The infinite Treck started for my when I was 19. It always started at different times for everyone. My brother had it at 12 and my dad had it at 38. His was going out to get milk but he must not have been very good because I haven't seen him since. The day that the Treck started for me the sky was a light shade of neon green and the sun shone down, green and beautiful. I looked out at the horizon in prayer to Zaria, the god of methane, the resource that all life depended on. As I softly laid out the sacred words in front of the statue of our lord, I heard a voice in the back of my head. I had always imagined that Zaria would be a strong, powerful voice, sparing no detail and never rushing. It was not that way. It was the voice of a little girl, soft and delicate. "Meet my friend at the bridge on the south side of town in 20," she said. "Oh god of methane, thank thou for calling upon me for you're sacred mission, I shall not dissa-" "Bro, shut up, I've got stuff to do," she interrupted. I was stunned for a second and just sat, staring in confusion. Then, taking her advice, I headed south to the bridge to meet her friend. Once I got there I only saw one person on the bridge. The person standing there was a boy who looked to be about 7 or 8 years of age. "Take this and head east, looser," he commanded me, handing me a spear and a bag of food. Before I could ask any questions he had already started down the road, ignoring any sound of surprise I made.

I examined the spear and bag. The spearhead was made out of pure, flawless, vartinable, the most valuable mineral in the galaxy. I stood in awe at the pure, unbridled beauty. I felt the blade to see that it was razor sharp, so sharp that it didn't even hurt when it instantly sliced open my finger, like an envelope. I turned it over in my hand, not believing that it could possibly have been shoved into my grip in such a rushed, nonchalant way. I then turned my attention to the bag. I opened it and examined it's contents. It was nothing special, just some basic food, a few vegetable's, and some broccoli, shipped as an insult from Earth. After examining the gifts from my lord, I thanked her dearly, then started on my way east.

I soon realized that I had no idea where I was heading. I walked and pondered the answer to this question for a couple minutes before finding the answer, or as close as I could get to it. My answer to the question was simple, I would know when I got there. And so I continued to walk. I walked for days and days on end. I would rest only every 5 hours, taking 30 minutes to eat and rest, then beginning the cycle all over again. I must have traveled over 100,000 kilometers. I traveled through the open empty landscape of my planet. I passed several dozens methane lakes, always pausing for a second to pray to Zaria. During the nights the sky was illuminated by thousands and thousands of constellations. Depictions of old heroes, Zeus, David, Markus, Demetrius, all people who had received the calling to the Treck, and achieved and surpassed their expectations. I would always think to myself, "That is where I am heading to, that is who I am about to become," when I saw the depictions of the old warriors. It was the only thing giving me courage to go.

I had walked 3 weeks before I found the outpost. It had no name and no definable shape. It could only be defined as a thing because I could see it, standing ominously and dangerously on the horizon. Upon seeing it I immediately knew that it was what I had been called for, I had to kill it. I walked closer and staked it out.

I was there for days and saw horrors unprecedented ever before. I saw men come out in droves, always dragging a human behind them, kicking and screaming. They would always, every time, drag them and nail their hands to a post, then they would drench them in methane and, before lighting it, scream, "In protection of the heart, in the center, we banish you to Hell," and then set the men alight. That is how I figured out how I was going to kill the monstrous creation, I was going to find the heart in the center, and I was going to kill it, but this was no easy task. I would first have to sneak in.

How I snuck in is truly a feat. I didn't think, at the time that I could do it. I got the idea from watching dargers. Dargers are giant, horse-like beasts with 6 feet long horns on their heads that can break through concrete, should they want to. On that day one of the followers of the heart had gone on a trip to a nearby town. He walked out for about ten minutes before he got tired. He sat down to have food, disregarding the nearby group of dargers. Once he opened his bag of broccoli, sent as an insult from the humans, the dargers immediately caught cent of it. Once they caught sent of it they all turned and stared at the person eating. Then, all of a sudden, charged the man. He got up and tried to run but they were faster, traveling at 50 kilometers per hour. He was quickly impaired, and his corpse trampled. Then I realized what I would do. I would start a darger attack.

I waited until nightfall to put my plan in action. As soon as the green sun fell I crept quickly and quietly over to one of the formless walls of the bastion. Then, carefully, as if holding a bomb, I dropped 3 heads of broccoli by it. And then I ran. I ran the fastest I had ever run in my life as the dargers came charging towards the broccoli. I had barley escaped their field of view when they reached to compound. They smashed through the wall in a fury, looking for the source of the smell. The followers came out, all desperately defending their bastion from the beasts. All failing.

As this cause erupted I was sneaking my way through the front door. Once I got in I walked through seemingly endless, hallways, with pitch black walls and a menacing aura, always going towards the center. Once I got to the center I saw it.

In front of my eyes, I beheld a giant monster, un-paralleled in size to any and far more terrifying. It was long and sleek, oil black and blindingly white at the same time. It's mouth wasn't there, it was just a shredder of razor sharp teeth.

It saw me at once, turning in less than the blink of the eye to stare me in the face. He stopped for what must have been an hour. He stared me in eyes and I stared, terrified, back at him. Then in a sudden outburst of anger at my presence he screamed an ear-piercing yell and whipped his tail around, lightning fast, and threw me thirty feet into the air. I landed with a hard THUD and all of the air was nocked out of me. I wanted to stay and catch my breath but I knew that was a death sentence. I jumped up in a bult and grabbed my spear and immediately got thrown across the room, SLAMMING into the shapeless freak of a wall. I got up, just to be thrown across the room again in a fury. Then again I got up and was slapped into the air, but this time something was different. This time I could hear the monster groan in pain and scream a deep guttural yell at me. I looked at it and saw my spear plunged deep into it's side. The spear was the answer.

I hopped up, ceasing the chance to attack, and ran towards the great beast. I jumped up through the air and grabbed hold of the spear that was sunk into it's tail. It sank in deeper at the force of my impact and the horrid creation of the devil yelled again and whipped it's tail. I held on desperately as I was flung through the air again and again, only being able to hold onto the thing's tail and pray. I climbed up onto the tail and straddled it. Then, working up all of the courage in my heart, I took the spear out of its body and plunged it in a few feet in front of its last location, then again, then again. I slowly inched my way up the tail of the hellish creation, one foot at a time. Once I had reached the neck it was flailing wildly trying to get me off of it. My arms were starting to become tired from the fight and I was loosing my grip. With a sudden outburst from the monster the spear became dislodged from its body and I plummeted downwards. The devil sprang in for the attack and, acting only on instincts, I raised my spear and jumped through its cascade of teeth, my clothes and body getting sliced to shreds, but never dying, and I plunged the spear into whatever I could find. I ripped through organs and blood and tissue and came out through its side, instantly killing it.

I plummeted to the ground as the bastion around me crumbled and disappeared, leaving only me and the night sky. I THUDDED to the ground and survived, only for the grace of Zaria. I rolled over and stared at the night sky, bloodied, disgusting, and bruised, and there in it I saw a new constellation, one of my likeness. Orion.

The long, wailing cries of the quire floated, longingly through the air, as the lead singer bled his words out in a tone, so painfully sad that it seemed unnatural. There simply could be no way that someone could hurt this much, or feel this much of any emotion. The green canopy loomed over the old speaker, as if nature itself was trying to comfort the old song. The green leaves, painted orange in the sunset, rustled as a light breeze blew through the, thick, never-ending forest. The world seemed to sway with the beat, seemed to shed a tear at the longing lyrics. The music seamed with the world in a beautiful, sad painting. A painting that only 1 person would ever see.

John Fisher's first mistake was made before his hike even began. It was made before a step was taken, before a thing was packed, and when the first decision was made. The mistake was the decision to go hiking, even though a snow storm was coming in. It was Alaska in the winter and John knew that it would be cold, but he underestimated the cold's power. He thought that he would be able to survive through it, just like on any other cold night.

When John awoke early in the morning of January 17, 1854 he was freezing. His campfire had gone out some time in the night and he had forgotten to put on a few extra layers in anticipation for the temperature dropping in the night. The air bit through his 2 measly layers of shirts like needles pricking him. It was dark outside, and it would be for another 4 hours, until a little after 10. In the dark, underneath the thick covers, which felt as thin as tissue paper, was where John made his mistake. He considered not going out that day. He considered just lighting the fire and staying inside, cozied up by the fireplace, warm and comfortable, but he didn't. John, instead, chose to get dressed, eat breakfast, take a shower, get his stuff together, and take his dog, Max, and go hiking. Just as planned.

He walked through endless forest for hours. It was cold, just as he expected, but he was prepared, he brought food and a backpack with a tent, in case he got lost out in the woods, and some matches, in case all else failed. He even stopped to eat a little bit after sunrise. By all accounts things were going perfectly. John and Max walked through the forest for hours every now and then Max would bark at a squirrel or something of the same effect out in the distance, but the walk was mostly solitary and peaceful. The forest was a white castle, with giant spikes of trees, jutting out of the ground at odd angles, with either no branches, or so many branches that it made an unnatural effect when the light shined off of the icicles built up on it. In the glimmering, ghostly light John walked. He walked for hours and hours, until the light from the glorious, atmospheric, sun began to fade.

When he saw the sun begin to set he immediately knew that he should have headed back for home a long time ago. There was no time to worry about this though, he had to get a fire started before the sun set. He hastily grabbed dry twigs, leaves, pieces of bark, and some dry grass to use for kindling. He carefully built up the fire, making sure not to sit under a branch with snow on it, from grass, to leaves, to bark to twigs, to sticks, and eventually, to a few small pieces of a dead tree he had found. It wasn't a warm night , but it was a survivable one.

In the morning the first thing John decided immediately to head back. John ate breakfast and woke his dog up, then looked at his compass and started towards the way he came. He tracked back through the forest for hours and hours, then the sun began to set. This was John's second mistake. John chose to ignore the sun setting, because he knew that his house had to be near. He walked ignorantly for what must have been forever. He walked past tree, after tree, after tree, after tree, after tree, but he never found home. John did not know this, of course, so he kept walking. He walked on and on and on and on. Then, in that dark, cold, winter night, came John Fisher's third mistake.

In the dead of the night of January 18, 1854 a winter snow storm came across John. It was at this point when John finally realized the direness of his situation, but he kept walking. He could not afford to loose preciouses time panicking, or thinking of what to do next, and anyways, he couldn't turn back now, it was too late for that. He walked, unrelenting now. Determined to find home. The storm rolled in and the snow started. It was light at first, just a few delicate snowflakes drifting in a slight wind, then it gradually got worse. The wind went from a light breeze, to a light gust, to a hard gust, to a howling, raging monster, determined to blind anything and anyone within it. The flakes were no longer delicate, fragile things. Now they were bullets, shot into John's eye by his own mistakes. It wasn't a good day to even be awake inside, but it was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on a mountain. Then John made mistake number four.

John could have hunkered down and made a make-shift, temporary shelter in the snow. It was well within his skill set, even if he couldn't see, to make a small shelter in the snow to protect himself from the wind, but he didn't. Instead he remained steadfast in his determination. He let the cold seep in and gash its razor sharp teeth into his skin, and he kept walking. He kept walking and walking, until he realized that he would never make it walking, especially not in these conditions. Instead he opted to charge into the wall of snow at full speed. He sprinted for what felt like forever, he ran and ran and ran and ran. He crashed through branches and into trees, he stomped into holes and tripped over logs, he was in a desperate, reckless, fight for life. John entered a clearing and continued running. He ran and ran and ran through the cold, blindingly white, night, until he could run no more.

He collapsed to his feet in exhaustion, but he was still not ready to give up his fight. He began to crawl into the blanket, desperate for some kind of salvation. One of his gloves fell off in the process and he could immediately feal the blood in his hand retreat from the cold, like a defeated army from its opponent. John finally collapsed, gasping for air, unable to move. He could feal his body getting colder and colder, he wished he hadn't abandoned Max so that he could maybe steal some warmth from him, or at least not die alone. Just then, a miracle happened, John suddenly became extremally hot. He sat there basking in the burning heat, his mind to altered by the cold to remember that being unexplainably hot is a sign that you don't have long to live out in the cold. John's mind slowly slowed and he drifted off into a warm slumber, for the last time. In his final moments of life, he had a dream. He dreamt that he was one of the townsfolk from the village nearby, it was summer and he was coming to check on himself, out in the cabin in the middle of nowhere. As he walked up the path to the front door he noticed something. A skeleton, lying mere feet from the door.

“What I did wasn’t wrong” “Or maybe it was but I just don’t care” “It was what had to be done either way” Some one has to lie and cheat so that everyone else can be just and free” “Someone has to fight and hurt so that everyone else can love and heal” “Someone has to sacrifice themselves or be sacrificed so that everyone they have ever loved can live safely and happily” “And even if it was the wrong thing” “And even if I’ll be stopped at the gates of heaven and be turned around for it” “I’ll do it again” “Because someone has to hate for you to love”

Who am I to tell me who I am? Who am I to say that I’m on the wrong place? Who am I to wonder where I’m going? Who am I to ask why I’m on this planet?

Who am I to decide where I go? Who am I to go with the current? Who am I to tell the world who I should be? Who am I to make the decisions I make?

Who am I?

In this world inside my head, There is not a single impossibility, I can build a town up from the ground, Or I can burn the whole world down,

In this world inside my head, One that I cannot put down on paper, For fear of loosing it

In this world inside my head, There is not a single impossibility, I make the people and watch as the events I put them through unfold,

In this world inside my head, There is no rule but that of which I make,

In this world inside my head, Lies the beautiful lands of imagination

When the world is falling down, We’ll cry together,.

And when the silence crushes us to the ground, We’ll sing together.

And if an asteroid comes hurtling down, We’ll die together.

And of the music starts to play, We’ll dance together.

And if you try to stomp us out, We’ll fight together.

But down here from the ground.

The idea appears to be sound.

That we aren’t together.

The scenery rushes past me in a blur as I feel the wind in my hair. Maybe that was a tree or a house or a car, I don’t know. The blues of the sky and the greens of the plant life and the red, oranges, and browns of the autumn trees all blurring together as I rush down the mountain at an ungodly speed. I look down and see, hundreds of feet blow me, he tiny dots of the enormous city that I used to live in. I look back up and realize that there is no way to stop this. There are no brakes, no down shift to make it go slightly slower, nothing. There isn’t even a game like there would have been if I was in a car. The only thing standing between me and God is my balance and luck. All it would take is a stray stone or a stick to send me flying to my death. I think to myself that I might as well have fun, there’s not really anything else to do. I look out again at the area surrounding me. Like a surrealist painting, you can’t quite make out anything but it all seems so familiar. I feel like there’s nothing to worry about and I couldn’t possibly be hurt here, even if I die. My gut is clenched and my eyes sting from the wind and my whole body aches from holding in to something so out of control, so reckless but I don’t notice it as I take the wide turn around the mountain all I feel is comfort. I can’t tell you why or how but nothing really matters now, if I live or die is up to pure chance so it’s not worth worrying about and my troubles couldn’t possibly ever beat me if I make it out of this alive and o won’t have to worry about them if I’m dead. So there is nothing left but comfort. All there is left to do is take it all in.

We fought over it We tried to bomb it out of existence We died But it still rises again

The world has ended The people who once cared so much for this thing have long since past There is nothing left for it to rise to But it still rises again

Maybe it hasn’t lost hope yet Maybe it’s waiting for an old friend, long dead Or maybe it’s just coming to say that it can to prove that it isn’t dead yet To prove that our best weapons, and their best weapons, and even time itself could not kill it But whatever the reason The Sun still rises, slowly, stubbornly

The year is 2035. Tensions between the U.S, China, Russia, and the U.K. are at an all time high. All of these countries have internally resolved to only attack in retaliation. There are 2 people in the U.S. that can fire all of the nuclear weapons at once on a target, Bill Haslam, the president and Mark Tenner, a highly ranked officer in the U.S. Air-force.

Today both keys are set to be handed over to Mark while the president makes an agreement with NATO and the U.S’s rivals for every country on Earth to destroy all of their nuclear weapons. Mark, however, unbeknownst to anyone believes that war is the only way out of these stressful times and that if he could just strike first, the U.S. would win and he would be hailed as a hero. He is wrong.

The president of the U.S. enters the conference room and engages in formalities with the other world leaders as the tension between the global superpowers starts to be released, and the key that holds the possible destruction of the world is handed to Mark. Mark contemplates the possible consequences of turning the key, realizing that it could mean the total destruction, or recreation of life as we know it. As the agreement is passed to the president and he starts to sign it Mark, corrupted by the power in his hands, decides that he doesn’t care what happens and turns both keys.

The leaders of the world are pointlessly rushed to outdated Cold War shelters as every nuclear wielding nation in the world retaliates.

As the alarms signaling the inevitable demise of man sound every person on planet Earth realizes the depth of the situation and in what surely has to be a naturally programmed way decides that there is no point in any anger or sadness or terror, for there is no way to stop this force. So in the last 30 minutes of mankind’s existence families either reunite or call each other, the orphaned and family-less bonded with their pets, strangers bonded and revealed their darkest secrets and insecurities to each other on the streets, babies stopped crying and started laughing, and for the last 30 minutes, wether it be because of fate, or God, or karma, or just pure chance, every human was happy.

In future eras new life would emerge, not only on this planet but on many others too. A few of these would evolve intelligence and consciousness like we did. Some of these would die in ways similar to how we did. Some others would cure death, others achieve global peace, and more still create technology that we couldn’t even begin to dream of. They would look back on the ashen remains of what once used to be humanity and see us as a primitive, barbaric species that fell to it’s own ignorance. But they kuldip never achieve what we did, they could never all be happy.