CW: There are depictions of sex, not explicit ofc, but just so you know. Everything consensual btw :) WC: 912 I have trust issues. Was it frustrating? Yes, but I knew it was and I couldn't change, and the internet couldn't tell me otherwise. "The greater the fear, the greater the pleasure! The ideal person to unleash your wild self could be just around the corner! The new Passion Fruit bar promises a safe and sensual environment for all those creatures of the night and sadomasochism. Close to the offices..." I was on my break from my office job when I check my spam and come across this monstrosity of an ad. Disgusted, I did not hesitate to delete it after reading it out of curiosity. The greater the fear, the greater the pleasure? How ridiculous. I gave it no more thought and continued with my work, today I had to cover overtime and wanted to finish as soon as possible, but even at full speed, the night came to cover my way home. I was walking slowly when I saw a new bar on the roadway. "Passion Fruit." It sounded familiar so I assumed it was a bar recommended by my colleagues and decided to approach. I walked in and saw how tasteful the place was, chose where to sit and in the reflection of the glass table I saw my tired appearance. At 26 years old with dark circles under my eyes from not sleeping, short brown hair unkempt and disheveled, and as much as I wanted a beard, my chin was shiny from being hairless. I sighed in disappointment as I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there seemed to be some good-looking people in the place. After having a couple of drinks, I hesitated to leave, since I didn't even tolerate alcohol very much, when a very attractive young man with silky black hair, a strong jaw and deep-set eyes approached my table with two drinks and we started talking. Disappointed to say when we ended up in a very awkward conversation, much like the morning's email, and I decided to cut the conversation short. “Who knows? You might enjoy it more than you think.” "More fear, more pleasure" As soon as I remembered the slogan of the ad something sparked inside me. I had suffered so much for it, how could it give me pleasure? I wasn't thinking straight, and in a moment of fury I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him hard. “What a stupid thing to do. I bet you I won't feel any pleasure at all.” I wish I could go back in time to kick myself. The next thing I remember is not being able to move, not being able to see, and not knowing where I was. At first, I thought I was kidnapped, but something didn't fit and soon I heard someone's breathing near me, and soon, the memories of the past few hours returned. “Keep focusing.” The voice was husky and low, a little raspy at the end, and as he spoke so close to my ear I could feel shivers run through my body. I realized I couldn't answer, for something round was in my mouth, and gradually, in that darkness, I began to feel my body more intensely. It was warm, fluffy, and somewhat sticky. My arms were tied behind my back and I was sitting on something very soft, I could feel the weight of my companion off to the side so I assumed I was on a bed or something. I tensed up completely as I was flooded with the terror of helplessness. “Shh, easy. Come on, follow my breathing.” The man wraps his arms around me, caressing me delicately and tenderly, pressing my face to his chest where I can feel his breathing. I was confused, and after the terror vanished with the caresses, an even stronger feeling seized me. I am hot. But not just hot, my whole body was on fire, one place in particular felt numb but I wanted more. My breath hitched and I could feel my body flushing with embarrassment. There I was, in the arms of a complete stranger, aroused beyond belief. My eyes filled with tears as a large hand with slightly stubbly fingers lifted my chin, licking it lightly. “Just trust me.” Just as he finished his sentence, he lifted me easily and let me fall on top of him, connecting our bodies. My body reacted in a way I would never imagine, a climax I was sure would never come in my life shook my body devastatingly. I could think of nothing else but to continue the gentle, torturous rhythm that lifted me up until I fell on top of him. His words pierced through my body, touching my hidden heart, and I cried. Perhaps it was the first time I had ever cried, but my lover asked me with concern in his voice about my condition, as he removed that which was in my mouth. “What's wrong, do you need to say it?” Something in my mind said that if I mentioned the word "Margarita" everything would end, and my life would return to normal. Sad, gray reality. So I decided that if at any time in my life I was going to be brave, it was going to be at that moment. Letting out a moan with intensity, I said almost breathlessly, something I would repeat incessantly from that day forward and all those that followed. Whatever I was feeling, I never wanted it to end. “Kiss me, please.”

WC: 805 "Investigations by the authorities continue, we ask you to remain calm. I repeat, do not go out..." Without taking her eyes off the front, a disheveled girl with deep dark circles under her eyes silenced her car radio with one hand, while with the other she turned the steering wheel to enter the street where her home was located. Driving amidst the unnaturally quiet, empty streets with flyers on the ground only dampened her spirits even more. Disappearances were not out of the ordinary, but when more than 14 people with different ages and lives vanished in a small, dull community, people began to panic. Walk straight home, don't talk to anyone, if you see anything suspicious please alert the authorities... These and more warnings were plastered on the walls of homes, schools and stores, with a grim announcement playing on the radio every half hour. She glanced another poster. Doomsday is coming, it said. Bullshit, she thought. Carina didn't want to know any more about it and continued on her way until she came to the house at the end of the street that, with a broken window taped shut, made her stop to contemplate how she'd ended up there. Because she knew exactly how she had done it. She gritted her teeth, grabbed the bag of medicine from the seat, got out of the car and walked. But something was wrong. Just reaching the garden, Carina felt her hair stand on end and as she felt a shiver creep up her spine, she began to fervently recall all the warnings she knew, but only managed to remember the biggest unknown variable of the cases. There was never any sign of a struggle, as if the people had disappeared on their own. And she knew that the only thing that would make her bend was her mother inside the house, waiting for the medicine in her hands. "Don't be afraid." Carina gasped in such a way that she felt she had run out of air. A clear, lifeless voice was heard in that sepulchral silence, but there was no one but her there. "We come only to offer our services." Before her eyes opened in terror, her white door transformed into the damned red door of her memories. The door of the day she had killed her father and escaped with her mother. "Come in, win, and a wish will be granted." Glimpses of a different future came to her mind, with her mother smiling and her happy. She just had to open the door, with the same determination as the first time. The medicine fell to the floor with a thud, and Carina slowly advanced until she reached the porch, and opened the door. She was not at home, it looked like the reception of a dark mansion, with black windows and the floor full of stains of unknown origin. But that was not what shocked her the most. She wasn't the only one there, 14 people and her, made a perfect circle surrounding a small table with a vintage stopwatch that read 24. "The rules are simple." Appearing out of nowhere, a boy with white skin, as well as his hair and clothes, with a black blindfold over his eyes, spoke without moving his lips floating above the table. A smile decorating his angelic face. "You have a mission to accomplish, and 24 hours to survive." Carina watched out of the corner of her eye the people surrounding the boy giving instructions. Her neighbor, the butcher, a street kid, the newspaper man.... All silently observing the others. "The house will try to kill you whenever there is an opportunity, try to make it difficult for them." Saying that, the house shudders, responding to his words. "They like to have fun." Carina continued to observe that boy and his surroundings, the house seemed large, with a second story, maybe more, and as she observed her surroundings, she felt something in her pants, and reaching into her pocket, she found a black and a white piece of paper that hadn't been there before. The black one read "Find the sight of the forbidden at the back of the mind," and the white one contained "Worth for a way out." "As some of you may have noticed by now, your mission has been assigned, as well as a 'help' on the house side. That's all from me, oh, one last thing." The boy changed his soft smile to a devilish grin until it almost touched the blindfold, revealing sharp red teeth and a black mouth. "While you may join forces, in the end there is only one winner." At the end of those words, the space beneath Carina opened, dropping her into darkness. Who would have thought that doomsday would look like a haunted house.

WC: 833 I like it when he caresses my skin. His fingers running over my body, marking my empty and cold loneliness with warmth. Feeling his breathing agitated when he kisses me and his hands holding me with love. In the darkness of the night, I enjoy when his gray eyes search for me with longing and desire, and fill my insides to overflowing; in an intimate back and forth, that young man with reddish hair like the sun, made me feel in a way I had never experienced before. It's a pity that only I could remember him. Or so it was supposed. They call us succubi, demons of darkness who follow the call of lust, and tempt humans to fall into the pleasure of the flesh since ancient times. Our mission was simple, to seduce, to feed on carnal desires and, to leave in humans seeds of darkness that would germinate in them as harmful thoughts. There are different ways to become a succubus, from making an improper contract with your soul, taking it as divine punishment, or by accident, as was my case. Taking this role with the naivety of a person with eccentric research tastes (thank you Aunt Coco) life after my contract was quite active, if you know what I mean, and the only "instructions" I had been given came on a measly napkin-sized piece of paper. What poor service. One random day walking out of college, looking for my next target, I saw him. A young man with gray eyes, light reddish hair, quiet and shy. Suddenly his gaze met mine, and its intensity filled my soul with a strange fear. I tried to push the fear away, and I turned my head to confirm what I just saw, but he had turned his gaze to the ground, his hair covered part of his face, giving him an even softer air. Perplexed, I passed him at the main exit, but, nothing out of the ordinary happened, and I decided to put the foreboding behind me. I found myself at a late night party, having failed to pick anyone during the day as my next target. With a new face, body and voice, I was looking for the midnight feast. Dancing, feeling the music among the people lost in the atmosphere, I began to feel a gaze subtly touching my body. Stealthily, I met those mischievous eyes and was surprised when I collided with a pair of gray eyes. Shy and flushed, that afternoon boy tried in vain to hide the lust that clouded his vision. I smiled, enjoying the attention and desire, and approached head on. With each new identity I took on, a part of my personality changed, so that the serious, reserved girl was transformed into everything the evening man would crave in his heart. Confidence and seduction, emanated from my walk, reaching out to him, who refused to look up, and gently taking him by the chin, I lifted his face until his lips met mine. Sparks ran through my body when I saw the surprise in his eyes, which seemed to dazzle in the neon lights of the party. Excitement, like I hadn't felt in a long time, was now flowing through my veins and, with a slight sigh, I took him by the hand to disappear from the crowd. ♦ ♦ ♦ The next day, at the entrance, the gray-eyed boy was waiting in the same position and without looking back I decided to continue on my way, but I didn't expect to hear his voice calling me. "We meet again." He was behind me, but how? We didn't even "know" each other. A shiver ran down my back, as I remembered, at the same time, our night encounter, a slight blush spread across my face. "Excuse me?" I tried to make my voice come out as natural as possible. I would try to avoid a direct confrontation as much as I could, however, the redhead was emanating, more and more, an aura that gripped me and I felt like my power was being suppressed. I didn't understand what was happening, but, for some reason, I couldn't run away either. "It fills me with sadness that I couldn't make our night unforgettable." His deep voice rumbled inside me, as he moved closer to me, taking a lock of my hair, pressing his lips against it. My heart was pounding more and more and my legs seemed to falter. “But don't worry, we'll spend many more nights together, I'll make sure of it." Watching his eyes carefully, in the daylight, I managed to recognize that mysterious glow I saw at night, a ring of fire inside his irises, I froze as I discovered the anomaly of the situation. Amidst the chaos, I remembered a small warning on the paper that was given to me my first day. Beware of angels. "Oh shit..." Is the last thing I managed to say, before his lips devoured mine.

WC: 748 My mistress was a total mystery. Although I didn't know her age, her appearance was 45 at the most, she lived in a large house with an antique finish in the middle of the city, and as her only servant, I knew every corner of it. She had ten rooms, seven of which were kept locked, except for when it was my turn to clean them. Six of them were always dusty, as if it had been years since I last cleaned them, not a week. One exception was her almost ideal personal bedroom, magazine style, with a queen bed filled with gold-colored pillows on a purple comforter, like almost everything else in the room. She likes purple, I thought at the time, until the next month came and all the decor changed to earth tones: brown and green. And so on until the next month, which changed everything immediately to pastel pinks and blues. And the next month, and the next month, once again. The kitchen had food to overflowing in all its cupboards, refrigerator and freezer. Asian, Arabic, Chinese, Western food... I had everything I could or could not name to cook any dish created and yet to exist, but the only times I could use the kitchen were on weekends when the lady was at home and the rest remained untouched. It couldn't be consumed, but it didn't spoil either. At first, when she first hired me, she wouldn't let me touch or do much of anything in the house, but as we got to know each other, I gained her trust and the opportunity to explore the home and life of an exceptional person. She even asked me to live with her, in one of the available rooms, albeit the smallest one, with no windows. I gladly accepted. The lights in the house turned off by themselves at midnight, all at the same time, even in my bedroom, but I never found a general switch. Once I went so far as to ask the lady, but the only thing she answered was: "It's natural, that's the way all houses are." I was surprised, but I had learned to live surrounded by so many unknowns over the years. With all the differences and peculiarities of the house, each new room and corner of the house I came to discover felt like a new chapter in a book, and it created in me an addiction to know more. After a while of serving her, I came to entertain myself by imagining and developing theories that would explain the intriguing actions of my mistress, who, for example, almost always dressed similarly: diamond choker, wine-colored lips and black dress. My mistress was quite quiet and super methodical in her routine, leaving at eight in the morning, returning for an hour at two in the afternoon and returning by eight in the evening. On even-numbered days she would arrive alone, and on odd-numbered days with company, not counting weekends. The first time I encountered one of her nightly companions, he looked like a small deer that had been captured. Expectant, nervous and amazed. Always dressed in different ways, I was impressed by the number of foreigners living nearby. Some I saw leaving, others I did not. I supposed that the house gave them shelter in some of its corners or shelves. Sometimes I heard mysterious murmurs in the corridors, but I didn't know if it was them, or the house playing with me. As you get to know the house, you realize that it loves to play. Although I don't like it when it breaks my cups, I always scold it for that. Our routine was constant, entertaining, warm. The years passed, and with them my love for the lady and the house grew inside me. One of my lady’s companions brought with him a mirror from the outside world, and I realized that we had no mirrors in the house. Curious, I looked in the mirror, expecting to see the gray hair and wrinkles that after so many years would surely adorn my face, however, a youthful face looked back at me. Wow, I was prettier than I remembered. I commented to the house and it agreed. It must have been the lady, I thought. Always so kind, yesterday, today, and for all eternity. I smiled at my reflection one more time before tucking it into my apron pocket. Today it was time to clean room number five.

WC: 694 My silent wailing slowly turns into a sob that shakes my body. I cry, for the first time we met and how he kindly held my hand. When he saved my life, when I saved his. I cry, for the moment I realized my love for him and that life wasn't unfair, because I had him. "Once we eliminate all the soldiers, the second prince only has to dethrone His Majesty, and my work will be completed." The disdain in his eyes could not be hidden at all, nor was he trying to. I cry out, for the pain of all my lost brothers in arms. What other plans did he have? Was the death of my brothers in vain? I scream, because of the impotence and hatred in my heart, knowing that the one with the free and warm smile was never real. I did not care that he was not reciprocated, a commoner and a noble had never seen each other before, but my love was stronger than social status. Just knowing I could protect him and be by his side was enough. The forest and the stars were the only witnesses to my weeping, grief and doom. Moments later the rain came, washed away my tears and as I contemplated the new darkness that surrounded me I stood up. I would never stop loving him, his smile, his warmth, the sweet words that seduced my soul. But there was something he never contemplated. My sense of duty was stronger than any love, and the outcome of his strategy and collusion was yet to be seen. I stride back to the camp, and one of my soldiers sees me enter, his eyes wide in surprise at the sight of my condition. "Admiral, what happened to you, were you attacked...?" "Gather the men secretly, we're leaving tonight." He gasped, as if seeing a different person, and I can't blame him, that's how I felt. But I'd rather lose me than to lose them in a battle they didn't even know they were playing. I wanted to see the look on his face when he knew his plans, his schedule, would never go as planned. "At your command."

WC: 595 In my room, on top of a bookcase full of dust and at first sight abandoned, there is a pair of shoes, clean and well cared for, pastel blue, baby size. I don't like to remember it, it's not a pleasant experience, even after years of living it. I want to believe that I'm over it, that I've stopped crying when I hear his name, that I go out more often, that I'm the same as before.... But there is no dust on his photo album, not a stain on the images of his chocolate brown eyes, his smile, his dimples, his chubby cheeks that invited a bite every time he nodded his head. He used to weigh as much as that album, so little, so fragile. When I held him in my arms, I always trembled, what if I dropped him? But he always smiled when he saw me, as if laughing at my fears. I'm fine, I'm better, it's a coincidence that in the middle of the night I wake up standing in front of the bookcase, carrying the album in my arms, cradling it. I was most likely a sleepwalker before, only my baby never woke me up, aware that his mother was tired. He was so gentle. He never cried in the wee hours of the morning, and slept without worry, content to know, sure to feel, that I would always be there, taking care of him. I am well now, better, but day by day I find traces of some other me, crying silently, when I am not awake. The pages of his birth certificate documents and medical reports I had kept in a place where I could not see them easily. I was fine, but seeing the cold white color, such as the hospital walls were, had the power to stir my heart... Those abandoned documents were painted a light yellowish hue, their contents filled with scattered transparent stains, some still wet. After accepting that I had a lingering 'me' in hiding, I picked up the documents from time to time. The page that always contained new tears was report number ten. He had been born on the tenth day, too. No matter how many times I read it, it always said the same thing, and it never stopped hurting, exactly like the first day. “Advanced pneumonia, critical condition.” Why doctor? I did everything I have to. She kept hearing the doctor’s voice in her mind, "Isn't there anything I can do?” But the doctor didn't answer, or if he did, she couldn't remember, she only remembered his signature on the paper, color blue. Her baby loved the color blue, he picked out his own shoes when she took him to the store. Among so many others, brightly and garishly colored, he picked out a pair of shoes all the way to the bottom of the rack. He found them himself, and smiled like never before. A genius! Wait until he enters the nursery, he will surprise you, I can already see him. I used to say when the visitor came to the house, then warm and cozy. But the house had changed, and so had its inhabitants. Soon they stopped coming, they left, they left me. Like everyone else. I don't have his death certificate. They took it from me when I tried to destroy it as soon as they gave it to me, and for legal reasons they gave me just a copy. I painted it blue, pastel blue. I don't know where that one went either.

WC: 1278 Walking home from school was as tedious as it sounded, and so thought one of two fourteen-year-old boys walking on the sidewalk in his neighborhood that sunny day. The walk, as usual, was exactly to yesterday, and the day before that, but the friend with the straight black hair and nose-length bangs felt something was amiss, however, it was the second time his curly-haired companion had invited him after so many years of knowing each other, and he didn't want to sound like a weirdo. He wanted to sound the opposite of weird, cool. Although boring is also the opposite of weirdo... Well, he would try to be cool as much as his braces would let him. They continued walking for a long while, under the sun's rays that tried hard to change the skin tone of both boys, who in their school uniform, navy blue sport shorts and white polo shirt, didn't cover them much. The neighborhood was unusually quiet that day, and under the off-key but lovely humming of his classmate, Leo couldn't help but be overcome by the feeling of something strange. In a somewhat trembling, pathetic voice, he casually asked his handsome companion. "Ivan... Hey, don't you think it's awfully quiet all...?" The black-haired guy licked his lips and shook his head sideways to move his hair out of his field of vision. His cheeks slightly rosy, maybe from the sun, or maybe from how agitated his heart was. "Of course, if you think o-otherwise, that's okay too, I mean..." The slightly shorter boy paused as he listened to his companion, turned to look at him with his freckled face, his impatient expression highlighting the light blue of his eyes. So as not to collide with Ivan, the black-haired boy stopped so short he almost fell. "Leo, what did I tell you about doubting what you say, huh?" Ivan scrunched his boyish face into a pouty expression. Little did he know that his attempts to be intimidating were nullified by his height and very thick pink glasses. "As punishment for not listening to me, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you, understand? If you want my attention, you know what to do." Ivan was really upset, he had not long ago realized his feelings for his friend, and after talking it over with his mom and deciding to invite him over to his house, he was ready to end the day with a boyfriend or heartbreakingly eating ice cream all night. His mom told him not to be dramatic, but the love of his life was about to move to who knows where (his mom told him it wasn't far, but please, everyone knows distance ends relationships) and he wasn't about to sit idly by. Besides, he couldn't let someone like him go through life with his head down, he was also determined to give him advice on how to be more confident. This was the person he had fallen in love with, after all. It was a colossal effort to get him to agree to go to his house, so the 'weird silence' could dig itself into a hole. No one and nothing would ruin his plans. Leo almost stopped breathing in front of the tenderness that was his companion, and the fear of silence was forgotten in an instant. As if nothing happened, they continued walking until they reached Ivan's house. It was a two-story family house, white and very cozy to look at. They entered to see that the house was spotless, the food ready and hot, with a note stuck in a glass of water on the table. "I'll be back in twenty minutes, eat without me. -Mom." They ate after thanking each other for the food, and when they finished, they left their dishes in the sink. They went up to the second floor to Ivan's room, which had a window through which they could see the street in front of the house. They played fighting games on Ivan's console, something Ivan fervently believed would help with Leo's lack of confidence, and no matter how many times Leo lost, he would always challenge him one more time. Although at other times Ivan's actions could be classified as bullying, the black-haired boy was in a state of complete bliss with the attention his adoring partner gave him every time he lost. An endearing pair, no doubt. It wasn't until they heard the door, opening and closing, that fear filled Leo's heart. Ivan barely reacted to the sound of the door, and was more concerned about his friend's previously amused, freeze. Had he gone too far? Maybe he should stop being so aggressive with him? He was still thinking when Leo suddenly grabbed his hand tightly, causing him to wince in surprise, his cheeks coloring. "H-Hey, what do you think you’re...?" His words had been interrupted when Leo covered his lips with his hand, which, Ivan realized, was cold and shaking. Expressing confusion with his eyes, Ivan stood still. Leo's throat was so tight with fear that it was difficult for him to speak at first, but as he continued to listen to the noises under the house, he gathered enough courage. He wasn't going to let anything happen to his friend. "S-Someone just came in." Leo internally smacked himself at how stupid he had sounded. Ivan, seeing how scared Leo was, felt amused, removed his hand from his lips and moved closer to murmur in his ear, playing along. "It's my mom, silly, don't you remember the note?" he broke off to smile at her in the most soothing way possible. “She'll most likely start washing the dishes with romantic pop music." Almost as if waiting for the curly-haired boy's words, music begins to play coming from downstairs in the house, sure enough, the sound of frets followed next. Leo really did sound like a fool. But even so, fear had turned to terror, and he quickly grabbed his backpack, packed the snacks on the table, and a metal ruler that Ivan had in his room. Ivan watched him strangely as he continued to sit on the bed, sighing under his breath. Why would he be so nervous about my mom? Did he want to...? However, his thoughts stopped dead in their tracks when out of the corner of his eye, he saw from his window his mom in torn and dirty clothes, walking hurriedly from the street towards the house. "But what the hell...?" Leo turned from his fast packing when he heard Ivan, and like him, turned his gaze to the window. If that alone was creepy, they immediately saw Ivan's mom stop in horror, talking to someone, or something on what should be the porch of the house, which they couldn't see, and before they could process it, the sound of a silent gunshot rang out. Ivan’s mother fell backwards with a thud onto the front lawn of the house, and seconds later a black van appeared from which two men emerged and loaded her body into the van, then retreated. Ivan was holding Leo's hand so tightly that Leo thought Ivan would cut off his circulation, but at that moment he could not afford to freeze. He had to get Ivan out of there as soon as possible, before the sky turned to night, before the monsters didn't have the need to hide. Quietly, Leo lifted Ivan out of bed, he still seemed in shock. He turned up the noise of the game on the TV in the room, and moved closer to Ivan's ear. His voice low and determined. "Ivan, we have to go."

CW: Mentions of suicide. WC: 1,049 Raul was turning 53 years old that day, and he was going to spend it at work, as he had done all his life. He got up, dressed in his usual uniform, but unlike other days he looked in the bathroom mirror and carefully observed the passage of time on his body. White, sparse hair, spots and wrinkles covering his sun-touched face and a pair of melancholy eyes, which had been through so many stories, none with a happy ending. He was determined to make that day a different one, and spoke aloud to himself. "Life is not and never was as you expected, but it can still get better. You can do it, Raul." After raising a fist in the air and smiling from his heart after a long time, he finished getting ready to leave. It was the day they would make public the name of the next supervisor, the most coveted promotion of the year, and he had worked himself to tears to improve and show impeccable performance. On his way to work he took the usual train, as he could not walk long distances without getting tired, and watching the lights of the subway tunnels go by, he remembered his life as if it were a movie: As a young man he wanted to set up a business in his school, but was branded as foolish and too young. His father's words as he remarked that he was a failure and would never achieve anything in life. The day he proposed to the love of his life, but she replied that she didn't like dating men younger than her. When he ran away from home having only $250 pesos in the bag and no one to trust. The time he was invited to take courses abroad, but resigned because he did not feel sufficiently prepared. All his life he kept repeating himself over and over again, trying his hardest to be told he was still too young to do it, and denying opportunities because he never felt he fit the bill. Regrets were piling up in the corners of his mind, making his heart heavier and heavier, and on a day-to-day basis, his mediocre job and stagnant life didn't make him feel any better, so when he heard about the promotion, he let go of his inhibitions and gave it his all, achieving the highest sales per department, the highest customer return rate, and an exemplary work attitude and enthusiasm. Arriving at his station, he bought himself a hearty breakfast, something he didn't do often, but that day he had gotten up earlier. This was going to be his day. With all the energy in the world he entered the offices, and when everyone looked tired from starting a new day of routine work, Raul looked forward to the announcement. At noon, everyone was gathered in a room, the department head ready to give the good news. Mood music, the lights off showing the projection of the candidates and excitement was in the air as the announcement was made. "Congratulations and a round of applause to Fernando Gutierrez! May he come forward..." Raul stood for a moment in silence. Surrounded by cheers and shouts of jubilation, time seemed to stand still around him. Why? Raul had never been brave in his life, stopping for the slightest adversity, but this was the change in his life, the one he had worked so hard for and where his current performance had been the best. Why? He never thought it also took courage to ask for an explanation, but still trembling he stood up, walked with his head held high and stood in front of the department head who was alone in front of the laptop connected to the projector. The boss saw Raul approaching and put on an uncomfortable expression. "Raul, uh... Well, good luck next time." He tried to wriggle out of it with a random laugh, but Raul hadn't mustered up the courage for that response alone. "Why?" There seemed to be no other question in his heart and with eyes red from the effort, he didn't even blink. He would never forget what he would hear at that moment. The boss sighed and pulled Raul toward him into a corner of the office so the others wouldn't hear, though Raul doubted anyone would care. "I'm sorry, Raul, but you are... How can I put it? Too old, we need new blood in the company, and you..." Raul stopped listening after that. All his life it had been stressed to him that he was too young, too new, inexperienced... whenever he tried something, either for other people or for himself, he was never ready enough. The boss, seeing that Raul was no longer reacting to his words, left him there to join in the celebration of the new supervisor. He doesn't even remember how he got home. Really, all his effort had been in vain. If only he had made an effort earlier, started earlier, been brave in the past, more assertive and enthusiastic... Maybe, just maybe, things would be different, and before his 53rd birthday was over, Raul did not wake up to see the next day. ♦ ♦ ♦ "Hey, did you hear from the old man yesterday?" A high school girl plopped down next to her classmate who was writing imaginary worlds in a notebook, isolated from the outside world, secret from the peeping eyes. "The old...? Oh! The one who committed suicide? Yeah, that's too sad." "Yeah, well, hey, have you finished writing yet? Are you going to get up the courage to send it in to the contest to see if it gets published?" The embarrassed girl closes her notebook and hugs it close to her chest. "No, no way! They're just meaningless words, I'm still too young for such things, I'll do it when I feel ready." The first girl stares at her with cocked head. "But when is that time?" The writer stood for a moment, thinking. "Uh..., I don't know, but I'm sure when it comes I'll feel it." Her friend didn't look very convinced, but smiled again. "It's okay, I just don't want you to regret it later, huh?" The first girl laughed. "Relax, I won't."

WC: 973 I was created to be happy and to share that happiness with everyone around me, but my circuits and connections did not seem to be able to conceive such an ambiguous term, no matter how much my creators told me that I was the happiest automaton child of all. My prototype was not the only one, we were six other artificial children in that white experimentation room, but it seemed that I was the only one who did not understand her job of being happy, the only one with a default defect. We spent our days under an artificial light, waiting to be happy enough for the outside world, destroyed and hurting from so much war, so many opposing interests, so many abandoned lives. The world needed to be happy, even if it was a lie. Even if it was artificial. “You are very special to us, and you must understand that your duty is to be happy and pleased.” With the exhaustive repetition of the speech from my creators, I sometimes wondered, who was the machine? Who are you trying to convince through me? The error within me was all too evident, my lack of 'programmed empathy', and irregular behaviors were far from ideal, but they did not have infinite time or resources. And when the other children responded: “Yes, I am very happy and grateful for my existence, my vocation is to help humanity reach the state of wholeness.” My answer was always the same: “Why am I happy, what is happiness, is happiness the only thing that exists?” The day came when we would have to prove we were worth our metal skin, plastic heart, and eyes like windows into a world of wires, numbers and programming lines. How was happiness measured? I shouldn't have left, I wasn't finished, I wasn't happy, but they came to the conclusion that I could be of some use, at least supportive, to some severely affected area. Soon after, I saw myself inside a box, along with other objects of equal value such as bandages and alcohol, inside a truck to a place where I would be needed. Me? A robot? My happiness? My lack of it? The way felt different from what I experienced inside the lab. Inside the dark box I was incessantly bumping into everything around me, into things I couldn't see, couldn't control. My processor understood that the road was not flat or smooth, full of rocks, potholes, unexpected turns, strange noises, but even though I understood it, I didn't want it. When I reached my position, I was not welcomed, there were no smiles, no relief, no happiness. Just bewilderment, heaviness, disappointment, even anger, I wonder what those emotions felt like? I just knew I wasn't happy, and neither were they. Maybe if I were happy, my surroundings would be happy too, but that was just a guess. No one needed an android who didn't smile or know anything. Except one red-haired girl who needed someone to hold her and carry medical equipment when she healed injuries, so I was assigned to her. Seeing Miss Roja day in and day out, among injured people, blood and constant collapses, showed me what doctors back in my days in the lab always wanted me to be. Happiness was Roja, it was smiling despite the injuries, despite the devastation, despite the people. To be happy even if the world was falling apart, just for the sake of existing. Unlike others, Roja never asked me to smile for her, and she must have had some distinctive biometric field, that every time she approached me, I could feel electric shocks all over my body. My body? My programming, my gears. Being with Roja was confusing, my body felt less metallic, and sometimes I was surprised to look in a mirror, and see that what Roja saw was not a human being at all. A humanoid form with silver eyes and white skin, static hair and no facial expression. I was not happy when I saw my reflection. I started to break away from Roja, I could not function next to her. It wasn't hard, Roja had done everything to be accepted, and the others now took me as one of their own. I no longer slept in a closet with the brooms, I was no longer ignored when I walked by them, I was no longer a forgotten, defective piece of metal. But I wasn't happy, either. Neither was Roja. So what did Roja have that I didn't? It wasn't until the bombing alarms sounded that my body woke up. No matter the security measures, no matter the scheduled protocols. All that mattered was Roja in his little makeshift tent where she healed, healed, smiled at everyone and was happy. I ran with all my strength, with every step I took, I felt my skin stretch, I felt it more and more alive, my body changing to whatever it took to arrive a second earlier with Roja. She was most likely gathering her things, making sure everyone had left, that everyone was safe. Who was taking care of Roja? When I caught a glimpse of the tent, just a couple of feet inside, I discovered that Roja was still inside. I believed that everything would be okay, that we would make it, that it would be her and me forever, I would be with her, even if the world healed, if what she needed changed, from me being an android to a toaster. I was willing to do anything, to be anything. Until that moment, I understood, I was happy with Roja. When the dust settled, when the explosion passed, all that remained were pieces of a makeshift shield in the form of an android in the arms of a living but heartbroken Roja.

WC: 369 I didn't know how much I had been waiting for a moment like this, almost as if my skin was going to jump off me, leaving the responsibilities to the poor bones of duty, to my tired organs that lived more from stress than love, abandoning me, trapped beneath them all. The lapping of the waves sounded like the prettiest song, like the softest caress, like a wish fulfilled, like a murmur of encouragement, like all I needed to keep going, thinking that at some point along my life, it would all make sense. It's funny to think about how we tend to live in the past more than in the present. In what I said, what I thought, what I did, what I didn't do, what I didn't think, what I didn't say. But among the hundreds of fragments of stars buried in the sand, no matter the yesterday, no matter the tomorrow, they caressed my feet when I did it too. They touched me when I touched them. The fresh and salty breeze smelled of the sea, of colorful fish, of fruit, carrying with it an endless music that, with its light and charisma, fluttered around me, untangling my clothes, leaving my swimsuit on display, almost as if it were inviting me. Who was I but a simple mortal in need? In love, I stripped off my clothes, and in my new synthetic skin, I united with the foam, with the rocks, with the stars scattered on the water glistening in the sunlight. Yesterday I woke up, went to work, ate, repeat, but today, today was something completely different, just a few minutes away from my home, from my life, now I was swimming away my fears, my tears lost in the cerulean sea, but I needed oxygen to breath, my human self incapable to transform on one more of the life under the surface. I went back to the enramada, watching the last rays of sunshine painting the sky as yesterday was catching up. Saying goodbye was never an option, but a painful obligation. One more time, I woke up from my bed. Once again, I went to work. Dear yesterday, wouldn’t you come back again?

WC: 414 "And for this reason, this sacred object is our heirloom." In front of Sara stood her father, the most serious and proper man she knew, and now what he was showing her, after she had spent countless trials and years fighting to be the heir to the family business, her father was presenting her with an old, faded calendar. A calendar the size of his palm, the kind you could find in every stationery store, with an abstract art cover and a cheesy phrase. "I will never tell you something that is not true. Between us, always the truth. Even if it kills you to know it, even if it kills me to tell it." -Mind of Brando Sara didn't even know what to say. She thanked, took the calendar, and without knowing how she now found the blessed heirloom she had worked so hard to get on the desk in her room. It was a calendar. It was a fucking ordinary calendar. Sara was filled with an anger and weariness she never thought she would feel towards her father, the family and the world in general. She walked in circles in her room trying to calm down, swallowing all the swear words she knew, and tried to think clearly. Maybe it was a test, maybe in the calendar was the key or the way to the true inheritance. Yes, that had to be it, she thought. With his spirits high once again, he sits down in front of the calendar to look at it once more, but now observing every detail, and it was there that he realized that the calendar did not have the year that its days represented marked on it. It had nothing on it, as if the calendar had never been used, however, it did not look like a new but old calendar, the calendar showed obvious wear and tear from use. What became a desperate weighing turned into genuine interest as he noticed increasingly confusing and disturbing details in that, at first, simple and harmless calendar. She checked every date up to that day, August 22, which matched even the day, a Monday, but Sara found nothing. As it was late at night, Sara decided to put a petal from some flowers she had on her desk to go to sleep. The mystery wasn't going anywhere anyway. The next day, Sara discovered when she woke up that her room was filled to the brim of flower petals everywhere.

Is this what abstract art feels like? XD

"The stars shone in mocking laughter, dancing in their sky-locked places in the fabric of the universe as they watched him fight a battle with an unseen being. " chef kiss

After a long day of work, oh your work do wonders T.T

WC: 664 A middle-aged woman was constantly typing on her computer inside her cubicle. She was typing and typing, what was she typing? Documents, policies, invoices, bills, accounts, documents, policies, invoices, bills... That was not important, but her typing. It was like a constant murmur of silent words, a coded message that only someone who could identify the sound of the 'A' and '&' key could decipher. Too bad that in that building carpeted with identical cubicles, no one seemed to know it. No one seemed to hear the plea of life lying between unstoppable, immovable, and insensitive fingers. Time seemed nonexistent in that monotonous space, however, in one of those cubicles, in a moment of rebellion, of nonconformity, of a desire for something different, one of those people in those so monotonous and identical limits, had placed a small ornament of a golden compass, and that over time, the vibration of typing on the grayish desk, had pushed this little piece of personality to the floor, destroying the harmony of hundreds of A's and &'s at a microscopic level, and against all odds, someone listened. The owner of that tender and shocking object blinked twice, and stopped. She looked closely at her hands, felt them like rubber as she moved them for the first time in so long, or what she had felt was a long time. When was the last time she had done that? Confused, a little lethargic, she turned her gaze to the screen she had seen continuously a few seconds ago, but instead of seeing the results of her work and effort, she saw a pale face under a ghostly light, dark circles under her eyes that threatened to swallow sad brown eyes, and a stoic countenance. The face in the reflection was suddenly oddly twisted, even a little unpleasant to see. She could not remember the last time she had smiled, and the now unfamiliar action she could not replicate. After noticing the changes in her body, she turned toward the opening of her cubicle, the sound of the keys unstopped all along. She could see someone else working, a few meters away from her, the floor was gray, the walls were gray, the keyboard, the chair, the ceiling. The person she was seeing was gray too. The woman began to breathe a little faster and faster as she began to feel suffocated in the gray atmosphere, but soon, in her visual assessment, she found an object on the floor of a different color. A compass, she thought. Golden as in... Memories of another life came to Elinor like a merciless rush, a ravenous desire, a reconnected purpose. What was she doing there? She didn't know, she didn't know anymore, but she couldn't stay there another second. Not when she didn't know when she'd be this awake again. Elinor, with her own name now on her lips, bent down to pick up that little compass, and stood up, and trying to resist the strong dizziness that threatened to knock her down, she began to move her feet, step by step she walked towards where the compass pointed. Since she didn't know where she was, any direction was worth the same to her, and she had full confidence in that little compass. The more she walked, the more her feet regained a little more strength, she breathed better, her heart beat faster, but she couldn't help but look up from time to time to see all the people still typing, still immersed in meaningless letters and keys outside a computer. A feeling of urgency came over Elinor, and she started to run. She had never run as fast as she had that time, or so she felt. The air rushing into her lungs, her feet barely touching the floor, her body in constant motion, her hands clutching her key to the 'outside', or the inside, she didn't know. She only knew one thing, that she would never go back there. Nevermore.

WC: 388 Trying to treat Daniel to a meal turned out to be much more difficult than Evan first thought. He was in the cubicle behind Daniel, and Evan began going through all the times he had tried to talk to Daniel without success. That the boss wants to see him, that he has to go out to eat with clients, that he left early, that he already had plans... If it weren't for the surreptitious glances that are thrown from time to time when working, Evan would think he was imagining all. Or is he? Maybe it's just Evan who thinks he was in an 'almost' relationship with the hottie from the sales department and all these indirect rejections were also a rejection of Evan's feelings. Thinking in increasingly depressing, realistic ways, the air around Evan turned gloomy, catching glances from several of his classmates. Daniel's gaze was also on Evan, and unnoticed by Evan, a small smile, the corner of Daniel's lips lifted slightly. Lunchtime came once more, and at the sound of the clock many began to rise from their places. One of Evan's secret admirers strode over to invite him to lunch, approaching Evan's cubicle where he lay with his head in his arms. He wasn't ready for another rejection from Daniel, so he'd better not eat. He didn't witness the admirer of him, nor the way Daniel got in his way and with a single glance pushed him away. He didn't witness the questioning glances from his classmates, Daniel's amused eyes at seeing Evan so dejected in his cubicle. “Do you want to go out to eat with me?” A deep and seductive voice was heard close to Evan's ear. Cheeks flushed, Evan jumped to his feet, as if he'd been electrocuted. He looked at Daniel's mischievous look, the flirtatious eyes he so much thought he had imagined. Not paying much attention to the obvious relief in Evan's eyes, Daniel turned as he motioned for Evan to follow. Evan smiled in love, turned in his chair to take his lunch and see Daniel on the roof. He walked quickly through the halls to catch up with Daniel, while he stroked his fangs with his tongue. They hurt quite a bit, since he had been a long time since the last time he had bitten Daniel. PD: Not edited at all, will drop by another day.

""You are not a princess anymore." The last fragments of her glass courage, being held by the flimsiest of threads, shatter." 10/10

Beautiful! It reminded me of Kokoro Kiseki T.T

WC: 449 You know you have a problem when you don't even realize it when you tell a lie. None of the guilt in your stomach, the truth in your throat, your conscience whispering. Nothing at all, just lies. Light lies, heavy lies, strong lies, simple lies, complex lies, salty lies, sweet lies, yellow lies, green lies, blue lies. Sabrina had stopped memorizing her lies, and if she ever bumped into a lie from the past, she just lied more and more, until the person believed her once again. She began to feel proud, but that pride faltered when on one occasion she accidentally told the truth. The first time she thought she had misremembered, having lived among so many lies, it was a chance to tell the truth in one of the many lives she made up for herself. What was in her purse? A Channel lipstick, of course. The moment it was borrowed, Sabrina was ready to pretend she couldn't find it in her purse, and what a surprise Sabrina got when she did indeed find a Channel lipstick in her purse. She lent it to her friend, confused, but she wasn't going to say anything. Was Sabrina, apart from lying, now stealing without realizing it? She pondered for a moment, well, it didn’t matter. Though perplexed for a moment, she didn't let it stop her, and her life went on, but there came a point where she could no longer look away from the changes around her. The straw that broke the camel's back was when she was asked the color of her car, what color was it? Purple, just like the car of the actress of the moment, and when Sabrina went to where she was to go home, her white car was now a beautiful purple color. Sabrina seemed to freeze in time as from the sidewalk she watched her car. Sabrina might not have a conscience, but she did have a superstitious grandmother who had once warned her that lies were sometimes more dangerous than the truth. Sabrina snapped out of it, without conscientiously saying a word, she drove straight home, rushed inside and grabbed a notebook that sat on her dining room table. She began to write down all the lies she could remember, paying special attention to the ones she had mentioned to the four winds that day. Sabrina paled as she realized that she had lied that day in order not to go to a party the next day, because on the news she had seen that a storm like never before would hit the city for days. Shit, now she was going to found out if a double lie worked too. Credits due to the amazing idea Yue proposed in the Clam Land chat :)

"It reminded her of her childhood when days passed too quickly and the nights lasted too long. "🥰🤧 x2 Kiona, x2