This character was frozen into stone by a great hero. His body is now just a hollow husk of stone. The statue has crumbled after time and looks beat up. The statue is stuck grinning for the rest of iturnity. Everyone gathers around this stone husk for the celebration of heroes. You can free him by stabbing him with the sacred sword. One day this all changes. A girl named Katelyn snuck into the museum. She covered the cameras with wrapping paper and stalked towards the sacred sword. It radiated blue energy and was sharp enough to brake stone without effort. She broke the glass with her elbow and an alarm as loud as heck sounded off. Blood trickled off her elbow as she grabbed the sword. She ran agony on her face. Police cars surrounded her and she flipped across the one in front of her. As a police officer pulled out his gun, in one quick moment she stabbed through the stone statue. The stone crumbled- but the man wasn’t there. It was a lanky girl with wavy ginger hair, pale skin, blue eyes, a blue dress, and eyes that could kill someone. She made her hand into a fist and a wave of water splashed all of the police. She opened it up again sighing. She looks at the one who freed her. “ who are you?” Her voice was very raspy and the girl almost couldn’t tell what she said. “Aqua,” she said very slowly not knowing what to do. The lanky girls face softened. She murmured something like “she must be my- no”. She almost kind of looked like the statue- she kept grinning and frowning, she looked messed up inside, and hollow. Worst of all she had the aura the sword had given off which now that she thought about it, smelled like the beach. “ I’m River” the lanky girl suddenly said. She felt like she heard that name be- oh no. “ your my great great great ten thousand more greats grandmother.” She was in shock. How was this villain related to her. River had a blank face but it looked as if she was about to tear the world apart. “ that means you have my powers” she said finally. She tried to close her fist but no wave came. Instead the whole museum burst into flames. They both gasped. “ what- what did you do?” “ I have no idea,” she was almost too shocked to speak. River started pacing. She could hear sirens in the distance. “Come on River!” She jumped into one of the empty police cars and stepped on the peddles. “ You have a drivers license-ACK!” “ Um no,” River slapped her face. Suddenly a shock went through her she closed her eyes. She’d thought she had died but the car had just… exsploded. How was she still alive. She couldn’t see River anymore but then someone tapped her back. “ wow,” River was in awe “ You need a new name. Maybe fiery,” and that’s how I got my name. Did you think that was the end. Well, not even remotely. It was a regular school day- well pretty normal anyways. I had history class and was walking through the hall and some emo boy bumped into me. “ HELLO I EXSIST AND- ARE YOU ON YOUR PHONE SERIOUSLY!” Everyone was looking now and the boy looked up. It’s literally impossible to describe the look on his face. It was like “oh no I’m going to dieeeeee!” And “ she so cute,” mixed together and it was so infuriating. “Um sorry…” he said in a voice that matched his face. He gave her a spark though she couldn’t lie. “ SORRY YOU MUST MEAN REALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLY SORRY!” “Yeah sure,” now he sounded like he was falling in love with her completely and that was killing her on the inside. She murmured “never mind,” and headed to class. Then we had an extremely boring history lesson about River and you know I definitely didn’t blow up the whole school. Okay maybe I did but that was the teachers fault for being so mean to my relative. Anyways some wierd superhero that looked like a cheetah came and saved the day or whatever and I went home. But guess what. She saw me. “Who are you,” she asked. “ A normal kid trying to get home,” she fake cried. Now the comic con character headed back to the school. I knew I was a villain now and needed a mask or whatever. So I went home and made a fire costume. Fiery. I grinned. Now I was the villain. No one could freeze me to a hollow, stone, and grinning, husk of a villain. Whatch out cheetah girl.

“Have you ever heard about ‘The Muncher of The Broken’” I lean in, almost touching the childs freckled face. A grin escapes my mouth at the sight of her freightend face. “It is said that the creature stalks its prey with an almost perpetual grin smeared across the gaunt mask of a face” The faint beginning of a cry contorts her lips and a tremble appears. I feel nothing. Where my empathy once was, there is now only a hollow space. “Some argues that this hollow creature of the night munches entirely on children with red hair and freckled faces,” Once again, her face almost crumples from the fear bursting from within. I let out a sigh before almost whispering: “But don’t worry, he’s just a tale,” The crispy sound of paper fills the room as I crumble a note between my gnarly fingers.

It was well after twilight and the night was heavy with the scent of loamy soil and impending rain. A full moon sat lazily in the sky, trying its hardest to shed as much light as possible, but the light was swallowed by the night nonetheless. Erik walked along the path from the inn, his footfalls heavy and rapid. He chastised himself for staying out so late and attempted to calm his nerves.

Suddenly, he heard a twig snap behind him. He stopped dead in his tracks and wheeled his head back to see an old woman standing in a yellow patch of moonlight. She was unassuming at first glance; small and rounded, with pale skin and a shock of lily-white hair sticking out from under a generous night-dark shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders. But then she lifted her head.

Her grin was like a badly cracked plate; jagged and seemingly irreparable. She leered at Erik, her grin unchanging, stretching out the thin, wrinkled skin of her ancient face. He wondered if the grin might cut his hand should it stray too close. The thought was, of course, a little silly, but he found himself keeping his hands drawn tightly to his sides, just in case.

Her grin, however, was not her only striking feature, simply the most viscerally arresting. Her body appeared crumpled in on itself, like a sheet of parchment that had been balled up in frustration. She walked towards him in the semi-darkness with an eerie, shuffling gait that could not have been comfortable, nor efficient. Erik swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” Erik asked politely if not a little shakily as he stifled the urge to tug at the threadbare collar of his shirt. But she didn’t reply, no, she just… cackled. The sound was loud and hollow and it seemed to suck every other sound from the night, leaving behind an unsettling quiet as it faded. Her cackle was devoid of any humor but also, thankfully, devoid of malice. Erik relaxed, just a little and ran his hand through his disheveled chestnut hair, a sigh whistling through his pursed lips.

“Really,” Erik continued, his voice steadier this time, but still tentative and polite, “are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you? It’s dark, and the road is dangerous. I can bring you somewhere safe- there’s an inn down the road…”

The woman responded with another cackle, ear-splittingly louder this time. Several small animals leapt out of a nearby bush and scurried away in a panic. Her odd grin didn’t leave her face. Erik felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, though he tried not to show his discomfort. He tried to look into her eyes. And this time, he saw it clear as day; a slight furrow in her brow, the sheen of unshed tears, a twinge of pain. Erik knew, then, what he needed to do.

“Okay,” Erik sighed gently, his shoulders slumped forward, “follow me.” He walked slowly and patiently ahead of the woman, turning back every few feet to make sure she was still behind him. A deep well of feeling pooled in his gut, but whether it was the disquieting flutter of fear or the nervous elation of being useful, he wasn’t quite sure. It was too late for such distinctions and the night was already far too strange as it was.

There is no easy way to cheat death. Those who say they’ve gone down the hard path and achieved immortality are either ignorant, liars, or false gods that can still be felled in a single swoop. All who have attempted have died, and thus to quote the great philosophers: “The only way to cheat death is to be remembered.”

I believe I have found a middle ground between the two roads.

If all that matters to cheat death is your memory, then how would I better be remembered? Should I journal my entire life, so people could truely grasp my character? Should I work upon something revolutionary, so that my name will be synonymous with my creation? I have answered those two questions and more; I’ve created a homunculus, one with my exact physical liking and who I can part my memories onto: the main body may die, but those who carry on my life will be me in a sense.

That is what I’ve created, and for this, I shall be known.

This character is a tree that was carved like a human, yet this is not who you would think it would be. He is always grinning and hollow. The trees parents died and now hates humans and now with his new found body he can do anything

Hollow body, they took my soul, Went and tortured it right out of me. Crumpled in a corner, eyes are dull, Because darkness is what I breathe.

My inner demons are my best friends, The only things that I’ve still got. Them consuming me is how this ends, I know better than to say it’s not.

They locked me up because I’m insane. Broke my spirit with a heavy chain. Shadows crawled up inside my brain. You try to hurt me but I don’t feel pain.

Been walked over, shattered my spine, Tried to stand, got slammed back down. All of these words rip through my mind, Shreddin’ it to pieces, spread all around.

I was left on the floor, pale and cold. Fading fast, not putting up a fight. Bent so much, I always seem to fold, In the darkness I embrace the night.

They locked me up because I’m insane. Broke my spirit with a heavy chain. Shadows crawled up inside my brain. You try to hurt me but I don’t feel pain.

What’s sanity in a world so grim? I’ve finally lost control in my head. Sinking down, I won’t try to swim. I don’t feel anymore, inside I’m dead.

You continue to ruin and defile, But now I’m no longer phased. I can still taunt you with a smile, This time it’ll just be 𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕫𝕖𝕕.

Mr. Brittle wasn’t brittle at all. He was downright terrifying, actually. He had scars all over his face and arms. He had a deformed ear- but not in a ‘I was born with this’ way, more of a ‘I fought in a war’ way.

Because he had.

He had fought in a hard, bloody war and survived.

His wife and children were long gone. They died over a decade ago from a disease that suddenly spread across the world like a thick cloud. He then lived by himself, where he would spend the rest of his days. He had little personality, little tolerance for trick-or-treaters or even people preforming wellness checks.

Mr. Jeremy Brittle was grieving, but most people were too shallow to realize it until he was long gone.

Of what unutterable parlance Do the bells blow? Of what unkowable utterances Does the wounded seraph murmur? Does she have concern Over the moonlight Bleeding into the sky? Or of her sisters strumming their viols With a masquerade so lachrymose? All whilst singing paeans in the minor mode. Does she feel the blows of drums? The jeers of her heart? White figures, praising Their disquietness as they shriek; “Dance! _ Dance!_ _ Dance!_” Or, perhaps… Her scullery drapes, Of which prior owners Left no trace as they sat her, Sylphlike beauty, On their lap And reviled her. In her decay of silence, where has she wandered? Obsolete, she must be now Where is she now? Where has she withered? Where has she gone forgotten After stripped, Intermingled, Battered, her face balled in her hands. Where can one see In the kingdom of God The drapes of her silk finery Trickling down like tears All into the cascade Blowing, Scattering, Atop Athenian ruins, Chasing ancient voices of children.

I chained my ghost up in the basement Six feet back behind my eyes Some nights I think this house is gonna cave in Rejection has me terrified Now I hang from a wooden frame It keeps the crows away This is where I'm safe Made of straw and a funny face Turns out being fake can be a saving grace You can't kill me if I'm already dead Buried alive by the things that they've said I killed myself, but no one knows You're not talking to me You're talking to a scarecrow Who I am only put me through hell I'm bulletproof when I'm somebody else I killed myself, but no one knows You're not talking to me You're talking to a scarecrow I hid my heart up in the attic Stuck pieces deep inside these walls For every time I was ignored or called dramatic I'm only safe feeling nothing at all Now I hang from a wooden frame It keeps the crows away I'm better off insane I cut the skin to make a brand new face 'Cause back when I was me I lived to be replaced You can't kill me if I'm already dead Buried alive by the things that they've said I killed myself, but no one knows You're not talking to me You're talking to a scarecrow Who I am only put me through hell I'm bulletproof when I'm somebody else I killed myself, but no one knows You're not talking to me You're talking to a scarecrow Secret suicide, but no one can tell 'Cause I'm just terrified of being myself The real me's inside, but no one can tell 'Cause disappearing hurts less than asking for help You can't kill me if I'm already dead Buried alive by the things that they've said I killed myself, but no one knows You're not talking to me You're talking to a scarecrow Who I am only put me through hell (put me through hell) I'm bulletproof when I'm somebody else (somebody else) I killed myself, but no one knows You're not talking to me You're talking to a scarecrow

Scarecrow- (Citizen Soldier)

He dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. Hitting the pavement so hard that his eyes bulged like large fried eggs, he grinned. I stared in horror as he got up, his crumpled body shaking with excitement, or pain I thought. He spoke to me in a hollow voice “Good day ma’am” he said. Is he for real? I wondered aloud. He walked off shakily, still smiling diabolically, walking into the night away from the great big tree with the leaves swaying in the wild restless wind. I shook my head and walked slowly home.