
Victoria already had the vision of what she wanted Henry's bedroom to look like. She wanted blue wallpaper with footballs, basketballs, and soccer balls bordering the ceiling. As they moved in, she found a room that sat in the corner, seemingly forgotten.
She opened it.
The door creaked open, revealing a long-forgotten room.
And a giant, armored worm feeding on the peeling wallpaper staring back at her with its many, red, beady eyes. And in the corner was the ruins of an old crib.

The sky was dull and gray, with a melancholy atmosphere falling upon the town. And to add onto that, winter had stricken. There were scarcely any people walking amongst the streets, for who would want to feel such an eternal coldness? But when there were, they were all sullen, with their hollow cheeks and solemn appearances. They stalked through the streets like sick cats, entering and exiting the slow shops in search of food for their families. William was one of them. He slinked in and out of stores with one or two $5 bills and a few coins jangling in the pocket of his brown trousers. The city was quite isolated from the cities of light, which were rather large, lively, and vivid in color. The people there had warmth and luxury, while William and his fellow citizens remained suffering in the shadows. When winter first arrived, he had proposed an idea--they would ask the wealthier cities for aid for more comfort and a better quality of life. But the idea was quickly shut down, as the humble people didn't wish to weigh anyone down with the responsibility of helping such a small, rather irrelevant town. Nevertheless, the food supply was low, and many families remained huddled up in their beaten homes. If they were lucky, they had a fire burning in the fireplace, with the glowing flames coloring their insipid homes, where the wallpaper peeled and the old, cold floorboards creaked.
William didn't bother to propose the same idea again; they would reject it again--he was sure of it. But in his vapid bed, he dreamed radiant dreams of a new and improved life. The birds were chirping, and the grass was lucidly green. However, to his demise, he always woke up and the drab reality hit him again.
He battled the cold winds, clinging onto his hat with one hand and his raggedy coat with the other. Pushing the shop door, the sign that read, "Jackson's Goods" became unhinged on one side and dangled from its one screw that hadn't quite unscrewed, yet. The door closed behind William with a sad, unwelcoming jingle of a bell. The only person there sat at the cash register, bored and seemingly unamused. William nodded to him but didn't receive a reply from the old man. He then grabbed a loaf of bread, day dreaming about a world where butter and sugar wasn't so expensive, so he could put either on a slice of toast. William shook this thought out of his head, for it would do him no good and would simply drive his desire for better food. He approached Old Jackson and fished out a quarter from his pocket.
"How's life, William?" the old man finally spoke. He took the quarter and dropped the loaf of bread, possibly stale, into a brown paper bag. "Life's life. This winter is awfully hard." "Nothing comes easy." William licked his chapped lips and nodded subtly. "Nothing in this town comes as easy as the city folks. You think they'd mind if we ask them for some help with money?" Old Man Jackson scoffed, then shook his head as if the idea were ridiculous. "It doesn't matter if they'd help us or not. We're not something for them to take care of. We'll be fine." "Just for the winter? We're all going to freeze to death soon if we don't speak up." "You tell them that." the old man said, pushing the bag towards William. His words referred to the rest of the town residents. "Keep the change, sir." William said as he took his bread. But he had already locked the quarter in the cash register. William exited the store, feeling Old Jackson's disapproving eyes on his back. If he looked to the right, he could make out the faded outlines of the skyscrapers of the other cities that pierced the sky. He wondered if it was gray there too, or if it was more colorful like how it was in his dreams. As he began to make his way back home, feet pattering on the sidewalk, he thought about creating a petition to see if people would then agree with his wild idea now that winter had caused such an inconvenience. William was unmarried, so he lived alone in his quiet little home. He had to call it "home," though it didn't feel much like one. Where was the warmth? The welcoming "home sweet home"? He dropped the paper bag on the kitchen counter. Then, he managed to find a wrinkled piece of paper and a nearly empty pen. Still covered by his hat and coat, William set out on a journey from door-to-door to see if the harshness of the winter and the dire condition of the town had changed people's minds about his brilliant yet unpopular idea. The first stop was Mrs. Thompson, who was a widowed elderly woman, but she still kept her late husband's last name and the title of "Mrs." to avoid being reminded of his death. William knocked thrice with his pen and paper clutched in his free hand. The wooden door creaked open--the last time the hinges had been oiled was when Mr. Thompson was still alive. Mrs. Thompson was wrapping a thin cardigan around her body. White curls of hair peeked from beneath her knitted hat. "Hello, William." "Afternoon, Mrs. Thompson. Mind signing this? I'm making a petition to go to the bigger cities to ask for help for the town." Mrs. Thompson glanced down at the crumpled piece of paper, then back up at William. "What, like Valoria? They're not going to help; they only want to help themselves." Just as she was about to close the door, William put his hand on the semi-splintered wood. "How do you know if we never say anything to them?" "We're nothing for them to worry about." is all the elderly woman says before she shuts the door on both the relentless wind and William. William goes from door to door for what seems nearly like an eternity, but with no success. All think the same thing--the cities won't help the town, so why bother asking? But he visits that old, beat-up store again, with Old Man Jackson and his crusty, hard loaves of bread, looking for some hope. Some light into darkness. The bell hanging above the door jingles again when William opens the door. "Hello, Old Man Jackson. Mind signing this? I want the cities to be aware of our condition." Old Man Jackson doesn't speak, but his actions speak for him. He takes the pen and scribbles his initials onto it. Messy, sure, but it's enough for William to gather up more determination to seek help for his old, little town.
Pushing through the unyielding winds of the upcoming blizzard, William runs like hell to get back home. His car only had about a half tank of gas, but it'll surely get him far enough to reach the nearest city. He grabbed his rusty keys that he hadn't touched for so long, as the gas prices had just recently skyrocketed. He deliberately brushed the snow off his aged carp, dumping it into heaps on the icy ground. William hurriedly got in and began to drive off, leaving behind his neighbors to watch him go, go, go from their frigid windows. He'd never been outside this little town before, so he just drove straight on the road, chasing the skylines until they became closer and clearer.
He finally reached it. Yes, it was still winter there, but at least the people looked warm. It must've been some sort of holiday there, as there were colorful decorations of a jolly old man with a white beard and a tall, green tree speckled with round balls and kissed by the fluffy snow. A few city folks turned their heads to look at William and his shabby vehicle, but he was too mesmerized by all the bright hues that he didn't even care to notice. He parked the car in front of a bakery smelling of cinnamon and gingerbread. If warmth had a smell, then it reeked of it. William got out of his car, taking off his hat in astonishment, as he entered the bakery. None of the bread was stale there; they were all freshly baked. William's eyes met the fancily written price tags of the baked goods, but his empty pocket ached. They were all too expensive. A woman with a warm smile approached him, but she wasn't an employee. She was a very well-dressed customer, sporting a fur coat and jewelry galore. William looked like a peasant compared to her. "It's all too expensive, isn't it?" she asks. William nodded. "It's alright, dearie. I'll pay for you. What do you want?" "I'm from out of town, and the people there are starving. I'm trying to get them to come here for help and food, but they won't leave." The woman nodded understandingly, fumbling with her purse. "I'll buy $200 worth of goodies, alright? That should feed them for a good while. Where are you from?" "Ashford." "Wow, I've never heard of that before. Well, welcome to Valoria!" William thanked the woman, and she purchased several large bags of baked goods. She helped him carry them to his car but paid no attention to how old and poor it looked. It seemed as if she were happy just to help. William closed the trunk, but he was speechless. He didn't know what to say nor how to thank her. The woman flashed her million dollar smile again. "Be careful when you drive. A blizzard is coming soon." "Thank you so much, Miss." was all William could say. As much as he didn't want to leave such a brilliant, animated city, William didn't quite hesitate to get back home. There were mouths to feed for crying out loud! But as he drove closer and closer to Ashford, the winds raged on, growing stronger every inch he drove.
And as he reached that old, little town, he was met by mounts of snow with the frail shops and homes destroyed. And everyone was beneath the ice. William froze, and the aroma of baked goods remained floating in his car. If they had simply said something earlier. If they had simply asked for help from the cities. They may have been able to survive the winter and the fall of Ashford.

Caroline walked through the streets, feet splashing in the flooded sidewalks. The rainwater soaked the hems of her jeans, and she adjusted her cowgirl hat with one hand, clutching the hand of her daughter with the other. The unpleasant weather was unexpected, hence the absence of an umbrella. Her daughter, pushing a playful age of 4 years, was dressed as a pink pony, but the rain drenched her and caused her costume to cling onto her skin. They had only visited one house before the rain began, and the young girl's trick-or-treat bucket was filled to the brim with water instead of sugary delights. The sky was incredibly dark, as the rolling clouds loomed and sobbed upon them; therefore, it was quite difficult to navigate through the streets back to their house. It didn't help that they didn't know their way around the neighborhood, for they had just moved there. Caroline bottled up her frustration and the irritation on her sensitive skin from the way her costume stuck to her with a seemingly eternal dampness.
A shadowy figure, amongst the rain, appeared in the distance. It held onto some sort of umbrella, and a bit of envy bothered Caroline. The stranger must be perfectly dry, while they are nothing but sodden. She yearned to reach out and grab that umbrella, but she instead inched closer to the figure in attempt to ask for help in getting home safely and a tad bit more dryly. However, as she slowly approached the figure with her daughter splashing behind her, Caroline nearly froze with shock. The figure, or shall one say the "creature", stood perfectly still like a statue, or even better yet, a Halloween decoration. It was awfully realistic as a "decoration," and mixed in with shock, Caroline was puzzled as to what exactly it was. She let go of her daughter's hand and covered her eyes immediately, yet she was still frozen with shock. The Creature didn't seem to be hostile, as a dainty blue butterfly rested upon his hand. Nevertheless, it was an odd sight, and Caroline began to rush home with her daughter. She picked the little girl up in her arms and began to splash even more ferociously through the water, refusing to look back at the Creature. Caroline kept repeating in her head that it was merely a Halloween decoration. They were in a safe neighborhood, so why would such a monster come to haunt them? The trick-or-treat bucket fell to the ground, the plastic meeting the water and creating a decently loud noise. Caroline paused and turned around slightly to look back at it. But she was met by the cold, awkwardly pale eyes of the Creature. No. It wasn't just a Halloween decoration anymore. But perhaps, it was simply a strange person in a strange costume. Caroline left the bucket despite her daughter reaching for it from her arms. She quickened her pace and refused to look back again. It only turned around. It can't follow her, right? But it didn't seem aggressive. There was a butterfly for Heaven's sake! Eventually, Caroline successfully reached her house and hurriedly entered, their clothes dripping wet and their sopping steps leaving puddles on the tiled floor. Surrounded by darkness, she groped the wall for the light switch as she kicked the door closed behind them. She found it, but she only found that the power had gone out. Her daughter whined for the light, but there was nothing she could do about it. Caroline, already in distress from the peculiar situation she had just been in, took a deep breath and felt her way through the darkness in search of a flashlight. She dug through drawers in the kitchen for it and soon found it with some difficulty. Switching it on, a beam of light fought the darkness, and Caroline led her daughter to the bathroom to get changed into warm, dry pajamas. Usually, if caught by the rain, Caroline would have drawn a bath for her daughter, but with the power being out, she decided to just dry the both of them off with a towel and change out of their damp clothing. She shone the light in the closet, and her daughter chose a baby pink nightgown. Caroline changed the both of them out of their clothes. It was a relief to peel the cold, wet fabric from their skin, though it left them prone to a slight chill that caused goosebumps to rise. Leading her daughter to her bedroom, Caroline tucked her into bed as snug as a bug beneath the covers, and she hoped that she wouldn't catch a cold. She closed the window blinds of her daughter's bedroom, shutting out the nighttime darkness but leaving the sounds of rain knocking on the glass. The nightlight wouldn't cast its warm glow, but already, the girl was nearly fast asleep. Caroline cracked the door behind her quietly as she tiptoed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Her feet, caressed by the wool socks that she had slipped on, almost slid on the smooth floor like ice skates on ice, but she was careful enough not to fall in the dark. Her fingers gripped the flashlight as she opened the fridge and poured water from a jug into a glass.
How odd. The window blinds aren't closed. She always has them closed. As Caroline makes her way over to close the blinds, her sleepy gaze met the blank stare of a shadowy figure. The Creature. She quickly closed them, whipping around but dropping the glass. A mess of water and shattered glass exploded on the floor, and a few shards pierced her skin, leaving drops of blood to dribble down her calves. She shone her flashlight on the glistening disaster beneath her, but it was already decided that she would have to clean it in the morning, for the darkness was not too forgiving. Exhausted, Caroline surrendered to her bedroom, but she couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was still watching her. She thought about whether the Creature had gone away or not, but nothing in her could make her look again. Feeling for her phone on the nightstand, Caroline turned it on to perhaps call the police about being stalked by either a supernatural entity or a perverted stalker who wanted her daughter. But she found her phone to be dead. The image of the ghastly Creature was burned into her mind, haunting her. Taunting her. It felt like a bad omen. But at the same time, it felt awfully self-contradicting. How could such a monster be trusted enough by a beautiful butterfly? The butterfly, with its delicate azure wings, sat calmly upon the Creature's hand as if there were nothing to be afraid of. However, it didn't seem to move--almost as if it were petrified to even take a breath. Was it trapped? Or was it even real? Caroline found herself with her fingers tangled in her hair, fingertips digging into her scalp as she tugged, tugged, tugged on the brown strands. She didn't know whether to stay locked safely in their house or to snatch her daughter, get in the car, and drive far, far away from this new town because certainly, this Creature was a sign that they shouldn't stay. They're not welcome there. Caroline eventually succumbed to sleep, and she awoke when the power had returned. Still rubbing sleep from her eyes, she plugged in her phone and prayed that it would hurry up and charge, so she could report what she saw to the police. Hopefully, they wouldn't think that she's insane or delusional. She couldn't be hallucinating, right? Or was she so stressed about this new town, this escape from her abuser that she just imagined it all? Caroline was never married. She never even had a proper boyfriend. Her daughter was hers, but her father was also hers. Though not biologically her father, he was still to be seen as a father figure in her life. He chaperoned on field trips for her, but he also "loved" her in a way that a father shouldn't. In a way, he resembled the Creature, possibly from the way they both stand or simply their auras--both seemed passive, perhaps passive-aggressive, yet there was something quite innocent about them. The Creature had a butterfly, and Caroline's stepfather had her and his charm as a kindergarten art teacher. He was well-known amongst the parents, as he taught, with skill and with ease, how to draw butterflies to his pupils. If Caroline had stayed, her daughter may have been his student. But they just had to escape, to get out.
But the Creature is all but welcoming.
The sunlight leaked through the blinds, and Caroline opened them. She walked towards her daughter's room down the hallway. It was one fit for a princess. But when she neared the door, she found it to be fully closed. How strange.
She left the door cracked, as always. She never closed it. Caroline turned the knob, fingers gripping onto the cold silver metal. She prayed that her daughter was the one to close the door if she woke up at night.
The door swung open. And the bed was empty. "Cassie?" "CASSIE, THIS ISN'T FUNNY!" Caroline turned the room inside out with no success. By the time she was finished, the bed's covers were thrown off into a heap on the floor, and the closet door was swung open, with the hanging clothes pulled apart on the rack, for Caroline hoped that her dear daughter was hiding behind them. She then did the same to the rest of the house. But Cassie was nowhere to be found. Caroline called 911 with her phone, which was thriving on 32% of battery. She choked on her tears, hyperventilating because she knew she didn't hear anyone come in that night, as well as the blurry memory of the Creature from the night before. She then sat in her daughter's room, which was all too quiet for such a nightmare. The princess wallpaper remained unscathed in contrast to the mess that Caroline had made. As she got up, dizzy from overwhelm and drunk on increased motivation to find her lost girl, Caroline caught a glimpse of a trick-or-treat bucket sitting alone in the corner of the room.
That's strange. How did it get there? They dropped it last night. It was also filled to the brim with candy.
But they only visited one house. Doubt filled Caroline's head. She must be going crazy. This can't be happening. The Creature mustn't be real; it's something that only happens in movies, right? All this built-up trauma must be getting to her. She's gone mad.
Caroline approached the bucket cautiously as if she were afraid it would bite. Sitting upon the mountain of wrapped chocolate and fruity candies was a note.
"Trick or Treat? You get the trick." A pink butterfly was drawn beside the haunting words. The handwriting looked oddly familiar. And then, the police arrived. Caroline showed them the note and illustrated her memories for them, whether they bought it or not. They said they'd search for Cassie, yet somehow, Caroline was still dissatisfied. She didn't leave the house that day. She stayed home, replaying her memories over and over again. And night fell. And she looked out the window again. And she met the cold, blank stare of the Creature. And his new pink butterfly, porched daintily upon his hand.