I am my father’s favorite daughter I am weaker, perhaps on purpose I am quiet, obedience is virtue.

I do not push him off I do not yell Humility warms my veins and his hands and his fingers

He caresses my hair usually He does not for my brothers For they push shove and scream Unconscionable resistance

I am my father’s favorite daughter and my mothers tears He does not love her like he loves me She yells too.

I know he will save me For I have been obedient The others have not, So he makes them still

Though obedience is not enough And I remained unsaved, merely the last.

If Ryan could physically kill himself, he absolutely would. Right now. There is absolutely nothing wrong with him - in fact, he is mostly happy in life. His house sparkles in the hills of Malibu as the sun sets. He and his husband, Fisher, wade in the pool, sipping cocktails made for them by their brand-spanking new RoboMaid. Ryan sips his mule, sucks his teeth. “Mm. New vodka?” he asks Fisher. Fisher is a bit of a spirit snob. There was always some fresh vodka, or gin, or black-barrel-charred-fuckroasted whiskey on the counter when Ryan got home. It was usually gone by the next day, dumped down the drain or poured off of the deck. His husband got bored easily. “Yup. I think it’s shit,” says Fisher. He tosses his martini over his shoulder into the pool. “I’m gonna try the wine. Then maybe I’ll try to jump off the house again. You’re welcome to join.” Fisher rubs Ryan on the shoulder, then turns and wades back towards the house, keeping his upper body in the water as long as he can. “Sure, honey. Be in soon,” Ryan says. He takes another sip. _“Thinking about Vodka? Try Beto’s new patented quintuple-distilled, crystal flavored premium vodka! You’ll never drink another liquor again!” _The ad plays between Ryan’s ears; his brain vibrates. He takes a giant swig of his drink. It was Fisher who had been against getting the NeuroChips, of course. He was usually right about most things, but Ryan had been stubborn, especially because the new tech fascinated him. Back then, they hadn’t been able to afford the chips without ads, but Ryan had insisted they tried anyway. It was an idiotic decision. “Decisions on your mind? Try Better Help! Therapy should be accessible to all, and we think that you could use a buddy to talk to! Use code NeuroChip for 2% off your first session!” _ _Ryan wades to the edge of the pool. “Fisher,” he calls out. “I’m getting the Better Help ads again.” “Oh god. Try not to jump without me! Be out soon,” singsongs Fisher. These days, they tried at least two or three times a day. Last Monday, in a fit of passion, they had even tried six times in an hour. It didn’t work, of course - the chips prevented that - but it was their only way out, really. The chips kept them happy and bubbly and worry free, but the ads pervaded even their implant-induced euphoria. The doctors refused to try to take the chips out. They were too integrated, apparently, and such a surgery would be a death sentence. The surgeons debated the ethics of such an act on TV pretty much every night. Agreements were never reached. Do no harm, and all that bullshit. “Hey there! We noticed your bladder is at almost 46% capacity! Gotta go? We got you covered. Try Freedom Brand’s discrete adult diapers - for all your bodily needs.” Singing over the ads helped sometimes, but there were only so many places you could break out in song. Ryan tried to avoid public bursts of singing. It usually alerted other people that you had a NeuroChip with ads, and people liked to giggle when they found out. This, in turn, elicited ads for comedy shows or streaming services. Ryan had seen them all, of course. The novelty of the chip - watch movies in your head! Control your smart devices with your mind! Talk to your friends just by thinking about them! - had worn off years ago. Ryan had watched all of the shows, had used the chip to communicate with his friends. Every setting had been turned off and back on, every capability of the chip used and tested and exploited. The only thing the chip _couldn’t _do was shut the fuck up. “Want some peace and quiet? We got you. Try- “ “LALALALALALALA.” Ryan belts out the notes and makes the futile attempt to cover his ears. He turns as he hears the sliding door open. Fisher walks out, bathrobe hanging open on his body. He steps into the pool and wades to Ryan, handing him a glass of ruby red wine. Ryan takes it with his open hand, takes a sip. “I appreciate that you don’t hate me, Fisher,” he says, slowly. “I couldn’t even if I tried, honey.” Fisher chuckles, his voice scratchy and deep. “We’re in this together.” Ryan knew he was right. They loved each other - Fisher had stuck with him through all of these years, even after the novelty of the chips wore off. In those days, they used to scream and fight and fuck, hoping the ads would quiet down. They didn’t. Nowadays, they just tried to murder each other nightly. It brought them both comfort, even if they knew they would never succeed. Ryan grabs Fisher’s hand and gazes into his eyes. They sparkle even in the receding light. Without a word, Ryan leads his husband to one of the ladders bolted to the glass of their mansion, and they climb, together. Ryan pulls himself up onto the roof and helps Fisher up, and they walk, barefoot, across the roof. They finally reach the edge and stand, gazing over the hills into the pacific. Birds squawk overhead, and the smell of chlorine wafts up to them in the evening breeze. They don’t jump, of course. They never will. Ryan still smiles, though, his chest warm with something deeper than just love. He turns to Fisher, kisses him. They climb back down the ladder and go inside for the evening. The days repeat, on and on. The ads don’t ever stop, not even with Fisher eventually dies. There was talk that sometimes, they’d deactivate your ads when your spouse died, but Ryan didn’t mind. “Someday,” he thinks, kneeling beside his husband’s casket, “That’ll be me in there. Can’t be too long now.” Ryan stands. He closes the casket. He smiles, knowing his final gift to Fisher will be all he ever wanted, and more. Silence.

Eventually, the rains stopped falling, and the waters receded. The air no longer burned the buds off of the trees, though there were few of them left anyway. Vines, brown but utterly alive, crawled up the concrete cliffs. Clouds meandered lazily across a sky that was almost blue again. Breezing winds blew ash through the burnt streets, the smell of black char finally beginning to fade. The sea became a river again; small fish could be seen darting from the shadows of the buildings above. Years had passed, millennia. The Earth breathed again. Eventually.

The morning of the day she died, my grandmother and I sat out on the porch of the homestead together. Her frail hands shook as she brought her tea to her mouth, her wrinkled lips pursed as she bent down to drink. Her tongue searched for the straw. I just watched her struggle, knowing she couldn’t see me watching her anyway. I could just imagine the things she’d say if I tried to help. “Fuck off,” she’d tease._ “I ain’t no invalid.”_ Though the wind was picking up, her hair stayed perfectly coiffed and styled. My grandmother took particular pride in that - though old age hadn’t spared her body, her hair remained as dark as it had been the day she was born. We used to joke that her deal with the devil all those years ago must’ve included a clause about it. “You want more tea, Grammy?” I asked. She had put down her glass probably a little louder than she meant to. “These damn hands.” She made a fist, or tried to. “They ain’t workin’ like they used to.” The wind whipped the bottom of her long dress around her legs as she rocked in her chair. The porch wasn’t creaking as much as it used to, especially since she had lost all that weight. The doctor said it was normal. That kinda thing just happens. “And don’t you smell that rain? It’s comin’ anyway. Should be gettin’ inside.” “Ahh, just a few more minutes, Grammy. I can’t smell nothin’.” A small fib. She couldn’t see it, but the day was getting darker, and the leaves were starting to fly in every direction. The day was warm for this time of year, the air thicker than usual. I pulled my long hair into a ponytail in a futile attempt to protect it from the gusts of wind. Rocking back and forth, she stayed silent. God, she looked small. In those days, we had known the end was near for her. We didn’t talk about it. Back then, we didn’t talk much about things that weren’t good. What was the use, anyway? As sure as the rains came and went, so would Grammy. So would I. Lightning flashed far out over the barn, and I counted the time before the thunder boomed. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Grammy startled when she heard it, though it was just the first low rumblings of the storm that was to come. I stood from the bench. “Better get you inside, Grammy. Don’t want you blowin’ off in this wind.” I stepped carefully over the old flower pots filled with everything but flowers and Jakie’s little red bike, trying hard not to trip. She teased her arms up slowly as I neared so I could put my hands in her armpits. When she was standing, she grabbed me tight, tighter than I expected. “Promise me, Abby. Promise me you’ll be okay.” Her breath was ragged and warm in my ear as she hugged me tighter. I don’t know how long we stayed there like that, out on the porch, but the warm rain was wetting our clothes when we decided to head inside. I leaned to her ear as we shuffled to the door. “I promise, Grammy. I promise.”

Rose didn’t get off of the plane coming back from Orlando. Robby waited for her for hours. He watched the other passengers filing past, the baggy-eyed Southwest employees behind the counter yawning. children whined, their complaints carrying throughout the mostly empty airport. The AC whirled above, whistling through the grates like a wind through a lost forest. Robby fretted. Where is she? Where could she be? They didn’t have enough money for them to sit together on the plane, and he had lost sight of her once they got on. He shifted on his feet. A man like him shouldn’t have to wait like this. “Come on, Robby. It’s late. We can deal with this tomorrow. Please, let’s just go home.” His mother sighed in exasperation. Robby knew that she never liked Rose. The corners of her mouth always turned down when she was around. “We still have an hour and a half drive to home from here,” she noted. Robby’s voice was crisp. “I can’t leave without her, Mother. I can’t believe you’d even suggest that,” he said with a scoff. Who did she think she was? “Fine,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “Ask the workers one more time. Then we’re getting in the car and going home. This is fucking ridiculous.” Robby didn’t like talking to people who weren’t Rose. Or Mother. His mind was far too vast for the average normie to understand; what he knew of this world was severely beyond most people’s comprehension. He wouldn’t be surprised if the employees’ lives didn’t exist beyond the walls of this building - and what a pitiful life that would be! All airplanes and exhaust fumes and luggage… Robby shuddered. If anyone could understand him, it was Rose, and only rose. Her mind was a forest, her charms the trees. It gave him a semi just thinking about it. He must have her back. The single employee loomed behind her counter, clacking on the keyboard. What could she possibly be working on at this hour? Robby realized he was staring. “Robert!” Mother yelped. “Go! Or let’s get to the fucking car!” Robby scowled at her, but she was right. He had to do something. He had to become the hero in this story, Rose’s knight in shining armor. “One with an exceptionally large codpiece,” he thought to himself. He almost giggled. But no - this was serious. He had to take action. The airline employee’s eyes peeked over her monitor as he approached. “Can I help you?” The employee smacked her gum. She was nowhere near as gorgeous as his Rose was; Robby found himself disgusted by her patchy concealer barely covering the bags under her eyes. Her shirt wasn’t even tucked into her skirt. This female wouldn’t be able to help him, he was sure of it. But she was his only option. “I sure hope so, woman. My betrothed did not exit the plane this evening, and I have been waiting for her for” - he looked at his watch - “two hours and twenty-three minutes. I am getting very worried, as you can guess, so I require your help to locate her. Do not disappoint me.” He tried to stare the woman down, but he hated eye contact, and his eyes slipped from her face. No matter: he knew she should be intimidated by him regardless - she surely didn’t come across many real men like him. She stopped chewing her gum and tilted her head. Her eyes narrowed. “Sir, if you're missing someone, I can call security -“ “That won’t be necessary,” he interrupted. “I was forced to separate from her when your colleagues forced me to abandon her at the gate back in Orlando.” Unbelievably, the brutes on the ramp had kidnapped her and banished her to the cargo hold. Robby knew she could take it, though - she was a meek, quiet creature, but strong and resilient. It’s why he loved her. The clock on the wall ticked. Emotions flashed across the woman’s face: confusion, bafflement, but then realization. “She rode in the cargo hold?” She seemed to be holding back a laugh. Robby felt himself getting angrier. “Yes, she was forced to ride their by your employer. Didn’t you hear me?” He founds his hands shaking, from frustration or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell. God, he hated most women. Most real women, anyway. “Can you describe her for me then? We won’t be able to do anything for you now, not at this hour. But we’ll contact you if we find it - her.” She corrected herself. Robby’s voice swelled with emotion as he described his Rose. The woman’s fingernails clacked on the keyboard as she took notes, her gum popping as she wrote down Robby’s description. She assured him they would contact him as soon as she was found.

Rose was never found. No one seemed to care. Robby spent his days calling the airline, spent his evenings posting on Reddit and 4chan message boards. Desperation drove him. He _knew_ that someone must have seen something, must have some information on where his love could be. The police, of course, didn’t care - they refused to file a missing persons report, despite Robby’s threats and fits of sobbing on the precinct floor. He heard their stifled chuckles, he knew how they saw him. Giving up was not an option.
He was combing through lost and found boards one night when Mother knocked on his door. He sighed in annoyance. She wasn’t supposed to come in here, and she knew that. “I’m busy, Mother,” he called out.
She opened the door anyway. “We need to talk, Robby.” Angrily, he turned to look at her. Something like fear flashed across her eyes. She wrung her hands, and red crept into her cheeks. “I have information about Rose.”
Robby’s heart leapt. Could it be true? Was she found? The possibilities blazed through his mind. He imagined all that could have happened - he saw her dead on the tarmac, abandoned in the forest. Nightmares of her with another man, of her touching someone else. Had the man at the gate taken her? Raped her? Left her for dead? He couldn’t catch his breath. “What is it?”
Mother spoke carefully. “Robby, I…” she gulped. Fiddled with her necklace. “It’s not healthy. You need help. I’m trying to help you.”
His heart dropped. “What the fuck did you do?” His voice shook.

His mother hesitated, but breathed deeply and steeled herself. The words suddenly poured out. “Robert, I got rid of her. I took the gate tag off of her when you weren’t looking. It’s not healthy for a 28 year old to act that way around an object, it’s unnatural and -“ Red, hot anger flared in Robby’s chest. Blood pounded in his ears. He didn’t hear her. He couldn’t hear her, could barely even see her through the white haze overtaking his vision. He never even really felt his hands around her neck, and certainly didn’t feel her fall to the floor. He didn’t remember gouging her eyes out, or shoving them down her throat. When it was over, he found himself weeping on the floor. Blood crept everywhere, soaking his shirt, warm and metallic. The taste of it lingered in his mouth as big, heaving breaths pushed themselves through his lips. Tears mixed with blood, dripping to the floor as he stood. Stumbling, he slammed open the front door and crashed down the front porch steps. Doves sang in the trees and rain fell to the earth as he toppled into the garden. There, he collapsed into a bed of thorns, screaming in anguish. He stayed there, wailing, among the roses, until the sirens came.

“I was just trying to be what you wanted.” Jason’s hair whipped across his face, while dead leaves swirled past his feet. They sat on the park bench, holding slowly cooling coffees, avoiding each other. Across the way, a dog chased a ball. Children played as his world ended. “You don’t understand me, then.” Her voice was frustrated, tired. She spoke quickly - the words burned her tongue. “I needed you to be… you.” She paused, turned to him. “Not whatever this is.” She stood, and the wind seemed to get faster. Jason’s hands shook as he fumbled with the zipper on his coat. Noticed a ladybug on the bench. Does she get cold from the wind too? “Jason. Do you know what I’m saying? Do you hear me?” She squinted at him, her mouth a fine line, teeth gritting against the cold. She shifted on her feet. “I was just trying to be what you wanted. Was that not enough?” She turned on her heals and walked away, grabbing her scarf to keep it from flying away. Jason stood too, but he didn’t chase. He watched as she threw her cup in the garbage, said hello to a passing dog. Eventually, she was gone. The wind slowed as Jason walked home, but slammed the door shut once he passed through. His coat, his scarf, his shoes fell, discarded, on the floor. The stairs creaked and the windows rattled. Jason wept.

I inhabit darkness. Other beings are made for the light; I am not. The light scorches, it burns. It kills. Death lies in the light. All of our kind, my brothers, my cousins, and my sisters, my lineage across generations, wither and dry in the Brightness. Under the Grains of the Sea I crawl, praying the air will remain still, for fast air is the harbinger of death. We try to sleep under the Grains during the Brightness, but food is often scarce. The best among us must travel far through the Grains for nourishment. They often return empty-handed. The searing air is habitable for many things: giant beasts which shake the ground as they walk and smaller monsters roam on top of the Sea, but we cannot. In the dark, I flourish. Crawling free from the confines of the Grains, no longer enveloped, oppressed. I look up and ponder. Those of us far above, crawling across the deep, are many in number. They cannot inhabit the day, either. We inhabit darkness.

“I don’t really think that you actually want to kill me. I feel like maybe there are some repressed feelings here? Or something?” I was grasping at straws. “Have you tried therapy? There’s gotta be a better solution. Like what did I do to deserve this?” He stopped sharpening the axe for a moment and looked down at me from his perch on the tree stump, his eyes piercing into mine. Was that a smirk on his face? My heart raced. “I’ve really fucked this one up now,” I thought. “No, the solution is murder. Sorry,” he mused. He went back to sharpening his axe. So he did find it funny. In any other situation, I probably would too. Grindr murders didn’t happen in real life, not to real people. Except to me, apparently. In this low light, he even still looked attractive. He was hot - it’s why I wanted to hook up with him anyway. Stubble covered his face and his muscles flexed beneath the skin with each stroke of the stone he was using to sharpen the axe. Sweat soaked his shirt. It’s not like I got much play these days. Usually, I wouldn’t do something this risky, but since the breakup, it felt like I just didn’t have anything to lose anymore. Shit. Why couldn’t I ever just have a normal hookup? Cicadas screamed in the oppressive humidity. I stammered for something to say as his smirk grew into a smile. Holy fuck - this was really happening. My mind raced. “Alright. Time to die.” He stood up, and the stone fell into the wet grass with a thud. My heart beat against my ribcage. There had to be something I could say - I was running out of time. The ropes cut into my wrists as I tried to wrest them free. I sank into the mud as I struggled. Damn. He was strong. “Wait. No. There’s a way out of this - I’ll give you something? Can I give you something? Money? You want my car? I’ll give you my car. Or my apartment. Whatever you want,” I babbled. I was desperate - I didn’t know what to say. Ideas came. What did a crazed sex killer really want? “What if I suck you off?” He froze, the axe resting on his shoulder. “What?” “I’m really good, I swear! Don’t you at least wanna try?” He looked confused, but had stopped his tread towards me. His smile melted off of his face. Could this really work? “You thought… you think I’m gay?” He asked, almost dejectedly. “I mean, we did meet on Grindr.” I stared at him incredulously, baffled that this was really happening. Where was the cold hearted killer he was two seconds ago? Now I was the amused one. Something about the situation was so ridiculous, I couldn’t help it: a tiny bit of hope blossomed in my chest. The axe fell to his side. “I’m not gay, though. Everyone thinks I’m gay.” He stopped, seeming to not even recognize what he was saying. His eyes widened. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. I have a ton of gay friends. Just like, don’t hit on me, you know?” I stared at him, mouth agape. “Are you serious? You were just going to murder me, like, two seconds ago, and now you’re upset I thought you’re gay? Who even are you?” He started. “Are you serious? I’m the one with the axe here.” His demeanor had changed, though. He was less confident, shifting on his feet. _“Good,” _I thought. “Distract him.” My restraints gave a little bit. The pain felt like a distant memory - my body was fueled with adrenaline and a little bit of stupid hope. “I don’t know, man. Maybe you should take a look inside and figure out why you got so sad when I thought you were gay. I mean… I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about it.” He snapped. “I DON’T care about it. I fucking don’t. I’m just sick and fucking tired of people asking me that. I have a fucking girlfriend, did you know that? I don’t even like… HEY!” I threw myself towards him, the ropes falling off my hands. The axe swung in his hands, but I was too close to cut. I grabbed the wood. We grappled for control of the blade, kicking, screaming, panting. My elbow swung up into his face, smashing his nose. Bone broke and blood gushed. “Fuck!” I swung my foot out as he stumbled forward, tripping him. His momentum tore the axe from my hands as he fell. With a sickening crunch, skull met rock and axe met flesh as he fell on top of the sharpened blade that was meant for me. I panted as I watched him die. The woods grew loud again - I could hear the cicadas screaming, the frogs chirping. Wind rustled the pines above as blood soaked the ground below. I was alive. Honestly? It wasn’t the worst hookup I’ve ever had.